Julie Elizabeth Powell's Blog, page 48
December 18, 2016
The Light Of Christmas
To me, it's a season of light, not the darkness of hatred because of difference.
Reading is the doorway to acceptance, so yes, I'm going to be posting some of my stories that may lighten your load and allow you to think about the possibilities that are merely waiting for discovery within the mystery of life.
***
Yes, I know, it's that time of year when that word Christmas is looming and we're starting to panic.
I'm not sure about your country, but in Britain, as soon as Bonfire Night is over (5th November), the Christmas advertising really gets going and the shops are laden with sparkles and temptations - although it sneaks in before that around the peripheral of October.
To read a short story called, A Typical Christmas here's the link: https://www.goodreads.com/author_blog...
***
Christmas as changed over the years and now I just like to see my family, maybe watch a great film and read (but that's my favourite thing anyway.)
You know where I'm heading - to talk about my books!!!
But I'm only going to mention four more that I think you'll enjoy in your Christmas stockings this year.
Knowing Jack: viewBook.at/B005MEP6N0
Knowing Jack is technically for 12ish /YA but I think those young at heart will enjoy it.
Blurb:
Twelve-year-old Jack knows they shouldn’t go, but is unable to persuade his parents not to take the planned trip to the Lake District, England.
Something was going to happen, but what?
The weird feelings he had were always so fuzzy and they didn’t always make sense. Maybe it was just because he’d have to spend time with his pampered cousin, Rosie? Anyway, it was nearly Christmas and what could go wrong with just staying in some cabin in the woods?
He was being stupid…all he had to do was ignore the way his belly churned and his head pounded.
He might be wrong after all.
This mystery adventure tale will drag you into the depths of an icy landscape where you may be afraid to breathe.
***
Knowing Jack as inspired by my son's amazing intuition and the Lake District, England, which I loved exploring as a child. And...that I'm fascinated by the paranormal.
***
Christmas Past: viewBook.at/ChristmasPast
Christmas Past is a dystopian short story, which asks, why would Christmas be banned and what would be the consequences?
Blurb:
What was Christmas? How did it start? And why was it now banned? Why had the Elders decided it would only cause trouble, that its roots were based on something that only caused wars...those that had destroyed the Old Earth?
Some disagree, and maybe can change things before it’s too late for humankind.
Or maybe it’s already too late.
***
The Star Realm: http://viewbook.at/B005MCDTA4
I'm including The Star Realm (#1 Avalon Trilogy) but it's an enchanting epic fantasy filled with adventure and perfect for this time of year for adventure and escapism.
Oh yes, and the Kindle edition it's FREE!
Blurb
What would you do if you were called to another world…a world filled with seemingly impossible things?
Faced with this choice, Davie, Ben, Anne, Chrissie and Billy embark upon a mysterious quest, finding themselves transported to the spectacular and extraordinary world of Avalon, whereupon they are catapulted into one of the uncountable heptagonal pieces that make up the magical sphere of the Orb of Caprice…namely, the Star Realm.
Follow the exploits of the five and champion their long, arduous yet amazing journey. Though the question remains…will Time be on their side?
This story is for anyone with a head overflowing with dreams, a heart filled with a yearning for adventure and a soul buoyant in magic.
This is the first adventure in the Avalon trilogy.
***
Weird: A Henry Ian Darling Oddity: Missive One mybook.to/Weird
Weird: A Henry Ian Darling Oddity: Missive One is also FREE, and is nothing to do with Christmas so just might appeal to 'get away from it all'.
Henry is a fascinating, unique and fabulous character who came to me in a dream - there are three missives so far and I intend to continue with the series when I've finished my current novel. Although, Henry keeps nagging at me so the next may come earlier?
Blurb:
Henry Ian Darling is a collector of oddities, those that bring him closer to an enigma, one he hopes will be a great thing.
But maybe it isn’t.
***
So there they are - stories in and out of Christmas, filled with adventure, fantasy and oddness that should bring light into your life.
If you're thinking of filling your stockings with any of my stories, please think about leaving a positive review.
All of these stories are also available as audiobooks, too, if you'd rather listen.
Audiobooks
UK - http://goo.gl/Un3ExL
USA - http://goo.gl/zUFdWK
Thank you so much!
***
Enjoy your festivities :)
***
Keep reading, as it will expand your mind and bring in the light!
Two Princes by Victoria Danann
SONS OF SANCTUARY MC
Books 1 & 2
by Victoria Danann
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Content Warning: 18+
Two brothers, unknown to each other, are on a crash trajectory with destiny and two broken hearts.
New York Times and USA Today BESTSELLING AUTHOR, Victoria Danann, dishes up the sizzle with a new biker romance series.
"A hot, sweet romance that will make you laugh and sigh." - Cafeworld
Brigid was a graduate student at the University of Texas. It wasn't hard getting her thesis approved, but finding a Hill Country motorcycle club willing to give her access to their lifestyle was starting to look impossible. Then she got a lead. A friend of a friend had a cousin with family ties to The Sons of Sanctuary. Perfect. Or so she thought.
What she wanted was information to prove a scholarly proposition. The last thing she had in mind was falling for one of the members of the club. Especially since she was a feminist academic out to prove that motorcycle clubs are organized according to the same structure as primitive tribal society.
Brash was standing in line at the H.E.B. Market when his world tipped on its axis. While waiting his turn to check out, his gaze had wandered to the magazine display and settled on the new issue of "NOW". The image on the cover, although GQ'd up in an insanely urbane way, was... him.
After reading the article, he threw some stuff in a duffle and left his only home, a room at The Sons of Sanctuary clubhouse, with a vague explanation about needing a couple of days away. He left his truck at the Austin airport and caught a plane for New York, on a mission to find a mysterious guy walking around with his face.
INCLUDES BONUS NOVELLA: Intro to the Sons of Sanctuary MC, A Season in Gemini
"She couldn't live in my world. I couldn't live in hers." - Brant Fornight
Get your copy TODAY and find out why readers call Two Princes awesome sexy, fantabulous, and sentimental in the juiciest way!
“Sir?” Brash Fornight gradually became aware that someone behind him in the grocery checkout line was trying to get his attention. “Sir?” He refocused and glanced behind him. The woman leaning on a cart overflowing with chip bags and cookie boxes nodded toward the cashier indicating that it was his turn to move forward. Brash looked her in the eye and had to give her props. Most people wouldn’t have the balls to try to herd a guy wearing Sons of Sanctuary MC leather.
The club employed a woman who cooked and did grocery shopping several times a week as part of her job description, but Brash didn’t like to explain his relentless craving for peanuts and he liked being teased about it even less. He didn’t know whether it was the Vitamin B or the fat or just because he liked the taste, but he couldn’t imagine going a day without them.
That’s how he came to be standing statue still In the grocery checkout line, being prompted by some woman with more nerve than sense. While he was waiting, his eyes drifted over the magazine display and settled on the cover of “NOW”, on the Most Eligible Bachelor edition no less. The debonair figure staring back was wearing Brash’s own face and body. He looked different with short hair and a four thousand dollar suit with the shirt fashionably open at the neckline, but the similarity was inescapable.
