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My Top 10 North American Cryptid List - Release Day Blitz Tempting The Light by Bonnie Gill

My Top 10 North American Cryptid ListBy: Bonnie Gill 
Tempting The Light is the first novel in the L.A.M.P.S. (Legends and Myth Police Squad) series that features hunky secret agents who find true love while hunting and slaying dangerous Cryptids.

What is a Cryptid? A Cryptid is a creature that has no scientific proof that it exists. Therefore, they are considered legends, myths, folklore, or extinct. The study of these animals and plants is called Cryptozoology.

My Top 10 North American Cryptid List
1. Loup Garou- The Loup Garou is a Cajun werewolf that is found in Louisiana. The legend is they are human by day and change into a half-man/half-wolf at night. They remain this way for 101 days and then transfer the curse to another human. They can live in swaps, fields, caves, and other places. 

2. Champ- Champ or Champy is a sea serpent or type of dinosaur that lives in Lake Champlain. Champ is 20 to 80 feet long and can be seen from Quebec to New York. Although hundreds of photos have been taken of this creature, there is still no scientific evidence that Champ exists. 

3. Jackalope- The Jackalope is a jackrabbit with antelope horns. They have been seen all over North America but originate from Wyoming. Skeptics say they are a brainstorm of a taxidermist. While others believe they are jackrabbits with the Shope Papilloma Virus that causes antler-type tumors to grow on a rabbit’s head. In legends they can be fearless and ferocious. 



4. Mermaids- Mermaids go way back to Greek mythology. They have an upper human body and a fish tail. In Myths, the water spirits or sirens will lure fishermen to their deaths. The Discovery Channel aired two controversial documentaries called Mermaids: The Body Found and Mermaids: The New Evidence. 

5. Thunderbirds- Thunderbirds are giant birds of prey with supernatural powers. Witnesses have said they have a 12 to 20 foot wing span with lizard features. The legends of Thunderbirds originated from Native Americans. 

6. Megaldon- The Megaldon’s name means giant tooth and is believed to be a prehistoric shark. He can weigh up to 100 tons and is 55-60 feet long. They feed on Great White Sharks and whales and have no problem crushing them with 10 to 18 tons of biting force. People have claimed to see them in every ocean. The Discovery Channel aired a show called Megaldon: The New Evidence.

7. Chupacabra- Chupacabra or El Chupacabra means goatsucker in Spanish. They were first discovered in Puerto Rico but have thousands of sightings in the US and Mexico. They prey on livestock and drain their victim’s blood. The Chupacabra can either be a large reptile with spikes along its back or a giant hairless dog. To this day the captured chupacabras have been sloths, raccoons, or dogs with mange. 

8. Mothman- The Mothman is a 7 foot man with bat-like wings and large red glowing eyes. It was first seen in Point Pleasant WV before the Silver Bridge collapse. Some say he predicts great tragedy while others believe he causes it. There were sightings of a Mothman in Russia in 1986 before the Chernobyl nuclear disaster. 

9. The Jersey Devil- The Jersey Devil has the body of a horse, bat-like wings, talons for hands, and horns. Its face can either be a horse or goat. The legend originated in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. It’s said Mother Leeks was pregnant with her thirteenth child. Exhausted by her unruly children, during birth she cried out, “Oh please, let this be the devil.” The baby morphed into the monster and flew out the window. 

10. Sasquatch- Other names are Bigfoot, Grassman, Yeti, Skunk ape, Ozark Howler, Momo, and many more. The Sasquatch is the most sighted and popular among cryptids. He’s said to be an ape with human-type features and 7 to 9 foot tall. They are now saying they are aliens because UFOs are often spotted near Sasquatch sightings. 

That’s all for my My Ten Most Popular Cryptids in North America list. 

Have you ever seen something that was unexplainable? 

Thanks for taking the time to read my post.





Tempting The LightL.A.M.P.S.Book OneBonnie Gill
Genre: Humorous Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing
Date of Publication:  April 20, 2016
Word Count: 75,000
Cover Artist:Fiona Jayde
Book Description
Bad luck magnet Abby Fitzpatrick gets fired, catches her boyfriend cheating with a mime, and is cursed by an evil genie who pops out of a tampon box. She’s bound and determined to remove the spell, and as fate would have it, the hottest guy she’s ever met is out to kill her.
River Stone, a Cryptid hunter for Legends and Myths Police Squad (L.A.M.P.S.), poses as a sheriff for Abby’s hometown of Haber Cove, New Jersey. He’s out to find and capture a man-eating gnome and bag the legendary Jersey Devil monster. Little does he realize, the woman who catches his heart is the same creature that he was sent to destroy.
Tempting the Light is the first novel in the L.A.M.P.S. series that features hunky secret agents who find true love while hunting and slaying dangerous Cryptids.
Book One: Legends and Myth Police Squad Series (L.A.M.P.S.)

Available at Amazon
Excerpt:             Abby Fitzgerald didn’t expect a surprise birthday party when she got home today. She didn’t expect bold colored daisies or pretty wrapped gifts. But most of all she didn’t expect to find her live-in boyfriend Burt, engaged in a spooge-a-paloosa fest with a chick dressed as a mime. Her crazy old grandmother warned her she would be cursed on her twenty-fifth birthday, but who would have believed it?Burt slapped his body up against the mime from behind in a vigorous frenzy on the sleigh styled queen-sized bed. The woman’s hands and painted white face pressed up against an invisible window with his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her vertical. Seeing Abby, the mime's lips parted into an "O" breaking the sex-me-up red heart painted across them. She covered her mouth with her gloved hands.Abby stared in horror at Burt with his mouth open and eyes closed, savoring the sheer ecstasy of screwing the mime. Her heart shattered shooting pulmonary shrapnel up her throat. He never looked like that when they were together. "You’re freaking cheating on me?" Burt’s eyes popped open, before he leaped from the bed. "Son of a . . ." Abby dashed into the hallway bathroom, and rummaged in the crowded cabinet under the sink. "Where’s the damn Scrubbing Bubbles? Or better yet, the Borax?" She tossed a mildewed loofa and a half used bottle of honeysuckle hand lotion over her shoulder. They landed not far from Burt’s bare feet. "Abby, I’m sorry. I was going to wait until after your birthday to tell you." He placed his hands on both sides of the bathroom door trim and leaned into the room. "What the hell are you doing?""I’m trying to find something to scour the sick image of you and your mime girlfriend from my eyes. Better yet, I’ll get the melon ball scooper." Unable to contain herself, she whipped a can of lemon scented shaving cream at his head.He ducked but the foaming missile bounced off his hair-sprayed-until-bullet-proof hair. His nostrils flared like an enraged bull. Too bad that was all he had in common with the animal. "You’re acting irrational. Stop it." True. Right now she couldn’t even think straight. "Get away from me.""It doesn’t have to be like this," he said under his breath.She ignored his statement and shoved his skinny five-foot-four-inch unclothed body aside and marched back into the bedroom. The mime perched on the edge of the bed with a sheet wrapped around her naked body. She held up both hands in a stop gesture and waved them back and forth."Abby. Please settle down." Burt trailed behind her."Settle down? Do you know why I came home early?" "No." He glanced at his watch then looked absolutely baffled."Because I got fired today, Burt."He tilted his head to the side and wrinkled his rather large forehead. "Oh. Well, how were you planning to help me pay the rent then?" She wished she had a gun to shoot the stupid out of him. "Get out of my house." She jerked on the mime’s cover-up sheet. The mime pulled back. Abby yanked again but then let go, the mime did a back-flip somersault off the bed. Her pasty white face popped up on the other side of the mattress like a demented rodent in a whack-a-mole game.  "This is my apartment," Burt raised his voice louder and pointed at the mime. "You don’t have to go anywhere." The mime amplified her smile by pointing to the corners of her lips and twisting her fingers in her imaginary dimples, then she proceeded to skip and do a naked happy dance in circles around Abby.Abby gave her a shove out of her way. "What the heck is her problem? Doesn’t she talk?" Burt shrugged. "I don’t know. She hasn’t said a word since we met. It’s one of her perks." Abby slammed her fist into the side of her leg to keep from punching the detestable smart-ass smirk that spread across his face. Her fantasy of a blissful marriage and white picket fence shattered in one measly, heinous moment. "How long has this been going on? Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know." She marched over to the closet, grabbed her blue duffle bag, and stuffed a few pairs of her size two jeans into it. She then looked down at his exposed mini-manly parts and raised a questioning brow.Burt’s eyes widened to a bug-eyed look and then he scattered to pull on a pair of whity-tighties.She stalked over to her dresser, pulled out different colored T-shirts, and a stack of clean underwear to shove in her bag. She hesitated for a moment. "The other day, I saw you in the jewelry store buying something. I—I thought you might." Before she could finish, the mime flashed the back of her hand at Abby. A pink princess cut rock set in a platinum setting adorned the ring finger of her left hand. Burt sent a reprimanding scowl in the mime’s direction. "It just happened."Her heart went numb first, before the shredding feeling of a weed-whacker tore through it. "Wonderful." She stormed out of the room and into the kitchen, pulling worthless knick-knacks from their displayed posts and cramming them in her bag. A satisfied smile lifted her cheeks when she held up Burt’s prized Fifty States Commemorative Quarter collection for him to see."You wouldn’t dare. Put that back." He swiped at the coins but missed. "Yes, I would and I’m leaving you." She jammed the cardboard display in the duffle, and swung her bag of belongings over her shoulder.  "I hope you have many ugly clown babies." She slammed the apartment door behind her. While trudging to her car the whooshing blood of each heart beat thumped like sonic booms in Abby’s ears. She tossed her bag into the trunk and marched over to Burt’s yellow Volkswagen Beetle. She pulled back her foot and gave it a hard kick in the tire. I wonder how many girlfriends he can cram into that thing at one time?
She sat behind her steering wheel in silence. Too bad she couldn’t pull a do-over for the day. Her grandmother must have been psychic.

