Roxanne Rhoads's Blog, page 348

Life’s A Beach by Jamie K. Schmidt

Life’s A BeachHawaii Heat SeriesBook OneJamie K. Schmidt
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Random House, Loveswept
Date of Publication: 1/5/16
ISBN: 9781101886588ASIN:  B00VZZ2PA2
Number of pages: 232Word Count: 65,000-words
Book Description:
Amelia Parker has booked a two-week vacation to Maui to surprise her boyfriend on their second anniversary. She works as a concierge in a boutique hotel in Manhattan. Her boss demands she cancels her vacation because her back-up has quit, leaving him without coverage for a major convention. Amelia won’t be able to get her money back and her boss won’t reimburse her. When she stands firm about still going on the vacation she booked a year ago, she gets fired. Amelia goes back home to her boyfriend’s apartment that she shares with him. She catches him in bed with the barista of her favorite coffee shop.
Amelia is out of a job
Out of an apartment
Out of a relationship
And shit out of coffee
When Amelia arrives in Maui, newly single and unemployed, she’s shocked to discover the resort she booked is actually a ramshackle little beachside hotel. At least the scenery is easy on the eyes—as is the toned, laid-back snorkel instructor, “Dude.” After two weeks of sun, serenity, and mind-blowing sex, she even accepts a job as the hotel’s concierge. But what Amelia really wants is to relaunch the place completely. And that means convincing the absentee Wall Street billionaire owner, Samuel Kincaide, to take a chance on her.
Samuel has a plan, too: selling off every last reminder of his former life and chilling all day, every day as his slacker alter ego . . . Dude. He loves his romps in the ocean, and under the sheets, with the feisty Amelia. If she discovers his true identity, her boundless enthusiasm and innovative business plan will seriously diminish his hammock time. But when Amelia runs into real trouble on the island, he’ll put everything on the line to keep her safe. He just hopes that the woman who’s falling for Dude will feel the same about Samuel.
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Excerpt:
This couldn’t be happening to her. When she’d seen the ad for the all-inclusive resort in Hawaii last year, it had been like a dream come true. Fishing around under her desk, Amelia pulled out the brochure. It was creased and wrinkled from her having looked at it a million times. The hotel was shaped like a horseshoe around a gigantic pool and tiki bar. The beach in the distance showed cerulean blue waves with just a hint of whitecaps. She wanted to be on that beach so much, her teeth ached.“Can you have this dry-cleaned?” A guest shoved a large plastic bag over the counter, knocking over her pirate’s chest of wrapped candy.“Sure,” Amelia said, taking the bag. Once she got the guest’s room number and laundry preferences, she tagged the bag and called in a pickup at one of the local laundries. Then she booked a few more theater and dinner reservations and gave out some walking maps of the city. By the time she got back to her brochure, it was around three in the afternoon.“Nine a.m. island time,” she said, dialing the resort’s number.It rang and rang. No one picked up. No one picked up an hour later, either. Finally, around five o’clock her time, a groggy voice drawled into the phone.“Whatchu want?”“Um, is this the Palekaiko Beach Resort?”“It is, sistah,” the voice said in a warm, smiling voice that made her toes tingle. “What can I do for you?”She could almost picture him leaning against a desk like hers. Only his view wasn’t icy sleet and gray drabness, but lush greens and ocean blue. Shaking herself back into the present, she said, “I need to change my reservation.”“I’m sorry, but I don’t know where Hani is right now.”“Who’s Hani?” she asked.He yawned. “He’s in charge of all that.”“Who are you?”“They call me Dude.”“Seriously?”“Ya, as in I’m the dude that teaches snorkeling. The phone was harshing my buzz, so I answered it.”“Isn’t it before noon there?” Amelia was giddy at the thought of drinking before noon.“It’s five o’clock somewhere, sunshine.”That it is. She scowled at the mermaid clock on the wall. “Look, do you know when Hani will be back?”He sighed. “No. In fact, I don’t see Kai or Makoa around either. Must’ve gone surfing.”Amelia’s breath caught. “How are the waves, there?”“Here, we’ve got some storm surge but down the coast there’s some beach break.”“Are they . . . gnarly?” Amelia tried out some slang.His husky laugh sent a shiver up her spine. “You should come see for yourself, sweet thing.”There was one little problem with that. Her excitement deflated like a balloon, complete with the raspberry noise. “That’s actually the reason why I’m calling. I need to switch dates on my reservation. I know it’s last-minute, but my boss canceled my vacation.”“Sounds like an asshole.”Vindication surged through her and she looked quickly around, but the desk crew were the only ones around. “He is,” she whispered. “He wants me to move my two-week vacation to May.”“Aw, honey, I’m afraid we can’t do that.”“Why not? It’s all right if you have to charge me a fee.”“Nah, you don’t understand. We ain’t gonna be here in May.”“What?” She heard a screeching sound in her head.“The big kahuna is selling and the new owners will tear it down to build condos.”“Oh, no!,” she said. “Can I get my money back?”“We can credit your card.”“No,” Amelia said. “I paid by check. Monthly. For over a year. I sent in the last payment a month ago.”“Hm,” he said. “Well, I’m sure something can be done. The kahuna is a big shot. If you write him a letter, he can fix you up.”Amelia’s hand was shaking as she grabbed her pen. “What’s his name?”“Samuel Kincaide.”“I see.” She tried to keep the tears out of her voice.“Don’t cry, wahine.”She didn’t trust her voice. “I d-don’t want my money back. I want to go on my dream vacation.”“Then come on.”“I’ll get in trouble,” she said with a watery giggle.“I get it,” Dude said. “But your kahuna sounds like a grade-A prick.”“So does yours.”He barked out a loud laugh. “I tell you what—you come on down and I’ll buy you a drink.”She sniffled. “What’s the weather like down there?”“It’s a little chilly today. It’s about seventy-five.”Amelia bit back a moan. Seventy-five! She had a cute little sundress all picked out that would be perfect with a little lacy shawl.“But that’s because of the wind. Once the wind dies down later this afternoon should be about ninety.”This time she did let out a moan.“Where are you calling from?” he asked, his voice sounding like honey over gravel.