On impulse he grabbed the magazine and tossed it onto the conveyor belt with his week’s stash of peanuts.
He stuffed the bags into the saddlebags of his bike and roared toward home, nervously tapping his fingers on handlebars at red lights, riding on shoulders to keep from slowing down. He was anxious to get to the privacy of his own room and read about Branach St. Germaine.
Two beers, one jar of peanuts, and one “NOW” article later, Brash was sitting on the edge of his bed looking at the wall, seeing nothing but his own heavy thoughts. He pulled out his phone, looked up a website, and waited on hold for ten minutes to hear the time of the next flight from Austin to New York.
There was a flight to Newark in a little over three hours. He looked at his watch and calculated the time it would take to drive from Dripping Springs at that time of day. As he booked the flight, he stood up, walked to the small closet, grabbed a duffel bag, and began shoving stuff into it. Ten minutes later, he closed his door and locked it, threw the duffel over his shoulder, and headed straight for the office downstairs. He dropped the duffel on the hallway floor beside the closed door and knocked.
“Yeah?” Brash looked inside, glad that his dad was by himself, and stepped in. “What’s up?”
“I’m takin’ personal time, Pop. Gonna be gone for a couple of days.”
“What the hell is ‘personal time’?”
The gruffness made Brash smile. “It means I’m not gonna be here if you call and I’m not tellin’ you why.”
The Sons of Sanctuary President looked up at Brash, over the top of his readers, and narrowed his eyes. “You got a secret?”
“Everybody’s got secrets.”
Brandon Fornight studied his son for a minute. “True enough. Is it the kind of secret that could affect this club?”
Brash shook his head. “Don’t see how.”
“Well, then. See you… When did you say you’d be back?”
“I didn’t.”
“Bein’ purposefully vague, are you?”
Brash grinned. “That’s why they call it personal time. But I expect to be back Friday.”
“You gonna have your phone with you?” When Brash nodded, Bran looked back down at his ledger in a deliberately dismissive gesture. “Well, get outta here then.”
Brash parked his bike in the airplane hangar. The structure had already been on the property when the club had bought it and turned it into a compound twenty years earlier. They used part of it for vehicle maintenance and repair and part for parking.
Some of the guys who were working looked over and shot curious glances his way when Brash threw his duffel into his pickup and started it up, but it wasn’t their way to ask questions. The Sons figured that if somebody wanted you to know something, they’d tell you.
Brash took a cab to a midtown hotel, wondering all the way why human beings would choose to live in such a place. As he slid his credit card across the hotel counter to the agent on duty, he glanced at the name, Brandon Fornight. It seemed unlikely that it was a coincidence that that the mysterious look-alike’s first name began with the same four letters. He ordered room service and pulled out his laptop.
Getting intel on the guy didn’t take advanced ops. Within an hour Brash knew where Brannach St. Germaine worked, what kind of car he drove, what kind of women he dated, who his tailor was, and where he liked to dine. There was no shortage of photos online, but the one that grabbed his attention wasn’t one of the many with starlets or debutantes on his arm. It was the one taken with his arm around his mother as they were arriving together for some red carpet fundraiser. Brash had an almost irresistible compulsion to reach up and touch her face on the screen in front of him.
The knock on the door signaled that room service had arrived. It cost a fortune, but looked and tasted like shit. So he closed the computer and went out for a walk to clear his head and find something edible.
Brand takes a job nobody wants to earn the respect of club members. Being third generation SSMC doesn't go very far in biker cred.
Camden Carmichael is running from a psycho ex. Lucky for her that her father has the means to hire Sanctuary Security to protect her until the divorce is finalized.
Two strangers set out on a road trip together. At the end of it, neither will ever be the same again.
Brandon St. Germaine was at the top of the billionaire playboy heap when he learned about a side of the family that had been kept in secret. He left New York, moved to Texas, and took most of the corporate empire with him, restructuring so that he could spend time learning about the Texas motorcycle club branch of his family that had formed its own kind of dynasty.
His dad, president of the club his grandfather founded, spent three decades converting the club's income sources to legitimate business dealings. One of the biggest earners was the security service. When a ridiculously wealthy, but justifiably frightened father hires the SSMC to protect his daughter from the psycho she's divorcing, Brand gets the job.
Get it today and find out why people are calling this series heart-throbbing!
Brant shrugged a big shoulder. “Too much green to turn away even if I need to do it myself. Arnold said the dad could have taken out a contract for what he’s paying us. And he’s right. It’s a chunk of change.”
When Arnold had blurted that out in meeting, he’d gotten several awkward minutes of silent stares from around the club table. They were bikers, but they weren’t killers. Even back in the days when they operated outside the law, they hadn’t been killers. At present they were businessmen who happened to like bikes and hold a certain disdain for authority and rules of all kinds.
“What’s involved? Pick her up and fly her here?”
Brant laughed and shook his head. “If that was all there was to it, guys wouldn’t be ducking around corners avoiding me. The man has hired the club to execute the disappearance of his daughter and keep her in the wind until after the divorce is final.”
“Why does she need to disappear until after the divorce is finalized?”
“The soon-to-be ex-husband is dangerous and greedy. The girl’s father thinks he may try to have her killed before the divorce goes through. He suspects this man of devising some clever means that would give him an airtight alibi while also making him eligible to inherit her trust fund.”
“Who is it?”
“The client?”
“Yes.”
“Severn Carmichael.” Brand’s eyebrows went up and he whistled. “I suspected you’d know who he is.”
“Our enterprises have touched circuits now and then.”
“He know who you are?”
“He probably knows who I am, just like I know who he is, but we’ve never met.”
Brant seemed satisfied with that. “What do you think?”
“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. I need to pick her up somewhere in New York, bring her to you, and make sure she’s not seen or followed on the way.”
“In a nutshell.”
“What aren’t you telling me? Why isn’t it safer to shelter in place wherever she is?”
“He’s scared. Really scared. Thinks this guy can get through any defense he can mount.”
Brandon nodded thoughtfully. “When did you tell him we’d get her?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“Day after tomorrow? Forty eight hours to come up with a plan and make arrangements to be away from the office?”
“Security will work with you on a plan. Taking time off work? Come on. You’re the boss, aren’t you? You want the job or not? If you do, I’ll call a meeting and get a vote on patching you.”
Brandon hadn’t realized how badly he wanted that until it was offered. He’d thought it was something that would never be within his grasp, but suddenly there it was. He didn’t really have a choice. Once in a lifetime offer to get the only thing he wanted that he didn’t already have?
Hell, yes.
“Hell, yes.”
Brant smiled as they stood up. He slapped Brandon on the shoulder and it made Brand’s heart ache for the years he’d missed not having his father in his life.
“I’ll call you later with the verdict,” Brant said.