About the Author:
Bonnie Gill grew up in the suburbs right outside Chicago. As a child she loved making up ghost stories at night to scare her sisters and friends.
She writes Paranormal Romance with a twist of humor. When she isn’t writing you can find her on a haunted tour, volunteering at pet rescues, or digging around in her fairy garden waiting for fairies to show. She’s a member of Romance Writers of America, the Fantasy, Futuristic, and Paranormal chapter and the Windy City chapter.
She lives in Northern Illinois with her four rescue dogs, a big fat cat, and her ever patient boyfriend who laughs at all her goofy jokes.
She loves to hear from her readers.
Website http://www.bonniegill.com/
Blog  http://www.bonniegillsblog.blogspot.com/
Facebook page  https://www.facebook.com/Bonnie-Gill-340592565963637/
Twitter   https://twitter.com/authorbonniegil
Wattpad http://wattpad.com/BonnieGill
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Guest Blog and Giveaway - Soul Deep by Jianne Carlo

Hi, my name’s Jianne Carlo, and I write super-spicy romantic suspense.
Today, I’m celebrating my latest paranormal release, SOUL DEEP. The novel’s the first book in my White Wolf series and introduces the White and Black wolves and their history.
Loads of thanks to Roxanne for hosting me and SOUL DEEP on your beautiful Fang-Tastic site—love the name!
Like most authors, I use music to set the mood when I’m writing. My music playlist for SOUL DEEP is kinda schizoid. Because a lot of the story takes place in The Caboose, a stuck-in-the-60s small town diner, Elvis Presley and The Fab Four, were the ultimate stars. Here’s what I was listening to:
Surfin Safari


Return to SenderSherryBig Girls Don’t CryI Want To Hold Your Hand


Baby LoveThe Girl From IpanemaSatisfactionI Got You BabeMy GirlMr. Tambourine ManStop! In The Name Of LoveTurn! Turn! Turn!Can’t Buy Me Love

Hello, Dolly!Leader Of The PackShe Loves YouThe Sound of SilenceThese Boots Are Made For Walkin’Can’t Help Falling in Love

CherishGood VibrationsI’m A BelieverMonday, MondayWhen A Man Loves A Woman
I knew some of the songs before I started SOUL DEEP, but not all. Some are too classic not to know, like The Sound of Silence, Satisfaction, Surfin Safari, I Want To Hold Your Hand, and Good Vibrations, to name a few.
One thing I loved about my SOUL DEEP playlist was that it’s fun and upbeat.
But, I had to switch to more somber tunes when I wrote the black bear slayings. For those scenes, I listened to soundtracks from The Shining, Dead Silence, Jaws, The Exorcist, and, of course, Halloween.
What’s your favorite fun and upbeat playlist? Are they all new, or do you favor a particular decade?
I imagine everyone has a list of the scariest movies/series they’ve ever seen. Number one on my list is The Shining. I still get the willies when I see a tricycle.
What movies are on your scariest list?
Click here to hear my Spotify Playlist Link: HEAR SOUL DEEP PLAYLIST
Two of my books—SINNER & PRYMAL LUST— are FREE on Amazon this month, so please download them! Here are the links:
http://tinyurl.com/SinnerHadesSquad-1 http://tinyurl.com/Prymal-1




Once again, my thanks to Roxanne for hosting me today.
Have a great day and remember to check my site—www.jiannecarlo.com—or my FB author page—https://www.facebook.com/Jianne123/—— on April 28, 2016 for the announcement of the winners!

Cheers,
Jianne Carlo



Soul Deep  White WolfBook 1Jianne Carlo
Genre: Contemporary Paranormal Suspense
Publisher: Hartwood Publishing
Date of Publication: April 7, 2016
ISBN: 978-1-62916-303-1
Number of pages: 186Word Count: 82,486
Cover Artist: Georgia Woods
Book Description:
Melanie is a White Wolf spirit healer—a maggishahwi--who hears the last call of a dying soul. She’s loved Mike Dorland forever. But her Cinderella hopes and glass-slipper dreams of a happy ever after with her Prince Charming are shattered the day her father kills Mike’s while driving drunk. Now Mike hates her, and when Mike returns to their home town, she’s both devastated and thrilled.
Mike’s the eldest son of one of the original three founders of the quaint town of Chabegawn, and a half-breed wolf who’s found his mate—Melanie. Mike returns to find the town torn apart by a series of vicious and malicious black bear slayings. Then the town’s beloved, world-famous horse breeder vanishes and his ravaged remains are found.
Melanie’s bent on saving black bear mothers and cubs, and she will risk her life to bait and capture the killers. But Mike will gamble everything to protect his mate.
Amazon
Download two of Jianne’s other ebooks FREE
Sinner      Prymal Lust
Soul Deep Excerpt – PG-rated, 529 words
“I apologize. I was totally out of line.”Mike.Her heartbeat went into overdrive. Melanie clutched her chest. Anger came to the rescue. She spun around. “Apology not accepted. You were plain mean and nasty. Just because you’re worth a fortune doesn’t give you the right to treat people like that.”“I only ever apologize once, Melanie. And I never say anything I don’t mean.” Mike folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.He knew her first name? Doc G. must’ve told him. She fought the fluttery belly quivers that always assailed her in his presence. Jutted the jaw Mama said was too square for any female. “Fine. Apology accepted. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”“Doc G.’s closing up. He says he’ll do the autopsy tomorrow. I’ll be here for it.”Nooo. What in heck is wrong with Doc G.? Melanie gritted her teeth. Why does Mike want to see the autopsy?“Do you want to wash up?” Mike angled his head toward the sink to the right. “I’ll drop you home. Doc got a call from Jim Balden. He thinks his mare’s dropping the foal tonight.”So not what she needed. Or wanted. Mike Dorland driving her to the reservation and seeing the broken-down three-bedroom shack the White family occupied. Poor and proud and shunned, even by the rest of the tribe. Melanie straightened her shoulders. Tough titties. She was what she was and wasn’t nothin’ nohow going to change that.“I’ll call a cab.” She made to move around him, and he caught her hand and drew close.Too close.He smelled like paradise. Like a warm sea so blue and clear and sparkling it hurt to see when you stared at the glinting waters. Like equatorial sun baking her skin and raising a hot sweat. Like a tropical breeze whipping exotic aphrodisiacs every which way and creaming her sex.“Little idiot. I bet you intend to walk the fifteen miles. You always did act as if I stunk up your air.”Had the floor turned liquid? No, her knees had. She grabbed the counter and tried to shake off the thick fingers circling her wrist in a steely but somehow gentle grip. “Stunk up my air?”“Half-breed not good enough for a full-blooded Cwaatchii? For the daughter of a Ska Awhi? For the granddaughter of Ixota Migziwa?”His nose was so close she had to blink to get his features in focus.Her mouth opened. Nothing came out. She licked her suddenly dry lips.“That’s it.” He picked her up and jammed her against the wall. Her face was level with his. Then he kissed her, and the world turned upside down and inside out. He tasted of all her pumpkin-coach dreams, of all her tortured teenaged visions of knights, rescue, and happy every after, of every single, furtive pleasuring of herself with his image in her head. Smoky, citrusy, and stomach-clenching delicious.
His hold on her firmed. His arm went around her waist, and when he nudged her legs apart, she surrendered. Worked her fingers into the silk of his hair and kissed him back, touching her tongue to his.
About the Author:
Award winning author, Jianne Carlo’s motto is simple: Alpha Me Please.

While strong heroines, exotic locations, and cultural differences are her forte, she goes weak in the knees for bad boys, warriors, and alphas. Send her a man with an attitude and she’ll find the right woman to tame him.
Jianne loves hot and spicy food, stomach-plunging park rides, and is kept on her toes by her Viking husband of thirty-five years, and three, handsome grown sons. Jianne’s a Zumba addict who loves to cook. Her favorite possession is her ‘Robo-stove. 

There’s nothing she likes more than hearing from readers.
Website: http://www.jiannecarlo.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Jianne123
Twitter: @jiannecarlo
Pinterest:  http://pinterest.com/jiannecarlo/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2508742.Jianne_Carlo
Google+: https://plus.google.com/+JianneCarlo/
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004D8XOLM


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The Significance of the Vernal Equinox in The Passion Season

I’m wagering almost everyone loves the springtime. I’m Libby Doyle, author of the urban fantasy The Passion Season, Book I of the Covalent Series. I say this about spring because the days are longer, the weather warmer, our energy levels higher. Spring gets our blood pumping and our juices flowing. Spring is the season of passion.
All that holds true in the world of my novel. Rainer Barakiel (pronounced Ry-ner Ba-rack-ee-el) is a superhuman warrior from another dimension, exiled to Earth for the sins of his father. When he meets the strong and talented FBI agent Zan O’Gara, blood pumps and juices flow. The season lives up to its name with an added twist. On the vernal equinox, the day that spring begins, monstrous demons shoot through a rift in the fabric of existence to attack Barakiel. Massive, drooling beasts with an endless thirst for violence, the demons are sent by Barakiel’s father to kill him.
I released The Passion Season on March 20, 2016, because the vernal equinox occurred at 12:30 a.m. on that date. Chapter 1 begins with the demon attack, shortly before Barakiel meets Zan. We learn in the prologue that Barakiel has been fighting demons for centuries. He is Covalent, a race of ancient beings who use their great power to bring stability to the cosmos. Barakiel was exiled after his father, the once great warrior Lucifer, led a rebellion against the rulers of the Covalent Realm. As Barakiel grew up, the rulers of his world came to mistrust his power. They feared he was his father’s son, so when he reached adolescence, they banished him to the Earthly Realm.
Their fear was misplaced. Far from being his father’s sleeper agent, Barakiel refused to become his father’s slave. As a result. Lucifer never stops trying to kill him, sending demons against him at every change of season: the vernal equinox, the summer solstice, the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice.
Why only the changes of season, you ask? Because the kind of inter-dimensional rift used by the demons opens only at that moment when the Earth’s axis shifts position relative to the sun, the moment of a solstice or an equinox. During the brief time the rift is open, demons cram inside to rocket through and attack Barakiel.

As you can see in image #1, in the autumn and winter the northern part of the Earth is tilted away from the Sun. Spring comes to the northern hemisphere when the Earth has traveled far enough along its orbit for the northern part of our planet to once again tilt toward the heat of the fiery star.
The rift opens because the Earth stretches the fabric of existence when it reaches one of the far points of its elliptical orbit. Imagine the Sun sitting at the center of a vast vibrating cloth, as in image #2.

The Earth travels along the surface of same cloth, following the same furrow in the fabric over and over again, held in that groove by the gravitational pull of the Sun. At the far points, when the Earth’s axis shifts relative the Sun, small tears appear in the fabric that almost immediately repair themselves. But the tears are open long enough for the demons to enter. The beasts rush through to set upon Barakiel, seeking to satisfy their blood lust and please their master, Lucifer, by ripping apart his son. 
The axial rifts, as these tears in the fabric of existence are called, look something like enormous trees, their branches embracing the Earth.
Zan and Barakiel are brought together by a murder evidenced by macabre ritual that happens shortly before the vernal equinox. Fearing the gruesome crime has something to do with the demons, Barakiel offers to consult for the FBI because he has expertise in antique daggers like those found at the scene. His goal is information, but after Zan shows up at his door to question him about the knives, he finds he can’t get her out of his mind. And so begins Barakiel’s passion, a season of more happiness than he has ever known, with more at stake than he has ever had to lose. 



The Passion Season
Book I of the Covalent Series
Libby Doyle

Genre: urban fantasy/paranormal romance

Publisher: Fairhill Publishing LLC

Date of Publication: March 20, 2016 

ISBN: 978-0-9972985-0-5
ASIN: B01CCE4U8E

Number of pages: 600 in ePub
Word Count: 117,259

Cover Artist: Damonza

Book Description: 

In loving him, she overcomes her pain, but to discover his true identity would shred the reality she thought she knew.

He is Barakiel. Warrior. Exile. Hopeless romantic. Barakiel is Covalent, a race of ancient beings who use their great power to keep the elemental forces of Creation and Destruction in Balance. The Covalent Council exiled Barakiel to the Earthly Realm as the price of the treachery of his father, Lucifer, who wages perpetual war against it. Lucifer also relentlessly pursues his son. The Council thinks Lucifer views his son’s power as a threat, but Barakiel knows his father seeks to destroy even the memory of love. 

She is Alexandra “Zan” O'Gara. FBI Agent. Army veteran. Recovering drunk. Zan’s troubled past left her with little interest in men, but she had never encountered anyone like the stunning Rainer Barakiel. Zan believes Rainer is a wealthy businessman with expertise in edged weapons who can help her with a case. From the moment she meets him she wants him more than she’s ever wanted anything, but her intense attraction is as frightening as it is thrilling.