“Manhattan.”“Sistah, get on the plane.” He chuckled. “That’s a no-brainer.”“What’s the worst he can do?” Amelia said, almost to herself.“Are you a doctor?”“Doctor?” She huffed in surprise. “No, I’m a concierge.”“So no one’s life depends on you while you’re on vacation?”“I don’t even have a cat.”“If he fires you, can you survive?”Amelia thought about it. Jay might be pissed. Although, truth be told, he really didn’t care about stuff like that. That’s what she liked about him. There were no problems, no troubles. In fact, he had asked her to move in when she didn’t have a job, so it probably wouldn’t be that big a deal. If worse came to worst, they’d eat ramen noodles for a few months until she got into another hotel. They could rekindle their relationship over a shared misery and look over the pictures of their once-in-a-lifetime vacation.“Sistah, you still there?”“Unfortunately.” She sighed.“Look, you gotta do what you gotta do. I’ll make sure the kahuna gives you all your money back. He listens to me. You got no worries. You make sure you have no regrets.”“Thanks,” she said. While the phone was cradled between her neck and shoulders, she rubbed her arms to stave off the chill as she stared dejectedly out the window. The sleet just kept coming down in gray icy waves. “I really appreciate that.”“I got to tell you, though, that I’ve got a bucket of Coronas just waitin’ to be shared. I’ll even throw in a free snorkel lesson. Come find me.”“Where are you going to be?” Her mouth curved into a smile.“In my hammock. Just ask for Dude.”“Dude?”“Yes, sweet thing?”“I’ll see you tomorrow.”“That’s my girl.”Amelia hung up and started shaking her head. Mr. Kensington would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t really fire her, right? She was the only experienced concierge he had, and she was a hard worker. She always picked up extra shifts and never complained. So he’d have to hire a temp, or get one of the desk staff to fill in for a few days. Most of them were native New Yorkers and could recommend restaurants. All of her contacts for shows and tours were on the computer. It was just customer service. She’d even stay extra late tonight to help train them. And she’d only be gone two weeks. It was only right that she took the vacation that had been booked and approved a year ago. She’d earned it. And she and Jay needed it. She couldn’t even remember the last time they’d had sex. Amelia needed to put her relationship first. Straightening her shoulders, she marched into Kensington’s office to tell him the bad news.Amelia trudged to the bus stop with all of her personal belongings in a large plastic garbage bag. She no longer cared about avoiding icy puddles, because she was already soaked through.By the time she got off at her stop, Zarafina was long gone, and the café where Quinn worked was closed. Too bad—she could have used another shot of caffeine. It felt like it was taking an eternity to get to her apartment. All she wanted was a nice hot shower and to put on soft wool socks. She’d tell Jay about losing her job after Maui. No sense ruining his fun. And if she started to stress, she’d just order more rum drinks. She deserved this vacation.“I can’t believe that rat fink Kensington fired me,.” she told her reflection in the elevator.Opening the door to her apartment, she dumped her belongings on the floor. Crap, she thought—she’d forgotten to pick up dinner. When she didn’t bring home dinner, Jay got cranky. Oh, well, they’d have to get delivery tonight. Thai sounded good. Or maybe a nice hot steaming bowl of pho? Squishing toward the bedroom, she heard loud moaning sounds.“Yes, yes, yes!”Great. Jay’s watching porn in surround sound again.Shaking her head, she pushed open the bedroom door. Whatever witty remark she had prepared died when she realized it was live action instead of Internet porn.Quinn in all her naked glory was bouncing on top of Jay, whose fingers were biting into Quinn’s butt so hard, he was going to leave marks.Amelia’s feet were frozen in place. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but as she helplessly watched Quinn working toward orgasm, she wasn’t surprised.Hurt. Betrayed. Pissed. But not surprised.Is it wrong that I’m madder about losing my morning coffee?Quinn’s head tilted back as she spewed a litany of swear words. Jay lay flat on his back with his eyes closed and let her do all the work.Typical.It was then she realized that her relationship had problems that even Maui couldn’t solve. She didn’t love Jay; otherwise she’d be more upset. He didn’t love her; otherwise he wouldn’t be banging the barista.“You’re going to put somebody’s eye out with those,” Amelia said, finding her voice as Quinn’s big breasts heaved up and down.Quinn shrieked and tried to cover up.
Jay pushed her over and sat up. “Babe, you’re home early.”
 About the Author:
USA Today bestselling author, Jamie K. Schmidt, writes erotic contemporary love stories and paranormal romances.  Her Club Inferno series from Random House’s Loveswept line has hit both the Amazon and Barnes & Noble top one hundred lists.   She has two other series with Loveswept: Hawaii Heat, in which the first book Life’s A Beach will be out in January 2016, and The Sentinels of Babylon, about members of vigilante Motorcycle Club and their old ladies, which is scheduled for summer 2016. Her dragon paranormal romance series from Entangled Publishing, has been called “fun and quirky” and “endearing.” Partnered with New York Times bestselling author and former porn actress, Jenna Jameson, Jamie’s hardcover debut, SPICE, continues Jenna’s FATE trilogy.
An avid knitter and jewelry maker, Jamie is never bored.  She can often be found with a mug of tea on the computer flanked by her little dogs & fluffy white cat. 
You can follow her on twitter at @Jamiekswriter  and her author page on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/EmergingQueens/
When she's not writing or crafting, Jamie loves playing games, everything from board games to strategy card games, console and online MMORPGs.
Facebook www.facebook.com/jamie.k.schmidt.1
Twitter https://twitter.com/Jamiekswriter
Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/jamiekswriter
Website http://jamiekschmidt.weebly.com/
Blog http://jamiekswriter.livejournal.com/
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Jamie-K.-Schmidt/e/B00B7CKKO6
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Tour giveaway
1 luau swag bag to a random person signed up on Jamie’s mailing list through her weebly website. 
Sign up is on the home page: http://jamiekschmidt.weebly.com/