They mounted their rides and ignited the engines. The noise made all the patrons of Chuy’s turn and look. The men wished they were on those bikes. The women wished they were sitting behind the men on those bikes.
Brant turned west on Bee Caves. Brandon saluted as he turned east.
New York Times bestselling author of thirteen romances. Victoria's Knights of Black Swan series won BEST PARANORMAL ROMANCE SERIES for the past THREE YEARS IN A ROW. 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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RHYTHMIC EMOTION by Margaret Lowe
RHYTHMIC EMOTION
by Margaret Lowe
Poetry full of emotion; dark and romantic. Margaret put her heart and soul into these poems for the enjoyment of others.
Amazon ✯ Amazon Int'l ✯ Goodreads
Hello, I’m Margaret Lowe and I’m a writer. I was born in a small town in California and back then I was known as Margaret Williams. Even as a little girl I knew I was to be a writer…well either that or a singer, but there were always people who’d tell me that I’d never make it as one and you know what? I believed them. And that’s how my dream of being a singer died. That’s how my dream of being a writer almost died. But then my personal hero, my dad, inspired me to never give up and to always fight for what I wanted despite what people were saying. He told me I could do anything I wanted if I put my mind to it, and that’s what I did. Of course, being the first time I gave it a real try, it was a real struggle... I knew what I wanted to write, I had ideas, but I didn’t quite know how to write them down…sometimes I still struggle with that. There were also times when I’d lose my inspiration, and the worst was when I needed something to write, just to escape the madness surrounding me, but it felt as if the creativity was gone. But there were also the times when I’d be struck by this idea that’d keep me up at night just to put it on paper before it escaped me and didn’t return. So I made the best of it.
I found the strength to pull myself and my life together and now I’m publishing my first book. Let’s keep our fingers crossed that my muse is here to stay.
I hope you, my readers, are going to see through my eyes the story of my characters and love them like I do.
My books and stories are dedicated to the memory of my father and to my beautiful mother for without your love and support this dream would have never been a reality.
BREATHLESS by Georgia Lyn Hunter
BREATHLESS
Players to Men series
by Georgia Lyn Hunter
Genre: Contemporary Romance
When the fairy tale life you believed in falls apart, there is nothing else left…
Or so I thought, until Trouble, wrapped in one hunky body and a sinful smile promising untold pleasure of the carnal kind, lands on my doorstep. Despite what my body demands or the fact that I’m irresistibly drawn to him, I’d been burned too deeply to dare try again. Besides, Max Meade-Sinclair is my younger sister’s best friend—and totally off-limits.
Ila Logan’s coolly dismissive manner captures and challenges me from the moment our paths cross. What I want, I usually get. A little thing like age isn’t going to stop me. Neither are the men who disappear into her secluded room. However, she proves a difficult opponent who leaves me falling for her a little more at each encounter.
This tempestuous woman is mine, but to win her, I must dig deeper, and show her that beneath my brawling, player facade exists a man who would go to the ends of the earth to make her happy.
But surviving my own dark past may just destroy the fragile bond growing between us…
“Why are you here? Don’t you have a client to see to?”
A sigh escaped her. “Max, this isn’t working. Kate, my boss, has a place available. It’s not very expensive—”
“Of course,” I drawled and took another pull from my smoke. “Easier to get rid of me than face the truth, isn’t it, Ila? Be honest with yourself for once. You want me, too, and you’re too fucking scared to admit it.”
Her gaze shifted away from mine and then came back—a hint of desperation in her gaze. “I’m not scared.”
“Really?” Anger edged my cold tone. “Then why so anxious to get rid of me? Running, Ila?”
“I’m not running—don’t you want a decent bed to sleep on instead of a couch? And stop calling me that!”
She didn’t like me calling her Ila? Satisfaction welled. I’d rattled her. “It’s your name, isn’t it?”
Her mouth tightened. “Not the way you say it.”
“It’s odd. My sleeping arrangements never came up until I wanted to rearrange your client’s face.”
“You can’t be comfortable there.”
I ignored that. “Just how do I say your name, Logan?” I lowered my tone to a sensual purr. “And I don’t care where I sleep so long as it’s near you.”
The mouth I was dying to taste again opened then closed. I’d never hidden the fact that I wanted her.
“Stop it.” A whisper.
I took another pull on my smoke. “Why?”
“God, Max, must I spell this out for you—”
“That you’re older?”
A deep sigh left her. “Yes, that’s part of it.”
What? I was too young to even consider the type of relationship she’d probably want?
Grasping her hand, I pressed it against my chest. “Whatever is happening inside here tells me differently. When I think of him naked around you, I want to kill him.”
Her lips trembled. She eased her hand from under mine. “Max, don’t make this any harder than it is—”
Her eyes widened. Bet she hadn’t meant to let that slip.
Hell, I could be a nice guy and let it go. I could even take up the offer of whatever poky box of an apartment she’d so sweetly offered. But I wasn’t nice. I always walked where I shouldn’t. And when it came to this gorgeous and insecure girl who thought she was too old for me, I had no qualms about not being fucking nice.
“So you think it’s wrong, me wanting you?”
“Yes.”
The fact that she said it without hesitation twisted my stomach.
“And I have a date. Tomorrow,” she added.
Irritation surged through me. No more, I was done playing.
“I see.” I eyed her for a second. “Okay, then. One kiss. Can’t hurt, right, with you dating someone else?” I killed the end bit of my smoke on a nearby wrought iron table and tossed it away. “And I want it all, Logan, since it’s probably the only thing I’ll get from you.” Sliding my hands into my pockets, I rocked on my heels and waited.
“You’re crazy!” She spun and headed back for the stairs.
“Scared?” My soft word floated in the night. Accusing.
She stopped dead. A low growl escaping her, she pivoted and stomped back to me. Grabbing my tee, she yanked me down to her and slammed her mouth on mine.
It wasn’t the kiss I wanted, but it pierced me all the way to my hardened heart.
Before she pulled away, I slid my arms around her waist. “Not so fast. That’s not the kiss I want—this is.”
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I’ve been creating stories from the moment I could string two words together. No matter the tale, it always has romance woven through them. Yes, I'm a hopeless romantic.
When I’m not writing or plotting new books, I like to read, travel, painting, or troll flea markets where I usually buy things I might never actually use because they're so pretty.
After working in a few jobs all art related, a chosen career as a fashion designer, then an art teacher, I finally found my passion four years ago: writing. There really is no other job I’d rather do.
Oh, and I live in the beautiful country of South Africa.
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MIDNIGHT by Kristy Centeno
MIDNIGHT
Forgotten Divinity #2
by Kristy Centeno
Genre: NA Paranormal Fantasy
A past shrouded in darkness.
A mission that can mean the difference between life and death.
One week to find the answers they need.
With the memories of her historical love for the Soul Broker who was once commissioned to harvest her soul, eradicated from her mind, Daya must embark on a perilous journey through dangerous territory to find those who might shed some light into the mystery that surrounds them. But what she uncovers along the way may prove too daunting for her to come to terms with.