This is their love story. As Zan’s deepening feelings for Rainer lead her to confront her emotional damage, he struggles to meet the demands of his home world so he will be free to love her, and to reveal his true nature. Through the gruesome crime that first brought Zan to his door, Barakiel learns that his presence in the Earthly Realm has placed some of its most vulnerable citizens in danger. Compelled to protect them, he undertakes a series of duties he may not survive, even as Zan rescues him from centuries of a deadened heart.



Book Trailer  https://youtu.be/YwBhS0DcDR0




Amazon     iTunes     BN


The Passion Season©by Libby DoyleThe MeetFrom part one, Vernal Equinox, Chapter 1 T he antique weapons collector to whom Professor Carson had referred Zan owned several acres along the Delaware River in the Bridesburg section of Philadelphia, slightly north of the Betsy Ross Bridge. She pulled over on Richmond Street for a minute or two to go over the background check the clerk had included with her copy of the consulting agreement.

Rainer Barakiel, 33, had immigrated to the United States from Germany nine years previous. The owner of several offshore companies, he was known for his philanthropy, especially his support of the Philadelphia Orchestra and environmental organizations. He was also known for his avid pursuit of antique bladed weapons, no matter the cost. The man spent a lot of money on violins as well, the kind that had names. Her information did not include a picture. Zan wondered what a guy who collected weapons and violins would look like.

Probably nerdy.

She paused to gape for a moment when she arrived at the address. The place could withstand a siege. It was ringed by a high stone wall in front of an even higher line of thick hedges and black alders, with a stand of cherry trees at the west side. It sat behind some kind of disused industrial facility. An elevated pipeline ran along the southern side to the river, next to a few small businesses. The northern boundary was the old course of the Frankford Creek, with the river to the east.

Zan drove through the open gateway to find a huge building made of glass and mismatched wood that extended almost all the way to the river, with two small outbuildings beside it. She figured living on a former industrial site was a small price to pay for all that space and privacy, and those beautiful cherry trees just beginning to bloom.

The front of the main building had a set of massive wooden double doors and a smaller heavy wooden door to the side with the bell. She rang, and when the door opened she forgot she was supposed to speak. He was gigantic, at least six foot eight, with broad shoulders and a lithe, athletic build. A few strands of unruly, mid-length blond hair fell over eyes that seemed to be several shades of blue at once. They drew her in with more than their beauty, as if something primeval was hidden in their depths, just barely restrained. He faintly smiled. She knew her face was getting red.

What the hell. Don’t be such a fool.

“Um, hello, I’m Special Agent Alexandra O’Gara of the FBI.” She stuck out her hand. “My office made an appointment.”

“Yes. I’m Rainer Barakiel. A pleasure to meet you.” His voice was rich and deep and he spoke with a slight accent. When he shook her hand, she held it too long. She still felt flushed.“I, um, I appreciate you taking the time for this, Mr. Barakiel.”

“I’m happy to help.”

God, so lame. He must have to deal with swooning women all the time, but I doubt he expected it from an FBI agent.

Turning gracefully, he showed her through the door. Zan tried not to stare at the way his jeans fit his hips, or the contours of his muscles beneath his gray cashmere sweater. Gripped by a strong urge to run her hands all over him, she was lucky his place was filled with fascinating things to distract her. Antiques and art were arranged tastefully in the open space, among brown leather couches and chairs and colorful woven rugs. Pale sun from high skylights glinted off a sunburst mosaic above the mantle of a huge concrete fireplace. Zan tried to concentrate on her surroundings, at least until her pulse slowed down.

“What a fantastic place.”

“Thank you.” He dipped his head toward her in an old-fashioned display of manners that she found charming.

“This whole property is great. What was it used for, before you lived here?”

“This land was part of the old Rohm and Haas Chemical plant you can still see as you enter. The facility was shut down in 2010.”

“I wish more people would reclaim these abandoned places by the river. Most of it just goes to waste, and meanwhile they’re developing Chester County farmland.”

“Yes.” He looked at her intensely. “I felt good about redeveloping a brownfield. I had to do a lot of remediation, but now it’s an excellent place to live.”

“All you need now is for the city to buy the front parcel and turn it into a park.” Zan gave him her best sunny smile, with an openness she knew made people trust her.

“That would be ideal,” he replied, “but I’m not holding my breath.” He returned her smile.My god, you’re beautiful. How are you that beautiful?Why am I here? The knives.

“Um, in the interest of not taking up any more of your time than necessary, these are the knives in question.” Zan held up the case. “Daggers, I think. Did Professor Carson explain where we found them?”

“Superficially, yes.”

“Well, someone conducted some kind of ritual in Independence National Historical Park. We wouldn’t be that concerned with weird people doing weird things at night, but we found a human spleen. We tested the DNA and ran it through the database and discovered that the spleen came from a body found this past winter by the Philadelphia police. All its internal organs had been removed. The police called us because they suspected organ trafficking, but we never found any evidence of it, so we weren’t much help. No one ever filed a missing persons report on this man, and Philly PD was never able to identify the corpse, let alone solve the crime.”

“Disturbing,” he said.

“Very. We thought if you could tell us something about the knives it might give us some insight into what this whole thing was about, maybe generate some sort of lead. They look old, and Professor Carson said you are an expert in antique bladed weapons.”

“Yes. I collect them. I’ve learned a lot over the years.”

“Let’s take a look,” Zan said. He led her to a massive carved table to the left near the kitchen area. She opened the case and laid the daggers out on a cloth. After he leaned down to scrutinize them, he said they were ceremonial daggers and asked if he could pick them up. Zan told him that because they were evidence, he would need to wear latex gloves. She handed him a pair. He tried to put one on for a minute, then frowned at her.

“I’m sorry. It’s too small.”

Zan stared at his hands. They were huge, but not meaty. They looked like they could crush a man’s skull, but also assemble a fine Swiss watch.

Or maybe gently touch me.

She felt the heat rise to her face again. He raised an eyebrow.

“You can use the glove like a handkerchief and just pick it up that way,” she said, fixing her gaze on the floor.

Picking up a dagger, he held it level with his eyes. When he had done the same to all four and they were back in the case, he motioned Zan closer. He showed her the intricate motifs and the manner in which the blades were joined to the hilts. He explained that from these features, he could determine that the blades were ceremonial, made in France in the late 19thcentury. She struggled to listen to what he was saying. That impossible face was so close, and she could smell him. He smelled like a pristine forest in the spring.

“What kind of ritual was it?” he asked. “These daggers would have been used for ceremonies, like the opening or closing of a formal meeting. They are valuable as antiques but they are not real weapons.”

“We haven’t really explored the evidence in terms of the ritual yet, because we’ve been concentrating on the spleen.” Zan shook her head. “That sounds odd, doesn’t it?”

“It’s an odd situation.”

“If I showed you some crime scene photos, do you think you would have any insight?”

He rubbed his chin. “I might be able to say whether the daggers were related to the ritual.”

“That could be helpful. May I bring them by?” Zan asked, failing to disguise her pleasure at the idea.

“I’m leaving town for a few days tomorrow. Can you come back this evening?”

“Yes, I think so.” She paused to consider for a moment. “I need to remind you that you can’t discuss anything about this with anyone. Did you read the agreement?”

“Yes. I understand that I’ve agreed to keep all this confidential.”

“Good. I should be able to come back around 7:00.”

“I’ll be here. In the meantime, if I may take some photos of these daggers, I can send a few emails. My contacts may be able to discover their provenance.”

“That would be extremely helpful. Just don’t reveal that they were involved in a crime.” He nodded and began to snap pictures of the knives with his phone.

“I have to say, Professor Carson was right,” Zan said. “I’m amazed you were able to identify a time period and a use for those in just a few minutes. I would love to have that kind of expertise. I know a lot about guns because it comes with the job, but I love edged weapons. They’re so elegant.”

“Yes.” He looked at her intensely again. “Would you like to see my collection?”

“It’s here?”

“Of course.”

“I’d love to.”

Just great, O’Gara. One handsome face and you toss your professionalism right out the window.

They moved to the left, behind the open kitchen, to an ultra-modern staircase of black and silver and honey-toned wood leading to a mezzanine lined with bookshelves. Zan enjoyed following him up the stairs.

Look at that ass. That ass is perfect.

They walked along the mezzanine to a huge sunny room at the back. Zan stood gaping when they entered. Save for several large windows, every square foot of the stucco walls was hung with bladed weapons: axes, pikes, halberds, and swords, mostly swords, in more styles and sizes than Zan knew existed. Wood and glass cases filled with daggers and other small blades sat at the far ends, with an island of leather couches and chairs at the center, rimmed around a thick Persian rug in velvety red.

“This is the coolest room I have ever seen,” she said. He chuckled and thanked her.

That was adorable. God. Get ahold of yourself.

“So, um, Mr. Barakiel, what kind of time span do these weapons represent?” she asked.

“Please, call me Rainer.” Zan flushed and looked up at him. He still had that adorable look on his face, like a little boy showing someone his secret clubhouse. Before she gave a thought to what she was doing, she had asked him to call her Zan.

 “All right, Zan.” He uttered her name in a tone so resonant she wished she could hear him say it over and over. “In answer to your query, my earliest dates from the 8thcentury, a Saxon sword that I keep in an airtight case.” He gestured toward the left-hand wall. “My most recent, this here, was delivered just last month from Watanabe Korehiro, one of the last master sword makers in Japan.”

“A work of art.” Zan surveyed the sword from different angles. “Do you have favorites?”

“The swords. My favorites are always changing. I loan them to museums on occasion. When they come back I usually become interested in them again.”

“Any favorites at the moment?”

“A few. Here is my perennial favorite.”

Rainer walked several steps to the right and pointed to a simple, heavy broadsword hanging about six feet up the wall, a huge blade of bluish metal that gleamed dully, like platinum.

“I’ve never seen a sword that big before, or metal like that. When was it made?”

“The 15th century. The sword maker was ahead of his time. This steel alloy is immensely strong. It’s a superlative weapon. Would you like to take a closer look?” Rainer reached to take the sword off the wall. He held it out to her.

“Can I touch it without gloves? It must be so expensive.”

“You can’t harm it.”

Zan took the gargantuan blade with both hands and did a simple block stance, then a thrust. Rainer raised both his eyebrows.

“I’m surprised you can lift that to shoulder level.”

“I’m a strong woman.”

“I can see that,” he replied in a low voice. The way he looked at her made Zan almost drop the sword. She adjusted her grip.

“This sword is unbelievably well-balanced.”

“Exactly.”

Did I just impress him? God, I hope so.

“Ah, see now,” Zan said. “My arms are getting tired, so you weren’t far from right. I could never actually use this sword.” She pivoted and held it out to him with a slight bow. “Your sword, sir.”

Rainer smiled as he took it. Zan realized he hadn’t been smiling before, not a real smile. This time it was like strong sunlight falling on a person who’d been trapped in the bitter cold.

“You’re trained?” he asked.

“A little. I used to study kendo in college, Japanese sword fighting, but I don’t have the time now. For the job, we’re mostly trained in firearms, but we get a decent amount of training in hand-to-hand, some other weapons. How about you? Is your interest more than aesthetic?”

“Yes. I’ve studied the fighting arts since I was a child.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

Rainer tilted his head and regarded her, his lips pressed together.


He doesn’t know what to make of me. I don’t know what to make of him either, but oh, those lips. I better get away from this man. I’m on duty.