Maggie Mercer Mysteries by Jill Behe

Jill's Top Ten Favorite Authors 

Nora Roberts

Phyllis Whitney

Stella Cameron

Jayne Ann Krentz

Elizabeth Lowell

Christine Feehan

Carla Neggers

Sharon Sala

Lisa Jackson

Suzanne Brockmann




Mossy CreekA Maggie Mercer MysteryBook OneJill Behe
Genre:  romantic mystery, cozy mystery,women sleuth mystery
Publisher: DevilDog Press
Date of Publication: 12/15/15
ASIN: B0191Z04WI
Number of pages:251Word Count: 57666
Cover Artist: Dane@ebooklaunch
Book Description:
Welcome to Mossy Creek. We’re small and easy-going with a lot of community pride and camaraderie. What we don’t have a lot of is crime.
A close-knit laid-back little borough, so close to the southern border of Pennsylvania we’re almost in West Virginia. Townsfolk like to say: “We’re south enough to lend credence to our slight drawl, but sufficiently north of the Mason-Dixon to be ‘damn Yankees’.”
None of us were prepared for murder … especially involving a teenager.
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Freezer BurnA Maggie Mercer MysteryBook TwoJill Behe
Genre: romantic mystery, cozy mystery,women sleuth mystery
Publisher: DevilDog Press
Date of Publication: 12/15/15
ASIN: B0191Z0JSW
Number of pages: 338Word Count: 69,977
Cover Artist: dane@ebooklaunch
Book Description:
Mossy Creek is in the midst of a bone-chilling winter. Even then, crime doesn’t take a vacation. If the temperatures don’t rise to the plus side of zero soon, the citizens will be suffering from Freezer Burn.
A visiting reporter has allegedly gone missing. Wyatt and Ricky are pulling double duty out at the lake, helping prep the hillside for the annual toboggan run. The mailbox baseball bandit, from last summer, has escalated his bashing spree. And, Maggie has acquired a stalker.
And, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
It’s cold outside, y’all. Come on over here. Warm yourselves by the fire while I’ll fill you in.
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Coming in the Summer of 2016 Book Three

About the Author:
Jill is the eldest of four children born to Christian parents in East Central Pennsylvania. It took a while, but the rebel within finally broke free. After shocking family and friends by enlisting in the US Army, then marrying--not much of a shock--birthing three sons, and getting divorced--again not much of a shock--she's now settling in, back in the great State of PA ... until the next adventure. 

Jill began writing nonsense stories for her siblings and friends while in grade school, probably from the time she learned cursive. Her writing has improved. (A good thing.) With time, maturity and persistence, she continues to hone her craft in a variety of genres ... and at the urgent butt-kicking of her friends.

During the thirty-odd years she was 'away from home,' she never lost her love of creating prose. It was only a few years ago, she met another writer, and accepted an invitation to join a writing group. Not only did she make many new friends, she also learned more about the craft, and how to market her work.  

https://therebelwriter.wordpress.com/
http://www.amazon.com/Jill-Behe/e/B00...

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/JillSBehe

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Interview and Giveaway The Power of Tess by Angelina J. Windsor

What inspired the premise for your story?
The Power of Tessis a true love story at its heart. My husband is my muse for all my “White Knight” books.
Why is the setting to your story so important?
Since I read Gone With the Wind as a child I have loved southern belles and the south. I think geography effects people in many ways and I try to choose the right one for each story. The Power of Tess is deeply influenced by the south though the heroine has moved on from living there to go to college. I have set my stories from Alaska to LA.
Did you always wanted to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?
I have been a teacher, a painter, a writer. I have been all three. But writing—writing has always called to me the most. Now I indulge my muse full time and I am very humbled and grateful for that.
When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?
I’ve had milestones that have reinforced that I am a writer, like being accepted multiple times by different publishers for publication, but I guess since I first started writing stories and poems and devouring books in my teens I’ve felt like a writer. I used to be teased by my family that there could not be any books left in the library that I had not read!
How long did it take to get your first book published?
Less than a year from the time I started writing it. I know I was lucky and am very grateful that it went that way for me.  Like most writers, I have a sensitive soul and too much criticism can harm your muse. I try to use proper criticism to instruct my writing so that I will become better with each word, each paragraph, each story.
What were your aspirations as an author and have any of them come true?
Yes! I wanted to be published, and I have been 9 times.  I wanted to be able to write full time, and I do. Next, it would be nice if more people got to read my book. And I should mention, all the author’s monies will be donated to women’s shelters. I don’t write to make money, but because I have to get it out or go crazy.
What have you learned about the publishing industry since you’ve signed that first contract?
So much! And there is still so much to learn. The publishing industry is in flux and it’s hard on publishers and writers alike.
What genres do you normally write in?
I’ve written in many genres: romance, erotica, new adult, science fiction, shifter, vampire, fantasy, contemporary, historical, thriller. It depends on what the story requires. Mostly written in the first person as I like to feel the heroine inside me, channeling her words and her viewpoint.
What was the first book you ever published?
Under my real name I wrote four full length novels for Champagne Books:Forever Man/ Forever Woman/ Forever Clan/ Forever Angel
As Angelina J. Windsor for Ellora’s Cave Publishing, my current publisher, and my new sisterhood:
Seventh SonA Christmas ShiftThe Power of TessThe Power of Sunday Rose (to be released soon)Never Back Down(also to be released soon as part of an anthology)Hello Forever(also to be released soon as part of an anthology)Layering Time (sequel to Hello Forever)
With many, many more in the works.
I thank you for having me visit with you today. It was fun!


The Power of TessAngelina J. Windsor
Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Ellora’s Cave Publishing
Date of Publication: January 20, 2015
ISBN: 9781419945694
Word Count:  54,000
Cover Artist: Allyse Leodra
Book Description:
Tess is a sheltered Kentucky girl attending college in Los Angeles. In desperate need of fast cash for her grandmother’s medical bills, she answers an online “modeling” ad showing people having the kind of fun she’s never experienced. She’s all for it until she discovers what the position is really for. She’s never even had sex, for heaven’s sake, and now they want her to do what?!
Jonathon, filling in for his sister to run Rosemère Agency, an exclusive escort service, offers her a job with a twist. All her clients will be hands off until the end, when she’ll lose her virginity to the highest bidder. Jonathon promises the payout will be spectacular. Torn between lust for her off-limits boss and her need for money, Tess must use her power as a woman to find a way to save both her self-respect and her grandmother.
Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!