Trapped in a loop she can’t get out of, Daya’s only tool for survival is trusting Mason. But will betrayal be a determining factor when they both have something to gain by giving up on each other?
NOTE: This book is the continuation of the short story featured in the anthology, Blood in the Shadows. Midnight picks up right where Shadows left off
Excerpt #1
The demon growls in frustration, shaking the wounded hand as if to clear it of pain. His midnight eyes glance up at me with undisguised menace.
“Hunter,” he manages to growl.
I pay attention to his face, spotting a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth and two sunken eyes with dark circles underneath, and a jaw that juts forward in an abnormal manner as he glares down at me. He’s ominous and pissed off. Not a good combination.
“Get out of here, Dex,” I shout at my informant, not once ungluing my eyes from the figure five feet from me.
“Daya.” The demon’s lips curve up into the most sinister grin I’ve ever seen. “The fallen Angel.” He laughs, but the gesture lacks mirth. “You know what I find ironic?”
I hold off on replying, not really interested in anything he has to say.
“The hunter has become the hunted.” He closes and opens his fist, making his discomfort apparent.
He knows who wants me dead. This has my attention.
Excerpt #2
“Do you honestly believe what we felt for each other was a mistake?”
“It was. That’s why we were castigated.” It was a sin of the worst kind.
Mason shakes his head. “I refuse to believe that. I may not remember what happened, but there’s one thing I’m sure of.” He draws me to him and wraps his arms around my waist, anchoring me to him. “What we felt for each other wasn’t wrong. Anything so right couldn’t have been immoral.”
His lips are on mine before I can think to oppose or argue that his point of view is wrong. The fighter in me urges me to knee him in the groin and follow with a beat-down, but I end up struggling for a moment before relenting. He’s determined to seduce some sense into me and I’m running out of will to keep from trapping myself in this mind game. Whether his intention is for me to trust him or he simply wants to help me through the monster of doubt eating away at me, I don’t know. Nor do I care.
I allow him to take me beyond my grief and into a sweet, almost painful harmony. The fight goes out of me and what few reservations remain melt away with a quick stroke of Mason’s tongue. Every feeling of helplessness evaporates with each term of endearment that escapes his half-open lips as he alternates between kissing my mouth, face, and neck. I yield to him, our caresses becoming more fervent and urgent with each passing second.
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Two dark worlds...One night that will change their lives forever...Where evil lurks, only goodness can prevail.
Acclaimed author Kristy Centeno, and Bestselling author of The Star Child series, Stephanie Keyes, bring you two stories "Shadows" and "The Boy In The Trees" that prove love and light can overcome the pain and shadows. With secrets hidden in the night, and dangerous creatures prowling the woods, trusting the enemy can mean either life or death.
Kristy Centeno is the author of the Secrets of the Moon saga and Keeper Witches series.
December 15, 2016
DEATH AND DESTINY TRILOGY by N.D. Jones
DEATH AND DESTINY TRILOGY
Books 1 & 2
by N.D. Jones
Genre: paranormal romance
Before trust and love can take hold, grow solid roots, and blossom into a reality larger than self, fear must be conquered and faith embraced. Yet fear of an ancient prophecy, of burning magical power, and a broken heart, Sanura Williams, psychology professor, is unprepared when Special Agent Assefa Berber enters her life, hunting a preternatural serial killer. Assefa's intelligent, chocolate eyes and intoxicating aura signature stirs her fire spirit but frightens the woman.
In a world where all is not as it seems, Sanura and Assefa must battle the gods' first creations - vile predators who threaten the safety of humans. Each confrontation, each bloody clash, will bring Sanura and Assefa closer to fulfilling the prophecy of being the Fire Witch and Cat of Legend - the ones who will save humanity from the Water Witch of Legend. Death, godly magic, and physical attraction draw Sanura and Assefa to each other, but fear and faith will determine their destiny.
Sanura rushed off the elevator and down a bright corridor with pink, blue, and yellow balloons decorating the walls of the children’s wing, bordering a mural of happy children in a park, the sun above affirming their special place in the world. An illusion, she thought, a beautiful illusion of how life should be for children. The truth, however, rested behind the closed hospital doors, where reality had long since claimed their innocence.Her heels clicked with each long stride she took, her pace hurried, purposeful. Mike only sought her counsel on cases of a unique nature, counsel that was off the record. And she was late. She hated being late, and Mike would worry. Mike constantly worried. He’d probably already called her mother or Cynthia alerting them to her MIA status.
Sanura made a right onto another colorful corridor. At the end of the glistening hallway sat Mike, cell phone in hand and an all-too-familiar scowl gracing his aging features. As if sensing her presence, he looked up from his phone, and their eyes met. His face softened, reminding Sanura of the soft heart encased within the detective’s tortoise shell of a body.
“I’m sorry I’m late. The beltway was a beast.” She bent to give Mike a heartfelt hug, her long arms circling his taut shoulders.
“It’s all right. I was just beginning to worry about you, but you showed up before I had a chance to call Cynthia.”
“You always worry about me, and I’ll tell you the same thing I told Dad and I tell Mom, I can—”
“Take care of myself,” he finished. “I know, but that won’t stop me from worrying, so you might as well accept it.”
She kissed Mike on the cheek and sat beside him in one of the wooden chairs lining the hallway, conveniently serving as a family waiting area.
“So, tell me about this case of yours, the girl, and what you need me to do.” Sanura leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, seeking a comfort she knew wouldn’t last once Mike began.
Sanura listened to the detailed, unabridged facts of the case, having already read reports of the slayings in the Baltimore Sun. The gruesome murders headlined every local news program from the early morning news to the eleven o’clock evening news.
She nodded, listening intently to details about Elizabeth Ferrell’s horrific night. While Sanura enjoyed using her training to help Mike, she hated when the case involved children, which didn’t make any sense since she was a child psychologist. Perhaps that was it, she reasoned, as Mike regaled her with one morbid piece of evidence followed by an even more depressing fact. Perhaps it took a person who detested even the thought of an injured child to be such a strong advocate for their rights and protection. Sanura wanted to help those lost souls. No, she needed to help them, free them from their pain, their misery.
So she sat and listened and fought the urge to cover her mouth and squirm in her chair when Mike described the crime scene photos his temporary partner had shown him earlier in the day. And just when she was about to tell him she didn’t need to know the coroner’s findings, a wave of energy slammed into her, shredding her concentration, dissolving all thoughts of the child and the case. The energy rode Sanura hard, forcing her eyes to close, mouth slightly parting, aura open and alert, searching for the source.
Deep breaths, Sanura. Deep, calming breaths.
With embarrassed concentration, she slowly opened her eyes. And a smiling stranger stood before her, a chilled bottle of water in his right hand.
Their eyes met, and another blast of energy assaulted her senses. She didn’t close her eyes this time and refused to look away. No, Sanura simply absorbed the magical energy, opening her senses and pulling the scent to her. It swirled about her, strong but gentle. And while it should have felt strange, as if her body had been invaded by a foreign substance, it simply felt—right.