About the Author:
Libby Doyle is an attorney and former journalist who took a walk around the corporate world and didn’t like it. She escapes the mundane by writing extravagant yarns, filled with sex and violence. She loves absurd humor, travel, punk rock, and her husband.
http://libbydoyle.com
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https://www.facebook.com/thecovalent/
https://twitter.com/LibbyDoyle9
https://www.pinterest.com/libbydoylecom/the-passion-season/
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Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/bWvolH

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Cover Reveal Black Lightning by K.S. Jones

Welcome to the Cover Reveal for K.S. Jones' upcoming release
Black Lightning!!
Book Information:
From the award-winning author of Shadow of the Hawk
Title: Black Lightning
Author Name: K.S. Jones
Genre(s): Middle Grade, Science Fiction, Fantasy
Length: Approx. 136 pages
Release Date: May 17, 2016
ISBN eBook:  978-1-987976-12-0ISBN Paperback:  978-1-987976-11-3
Publisher:  Mirror World Publishing http://www.mirrorworldpublishing.com/
Are You Ready for the Cover?

About Black Lightning:
Life moves on — no matter what...
Following his father’s puzzling disappearance and his mother’s death, ten-year-old Samuel Baker goes through the motions of living in a world turned upside down. He wears an Apache talisman, a long ago gift from his father, in hopes its promise of strength and guidance is true. But what he truly wants is the power to bring his parents back. 
Heartless Aunt Janis is elated at the prospect of becoming Samuel’s legal guardian. She is sure an orphan boy will elicit such an outpouring of public sympathy that her husband will win his Senate bid by a landslide. But when Grandpa Tate arrives, things don’t go as expected, especially when black lightning strikes!
Read an Excerpt:
Samuel stood beside his mother’s rain-speckled casket. He had cried his tears dry, so there was no point in trying to find more.
“Chin up, young man,” Aunt Janis said as her fingers nudged Samuel’s jaw upward. “Death is just part of life, and our photographer needs a good picture of you for the newspapers.”
A camera flashed, leaving Samuel’s red and swollen eyes burning as if stung by the sun instead of grief.
So many important days had come and gone without his father, but surely he would come home today, wouldn’t he? Samuel closed his eyes. He pretended his father was beside him holding his hand. They had a right to hold hands, he told himself. Not because he was ten, but because it was his mother’s funeral. Two years had passed since his father left, never to be seen again. Vanished, was the word his mother had used. Into thin air, she’d said.
“Take that silly thing off.” Aunt Janis flicked Samuel’s wood and bead necklace.
“No,” he said and shook his head. “My dad gave it to me.” It was a pinewood tile, the size of a domino shaved nickel-thin, which hung from a leather cord around his neck. Burned onto the front side of the wood was a lightning bolt. Its flipside bore the blackened imprint of a tribal dancer. It had a turquoise nugget and a shiny black hematite bead strung together on each side. His father had given the talisman to him with a promise: It will guide you and give you strength when you need it most.
Today, dressed in a black suit and starchy white shirt, Samuel wore it in hopes the promise was true.
As mourners gathered, Samuel’s friend Brian came to stand beside him. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey,” Samuel answered without taking his eyes off the casket.
“Is that the necklace your dad gave you? You don’t usually wear it.” Brian’s wire-rimmed glasses slid down his straight arrow nose. He pushed them back up the bridge with one finger until they encircled his eyes again. “Can I see it? I promise I’ll give it right back.”
“It’s not a necklace.” Samuel pulled the leather cord off over his head, mussing his overgrown blond hair. “It’s a talisman.” He handed it to Brian. “My dad said it would help me, but it hasn’t done anything yet. I think it was just one of his stories. It’s probably just an old piece of scrap wood with a couple rocks tied to it.”
Brian shrugged after examining the piece then he handed it back to Samuel. “I think it’s cool. You should keep wearing it anyway.”
Nodding, Samuel hung the talisman around his neck again, but this time he dropped it down beneath his shirt where it was no longer visible. It felt warm against his skin.
“Has anybody told you where you’re going to live now?” Brian asked.
“Probably with Aunt Janis and Uncle Jack.”
Brian frowned. He kicked the tip of his shoe into the muddy soil. “They live so far away. Why can’t you just stay here and live with Mrs. Abel? She doesn’t have any kids.”
Mrs. Abel was their fourth grade teacher. She had plainly stated to all who would listen that her job was to teach the proper use of the English language to children who behaved properly. A babysitter, she had said, she was not. Today, she stood in the rain with the other mourners, eyeing the ground where the hem of her long, gray dress lay caked in mud. Tufts of brown hair jutted out from under her pink plaid scarf. Even though she stood a few feet from him, she had not spoken to Samuel since his mother’s death. Few people had. Everyone had words for Aunt Janis and they talked to Uncle Jack, but no one but Brian and a few classmates had spoken to him. Maybe talking to an orphan was harder than talking to a normal kid.
Praise:
“If you’ve forgotten the magic that lives in a child’s heart, this book will remind you. Black Lightning is a rare and beautiful mythic journey about one boy’s struggle with paralyzing grief and the powerful bonds that can carry a person through this world and beyond...” W. Michael Gear and Kathleen O’Neal Gear USA TODAY and NEW YORK TIMES bestselling authors of People of the Thunder
Meet the Author:
Everyone has a story. Tell it so well that the world listens!

Karen (K.S.) Jones grew up in California, but now lives in the beautiful Texas Hill Country northwest of San Antonio with her husband, Richard, and their dogs Jack Black, Libby Loo, and Red Bleu. Black Lightning is her first middle-grade novel. She credits her love of fantasy to the early influences of authors J.R.R. Tolkien, Jules Verne, and H.G. Wells. Her award-winning first novel, Shadow of the Hawk, a Young Adult Historical, released in 2015.
Visit K.S. Jones:
Facebook ~ https://www.facebook.com/Karen.S.Jones.Author
Website ~ http://ksjones.com/
Twitter ~ https://twitter.com/KSJones2011

April Issue Bewitching Book Tours Magazine- Free Download

The April issue of Bewitching Book Tours Magazine features the back story of creepy beach towns in Witch of the Cards by Catherine Stine, Living Large Stories from the Wilds of Louisiana by Susannah Sandlin, Flash Fiction: The Spelling Contest By Bonnie Gill, Marley Bennetts the Vampire from the Improbables by Jonathan Charles Bruce, Karissa Laurel’s Top Ten Kick Ass Women in TV and the Movies, Guide to Using a Pen Name By Roxanne Rhoads, Interview with Jianne Carlo Author of Soul Deep, From Engineer to Fiction Author Wesley Banks, Sam Poling Discusses Dark Fantasy, Dishing with Chef Yon Yurdlemon by D.S. Auffenorde.

Karissa Laurel's Top 10 Kickass Women

In Midnight Burning, the main character, Solina Mundy, and her best friend, Skyla Ramirez, make a formidable team of female might. Together they struggle to stay alive while trying defeat an ancient evil that strives to destroy the world. I love stories of strong women, both in fiction and in the real world. Here’s a list of my top ten favorite kickass women who inspire me to achieve my goals and overcome my weaknesses.
10: Regina Mills—Once Upon a Time
In the beginning Regina was motivated by revenge, but when she showed her capacity for devotion, love, and mercy, I fell for her. She’s strong and powerful, but still knows failure and heartbreak. It’s those flaws that make her realistic and sympathetic. She’s the epitome of: “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.”
9: Selene—Underworld
Selene can tear apart a werewolf by hand and look sexy as hell while she does it. When she finds evidence of a betrayal within her inner circle and family, she breaks the rules and risks the possible retribution of her father figure to find the truth. She trusts her instincts even when everyone doubts her. She always stays true to herself.
8: Scarlett O’Hara—Gone with the Wind
Scarlett is selfish, spoiled, sly, and devious, but I wonder if she would have had to resort to such manipulations, if she had been a man. Not many women could have done what she was willing to do to survive during and after the devastation of the Civil War. Her stubborn determination saved lives and made her into a successful business woman despite societal restrictions on women at that time. She’s a hero I love to hate and hate to love.
7: Rey—Star Wars The Force Awakens
When The Force Awakens premiered, I wanted to yell from the mountaintops, proclaiming my joy. For once, Hollywood has created a capable, smart, fierce female action star, and they let her be good at solving problems, hold her own among a cast of strong men, and retain her well-defined identity. But she is still clearly a woman (not just a man with boobs) with fears, weaknesses, and personal demons to overcome. The little girl inside me wants to be Rey for Halloween.
6: Carol and Michonne—The Walking Dead
Carol has evolved in ways I never expected from season one, when she was a meek victim of spousal abuse. Instead of giving up after a series of horrible personal losses, Carol’s purpose clarified and sharpened, but her moral compass is less than steady; she’ll do anything, at any cost, to survive and protect the people she cares about. Michonne and Carol are opposite sides of the same Walking Dead coin. Michonne shows up as a mysterious figure carrying a katana and two zombies on leashes. In the beginning she’s cold, distant, and hard. In the following seasons, she opens up, learns to trust, makes friends, and protects those she cares about. Where Carol has grown a thicker exterior, Michonne has shed some of her protective layers. Although they tend to be opposites, they are both fierce, lethal, and loyal. I want them both on my zombie apocalypse team.
5: Katie Daniels—Kate Daniels series by Ilona Andrews
Kate doesn’t just defeat terrible monsters and bad guys with her awesome fighting skills, she also makes the pivotal decisions and retains a strong identity separate from the male characters. In some urban fantasy novels, the female lead could disappear, and the story could still go on without her, but not so with Kate. I keep her in mind as a standard whenever I’m writing.
4: Rhonda Rousey—UFC Mixed Martial Arts Champion
Rousey’s not perfect—she’s said some controversial things in the past. She’s also been recently defeated in an embarrassing loss in a title fight. But, again, it’s her flaws that make her human and relatable. In my mind, she’s one of the first women to become a household name in a professional sport historically dominated by men. I can’t help admiring her.
3: Melissa McCarthy—Comedian
Have you seen her in Spy? If you haven’t, then finish reading this blog post and run out and see it. Spybreaks molds and stereotypes and does the unexpected. No fat jokes. No damsel in distress. Just a capable woman overcoming her own self-doubts. Melissa has been doing amazing things for comedic women in Hollywood and finding massive success in a field typically dominated by men. I adore her, and I can’t wait to see her kicking butt in Ghostbusters.
2: Agent Peggy Carter—Marvel Comic Book Character
Almost every enemy is bigger and stronger than Peggy, but she never lets her lack of laser-beam vision or bulletproof skin stop her, and she does it without ever compromising her values. She also demonstrates a compassion and grace missing from so many of her male counterparts. Some of those men would be more complex and well developed characters if they had Peggy’s heart mixed in with their brawn.
1 Captain Kristen Griest and 1st Lt. Shaye Haver—US Army Ranger School’s first female graduates.

 I suspect these two women didn’t only have to survive the program’s grueling physical demands. The psychological demands must have been exhausting as well. How many times did others tell them they couldn’t do it, or that women shouldn’t be there, doing a “man’s job”?  How many times did they doubt themselves? Yet they overcame and succeeded. They are real life super heroes. 