Amazon
An Excerpt From: THE POWER OF TESSCopyright © ANGELINA J. WINDSOR, 2016All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
“There are two types of orgasm, Tess. I wonder if you have experienced either.” My prospective new boss, Jonathon Rothschild, smiles wickedly at me as he pronounces judgment. It’s not really a question so I remain silent and chew on my lower lip. He’s not my idea of a pimp, that’s for darn sure. He’s handsome, witty, clever and probably dangerous and he’s managed to talk me into taking this outrageous escort position with his firm, Rosemère Agency. His deep blue eyes seem to see right through me and it escalates my edgy feeling.“But unfortunately I cannot be the one to assist you with that. My role here at the agency strictly precludes my physical involvement with any of our young women,” he says looking me in the eye. Do I detect a note of reluctance in divulging that information?Was it just ten days ago I had sent off my resume and photo for an ad I encountered online? I had been surfing for summer acting jobs when it popped up. It promised travel and fabulous financial rewards. The kind of money to live out the rest of my days as a woman of leisure if I were so inclined. But it was the image of people having fun on a yacht that had stirred me to action. I couldn’t remember the last time I had fun. Harlan County, where I’m from, has two types of people: those looking to live off the proceeds of the coal mines and those looking to leave. Neither of them knows a whole lot about how to have fun.In all honesty, today is my second time up to bat with the agency. Last week I think my exact words were, “Not over my dead body.” Now I was here trying to find his terms acceptable. One phone call from home had clinched the deal.He leans forward, tenting his fingers on the luxurious desk and continues, “We can set you up with men we call ‘specialists’—men who are just looking for companionship and not much more than maybe watching you pleasure yourself. Or maybe you’d like to be the aggressor and learn the tricks of a dominatrix?”At my horrified stare he says, “I thought not. Black leather would not suit you, Tess. You’re more a hearts and flowers kind of girl. Learn your type, that’s the first order of business.”He looks down to check his notes as he had done throughout the interview. I find this strange for a man who should know the business inside and out—no pun intended. I take the opportunity to check him out more thoroughly. Last week I’d been too shocked to remember much about him except his piercing blue eyes and thick, light brown hair sun-streaked with stands of pure gold. My fingers itch to tuck the one piece that has shifted out of place back into submission and then continue down to stroke that broad chest. His suit emphasizes his trim build all too well. I judge his age to be between thirty and thirty-five. He has years of experience on me. I’m just finishing my third year of college studying business administration. Before I left Harlan County, my Gran—who raised me after my parents were killed by a drunk driver—had insisted I have a backup plan to my dream of becoming an actress. Though she supports that dream, she is too wise not to be aware of the odds against it. Her voice fills my head, “Best you get yourself some real education, Sunshine. No accounting for tastes in Hollywood.”Jonathon looks at me, the slight crinkles at the corners of his eyes rising as he smiles. “There are positions for working as a submissive available. Nothing dangerous of course—that’s strictly against the rules. Bondage is a requirement and some light punishments if you don’t immediately obey a command. A lot of our young women like to play at this role. Apparently they find it,” he quirks his lips, “fun.”I was stunned by the suggestion and it must have shown because he immediately changes tactics.“I see you’re not into Fifty Shades of Grey. Though it can be satisfying for both parties, if handled properly,” he says grinning wolfishly.I have an instant mental picture of his tying me up and having his way with me. The image brings out a light sheen of perspiration all over my body, despite the air conditioning I found chilly only moments ago dressed as I am in my favorite summer dress.I’m satisfied that I’ve presented myself quite well for the interview. My dress is cut square in the front and it’s sleeveless. Tight and white, the fabric is thinly scattered with red cherries with long green stems and I’m not unaware of the symbolism. I’m wearing red enamel earrings and red high-heeled shoes, the only dressy shoes in my closet. I’ve kept my make-up light and my hair simple by pulling it off my face with a red hair band. I only worry that I’ve done the matching thing too much. But I can never seem to find the time to polish my nails. I check them out now to keep my mind off the obvious and wince at how neglected they are. Gran would be outraged that I had let myself go so badly. It was just that going to school and working part time at the campus bookstore during the school term was a punishing schedule.I look up at Jonathon again and can’t seem to help myself from further imagining his beautiful hands on me, doing what he wanted—touching me where he wanted. I seem to be all helpless in this clear image, trussed up with soft restraints… Whoa! This is another first for me, daydreaming at the exact wrong time. Why on Earth does my new boss have to be such a hunk?“See, this is how you learn about yourself. Deciding what your tolerance levels are.”“I think I would prefer not be touched by someone I don’t know, if that’s a possibility,” I manage to squeak out, disliking the sound of my own voice. I feel myself blushing at the idea of anyone watching me masturbate. This surreal conversation is discombobulating, to say the least. Never in my wildest dreams—I stopped myself right there. Well, okay, sometimes I’ve dreamed of eyes watching me. Kind of turns me on. And wouldn’t that be better than a stranger touching me? So that decision was not so hard after all. And I certainly wouldn’t mind this man watching. Maybe I know more about my type than I could ever have imagined going into this thing. I fidget in my chair, not certain how I feel about these new erotic thoughts. Sure, I’ve daydreamed about romance before, but never this “instantly aware of my urge to have sex with a complete stranger” kind.“Good.”I think I detect a flicker of relief in his deep blue eyes that instantly vanishes. Why would my choice matter to him? I mean, considering the hands-off policy of his agency.“We make all our prospective clients sign a contract before we’ll take them on. It lays out everything in black and white. You will need to read it to be certain you understand their side of things to protect yourself. My sister, that is, we pride ourselves on a well-run business.”