The man’s eyes widened, almost as much as his nostrils when he inhaled deeply. Still he only stared, gaze unwavering, eyes sparkling with unasked questions. Yeah, she had questions of her own, like, had he experienced the odd sensation too? Sanura didn’t know. But she had felt it, as strongly as she now felt the heat of his gaze roaming her body, slow and sensual, ratcheting up the indescribable energy between them tenfold. Damn.
Mike stood and placed himself between Sanura and the fine stranger with the most tantalizing aura she had ever sensed. Mike faced the man, his head craned up to meet the taller man’s eyes, a snarl seeping through his lips when he said, “We talked about this, remember what I said.”
Frowning, the stranger gave Mike a hard you’re-not-worth-my-time look before gazing over Mike’s shoulder and at her. His smile returned and settled firmly on her still-seated form. Angling from behind her godfather, the stranger extended his right hand.
“Hi, I’m Special Agent Assefa Berber. I assume you’re Dr. Williams, the child psychologist and professor.”
Sanura stood and returned the smile. She took the offered hand and shook, trying—futilely—to ignore his unique masculine scent. The scent went straight to all the right places, subtly finding her genetic code and adding his. Impossible. “Yes, it’s nice to meet you, Special Agent Berber. Mike’s told me so much about you.” But not everything. Not nearly.
In a world of mystery and magic, sometimes old bonds must be broken before new ones can be formed. Who knew that finding one’s soul mate would test bonds and unleash beasts?
Mami Wata and Oya are now free from their watery prison and ready to wage a battle five hundred years in the making. Special Agent Assefa Berber and Dr. Sanura Williams are the prophesized Cat and Fire Witch of Legend. To save the world from Mami Wata, a water goddess with a bloody thirst for power and an insatiable appetite for death and destruction, they must defeat her beasts and the Water Witch of Legend.
Assefa and Sanura are fully in love but possess only a partial mate bond. While Sanura has merged their auras, bonding Assefa’s cat spirit to her, she has yet to accept his claiming bite. Their incomplete mate bond and their new relationship are tested when Mami Wata sets her malevolent eyes on them, manipulating beasts, sacrificing humans, and creating heartache. Can their bond survive, or will they drown under the vicious tide of godly might?
With focused golden eyes, alert gray ears, and keen black snout, the Mngwa took in his surroundings.
The prickly grass under his large, wide paws.
The heat of the midday sun beating down on his thick black-and-gray fur.
The scent of mullah bamyah—garlic, tomato juice, minced beef, okra, salt, and pepper.
The four snarling big cats stalking him.
Scanning each strong, lithe, and ferocious cat, the Mngwa cataloged their stance, their position, and the distance between each other and from the Mngwa. They flanked him, a large cat to his front, rear, and sides. If the Mngwa could smile, he would have. Foolishly, they thought their numbers a strategic advantage that would fell the undefeated Mngwa of myth and legend. Instead of a smile, he snarled, a baring of elongated teeth.
A challenge.
The four cats attacked, their bestial response to his bait.
Four sets of paws struck the ground, claws digging into grass and dirt, brawny legs propelling them forward. Razor-sharp teeth bared, husky growls cut through the muggy June air, and feline eyes glowed with a premature win.
The leopard reached the Mngwa first, snapping and going for the bigger cat’s neck. Not wasting time with the youngest of the four attackers, the Mngwa sidestepped the snarling, snapping leopard. To only pivot, turn, and ram the side of the too-slow feline with the Mngwa’s massive head. Away from the Mngwa the leopard flew, sailing through the air and crashing to the ground several feet away.
The three other cats spared no pitying glance to the downed leopard, who lay on his side, breathing labored and ragged. A sure sign of broken ribs.
More growls and snapping, each cat trying for a different part of the Mngwa’s massive body. The Mngwa was having none of it, so he went on the offensive. Leaping over the biggest threat, the Bengal tiger, the Mngwa landed nimbly, then ran straight at the cheetah. Taking the speckled feline by surprise, the Mngwa powered over the cat, knocking him down before hauling him up by his scrawny neck and shaking. The cheetah’s fragile neck was held firm between the Mngwa’s curved saber-shaped teeth.
When the Mngwa no longer felt resistance, he opened his deadly jaws and allowed the cheetah to fall from his brutal clutch and slip, nearly unconscious, to the waiting grass.
Smack. Bite.
The lion and tiger claimed simultaneous strikes on the Mngwa. A swipe across his hindquarters and a bite to his side. The lion latched onto the Mngwa, his lethal teeth working to find purchase in the cat of legend’s winter dense fur and even thicker hide.
Like the predator he was, the Bengal tiger charged while the Mngwa grappled with the formidable lion. A mix of yellow-and-orange with wide dark-brown stripes, the 510-pound tiger landed on top of the Mngwa. His weight hefty, his claws long, sharp, and dangerous. The maw that threatened his nape even deadlier.
The lion kept up his offensive, kept clawing, kept sinking his teeth in deeper and deeper.
The Mngwa roared, reared back on his hind legs, forcing the tiger off him and to the hard ground. With a side dive, the Mngwa dropped the entirety of his 695 pounds onto the 380-pound lion. His long, dark mane shot up and out with the force of the attack.
The downed lion snapped and snarled but didn’t get up. No, with the Mngwa looming over him, golden eyes marble hard, paw raised, claws out and within striking range of the lion’s throat, the feline had only two choices.
One would see him dead, while the other …
The lion lowered his eyes, and then his head.
Submission.
Pleased, the Mngwa shifted his gaze to the tiger, his other senses having tracked the big cat the entire time.
He knew it would come down to this—the Mngwa versus the Bengal tiger. It always did.
The big cats circled, taking each other’s measure. They searched for an opening, an opportunity to attack with the least probability of an effective and bruising counterattack. The combatants knew each other well—style of combat, defensive and offensive tactics.
Speed, size, and agility were on the Mngwa’s side. Yet, the toxin from an animal no longer than an inch, the golden poison frog could kill a dozen men. Its tiny size and bright colors deceiving. Not, at a length of 120 inches and 43 inches of shoulder height, with a tail just as long, there was anything small about the Bengal tiger baring his gleaming white teeth at the Mngwa.
The Mngwa underestimated no one—no matter the outward appearance of the enemy. Even the cat of legend, if incautious, could taste the bitter tang of defeat. So he watched and waited and plotted the tiger’s downfall.
The tiger charged, all muscle and menace. His long, powerful legs ate up the distance between them, determined copper eyes all for the Mngwa.
The cat of legend braced himself, choosing to face the big cat head-on. He wanted this fight, the primal challenge that only a great beast like the Bengal tiger could give him. A glorious battle of fangs, fur, and claws that would push, force, and compel the Mngwa to prove his worth, his manhood, his undisputed dominance as the predator of predators.
Crash.