Midnight BurningThe Norse ChroniclesBook OneKarissa Laurel
Genre: Urban FantasyPublisher: Red Adept Publishing
Date of Publication: July 7, 2015
ISBN: 978-1940215501ASIN: B01055ET1A
Number of pages: 278Word Count: About 95K
Cover Artist: Streetlight Graphics
Book Description:
Solina Mundy lives a quiet life, running the family bakery in her small North Carolina hometown. But one night she suffers a nightmare of a vicious wolf devouring her twin brother, Mani, who lives in Alaska. When Solina learns her dream was real, she journeys to the Land of the Midnight Sun to search for answers.
Solina soon suspects Mani’s friends are more than they seem, and she’s certain they know more than they’ve admitted to the police. Val and Thorin resist and elude Solina’s efforts, but Skyla, an ex-Marine, joins her crusade for the truth.
As Solina and Skyla delve into the mystery surrounding Mani’s death, Solina learns her own life is tied to Mani’s friends, his murder, and the fate of the entire world. She must learn to control her newfound gifts and keep everyone safe because, if she fails, a long-lost dominion of gods and monsters will rise, and everything she knows will fall into darkness.
Amazon      Barnes and Noble     Google Play     Kobo     iTunes

Excerpt – Chapter One
My brother, Mani, once told me Alaska was the first place he had ever travelled where he knew he was somewhere different—somewhere decidedly not home—before he ever set foot on the ground. I didn’t understand what he meant until now. Outside my airplane window, the glassy waters of Cook Inlet reflected a bright blue late-summer sky. Dark and looming, the Chugach Mountains encroached from the east. Far to the north, the ghostly, snow-crusted visage of Mount McKinley rose above the landscape, an ancient king, high on his dais, surveying his kingdom.By comparison, Mani and I had been raised somewhere a little more commonplace. Home was a small town in the foothills of North Carolina, over three thousand miles away. And this was the first time I had ever left it. I probably should have eased into long-distance travel in the same way I eased into a cold swimming pool—one toe at a time. A trip over the border into Gatlinburg. A weekend visit to D.C. But no, I had taken a plunge from the high dive instead, and boy, was I in over my head.The captain’s calm and assuring voice spilled across the cabin, announcing our approach and descent into Anchorage. Seatbelt signs chimed and flashed. A pair of flight attendants swept down the aisles, collecting trash and reminding passengers to raise seat backs and lock away tray tables. I closed my eyes, drew in a deep breath, and urged my heart to return to its regular pitter-patter pace, but it refused to obey.I breathed in again and trapped the breath in my lungs. Chill, Solina, I told myself. It’s only a week. I could survive anything for one week, right? And I wouldn’t be on my own. My brother’s best friend, Val Wotan, was at the airport waiting for me. Val had texted me a dozen times to make sure I hadn’t missed my connecting flights or fallen out of the plane somewhere over Canada. Val was expecting me, and I was a glutton for fulfilling others’ expectations. I also owed this trip to my brother, to the honor of his memory. How could I ever look myself in the eye again if I gave in to my doubts? If I didn't give Mani my absolute commitment?Val deserved my loyalty, too. In the few years I'd known him, Val had risen from casual acquaintance to something I wasn't quite ready to label, but just thinking of him made my heart beat a little faster, my breath come a little quicker. Val had earned my regard by being the sibling I couldn't be for Mani after he’d left home. He had watched Mani's back, made him welcome and comfortable in a strange and foreign place. He had even saved my brother’s life once.I chuckled, remembering how Mani had loved to recount the story of the raging bull moose—deep in a rutting frenzy and crazed by the need to mate with anything female and fight anything that wasn’t. Not long after Mani had first arrived in Alaska, he and Val had gone off on a backpacking trip. They came upon the moose on the edge of a meadow and caught it off guard.The moose turned its hostile gaze on Mani, lowered its rack, and charged. Stunned and uncertain how to react, Mani stood frozen in place and watched his life pass before his eyes. Meanwhile, Val calmly drew a .44 Magnum from the side pocket of his backpack and fired off a warning shot. The moose reconsidered his challenge and lumbered away into the woods.
If only Val and his gun had been there the night my brother died. Then I might have been coming to Alaska for an entirely different set of reasons. About the Author:
Some of Karissa Laurel’s favorite things are coffee, chocolate, and super heroes. She can quote Princess Bride verbatim. She loves to read and has a sweet tooth for fantasy, sci-fi, and anything in between.
Sometimes her husband convinces her to put down the books and take the motorcycles out for a spin or go hunting for rusty old relics at flea-markets. Karissa lives in North Carolina with her kid, her husband, the occasional in-law, and a very hairy husky named Bonnie.

Website – www.KarissaLaurel.com
Facebook –  https://www.facebook.com/KarissaLaurel
Twitter –  http://www.twitter.com/KarissaLaurel
Instagram – https://www.instgram.com/karissalaurel
Goodreads –  http://www.goodreads.com/KarissaLaurel
Pinterest –  http://pinterest.com/karissalaurel
Publisher Book Page –  http://redadeptpublishing.com   
Youtube - https://youtu.be/fqYQcpqiItU

A Deleted Scene from The Part That Doesn’t Burn by Sam Poling

Hi, my name is Sam Poling, an author of dark fantasy.  For most writers, the writing process involves a multitude of cuts: removal ideas, characters, and scenes. They can be sentences, paragraphs, or entire chapters. The reasons for such exclusions are numerous, but ultimately boil down to the scene simply not being able to justify its existence. Most of the deleted scenes in my dark fantasy novel THE PART THAT DOESN’T BURN are conversations between my primary characters.  I would write just to get the “juices flowing,” often starting with random character interactions.  Here is one such exchange between the protagonist Mirabel and the deuteragonist Felix (Mirabel’s “Watson”).  Please keep in mind it was never revised, so it is gloriously raw.  Also keep in mind it was deleted for a reason, though I still find even their deleted interactions to be fun to read.
“Achoo!”  Mirabel stole a handkerchief from an end table.Felix stirred under his blanket.  “Mirabel?  You’re still up?”            “I told you, Felix,” she said from her under her napkin.  “I cannot sleep in this steel coffin.”            Felix’s feathery hair ascended from his cushion and lapsed into its usual curls above his shoulders.  He scooted out from his blankets and felt around the end table for his spectacles.  “I believe you’re becoming ill.”            “Impossible.”            Felix settled his glasses on his nose, his bright hazel eyes peering at her past the lenses.  His gaze could be almost as haunting as a geist.  “Mirabel, growing up cloistered doesn’t provide many opportunities to build immunities.  You must have caught a communicable disease from someone onboard.”            “Impossible, I tell you.”  Mirabel closed her eyes and in a flash her runny nose was cleaned.  “My favorite spell cleans me entirely.  What hope would a pathogen have?”            “Perhaps it doesn’t clean your sinuses as well as you think it does.  Even witches can get sick.  Any facial pain or pressure?”            Mirabel’s mouth drooped.  “Yes.”            “Ah-hah, and there’s the crick.  I may be able to mix something up.”            “I did not hire you to be my personal physician.”He rubbed his forehead.  “How am I to know that?  You still haven’t told me why we’re heading for Autumnfall.”“You know why.  I require your alchemy, and that is that.”“No, that isn’t that.  What if it’s something I cannot accomplish?  What if I need more preparation?  I must have more details.”“To be honest, I did not expect to be denied.  I did smuggle you out of Haugen, after all.  Would you rather take your chances with the church?  Think they will have mercy on a heretic?”“You’re good at avoiding clerics, Mirabel, but you’re even better at avoiding questions.  I deeply appreciate what you’ve done for me, but the other alchemists are being hunted down like criminals. I could be helping them; I can’t hide with you and do witchcraft all day.”Mirabel glared as if to burn a hole through him.  “A Fairfax does not need some male fool helping her with her craft.  Watch your tongue.”“If I’m such a useless fool then what good am I to you?”“I want a repeat of your only accomplishment, of course.  My city is on the verge of an epidemic.  You must help to develop another vaccine, no matter Tordin’s church feels about it.  I vetted all the top alchemists, and you were my choice.  Consider it a compliment.”“That level of science is a team-effort.  Have you recruited others?”“Some, yes.  Please, Felix, thousands of lives depend on it.  You will try, for me, will you not?”Felix grumbled like something was caught in his throat.  “I guess, but it can take years to find a cure or vaccine, and that’s with the right team and equipment.  Do you even know what an autoclave is?  A microscope?”“You will have your equipment, time, and help.  I will explain more once we are safe in Autumnfall."  Mirabel felt the chill of Goosebumps on her skin.  “Have you seen any spirits recently?”            “When?  Now, on the train?” he asked.            Mirabel nodded.            “No,” said Felix.  “And the stewards directed us to keep the blinds shut.”            Mirabel sighed and opened them.  Blue light streamed in.  There was no wicked face plastered against the glass, but rather a sea of geists lining the track outside.  They made no movements, preferring to stand like army at attention.  Each expression was different, but all were strained, as if suffering.  Mirabel pulled down the blinds.            Felix adjusted his glasses.  “What’s wrong, a geist?!”            “I declare: danger seems to be drawn to you.”            Felix hopped from his cot.  The attire was barley public acceptable.  He sported a wrinkled white shirt and stone gray vest.  His trousers were flayed and torn at the bottom.            Felix lifted the blinds, and then took a step back.  “Whoa.  No, that is not my fault.”
            “Something is drawing them to this train,” Mirabel turned to him and smirked.  “Perhaps they want the reward for your capture.”

The Part That Doesn’t BurnGoetia SeriesBook OneSam Poling
Genre: Dark Fantasy
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
Date of Publication: March 23rd, 2016
ISBN: 9781310401916ASIN: B01BW0Q2Y4
Number of pages: 319Word Count: 97,000
Cover Artist: Cora Graphics
Book Description:
In an overpopulated city-state where technology and magic are forbidden by the corrupt church, young witch, Mirabel Fairfax, plots the creation of a deadly plague to cull the burdensome rabble.
That is, until she falls in love with the very alchemist she has been deceiving.
Now, with soul-hungry geists flooding the city, the church scrambling for their prey, and her own mind at war with itself, Mirabel must decide what she's fighting for before she loses everything to the evils of Autumnfall.