“Your sister?” I pounce on this bit of information. “This is not your usual work, is it?” The idea gives me hope that he’s out of his territory—that he’s not a real pimp.His expression becomes even more guarded as he replies, “Actually, you’re right. I don’t usually run things around here.”That explains the notes. I feel relief and I’m not sure why. Maybe I just don’t want a man I’m feeling something for to be in the world’s oldest profession?His eyes fill with concern as he continues, “Katherine owns the business. She’s having a baby in a few weeks and her doctor has ordered complete bed rest.”A woman. Well, there are famous madams in history. Heidi Fleiss. My mind went blank. I couldn’t think of any others. I wonder if Katherine is even her real name. Is the business of high-end escorts so accepted now that people used their real names? I have no experience in such things and, quite frankly, never thought I would have. But never say never, as my Gran would say. Circumstances change, child, and you might need to grid your loins for more than you expect. But we women, we can do whatever we have to do—we’re strong that way. Once again she was right as rain. But this—no way could I ever share this with her. What I could do for her though, I would do without complaint. Being from a holler in Kentucky comes complete with strength of character ground in. It comes from years of learning to live with the worst that life can unexpectedly send your way. Life in the coal mines was still a reality for many friends and neighbors, and what affected them, affected us all.He picks up the thick agreement lying on his desk.“I apologize for getting off topic. You’re not here to be subjected to family issues. Now, back to the escort’s contract. If you’ll sign now we can get things in place for you to start accepting clients in a few days.”“I may need time off for a personal matter in a few weeks. Is that a problem?” I am not going to mention my situation in this room. It just feels wrong. Though any stalling tactic would be appreciated right now. I am scared silly to sign, if the truth be known. I’ve heard before that most people can’t handle the truth and here I am working so hard to manage a hard truth: I need this job and the money it promises.“That shouldn’t be a problem. So, if you have no more questions—”God almighty, can I really do this thing? But the money is fabulous and I will need great wads of it for the foreseeable future.“I should add your acting ability will be of help. Just pretend you’re acting a part when you are with a client. Most prefer that anyway—especially if you can make it feel real. Having that skill on your resume is one of the reasons we contacted you. That and your obvious physical beauty. In fact your beauty is almost distracting.” He smiles as if to lessen the blow. “We’re always looking for long-haired, blue-eyed blondes. And that lilting southern accent doesn’t hurt a bit.”“Red,” I correct him, wishing I had not let my roommate Sally talk me into coloring it a few weeks back.“Excuse me?”“My roommate is studying to be a cosmetologist. She thought blondes have more fun.” But what would Sally think of this choice? My heart sinks as I imagine what she would say. Well, I’ll just have to keep my nocturnal activities secret until I can move out. Soon as I have the money I’ll get a cheap apartment and Sally will be none the wiser.“Even better. Blue-eyed redheads are rarer than blondes. During your make-over it can be fixed.” He’s already filled me in that the agency would be outfitting me with the necessary clothes and accessories to fit into the jet set crowd upfront. “The company pays for the uniform,” were his exact words. I’ve spent the last years in jeans and tee shirts so pretty clothes do sound nice. My limited budget does not allow for new clothes, but second-hand ones from local flea markets. Today’s dress is only one of two hanging in my closet.He gives me a direct look from those blue, blue eyes, seeming to be thinking about something.“You turned us down last week. What’s changed, Tess?” His voice softens with the asking and I almost spill my worries. But this man is going to be my boss—at least until his sister gets back—and I need to keep a professional distance. I jump into the made up explanation for the change of heart, that I wanted a compete change having recently broken up with a boyfriend.“Well, after thinking about it a little more—”His cell phone’s rings saving me from lying.His voice is curt as he answers whoever is on the other end, “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just in the middle of something right now. Check with Sean.”He puts the phone down and turns to me. “Sorry about that. My other business interests need attention. This one—” his quick gesture encompasses the whole room “is a sideline. Katherine asked for my help and I promised her to keep things going for her until she’s able to come back.” He runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back, and gives me a devastating smile that I feel all the way down to my wiggly toes. Darn, but he has it, that indefinable thing that draws me to him.“Now, as you know you always have a choice on whom you spend time with. Until we see how you do, we’ll only let you take on one client anyway. Some of our employees only ever see one client, as that is enough money for them. Some of our clients also insist on exclusivity. We cater to the elite of the elite here at Rosemère, which highly affects operations. We’ll be sending the information packets on individual clients that we match with your skill set by encrypted email and you can choose to accept or not. Is that clear?”I nod my head. I like the idea of control. Perhaps this won’t be so bad after all. No touching, new clothes, and choices in what men I see. And maybe just seeing one will be enough to pay the bills. I sincerely hope so though too bad Jonathon isn’t the one I could choose to see. That would not feel like work at all.“Do you need more time to think about this Tess?”His question surprises me. Until this moment it seemed he wanted me to sign as soon as possible.“No, I think this is what I have to do,” I smile at him, feeling brave and very liberated in my approach, though a little voice is whispering, are you really sure about this? I squelched it by focusing on Gran and her problems. She’d done for me all these years now I would be there for her.“Good.” He takes a black and gold pen from his jacket pocket and hands it to me.I bite my lip as I look at him holding the pen out to me. It gave to mind Snow White and the poisoned apple. Though this bearer was a thousand times more attractive than the old witch in the fairy tale. But it could be just as full of poison, that little voice of conscience squeezed the thought in edgewise, just with prettier packaging. Not helping. Okay. Get your mind straight, Tess. Can you do this thing? Without letting myself be trapped by doubts or conscience I grab the pen from him. I take a deep breath.“There’s one more thing I guess I should mention,” I say as lean I over his desk. I look at the signature line he indicates with a well-manicured finger and then shakily write “H. Tess Summerlin” on the document. It’s barely legible. “I’m a virgin.”