The ground shook - the Mngwa and tiger locked in a feral clench.
Biting.
Clawing.
Pulling.
Strong. The tiger was so strong. But not strong enough.
The Mngwa opened his mouth wide and clamped down on fur and flesh. The neck of his opponent was thick with rigid muscles and delicate veins. The pulse of the tiger’s life a strong, fast throbbing beat in the Mngwa’s deadly mouth.
The tiger whimpered his pain. Neither loud nor long. But enough, enough for the Mngwa’s ears to detect the effect of his attack. Yet the tiger fought on, as the Mngwa knew he would. As the Mngwa wanted him to, the tiger too stubborn, courageous, and fierce to submit so easily.
No, there was much fight left in the Bengal tiger.
He swiped at the Mngwa, vicious claws finding vulnerable underbelly and drawing blood. It hurt, but not enough for the bigger cat to release his vice grip. The Mngwa sank his teeth deeper into the side of the tiger’s neck, tasting blood and prideful were-cat magic.
Her gardenia scent slammed into his senses seconds before the Mngwa and the tiger were surrounded by a ring of raging fire. Breaking his hold on the smaller cat, the Mngwa turned to see an angry fire witch barreling toward them—green eyes cold, red-gold hair and long striped sundress blowing in a wind that came out of nowhere. Her deadly focus was all for the Bengal tiger who, unlike when he fought the Mngwa, trembled with fear.
Lightning hissed.
Thunder growled.
And fire witch magic crackled in the blistering summer air.
Dammit, he had to do something and fast. Retreating as far as he could go within the cage of fire, the Mngwa propelled himself forward, accelerating when he approached the heated barrier and jumped. With ease, he cleared the four-foot high ring of fire and landed, with an oompf, on top of a glaring Sanura.
“I can’t believe you just—”
He licked her. From the front ring bodice of her green-and-orange striped dress, up her toned shoulders and around the tie neck, and into thick hair covering an ear, the Mngwa tasted his witch.
“Get off me, you big furball. I can’t breathe.”
Satisfied and comfortable, the Mngwa nuzzled his witch’s face, neck, and her heaving breasts, unfazed by Sanura’s angry protestations. The only part of him that pinned the witch down was his massive head and part of his chest. But, the Mngwa supposed, even that much weight could be heavy on a woman who, while five-feet-ten-inches tall, weighed no more than 140 pounds. With a teasing snort that had a lock of her wavy hair flying upward and out of her eye, the Mngwa decided it best to give the fire breathing witch some relief.
With a single thought from Assefa—I’ll take care of our witch, my friend, go to sleep—the cat gave way to the man. A transformative effect where fur and hide succumbed to hair and skin, paws and claws shrank to hands and legs, and golden eyes, muzzle, and fangs retreated, waning under Assefa’s command.
“Is that better?” Assefa smiled down at his hot-tempered girlfriend, right before settling the whole of him on top of the whole of her.
Very nice. Sanura made for the best mattress—plush, lush and with the right amount of firmness.
“You’re naked.” A huffed complaint that did nothing to encourage Assefa to move off her.
“Of course. My Mngwa doesn’t like clothing.” He shifted on top of her, letting Sanura feel just how naked he was. “He thinks pants are too binding. What do you think?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I think you need to worry more about that big damn tiger you were fighting rather than your Mngwa in boxers.”
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N. D. Jones lives in Maryland with her husband and two children. She is the founder of Kuumba Publishing, an art, audiobook, eBook, and paperback company. Kuumba Publishing is a forum for creativity, with a special commitment to promoting and encouraging creative works of authors and artists of African descent.
A desire to see more novels with positive, sexy, and three-dimensional African American characters as soul mates, friends, and lovers, inspired the author to take on the challenge of penning such romantic reads. She is the author of two paranormal romance series: Winged Warriors and Death and Destiny. N.D. likes to read historical and paranormal romance novels, as well as comics and manga.
ALL JAZZED UP by Tracy Ellen
ALL JAZZED UP
Book One: Love, Lies, & Ninja Missions
by Tracy Ellen
Genre: contemporary romance
A pretend marriage. A real desire. Being friends with no benefits has never been hotter! Jazy Axelrod’s in love with the hunky man-whore Max Byrd, who also happens to be her best guyfriend! Even worse, Jazy soon gets Max isn't into her that way. But Max has problems, too. A woman is trying to trap him into marriage. Max begs for Jazy's help. Jazy decides to give Max more than he ever bargained for. Can Jazy seduce the cynical player in just a few short weeks to believe in her, and happily-ever-after? Or does Jazy learn real love needs no convincing? A stand-alone HEA romance.
Gaze intent on my face, Max quirked a brow in weary amusement. “Look, I know what I’m asking you to do is underhanded and somewhat nuts, but doesn’t my continued mental health count for something?”
I laughed shortly, shaking my head. “So, let me be sure I’ve got this right. Instead of you being shanghaied by your mother into a marriage you don’t want, you want to shanghai me into marriage I don’t want to protect you?”
“Yes,” Max replied succinctly, not even having the grace to look a little bit embarrassed.
“My God, such a deal.” I rolled my eyes and tugged to release my hand from his warm grasp. “Thanks a helluva lot for putting me on the spot. As a wedding gift, can I expect to be bitch-slapped by your mother, too?”
“Ah, Jaz, you can take Angela.” Max flashed his killer grin. “Besides, your sentence will only be for a few months, not for life.” His voice lowered huskily. “I’d never ask something like this of you if it wasn’t vitally important. Will you help me?” He squeezed my hand and entreated, “Please?”
I’d known the moment it was uttered Max’s proposal was fake, but the last little flame of hope fluttering inside me had died at his explanation. Ruthlessly, I stomped out any lingering sparks that Max and I would ever go out on a real date.
Max hadn’t coerced me into falling in love or broken any promises. My hurt feelings were the direct result of taking a known womanizer seriously, something I knew all to well a woman with a speck of self-preservation should never do.
I accept Max is a dickhead. But he’s also my best friend nothing more, nothing less.
Still, pretending to be married for real to Max in the name of friendship for a few months, when I’d just vowed to get over him, would be a special kind of torture.
Am I that big of a masochist?
Or could accepting Max’s fake marriage proposal in the name of friendship be my chance to prove, once and for all, that I am willing to forgive, forget, and finally get over his ass?
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Tracy Ellen was born in Indiana to middle-class parents, the third out of five hellions. She’s lived in the Midwest her whole life--in a small town, on a farm, and in the big city. Currently, she resides in the suburbs of St Paul, Minnesota with her incredibly tolerant, awesome husband and family. Always an avid reader of all genres, her writing career began in 2012 with the debut of A Date with Fate, a blend of contemporary-romance/ romantic suspense / and romantic comedy. Tracy’s goal as a writer will always be to create worlds readers can’t wait to dive into for a few hours of fun and excitement. She thrives on trying to come up with the witty banter, steamy love scenes, pulse-throbbing action, and belly-laughing humor her reader fans have come to love and expect in her novels. Please let Tracy know how she’s doing!