Amazon    Tirgearr Publishing
Excerpt:
Mirabel waited in the darkness.  Each passing second made it exponentially less likely the power would return.“Mirabel? Did we lose power?” Felix’s voice quivered in the darkness.“It should return momentarily.”They waited. Mirabel could practically feel Felix’s demeanor evaporating.“M-Mirabel?”“Unbelievable, the singular time I am protecting company on the geistlines, a train dies. We are not coal powered. We are coming to a stop. Perhaps your pessimism rang true. Sour fortune must have followed you from Haugen. We need to leave.”“L-leave? As in, leave the train, and go out there?”“Felix, without power the only thing stopping a geist from swooping in here and taking your face off is nothing. One hundred percent nothing. Essentially, we already have the cons of being outside, along with the narrow space of being inside. Not a survivable combination.”Without hesitation Felix took to gathering his tools, and corralling them into his bags.“No time for that.”She tugged him out of their room and through the train car. One side of the car featured the cabins. Asleep and unaware, no one else left their rooms. Windows with their blinds drawn and a faint cyan shimmering through adorned the other side.“They’re lining both sides of the tracks. How long do we have?” said Felix.“Geist behavior is a constant mystery, even to me, but eventually some will strike. Even those with eternity run out of patience.”They reached the door to the next car and Mirabel mashed on the panel. Nothing. No power, no doors. She tried the manual handle, but it wouldn’t budge. If only Miss Perfect-Priestess were here, then the door wouldn’t be able to fly open fast enough.“Oh bother,” she said.“Door haunted too?”“Handle denies me. Seems rusted, and I wonder if they automatically power lock.”She could barely make out Felix’s nervous wince. “I wouldn’t expect that, Mirabel. Emergency situations would turn fatalities.”“That is not happening with us.” She put her weight on the lever. It didn’t amount to much, and the lever knew it.“Let me try.”Felix consisted of average build and height, if not a tad lanky. Certainly not the strong type. Petite Mirabel stood quite small, a whole head shorter, also not the strong type, but she expected she could generate more strength. The alchemist didn’t have the mind for it.“Felix, darling, put your hands here.” She directed his hands next to hers. “Press down on three, yes?”Violet light washed over the handle they gripped before she got to “one.” She didn’t have to turn around to know its source. It traveled up her arms and across the door. If another passenger had opened a blind, the light source wouldn’t be nearing them.“Three-three-three,” she shouted.Felix threw down on the handle alongside her. Perhaps he did have the mind for it when terrified. With a shriek the lever punched into the open position, and the partners threw their hands into the crevice at the door’s left.“Get the blasted thing open. Pull, Felix, do not look back.”She made a mistake. Everyone looks back when instructed not to. He turned his neck and got an eyeful of something that forced a spate foul language. Such words didn’t suit him. Pulling with whatever force her slender arms could muster, she joined his blunder and looked over her shoulder.A geist, two-thirds down the corridor, drifted closer. Its face partially lifted from its head, hanging a few inches from where it belonged. The glowing wisp mimicked the body it used to have, but poorly. The translucent skin melted and slid ever downward. She knew the face would contort any moment: the precursor to assault. And it had the gut-wrenching violet hue. Of all the geists to enter first, it had to be a damned giftgeist. She had no hope of generating enough magic to destroy it before it reached them.The broken door started to grind open. She fit her thin body part way into the opening. Her heels dug into the carpet and her back braced against the door’s narrow edge, with her hands pressing against the wall. “Felix, pull.”The geist twisted into a monster far fiercer than before; its face warped into elongated grief and its jaw stretched to the side to give a dry, raspy howl. Passengers meandering into the hall heard it. They slung their own screams and ran the opposite way. The worst decision during a geistline incident: running toward the rear of the train. They wouldn’t live long.She reached above her head and flicked her fingers. “You want electricity, you fromping door? H-have some.” More white flashes fluttered between her fingers with each flick. “Come on, I had this spell mastered yesterday.”“Mirabel? Mirabel,” yelped Felix. “It’s-it’s coming.”“Simmer. I am focusing.”“Focus faster!”With a final flick, current rushed from the witch’s fingertips up into the door mechanisms. She had no idea what it accomplished, but the lights around the immediate vicinity flashed, including the door panel. Her left hand dropped and swatted it. The door grinded opened halfway before its lights died again. Halfway gave them more than enough space. The partners darted through into the next car. Glancing back, Mirabel saw the geist stop and turn to its side. Another passenger had peeked out of their cabin an arm’s length from the specter. It shot from Mirabel’s view before the rattled cries of a man and woman reached her ears.Felix stopped as abruptly as the geist had. “It’s attacking someone.”“Keep moving.”“Mirabel, you’ve got to do something, there are three cars full of people back there.”“And we are the only valuable ones.”


About the Author:
Sam Poling has been writing fantasy and science fiction for the thrill of it his entire life, from short stories to screenplays. His love for each of the subgenres led to dedication to writing genre-skirting fiction with all the elements that make up the human condition. He holds a strong enthusiasm for medical studies and currently works as a medical assistant in a large clinic while taking classing for nursing. He also serves on a health and safety committee, including disaster preparedness and infection control. His interest in epidemiology and medical science tends to spill over into his writing endeavors.
Author’s site: www.samuelpoling.com
Author’s Page 
http://www.tirgearrpublishing.com/authors/Poling_Sam/index.htm
Twitter: @SamuelPoling
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Samuel.T.Poling
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15010988.Sam_Poling

Interview- Jules: The 2nd Adventure by Kaelia Stevens

What inspired your story?
Jules inspired her own story. I was just her bard.
Is the setting to your story important?
Not to the story. But I spent some time with family in Colorado and Spain, and enjoyed both. Plus I promised my Prima my next story would have some Spain in it, and I don’t like to break promises.
Did you always want to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?
Yes. No. Well…sort of. I was always coming up with stories, and I found the love of writing at about age 12, but at different ages, if you asked me what I wanted to be, the answers ranged from a gymnast, a vet, an show-circuit equestrian, a scientist, owner of a rescue…And of course, Han Solo and Batman. But my brother ran off with the Batman suit, and I can’t seem to find a Wookie co-pilot, so…
When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?
Even though I had been writing since a young age, I didn’t really consider myself a ‘writer’ until I began seriously working on my first book, Olyvia. I didn’t consider myself an ‘author’ until after I published my second book, Jules.
How long did it take to get your first book published?
Well, let’s see…My first draft was completed in 2011 and I published last year in 2015. So my first book took around five years to complete. I think it would have been done sooner if I had taken computer backups more seriously and saved my work in at least two different locations like an online sharing site and a USB drive…But still. Five years.
What were your goals as an author and have any of them come true?
I try to keep my goals simple to start out with. So far my goals have been to get published, have fun, and write things that people will enjoy reading. I believe I’ve met all of them to this point.
What genres do you normally write in?
Fantasy. I mean, they’re all subsets…Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, and Dark Fantasy up to this point. But still all Fantasy.
What was the craziest thing you’ve ever done when it came to a storyline in your book?
Well, once I cracked the universe and developed a multi-verse as the backlash which then had a war carry across the different dimensions that was only settled after my characters from the various dimensions finally got to common ground, fought back, and then essentially contacted an almighty force that reset everything by destroying every dimension except one. But that book is probably never going to get published, so.

Jules: The 2nd AdventureKaelia Stevens
Genre: Magical Realism
Date of Publication:  December18, 2015
ISBN:1519697090ASIN:B019KYLOJC
Word Count: 26,489
Cover Artist: Ryan Bayron
Book Description:
War. It doesn’t start with armies or bombs. It doesn’t start with declarations or protests. It doesn’t start with speeches. It starts with one thing. Intent.
Jules understands this concept. She intends to kill a cult leader. She intends to undo magic from the past. She intends to get her family home.
She intends to start a war.
Amazon    BN
Jules Excerpt 3917 words
  When I transported myself back to the smithy, I could almost smell the magic floating around the building. It was a magic I knew very well. Teleportation magic.  Rod was back.  Hopefully the other two were still with him.  I thought it'd be more fun to wait and see what came up from the forge, so I walked into the lobby and slipped behind the counter. I fished around for Jake's supply of pre-packaged food and water, pulling it out from the decrepit shelves hidden underneath.  I didn't need it, but I was sure the ones downstairs would appreciate it. I only grabbed a few bottles and a handful of packaged snacks and set them on the counter, hopped up onto the countertop, and swung to face the trapdoor at the other end of the room.  The Wolf alpha's mate was the first one to emerge.  Coming up from the trapdoor, her eyes caught sight of me and she was immediately suspicious, narrowing her eyes and lifting her lip in a slight snarl. She came up the stairs and around the counter, her head lowered and her chin jutted forward in an aggressive stance as her lip curled more and more. Her body was tense, her arms held just back enough that her fingers were brushing the tops of her weapons. She stared me down like a feral dog and words rumbled out from her chest. "What are you doing here, witch?"  I rolled my eyes. "Oh knock it off, dear," I chided. "You and I both know you don't have the energy for this fight." I held up a bottle of water and a bag of jerky. "Have fun going after Afanasiy?"  "How did—"  "I know what my father wanted to show Layla. I know you hate Afanasiy. Wolves tend to hunt what they hate, even if the kill doesn't come right away. I know you'd lead her to him and try to take him on.” I dropped the water and jerky down in front of me as I leaned forward. “So. Kill him yet?"  She glanced at my hand and then back at my face. One of her hands lowered away from the weapons.  "I did what had to be done," she said, snatching the water away in a quick jerk. "Got a few shots in. Gave him the warning he deserved." She tore the top off and took a long drink, draining the bottle in one go. She tossed it to the side and I slid off the counter, stepping away to reveal more. I backed up to the windowsill and rested against it as she eyed the food.  "Still," I said, "it's impressive, coming from one such as you."  She shot me a look as she went for another bottle. "One such as me?"  "A woman who’s not even an Alpha manages to hunt down and confront the phantom who burned down her Pack's hierarchy in one blow.” I smiled as she studied me, evaluating my words. "It's impressive."  "Impressive or not," she answered, "it's what I did. Now"—she leaned back against the counter a little, her body only slightly relaxing—"answer my question. What are you doing here?"  I rolled my eyes again as I let out a sighing laugh. "I told you when you first came here, Wolf."  "Don't lie," she snapped. "And call me by my name. I've had enough 'manners' from your kind."  I tipped my head in acknowledgment. "Olyvia, then. And I didn't lie. Jake left me in charge of his smithy while he was gone."  In an effort to get that skeptical look off her face, I pulled out a ring of keys and jingled them. She stared for a moment with an intense look on her face, but her body relaxed more.  She didn't need to know these were old keys to a vault that didn't exist anymore.  "Just because he didn't take care of it while he was here doesn't automatically mean that I'm a liar," I said. "It means he's a bad homeowner."  I managed to get a muffled, shoulder-shuffle laugh. Good. She was still tense, but I was starting to think that was just how her face looked.  Her pet thief came up the stairs and froze when he saw me. His face hardened. He looked to Olyvia, who gave a small shake of her head and a cutting motion with her hand, waving his tension away.  He looked back at me. I flashed him a teasing smile that made his lip twitch before he ignored me.  Olyvia tossed him a bottle of water. He caught it and asked, "Plan?"  She considered. "Run like little girls?"  "That's my line," he said, taking a swig of water. "Besides, I recall someone telling me that tucking tail only gets you killed."  "That was before I was explicitly told that I managed the impossible," she said, motioning to me.  I smiled. "Not the impossible, dear. Just the improbable."  "Semantics make my head hurt,” Rod sighed. He placed his bottle on the counter and made for the door. "If there's not an immediate plan to run, I suggest a strong defense. Jake's got a number of magical wards around the place. I bet I can activate them. Or reactivate them, actually."  "And here I thought you only had one response to trouble," Olyvia said with a smirk.            "I guess I'm just full of surprises," he remarked, going out the door and closing it behind him.

About the Author:
A half-Hawaiian, half-Spanish, half-Italian, half-Filipino, K. Stevens is 4'6" of sarcasm and introverted weirdness. She enjoys time spent communing with local flora and fauna. She hopes to one day be considered one of the greats in literature, but will settle for people at least knowing her name.
http://www.amazon.com/Kaelia-Stevens/e/B019LSR4YG   
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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14168143.Kaelia_Stevens

Living Large: Stories from the Wilds of Louisiana - Wild Man’s Curse by Susannah Sandlin

You gotta admit it—Louisiana makes a great fictional setting. Even if you take away New Orleans and its storied history, supernatural influences, and rich culture, the rest of the state—at least the Southern half of the state can hold its own. It’s why I keep returning to Louisiana whether I’m writing about paranormal critters or sexy human game wardens, as in my new release WILD MAN’S CURSE. (Even my Penton vampires paid a visit to my favorite state.)