About the Author:
If, to quote Robert Louis Stevenson, to forget oneself is to be happy, than Angelina J. Windsor is most happy when she is immersed in the lives of my characters. Writing is all about giving your heart and soul to your storytelling. Obsessed with ideas and writing since she was one of those, the dreaded teenage poet, she spends time every day bringing worlds to life. For that journey she is humbled and grateful. 
She writes in multiple genres (multi-published) across the writingspectrum, from hard science fiction to sweet romance, though she is quite drawn to racy characters that have plenty of attitude to spare.  She can only hope her books touch your life albeit briefly in our busy world, and give you moments of absolute freedom as you fly with her to other worlds. Thanks for reading! And may all your stories have a happy-ever-after.                                                                                                 http://www.angelinajwindsor.com/
https://twitter.com/AngelinaWindsor
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Guest Blog, Excerpt, Giveaway- Strange Girl by Christopher Pike

I meet a lot of people who want to be writers.  Many of them not only want to write for a living, they plan on becoming bestselling novelists.  If I’m honest about such individuals, I admire those who hope to one day publish a book.  But when it comes to people who only want to pursue writing because they think it’ll be a quick and easy route to riches and fame….well, I seldom give them a lot of my time.

I’ve discovered that successful writers spend several hours a day writing because it’s what they want to do.  I’d even go so far as to say they feel “compelled” to write.  I have to write each day -- literally.  If I don’t I feel like I’ve missed out on something.  Like the day has been somehow left incomplete.

For me, the most difficult part of writing a book to is coming up with the first chapter.  Even the first page can be a challenge.  But I find that after I have one or two chapters in hand, the characters in the book usually take over and the book begins to write itself.  

That doesn’t mean I no longer have to work at it.  I do.  Even when I’m deep in the “zone” and the words are coming faster than I can type, I still have to mold each paragraph until it’s clean and powerful.  What I mean when I say the book begins to write itself is something subtle.  It’s as if the cosmos starts to “give” me the story -- and yet it’s still up to me to work hard and do the best I can with the gift.

I hope that makes sense.  

I think it will to anyone who has written a book.

I meet many sincere people who feel they should be writing but doubt whether they have the ability or the talent or -- and this is the scariest one -- the intelligence.  When I was eighteen years old, a year out of high school, I began to entertain the idea of writing a novel.  At that time there was a very popular horror book on the bestseller list called, Harvest Home by Thomas Tryon.  This was two or three years before Stephen King burst on the scene.  The whole time I read Harvest Home -- I was enthralled.  I kept thinking how wonderful it would be if I could one day create such a masterpiece.  

But Harvest Home intimidated me as well.  It was obvious that Thomas Tryon had an extraordinary mind.  That his IQ was forty or fifty points higher than my own.  How could I ever hope to tell such an amazing story?  Frankly, the book inspired and depressed me at the same time.

Nevertheless, the “compulsion” to tell a story overwhelmed me two years later and I finally sat down and began to write my first book.  I knew from the start it wouldn’t be as well written as Harvest Home.  I simply did not possess Thomas Tryon’s skill with words.  But what I did discover, much to my surprise, was that I had no trouble plotting complex stories. 

Of course, that discovery didn’t come overnight.  It actually took six years of steady writing before I was skilled enough to get published.  

But the point remains -- different writers have different gifts.  Coming up with stories is easy for me.  At any one time I’ll have a dozen plots in my head.  True, I still don’t have a fraction of Tryon’s descriptive abilities.  But I have other skills.  I know how to write clearly.  I can suck a reader into a story quickly.  I can hold their attention to the last page.  I’m never going to win a Pulitzer, but I can tell an exciting story and keep people entertained for a few hours.

What is the moral of all this?

If you feel compelled to write then write.  Don’t quit if at first you can’t write as well as your favorite novelist.  No matter how talented you may be, it will take years of steady writing for your own “voice’ to emerge.  No two novelists write the same because no two people think exactly the same.  When I say it will take years for your own “voice” to emerge, I mean it usually takes that long before you’ll be able to put what you’re feeling and thinking inside onto the page.  

Sure, there will always be those rare people who sell their first book only months after they start writing.  But I don’t envy such writers.  When success comes too soon, a person seldom takes the time to really master their craft.  Why should they?  They are already a success -- at least in their own minds.  Looking back, I’m glad I went through six years of rejection.  That six years of hearing nothing but “no’s” pushed me to hone my skills.

Someone who wants to be a writer will write no matter what the circumstances.
It won’t matter is you’re working full-time or if your wife or husband tells you that you’re wasting your time.  You’ll write because you have to write.  

Maybe one day you’ll get published.  Maybe one day you’ll write a bestseller.  Or maybe you’ll write for years and never get published.  Does it matter?  Yes, it might, if getting published allows you to keep writing.  But, no, it won’t matter if you can continue to write without receiving advances and royalties.  

Right now I just finished a new book called Strange Girl.  It came out in the stores a few weeks ago.  I have no idea if it will sell well or not.  But the book is wonderful, I know it is, and in the end that’s what matters.  I’ve created something beautiful out of nothing.  If you can do the same, then that should be reason enough for you to write.