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December 13, 2016
A Typical Christmas
I'm not sure about your country, but here in Britain as soon as Bonfire Night is over (5th November), the Christmas advertising really gets going and the shops are laden with sparkles and temptations - although, it sneaks in before that around the peripheral of October.
Figments: viewBook.at/B005METJGK
I wrote a story about this - here it is from my collection called, Figments, called, A Typical Christmas:
A Typical Christmas
The mighty build-up to the festive season seems to start earlier each year.
By October, evidence of this creeps onto store shelves like a caterpillar that has changed into a butterfly, the colourful array of paraphernalia takes place of what now appears a dismal alternative; homemakers have to begin the ritual of ‘putting by’ a little something, perhaps a small feeling of panic setting in.
Whether it is true about Christmas being more enjoyable when we were young is difficult to prove, but different it most certainly was.
The childhood excitement and expectation were hard to contain but the simple belief in magic was absolute.
Walking through town, seeing the resplendent mosaic shop windows seducing us to part with money, Christmas illuminations above our heads, begrimed with car fumes; I must admit to a certain soft spot for it all.
At last the shopping done, the turkey trussed, the cake made with its aromatic fragrance of cinnamon, nutmeg and other exotic spices filling the home to its rafters, together with the pungent odour of citrus mixing with the sweet smell of mincemeat from the freshly baked pies makes your mouth water as you walk into the enticing warm kitchen.
The pervasive scent of spruce captures your imagination, transporting you at once to the Black Forest; this invasion of smells enough to put your senses in a whirl.
Decorating the Christmas tree is a custom most observe, bringing out the ancient baubles to hand alongside the new and those misshapen valuables created by younger hands; the finished creation a masterpiece before your eyes. While the iridescent trinkets of gold, crimson and sapphire, combined with the scintillating spectrum of colour from the boa-like tinsel and the blaze of rainbow globes cascading triumphantly like a waterfall, encompass their host with pride.
Just before the magical day, there has to be the visit to Father Christmas.
Small, warm hands grasp your own as you encourage the infant to advance through the meandering embellished passage to see the great man himself.
There he sits in all his scarlet glory, his ruddy complexion surrounded by his cotton wool-like whiskers, his joviality endearing him to you.
After a successful visit, your delighted child clutches the prize tightly, anticipating the wonder within.
Christmas has arrived, the peal of church bells in the distance reminding you of the carol singers the night before.
After opening the gaily covered parcels, the wrapping is strewn across the floor in a mad riot of colour.
Eventually, sitting down to the meal, the turkey browned to perfection, the steam curling towards you, the tempting aroma alone bursting those gastric juices to flow as a river into the mighty ocean. Cutting into the succulent creamy-white flesh, it becomes almost urgent to begin.
But first the helpings of crisp yet fluffy roast potatoes and long-nosed parsnips, flanking a creamy mound of mash, and the sprouts, like a dish of emeralds, the stuffing speckled with newly-picked herbs and to add that touch of vibrancy, orange baby carrots, barely cooked to retain the crunchy texture; all this incredible abundance topped with rich brown, silken gravy.
After piling your plate as high as Mount Everest, you glance through the window at the carpet of glistening white and the snowman, built with a lopsided, friendly smile, made with cold hands and warm hearts and note the frost covered trees, which look like giant glittering hands. And you think how lucky you are to be snug and safe and loved with your family around you.
When it’s all gone, that gluttonous feast, all retire to an afternoon of television – the repeats, the antique movie and the corny jokes. None of it matters except the tradition of it all; including the contented ebb and flow of Granddad on the deep, if worn, easy chair.
The children rake through their loot, hoping the more adventurous of us will play a game; Monopoly being the most favoured of them all.
Following this brave attempt, tea is served – if another morsel can be fitted in; sumptuous fruit cake, steeped in brandy, each bite taken in sin and sensuality; the ever present British cup of tea, piping hot by your side.
Regretfully, it all comes to an end.
Disrobing the tree and discarding it with sadness; thinking it must feel like a king abdicating the throne, another waiting for its coronation a year from now, the pine essence desperately asking for remission.
The commencing of diets and January sales and trudging through the sullied snow, seeing the tattered remnants of Christmas through shop windows, thinking; we really must try to do something different next year.
***
Does this feel familiar?
***
Whatever you celebrate, enjoy your festivities.
Keep reading and expand your mind and bring in the light.
For more of my stories that bring in the light of Christmas, please see - https://www.goodreads.com/author_blog...
INFAMOUS by Lori Sizemore
INFAMOUS by Lori Sizemore
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Justine Montgomery, daughter of a divorced beauty queen and TV magnate, is a tabloid disaster after her infamous sex tape. She’s so desperate to help save her family’s home she turns to her deal-making dad. Can she prove to him she’s cut out for a career in television or will she lose it all?
Sawyer has his own past and a successful career is his only goal. Seeing Justine fail would mean the promotion of a lifetime, but things get complicated when he develops feelings for her. Suddenly, the lines between work, life, sex, and love are blurry.
They will have to overcome the bitterness of a rejected ex, the controlling actions of her father, and the half-truths they’re telling one another to forge a lasting partnership both on the job and off the clock.
Justine put her fists on the bed and dipped her head until they were cheek to cheek. Turning to face him, she let her lips skim across the stubble on his cheek. A short sound escaped him at the touch. So like a growl, it inflamed her. She’d wanted to experience all of him, to touch and taste, a savage need to possess him took over. To take his mouth, to take him inside of her, until she drove all thought from him, the way he’d done to her. His scent flooded her senses, leaving her breathless, as she sought his kiss.
He pulled back to look at her, his eyes as unreadable as ever. He lifted his hand to her cheek and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. “What is it?” she asked, her breath still coming in uneven bursts.
“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.” His hand dropped and he eased himself from the mattress.
“About?”
He crossed behind her, to the door, and she twisted on the bed to look at him. Her robe gaped open with the movement, and she yanked it together with a hand, exposed now.
But he wouldn’t meet her gaze, wouldn’t look at her at all, so it didn’t much matter. He looked at the TV, the window, the floor. Everywhere but at her. “About us.” Finally, he let his gaze rest on her.
Justine flinched slightly, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed. She forced herself to maintain eye contact. “You should go now.”
Sawyer spoke her name, his voice soft and full of pity. For her.
“Don’t. Don’t say it like that. Pathetic Justine, so unwise when she chooses a lover.” Justine climbed off the bed and walked the ten steps across the room to stand in front of him. “You know, I never thought I’d meet anyone more emotionally broken than me.”
“I’m trying to do the right thing here, which is a pretty novel experience for me, so…give me a break.”
Justine whirled away, grabbed his jacket off the chair where he’d dropped it earlier, and threw it at his head. “Get. Out.”
Sawyer caught the jacket before it slapped him upside the head, which disappointed her. He opened the door and then wrenched back around to look at her. “This is twice I haven’t taken advantage of you when you threw yourself at me. Next time, I’m using you for sex. You couldn’t possibly be more pissed by that.”