Admittedly, I’m biased, having lived in New Orleans for many years, but I also have lived in various spots in Alabama, Illinois, California, and Texas. I’m plotting a possible move to Florida. But still, it’s Louisiana I turn to when I start thinking up story ideas.

Every state has its own version of the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries, so why did I want to set mine in Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana? Here are my five major reasons:

1) I’m a fan.  Louisiana’s Wildlife and Fisheries department has a number of divisions. Some of the agents are biologists and ecologists, working to save the state’s fragile and crumbling wetlands and its rich aquaculture. But I have been fascinated with the enforcement division—the law enforcement officers of the department—ever since they were virtually first on the scene in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, bringing in boats from all over the state, plucking people out of the floodwaters while the politicians were still arguing. Idiots shot at them, but still they kept at it in hundred-degree temperatures in filthy water. I became a fan.

2) They’re badass. How can someone irreverently called a “possum cop” be badass? Believe me, these are great romantic hero material. The enforcement division’s training is said to be second only to U.S. Special Forces. Think about it: they have to work carrying heavy equipment and body armor in hot bayous full of snakes and gators and where almost every human they encounter has a gun of some kind. And maybe has been drinking. A bad combination. 

3) Terrebonne Parish has the harshest of the harsh in terms of terrain. Located dead center at the bottom of the state and jutting into the Gulf of Mexico, Terrebonne is Louisiana’s second-largest parish (what we call counties) and is more than half water. The half that isn’t water is often fragile marsh and wetlands and a thousand tiny islands reachable only by water. In a parish that is as broad as it is long, only three narrow north-south roads stretch through the watery lands south of Houma, and only one makes it past the halfway point. While a drug deal falls under the jurisdiction of the parish sheriff, the officers most likely to stumble across a drug deal gone bad, while roaming the parish waterways, are the wildlife agents. And yes, they can arrest you just as well as a sheriff’s deputy. This seems to surprise some criminals 


4) Terrebonne has a diverse, rich culture. Celestine Savoie, the heroine of WILD MAN’S CURSE is part Cajun (descended from the French Acadians driven out of Canada by the English in the 1700s), part Creole (descended from the French-speaking free people of color who settled in the region about the same time); and part of the Chitimacha band of Native Americans, who are indigenous to this land. Her great-aunt is a voodoo practitioner, and Celestine has a few moves of her own. Here and in the Atchafalaya basin north of the parish, one will still occasionally find old-timers who speak only a local version of French. People live close to the land here, and you won’t find a more big-hearted and beautifully eccentric population anywhere.

5) Danger! It never hurts to set a suspense or thriller novel in a dangerous place, right? It might not be the type of danger one normally thinks of—crime rates or terrorism potential—but this land at the bottom of the country has alligators. A LOT of alligators. Snakes. A LOT of snakes. Nutria—big orange-toothed swamp rats. Did I mention hurricanes and frequent flash floods? 

So those are the reasons I picked wildlife agents—and a place full of wildlife—in which to set the Wilds of the Bayou series, of which WILD MAN’S CURSE is the first. I hope  you’ll check out my agent, Gentry Broussard, and fall in love too.

Wild Man’s Curse
Wilds of the Bayou SeriesBook OneSusannah Sandlin
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Date of Publication: April 5, 2016
ISBN: 978-1503934740ASIN: B017IKQWAG
Number of pages: 284Word Count: approx. 86,000
Cover Artist: Michael Rehder
Book Description:
The bones said death was comin’, and the bones never lied.
While on an early morning patrol in the swamps of Whiskey Bayou, Louisiana wildlife agent Gentry Broussard spots a man leaving the home of voodoo priestess Eva Savoie—a man who bears a startling resemblance to his brother, whom Gentry thought he had killed during a drug raid three years earlier. Shaken, the agent enters Eva’s cabin and makes a bloody discovery: the old woman has been brutally murdered.
With no jurisdiction over the case, he’s forced to leave the investigation to the local sheriff, until Eva’s beautiful heir, Celestine, receives a series of gruesome threats. As Gentry’s involvement deepens and more victims turn up, can he untangle the secrets behind Eva’s murder and protect Celestine from the same fate?
Or will an old family curse finally have its way?
Amazon     Barnes and Noble     Book Depository     IndieBound
Excerpt: CHAPTER 1The bones said death was comin’, and the bones never lied. Eva Savoie leaned back in the rocking chair and pushed it into motion on the uneven wide-plank floor of the one-room cabin. Her grandpere Julien had built the place more than a century ago, pulling heavy cypress logs from the bayou and sawing them, one by one, into the thick planks she still walked across every day. She had never known Julien Savoie, but she knew of him. The curse that had stalked her family for three generations had started with her grandfather and what he’d done all those years ago. What he’d brought with him to Whiskey Bayou with blood on his hands. What had driven her daddy to shoot her mama, and then himself, before either turned forty-five. What had led Eva’s brother Antoine to drown in the bayou only a half-mile from this cabin, leaving a wife and infant son behind.What stalked Eva now.The bones said death was coming and, once Eva was gone, the curse should go with her. No one else knew the secrets of Julien Savoie and this cabin and that box full of sin he’d dug out of the bayou mud back in Isle de Jean Charles.Might take a while, but sin catches up with you. Always had. Always would. And the curse had driven Eva to sin. Oh yes, she had sinned. She’d known her reckoning would catch up with her, although it had taken a good long time. She’d turned seventy-eight yesterday, or was it eighty? She couldn’t remember for sure, and the bones said it didn’t matter now. On the scarred wooden table before Eva sat three burning candles that filled the room with the soft, soothing glow of melting tallow. She’d made them herself, infusing them with the oil of the fragrant lilies that every spring spread a bright green carpet over the lazy, brown water of the bayou. The tools of her ritual sat on an ancient square of tanned hide passed down through generations of holy ones, of those blessed by the gods with the ability to throw the bones.A small mound of delicate chicken bones, yellowed and fragile from age, lay inside the circle of light cast by the candles. Daylight would come in an hour or so, but Eva didn’t expect to last that long. Death was even now making his way toward her. She leaned forward, wincing at the stab of pain in her lower back. Since the first throw of the bones had whispered her fate two days ago, she’d been cleaning. Scrubbed the floor, worn smooth by decades of bare feet. Washed the linens, folding them in neat piles in a drawer at the bottom of the old pie safe. Discarded most of the food in the little refrigerator that sat in the corner. Dragged the bag of trash down the long, overgrown drive past LeRoy’s old 1970 Chevy pickup that she still drove up to Houma for groceries and such once a month. Left the white bag at the side of the parish road for the weekly trash collection. She’d spit on LeRoy’s truck as she passed it because she couldn’t spit on the man who bought it. He was long gone.Now the cleaning had been finished. Whoever discovered her raggedy old body wouldn’t find a mess, not in Eva Savoie’s house. A few minutes ago, with the old cabin as clean as she was capable of making it, she’d thrown the bones one last time. Part of her hoped they’d read different, hoped she’d be granted a few more days of grace.But the bones still whispered death. Eva accepted it, and she sat, and she waited. At least the girl, Celestine, would inherit a cleaned-up house. The girl, Antoine’s granddaughter, knew nothing of the secrets, nothing of the curse. Eva had made sure of that….Eva waited for her heart to fail—that seemed to be her most likely way to go. As she rocked she noted each steady beat, biding her time for the instant when the thump-thump-thump would falter and her breath would catch, then stop. She reckoned it would hurt a little, but what if it did? The curse had doled out worse ends to those who came before her.She’d doled out worse herself.The buzz of a boat’s motor sounded from outside the cabin, faint but growing louder. Wardens on patrol already, most likely.The boat’s engine grew louder, finally coming to an abrupt stop so near, it had to be right outside her door. Silence filled the room once again, until through her bones she felt the thud of someone jumping onto the porch that wrapped around the cabin. The porch formed the platform on which the house sat, linking it to the spit of land behind it when the water was normal. When storms blew through, it provided an island on which the cabin could sit or, if need be, float.As heavy footfalls crossed the porch, Eva struggled to her feet. Every pop and crackle of her joints knifed streaks of pain through her limbs as they protested the cleaning they’d done, followed by the sitting. Prob’ly a game warden, checkin’ on her. Too bad he hadn’t stopped a little later, after she was gone. She didn’t like to think of her body having to bake in the hot cabin for days before anyone found her. But the curse was what it was, and the bones said what they said.The knock, when it came, was soft, and Eva reached the door with the help of a sturdy cane she’d carved herself. Opening the door, she squinted into the glare of a flashlight that seemed almost blinding after the soft light of the candles. She peered up at a young man with eyes that gleamed from beneath the hood of a jacket. He was not a game warden, and it was too hot for a jacket. “Who are you?” Her voice cracked. She knew who he was. He was Death.“The devil come to pay you a visit, Eva.” The man’s voice was smooth as silk, smooth as a lie, smooth as death itself. “And you know what the devil wants.”She knew what he wanted, and she knew the only way to end the curse was to deny him. She’d been granted no easy passing by the Savoie curse after all, but she would die today.The bones never lied.


About the Author:
Susannah Sandlin is the author of the award-winning Penton Vampire Legacy paranormal romance series, including the 2013 Holt Medallion Award-winning Absolution and Omega and Allegiance, which were nominated for the RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice Award in 2014 and 2015, respectively. She also writers The Collectors romantic suspense series, including Lovely, Dark, and Deep, 2015 Holt Medallion winner and 2015 Booksellers Best Award winner. Her new series Wilds of the Bayou starts in 2016 with the April 5 release of Wild Man’s Curse. Writing as Suzanne Johnson, Susannah is the author of the award-winning Sentinels of New Orleans urban fantasy series. A displaced New Orleanian, she currently lives in Auburn, Alabama. Susannah loves SEC football, fried gator on a stick, all things Cajun, and redneck reality TV.
Web: http://www.suzannejohnsonauthor.com
Blog: http://www.suzannejohnsonauthor.com/blog
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The Virgin Queen by Jennifer Allis Provost