Strange GirlChristopher Pike
Publisher: Simon PulseRelease Date:  November 17, 2015
Genre: Paranormal Mystery
ISBN-10: 1481450581ISBN-13: 978-1481450584
Paperback: 432 pages
From #1 New York Times bestselling author Christopher Pike comes a brand-new fascinating and seductive new novel about a girl with a mysterious ability—but one that carries an unimaginable cost.
From the moment Fred meets Aja, he knows she’s different. She’s pretty, soft-spoken, shy—yet seems to radiate an unusual peace. Fred quickly finds himself falling in love with her.
Then strange things begin to happen around Aja. A riot breaks out that Aja is able to stop by merely speaking a few words. A friend of Fred’s suffers a serious head injury and has a miraculous recovery.
Yet Aja swears she has done nothing.
Unfortunately, Fred is not the only one who notices Aja’s unique gifts. As more and more people begin to question who Aja is and what she can do, she’s soon in grave danger. Because none of them truly understands the source of Aja’s precious abilities—or their devastating cost.
Love Aja or hate her—you will never forget her.
In Strange Girl, #1 bestselling author Christopher Pike has created the rarest of novels—a love story that swings between a heart-pounding mystery and a stirring mystical journey.
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CHAPTER ONE
I STILL GET asked about Aja, where she came from, what it was like to be her friend, to actually date her, whether the stories about her were true, and who—or what—I really thought she was.
The last question makes me smile, probably because I understand it’s hard to talk about Aja without sounding like a nut. That’s what I try telling people who want to know about her. She was a mystery, a genuine enigma, in a world that has more trouble each day believing in such things. And now that she’s gone, I think she’ll forever remain a mystery.
At least to those who loved her.
And to those who feared her.
My name’s Fred Allen, and I was a seventeen-year-old senior in high school when I met Aja. I was heading home on a hot Friday afternoon after a boring two weeks of classes when I spotted her sitting in the park across the street from campus. I’d like to say I saw something special about her from the start but I’d be lying, although later I wondered if she might have been kind of strange.
There was a perfectly fine bench five feet off to her left but instead of sitting on it like a normal person she was kneeling in the grass and plucking at a few scrawny daisies, while occasionally looking up at Elder High’s sweaty student body as they poured into the side streets or else cut across the park toward their homes.
The sweat was because of the humidity. From June until October, it hovered around 90 percent. But the stickiness was usually vanquished by a brief autumn that blew by in a month or less, and was replaced by bitter winter winds that were so cold they’d bite your ass off—even if you had the bad taste to wear long underwear to school, which only the principal and the teachers did.
I suppose it could have been worse. Elder could have been located in North Dakota instead of South Dakota. Our northern neighbors were something of a mystery to most of us. I mean, it’s not like anyone went to vacation up there. All we really knew about them was that they were always lobbying to change their name to just plain “Dakota.” For some reason they thought that would make their state sound more inviting. Go figure.
Anyway, the thing that struck me about Aja at the start, besides her love of grass and daisies, was that she stared at many of the students who walked by. She didn’t smile at them, didn’t say hi or bat her long lashes or anything seductive like that. She just looked straight at them, which probably made most of them feel uncomfortable. I noticed the majority looked away as they strode by.
I mentioned her long lashes, and yeah, I did happen to notice she was pretty. Not beautiful in the usual social-media way, but an easy eight or nine on Fred Allen’s relatively generous scale of one to ten. Even at a distance of a hundred yards I could see her hair was dark brown, shiny, and that her skin was the same color as my favorite ice cream—Häagen-Dazs Coffee.
Yet I didn’t equate her with ice cream because I wanted to take a bite out of her or anything gross like that. It’s not like I felt some mad rush of seventeen-year-old hormones and experienced first love for the twentieth time. I just sort of, you know, noticed that she looked nice, very nice, and that her long lashes framed a pair of large, dark eyes that were, sadly, not looking anywhere in my direction.
That was it; that was my first impression of Aja. Oh, there was one other thing. I did happen to notice that she had on a simple white dress that didn’t quite reach to her knees. The thing that struck me about the dress was—not that it was filthy—it looked like it could have used a wash.
Introduction to Aja complete. I went home and didn’t give her more than a few hours of thought all weekend. And no, honestly, my fantasies were not a hundred percent sexual. I mainly wondered why a girl her age, if she was new to town, wasn’t going to school. It was just a thought. Elder High, my school, was the only one in town for someone our age.
Monday morning I heard about Aja from my best friend, Janet Shell, five minutes before our first period, calculus, started. I was taking calculus because it was an AP class and my parents were obsessed that I ace as many hard classes as possible so I’d go to college and not grow up to be as miserable as they were.
That was sort of a joke in our household but, unfortunately, it was mostly true. My dad sold new and used cars at a Toyota dealership in a neighboring town of ours, Balen, which actually had a multiplex where the speaker system didn’t sound like a jukebox and there was a generous selection of eight movies. Unlike Elder’s sole theater, where you had to wear 3-D glasses just to keep from squinting at the sagging screen.
My mom also worked in Balen as an executive secretary for a boss that couldn’t have spelled her job title. My parents were both smart, and they loved each other, I think, but when I asked why they hadn’t moved away from Elder—like, say, before I was born—they just told me to pass the salt. What I mean is, the way they fell silent whenever I asked about their past made me feel like I was somehow rubbing salt in old wounds. I joke about it now—a bad habit, I still joke about most things—but it did worry me that they weren’t happy.
Janet Shell, on the other hand, was super happy, or else she knew how to act the part, which according to her was all that mattered. She was taking calculus because she was smart and loved math. But she was cool, too. For example, although a straight-A student, she intended to get a C in calculus simply because she didn’t want to get elected our class valedictorian.
Besides hating the spotlight, Janet knew if she was required to give a speech to us graduating seniors, there was no way she’d be able to resist telling us that virtually our whole class would still be living in Elder when our ten- and twenty-year high school reunions rolled around—her way of saying that the majority of us were destined to be losers.
“Have you seen the new girl yet?” Janet asked before Mr. Simon showed up his usual five minutes late. We’d had him as our math teacher three years running. The guy came into class reeking of pot almost every morning until Halloween rolled around, when he’d switch over to some kind of mysterious blue pill—Janet swore it was the stimulant Adderall—and lecture us on three chapters a week instead of his normal three pages.
Naturally, Janet’s question about the “new girl” piqued my interest. I’d been looking for her since I’d arrived at school. Still, I acted cool.
“Nope,” I said, adding a shrug.
“Bullshit. You must have seen her. You just blushed.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Janet looked me over. “Her name’s Aja—A-J-A. It’s pronounced like Asia but with more of a J sound. She’s a total fox, super exotic-looking. She just moved here from a remote village in Brazil. Everyone’s talking about her but I hear she’s not talking much. The word is—she’s not stuck-up, just quiet.” Janet paused. “What do you think? Want to ask her out?”
“How about I meet her first, then decide?” I said.