“There won’t be a next time!”
The door slammed behind him, and she jumped, staring at it for the longest time. She couldn’t get back in that bed, not now. She’d been so foolish, attributing feelings to him he didn’t have, to rationalize her own desires were getting the best of her.
Tell the readers a little about you.
I’m a former social worker. I worked in mental health for ten years and have a B.S. in social and behavioural science, which I think helps me be a better writer. I’ve been married for 20 years and have three daughters.
What genre you mostly write in and why?
I mainly write contemporary romance with a healthy dose of rom-com. I can identify so much more with the struggles people face today than those of any other time period and I feel like I can tell really crunchy, interesting stories in this genre.
What inspired you to write your first book?
Infamous is my first book. I wanted to write about someone who seemed so unreal and out of touch with reality and show that she’s just a normal person, like everyone else. Her daily struggles came to me as I tried to compare her to what my life or a friend’s life would be like thrust into a situation that made our own painful secrets public fodder
When did you first, without hesitation, call yourself a writer?
When I started writing every day, on a schedule. There’s this saying that gets thrown around a lot: writer’s write. You can call yourself one and not be one if you never put down words. Conversely, you can be scared to own the title, but if you write every day—you’re a writer. I was proud of my dedication and productivity so I decided I’d earned the title “writer.”
How much of your books are realistic?
While this first book (that’s part of a coming trilogy) is set in a New York television studio with celebrities, I’d still call it a realistic look at life. There are problems, some that all of us face, like paying bills, and others that are more in-character (like how everyone has seen the main character naked and how difficult it is to go to the drug store knowing that). But it’s a real look at life.
What book are you reading now?
I just finished Hold Me by Courtney Milan. I felt it was a realistic look at being different, and how that changes everything.
What are your current projects?
Currently, I’m editing the second Infamous book, tentatively titled Unexpected. I’m also editing a trilogy of novellas I wrote set in 1958 Las Vegas. There will hopefully be a lot of new published stories from me in 2017 as these stories finish edits.
Do you see writing as a career?
Writing is my career. It’s my passion as well as the thorn in my side on a daily basis. It’s the best job I’ve ever had and I’m so fortunate to be able to pursue it to the exclusion of other jobs.
Did you learn anything from writing your book and what was it?
Everything comes back to family, for nearly everyone. They’re not perfect and sometimes their love can be constricting and hurtful, but if you bang your head on the wall enough, those walls will eventually crumble and you're left with the people who loved you all along.
What were your goals and intentions in your books, and how well do you feel you achieved them?
My goal is to show real people, with real problems, sometimes serious issues who find out that they’re perfect exactly as they are. It’s to show that love isn’t supposed to change us, but help us be our best selves. I think I achieve that and if I didn’t, I’d consider my story a complete fail.
What did you enjoy most about writing this book?
The glamour. I researched real designer clothing, real five-star restaurant menus, real fancy homes in New York. It’s a world away from my daily life, in rural West Virginia. I wouldn’t know a designer tag in my own clothes, but I knew exactly what Justine and company would wear to any given occasion.
Lori Sizemore grew up in the mountains of West Virginia and never quite managed to escape them. Lori lives at home with her husband of twenty-plus years and two of her three daughters. She also lives with two dogs, a cat, and five hermit crabs. Yes, five of them. This menagerie and her family keep her busy. She worked in mental health as a social worker for ten years before making the choice to write full-time.
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A WITCH'S HOLIDAY WEDDING by Tena Stetler
A WITCH'S HOLIDAY WEDDING
by Tena Stetler
Genre: paranormal romance
Elemental witch, Pepper McKay and former Navy SEAL, Lathen Quartz have built Lobster Cove Wildlife Rescue and Rehabilitation Center on enchanted McKay land. During a romantic interlude on Halloween night, Pepper happily agrees to become Lathen’s wife. What better day than Winter Solstice for their wedding in a town that loves celebrations and Christmas. However, planning a wedding and operating their wildlife center takes a toll on both Pepper and Lathen.
When the couple takes a much-needed break for Thanksgiving with family in Colorado, a Maine snowstorm fills the center with injured wildlife. Lathen finds himself drawn into a covert military mission, while trying to deal with issues concerning friends and family. Pepper wants to cancel the wedding. Is she having second thoughts? Will the nosy McKay ghosts, Lathen’s werewolf pack, Pepper’s parents, and her best friend help or hinder the wedding and holiday plans?
A strong arm whipped around her waist, the air whooshed out as she squealed. Pepper balled up her gloved fist as a large warm hand wrapped around her wrist. "I've seen you defend yourself. Not going to chance it." A deep voice chuckled behind her.
"Lathen -- I'm going to..."
He spun her around and covered her cold lips with his warm ones. Werewolves run several degrees warmer than most of the population, one of the many things she loved about him. She relaxed into him, their parkas making a wisping sound as the material rubbed against each other. "That's better," he murmured against her lips.
All at once the lights in the town square blinked on. Low positioned red and green laser light decorations sparkled over the snow-covered ground and onto the gazebo complementing the white lights. From the other direction, a blue laser sprinkled tiny snowflakes across the building. Evening fell quickly in December.
"This is absolutely beautiful," She breathed against his chilled cheek and whirled out of his hold taking in all the lighted decorations not visible earlier. Then she pointed toward the bulletin board. "I've been reading the town's holiday events, Lobster Cove really embraces Christmas."
"Told you." Lathen said smugly. "Even some of the boats docked in the harbor are decked out with colored lights."
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Pepper McKay comes from a long line of powerful witches. Unfortunately, magic brings her nothing but trouble. She learned the love of wildlife rescue and rehab from her Aunt Ashling. After graduating from college, Pepper works for Salem Wildlife Sanctuary and lives from paycheck to paycheck until she inherits the McKay property in Lobster Cove. With the family land and resources, she dares to dream of starting her own wildlife rescue and rehabilitation center.
Lathen Quartz, a former Navy SEAL turned handyman maintains the enchanted McKay property for the McKay estate. But someone is trying to steal the McKay magic. Lathen offers to help Pepper achieve her life-long dream of building a wildlife center. During the long hours spent together on the project, their mutual attraction can’t be denied. But each harbors a deep, dark secret. Will they overcome their demons and give love a chance?
Tena Stetler is a paranormal romance and cozy mystery author with an over-active imagination. She wrote her first vampire romance as a tween, to the chagrin of her mother and the delight of her friends. With the Rocky Mountains outside her window, Tena sits at her computer surrounded by a wide array of paranormal creatures telling her their tales. Colorado is her home; shared with her husband of many moons, a brilliant Chow Chow, a spoiled parrot and a forty-year-old box turtle. Any winter evening, you can find her curled up in front of a crackling fire with a good book, a mug of hot chocolate and a big bowl of popcorn. During the summer you can find her cozied up around a campfire with a good book.