The Virgin QueenThe Chronicles of ParthalanBook TwoJennifer Allis Provost
Genre: Fantasy romance
Publisher: Bellatrix Press
Date of Publication:  April 5, 2016
Number of pages: 300Word Count:  100k
Cover Artist: Veronica Jones
Book Description:
A broken queen. A friendship mired in deceit. Can one man from the desert help hold the realm together?
Asherah, Queen of Parthalan and Lady of Tingu, has led her people through eight centuries of prosperity. That peace shatters when Mersgoth, the mordeth thought long dead, attacks Teg’urnan. In the aftermath a new warrior emerges: Aeolmar, a man as secretive as he is deadly.
Asherah and Aeolmar race across Parthalan in pursuit of Mersgoth, and track the beast to the High Desert. While they're gone, Harek, now Prelate of Parthalan, conspires with the Dark Fae against the elves...Against Leran, the king of the elves and Asherah's son in all but blood. Will Asherah see the truth of Harek before it's too late, or will he bring down the fae once and for all?
Amazon Chapter One Asherah held her hand against her brow, shading her eyes against the suns as she surveyed the carnage across the plain. There had been no warning of this attack, led by the mordeths Mersgoth and Esguth, no scouts had run to the gates alerting Teg’urnan that demons had been on the move near Teg’urnan; then again, the scouts probably had been the first to die. No, yesterday had been a day like any other, almost boring in its sameness to the days that came before, until darkness fell. Shortly after the child sun went to rest, demons had amassed before the gates, an unusual and effective tactic for creatures who shunned the darkness. It was a force Asherah hadn’t seen the like of since her army of slaves and elves, the Ish h’ra hai led by herself, Lormac, Harek and Tor, had taken the palace from Sahlgren. Since that bloody, tragic day when both Asherah’s mate and dearest friend had perished, she had led Parthalan through nearly eight centuries of peace. Harek...the one time Teg’urnan was attacked since she took the throne, her Prelate, along with all of the con’dehr,had been away to the south. He’d been leaving the palace more often of late, and Asherah speculated that the mordethshad become aware of his frequent and extended absences. She suspected that they’d waited until the Prelate and his guards hadn’t been in residence before they moved against the palace. She wondered if Harek had been attacked, if he yet lived. She needed him alive, needed him to return, for she doubted she could set this mess to rights without him.No, that’s not true. I just don’t want anyone else near me to die.The queen shoved away her thoughts about Harek’s possible demise and brought her ruminations back to the prior evening. Upon the alarm’s sounding, the legion and hunters had scrambled to meet their attackers. Even the sola had emptied, with each and every nuvi grabbing the nearest weapon and mustering in defense of their home. Asherah and her First Hunter, Argent, had been among the first outside the gates. As they had called out orders, one of the mordeths, Esguth, had taken notice of Argent, and had fixated on him throughout the battle. While Esguth had baited the hunter, Asherah had shouted for Argent to keep his head, for he had been too canny a warrior to fall for a demon’s tricks. Or perhaps not. His body had yet to be found, but reports claimed that Esguth had ripped Argent to pieces. My Prelate is gone; my First Hunter is dead. Why am I left breathing? Why Esguth had bothered singling out Argent had been a mystery to the queen. While Argent had been First Hunter, and therefore a target of all demons, she could not recall Esguth having ever having had set eyes on him. Further, Argent had gone into battle clad in simple leather armor that in no way differentiated him from the rest of the hunters. She shuddered as she remembered the look in the mordeth’s eyes, as if Argent had been his intended prey. Even now, after all the death she had seen, all the demons and men she herself had killed, the malevolence in Esguth’s stare made her blood run cold.A herald approached Asherah and confirmed what she had been dreading: none of the hunters could be found, and each was assumed dead. As queen, Asherah felt the loss of each and every Parthian deep within her being, but her hunters were as special to her as her Ish h’ra haihad once been. It had been Caol’nir’s idea to have a team of warriors specially trained to fight demons, in much the same way he had taught her and Torim the finer points of combat. She’d wanted Caol’nir to train them himself, but he had not been swayed in his desire to create a quiet, demon-free existence for his mate. Asherah never learned where he and Alluria eventually made their home.  She had honored their pact that his name be stricken from Teg’urnan’s records and never had sought them out or spoke, their names. Still, she never gave up hope that she would see them again.Gods. If only they’d been here.Caol’nir had killed seventeen mordethsduring the Battle for Teg’urnan, but the one who’d gotten away was Mersgoth.  Mersgoth, the beast who had marked Caol’nir’s mate and driven them into hiding, the same beast who had led yesterday’s charge alongside Esguth. What she wouldn’t give to see that creature’s head on a pike.The battle had suddenly ended when the demons scattered, and it was later reported that the lessers had abandoned the fight when Esguth fell. No one knew who killed the mordeth, and there was no sign of the demon’s carcass near the gates. Asherah now wended her way down the Hill of Rahlle, named for the sorcerer who’d sacrificed his sight for its creation, and across the deathly stillness of the battlefield, desperate for any sign of her hunters. She forged ahead like one possessed, ignoring the sucking noise the blood-soaked ground made against her boots.Lormac, if ever you wished to offer your wise counsel, now is the time. Lormac would have rallied the survivors, issued orders… he would have known what to do. He had always known the right word or action; he who had been her mate, he who she’d lived without for far too long. She sighed, and wondered when she would join him. On days like this, she hoped that day would be sooner rather than later.The queen wandered on, picking her way among the dead as the sharp incline of the Hill of Rahlle gradually leveled out to the flatness of the plain. She hadn’t realized the distance she’d covered from the palace until she spied an individual kneeling before the rocky outcrop on the far side of the plain.Is that a survivor, or yet another demon?As she got closer she saw that it was a faerie man, kneeling with his head bent forward as if in prayer.  Scattered around him, as if they’d been flung from a great sack, were the limbs and heads of demons. His back was to Asherah, but as she approached she noted his long chestnut hair, and that his jerkin looked to be blue underneath the gore...“Aeolmar!” Asherah cried as she threw her arms around the hunter. “Aeolmar, Aeolmar, Aeolmar, I thought those beasts had killed every last hunter.” She felt his arms and back for wounds. “Are you all right?” Aeolmar nodded slightly; Asherah assumed he was in shock. Still searching for wounds, she grabbed his hands, pausing when she saw the sword he held in a white-knuckled grip.“This is… Is that Esguth’s weapon?” she asked incredulously. While she was aware of Aeolmar’s excellent swordsmanship, the taking a mordeth’s sword was nearly unheard of. Not even Caol’nir, arguably the greatest warrior she had ever known, had managed such a feat. She looked again at the heaps of demon limbs, and noted how one arm was so much larger than the rest. No, he couldn’t have, not alone…“Did you kill Esguth?” Asherah asked. Aeolmar finally met the queen’s gaze, his face as unmoving as stone.“Yes.” He glanced at the destruction he’d caused. “I killed them all.”Asherah stood, awed and slightly frightened of this man who was able to dispatch at least a dozen lesser demons as well as the mordeth on his own. In all her days she’d only known a handful of people capable of such a feat, herself being one of them. She pulled Aeolmar to his feet, and hunter and queen began the long walk back to Teg’urnan. Aeolmar kept his free hand on the queen’s elbow as he led her around the bodies, his other hand clutching the mordeth’ssword as if one of the corpses may rear up and attack. After a time, they came upon a man’s arm clad in dark green leather, which was the last either of them saw of Argent. Once they reached the gates, they were told that the other mordeth, Mersgoth, fled the battle shortly after Esguth fell, the suspicion now confirmed by a sighting east of Teg’urnan. He had once again escaped with his hide intact.The queen nodded, hardly hearing the detailed account of the demon’s whereabouts. Instead, she contemplated the statues of the stag and doe as they leapt toward each other over the dark iron gates of Teg’urnan. Sculpted as representations of Olluhm and Cydia, gods of the sun and moon who were parents to the Fair Folk, they were meant to honor her kind’s origin. To Asherah, the statues went far beyond a mere reminder. Olluhm was strong and his justice swift; indeed, tales were told of him setting entire realms ablaze to ensure the safety of his mate and progeny. Cydia, the calm mother goddess, tempered her fiery mate with the compassion that only a mother could possess.For this offense there will be justice, swift and sure. Compassion be damned.“Aeolmar, you are now my First Hunter,” Asherah proclaimed. “What is your first command?”“Find Mersgoth and kill him,” Aeolmar replied through clenched teeth. Asherah laced her fingers with the new First Hunter’s. This new threat would be dealt with, and Asherah wouldn’t need Harek’s help. No, she and Aeolmar—she and her First Hunter—would have their vengeance.“As you wish.”
###
Harek stood in front of the large window, his hands braced on the ledge and surveying the valley before him as if it were his own private kingdom. Indeed, these past few winters he’d spent far more time at this southern residence than in the palace, so much so that he’d had a full manor built to accommodate himself and his con’dehr. They’d spent much of the cold season at this home away from home, he and his warriors and no others. There was the occasional complaint over the lack of women, but generally the men bore their isolation well, and Harek needed no reminders of Asherah.Many speculated as to why Parthalan’s Prelate took such frequent leaves from Teg’urnan, though few dared to ask him directly. Officially, he stated that since the old king had hidden away in the south while plotting with the mordeth-gall, there was a dire need to secure the region against further threats. That had been reason enough for his presence, but then a routine sweep had revealed a fissure at the desert’s edge, belching the all too familiar stench of demons. It wasn’t large, perhaps the length of three horses standing nose to tail, but its small size had mattered not. Whether by accident or design, there had been a crack in the very fabric of Parthalan that lead directly to the underworld.“So this is why he went south,” Asherah had said when she was told of the fissure, assuming that the source of Sahlgren’s betrayal had been at last revealed. Against Harek’s advice, she had journeyed to look at it with her own eyes, though he hadn’t let her get too close to the edge. Back then, in the early days of Asherah’s reign, she still had worn the Sala, the armband given to her by Lormac that marked her as Lady of Tingu. The four green stones of the Sala had glowed an ominous red to warn her away from the evil sludge that oozed from the crack. Trust the elves to make an object that warned you of impending evil when you were right in front of said evil, not when you were still a league or two off. Foolish, foolish creatures.No matter, Harek would worry about the elves another day. It had taken nearly a full turn of the seasons to close the fissure, which had first been first packed with rock and assorted rubble, and then with dressed stone as masons fit together an impenetrable wall of granite. Once the masons had completed their work, the royal sorcerers, under Sarfek’s direction, had woven a net of spells tightly around the stones. When all was said and done, the area looked like an ordinary hillside, not a gaping chasm where evil once spilled forth. Harek had never doubted Sarfek’s abilities, and had been confident that the seal was sound.  Life had gone on in Teg’urnan, and as time wore on the queen wore the Sala less and less. Eventually the fog of despair had lifted from Asherah’s sparkling black eyes, and those dark gems had settled upon a man. His name had been Brendan, and he was one of the warriors who’d fought in the Battle for Teg’urnan. He had been a kind man, strong and swift and handsome, a man who made Asherah smile again. A man who wasn’t Harek.Unable to voice his despair, Harek had made up the excuse of ensuring that the fissure hadn’t reopened and fled Teg’urnan before the sight of Asherah in Brendan’s arms drove him mad. As time continued to flow, Harek stopped citing the fissure as the reason for his long absences, and Asherah stopped questioning him. He wondered if she noticed when he wasn’t there.Soon, things will be different. Soon, Asherah and I will be close like we once were, and—A commotion in the courtyard below interrupted Harek’s thoughts. It was a messenger wearing Teg’urnan’s silver and blue colors tumbling off a horse that looked as if it would collapse in the next moment. The messenger gasped his missive between breaths, then crumpled to the ground. Harek turned from the window and rushed toward the stairs; his warriors were already running to fetch him. It was Olwynn who spoke, his face bloodless.
“Teg’urnan has been attacked!”
About the Author:
Jennifer Allis Provost writes books about faeries, orcs and elves. Zombies too. She grew up in the wilds of Western Massachusetts and had read every book in the local library by age twelve. (It was a small library). An early love of mythology and folklore led to her epic fantasy series, The Chronicles of Parthalan, and her day job as a cubicle monkey helped shape her urban fantasy, Copper Girl. She lives in a sprawling colonial along with her beautiful and precocious twins, a dog that thinks she's a kangaroo, a parrot, a junkyard cat, and a wonderful husband who never forgets to buy ice cream. She spends her days drinking vast amounts of coffee, arguing with her computer, and avoiding any and all domestic behavior.
Connect with Jennifer at www.authorjenniferallisprovost.com
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Twitter: @parthalan
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2975887.Jennifer_Allis_Provost
Blog: http://jenniferallisprovost.blogspot.com/


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