“Okay. But I think with this one you’re going to have to act fast. She’s no Nicole. You can’t wait two years to get up your nerve. She’ll go quick.”
I felt a stab of pain that Janet had so carelessly brought up Nicole but hid it. “What makes you so sure? She might be picky.”
Janet wavered. “True. But a ton of guys are going to hit on her. She’s a looker and she’s got money and she knows how to dress.”
Recalling the plain, dusty dress Aja had been wearing in the park, that surprised me. “Really?”
Janet caught the note in my voice. “You have seen her, you bastard. Why do you lie to me when you’re such a shitty liar? Tell me the truth, have you talked to her?”
I sighed. “I saw a new girl last Friday while walking home from school. She was sitting in the park, plucking flowers. I’m not sure she’s the same person you’re talking about.”
“Right. Like this town has a surplus of beautiful girls.”
“Hold on a sec. You’re the one who says us guys are always judging a book by its cover. Well, what are you doing? So she’s pretty. So she’s got expensive clothes. She could still be a jerk.”
“She’s not, she’s cool.” Janet leaned closer, lowered her voice. “I met her, I spoke to her.”
“When?”
“Ten minutes ago. We only exchanged a few words but I sensed something unique about her.” Janet paused. “You know the last time I said that, don’t you?”
“Ages ago. When you met me.”
“That’s right. That’s why you need to ask her out.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Mr. Simon stumbled in right then, smelling like Colombian Gold, and told us to open our textbooks to chapter three. It was Janet who had to remind him that we hadn’t covered chapter two yet.
I spent most of the class digesting what Janet had said. I’d learned long ago to take her insights seriously. Janet was not merely smart; she had an uncanny intuition when it came to people. She said 99.99 percent of the population were sheep. If she liked Aja, it meant she was more than a pretty face.
I saw Aja in third period, before lunch, in American History.
We were in the same class. Just my luck.
Maybe, I thought, maybe not. My usual seat was in the corner, all the way in the back. Aja came in two minutes after me and sat down in the first row, but the last seat, by the windows. Basically, even though we occupied the same room, she was pretty far away. I couldn’t help but think she’d somehow spotted me, remembered me staring at her the previous Friday afternoon, and had gone out of her way to keep her distance.
Of course, given the fact that she hadn’t even glanced in my direction when she’d entered the classroom, I was probably just being paranoid.
She looked good, better than good. There were plenty of heads between me and her and all I could see was Aja’s. Her dark hair appeared a little shorter than last Friday, like she’d gotten a trim over the weekend. But the shine was still there. And her long eyelashes, seen in profile, were amazing.
Our teacher, Mrs. Nancy Billard, came into the room. A stuffy, old bird if you got on her wrong side, but one of the most caring people you could meet if she happened to like you. She taught AP English on top of history and I’d had her for English the previous year and had won her over with a slew of wild-and-crazy short stories I’d written. She liked students who thought outside the box.
However, those who landed on her wrong side were either flunked or ignored or both. In her AP classes she enforced a strict work ethic. She said anyone who wanted to go to college had to earn it.
“I see we have a new student today,” she said, glancing in Aja’s direction. “I was told you’d be joining us. What’s your name?”
“Aja,” she replied in a soft voice.
“Is that your first or last name?”
“It’s what people call me.”
Billard cleared her throat, a bad sign. “Then that’s what I’ll call you. But please humor the rest of the class and tell us your full name.”
“Aja Smith.”
“Took a moment to remember your family name?”
Aja stared at her and said nothing.
Billard continued. “Well, we’re all very happy you could join us two weeks late. Another week and you’d have wandered in during the Civil War. Ted, fetch a textbook for Aja from the closet and let’s all open to page forty-nine, chapter three. Time we got to the thirteen colonies and their feud with King George the Third.” Billard paused and glanced at Aja again. “Do you have a problem, girl?”
“No.”
“You’re looking at me kind of funny. I thought maybe you did.” Aja didn’t reply, just continued to stare at her, which didn’t sit well with Billard. “You do know something about American history, don’t you?”
“No,” Aja replied.
Billard blinked, unsure whether Aja was sassing her or not. “Then it’s your responsibility to catch up. This is an AP class—there are no shortcuts here. Read the first forty-eight pages of your textbook tonight and I’ll quiz you on them tomorrow.”
Aja nodded without speaking as she accepted the textbook from Ted Weldon, a football jock with a double-digit IQ and a gross habit of farting whenever he yawned. Some might have wondered what he was doing in an AP class. But those who bothered to contemplate the matter probably didn’t know that Ted’s father was best buddies with Elder High’s Principal Levitt and that—despite what Billard had just said—there were always shortcuts available to those students whose parents knew the right people.
Handing Aja her textbook, Ted didn’t simply look at her; he gloated over her face and body before returning to his chair, eliciting a mild chuckle from the rest of the class.
“Thanks,” Aja said. Her voice was not merely soft, it was smooth, cool, confident. She obviously didn’t have to speak up to make a point. Plus her answers to Billard’s questions had been at best evasive, which I naturally had to admire.
Yet I could tell already that Billard didn’t like her and that Aja was probably going to have a hard time in her class. That bothered me, a little, even though she was a total stranger.
Total stranger. Damn. Got to change that fast.
I remembered Janet’s warning that Aja would not last when it came to Elder High’s horny guys, and it got my adrenaline pumping. When class was over I caught up with her outside in the hallway and walked by her side before she stopped at her locker. Oh no, I thought. I wasn’t ready for this. Suddenly a life-changing choice was upon me. I could either keep walking and live the rest of my days in regret or I could stop and pretend to have a locker next to her.
I did the latter, spinning the dial on the lock like it was preset to my favorite radio station. Only the volume never came on and the locker never opened because I had no idea what the combination was. Fortunately, Aja seemed to be having trouble with her own locker and I was able to swoop in and rescue her.
“It’s not opening?” I asked, way too casually and with a stupid grin on my face.
Aja pulled a slip of paper from her pants pocket and stuck it out for me to take. “I was told this is the combination,” she said.
Aja didn’t have on ordinary pants; she wore designer jeans that had clearly been purchased far from Elder’s finest clothing stores. Up top she had on an ultrathin maroon sweater; and if it was responsible for her subtle curves, then it was worth its weight in gold. Her silky blouse had red in it as well—a rusty color that made me think of desert sand dunes and romantic sunset kisses and . . .
I was losing it, I suddenly realized. Aja’s big brown eyes were still waiting for me to take her slip of paper. I shook my head and took a breath. Breathing was good, I reminded myself.
“This looks like it might work,” I said. Duh! The piece of paper said: “LOCKER NUMBER” on top. A sequence of three numbers followed: 12–18–24. All the locks in school—all the combinations I’d ever seen, for that matter—worked on the right-left-right sequence. When I dialed in Aja’s three digits, the locker immediately opened. Amazing. I noticed her eyes following me closely and added, “You see how it works?”
“Yes,” she replied, and it was only then I realized she’d never had a locker before. She deposited her book inside and closed it. Out of habit, I reached up and spun the dial.
“You can’t be too careful,” I said.
“Pardon?”
“Your lock. You need to spin it to clear the combination.” She didn’t respond, just stared at me. Again, I felt the need to add something. “So no one will break into your locker.”
“Kids do that here?” she asked.
“Some kids do, yeah.” Again, she seemed to wait for me to continue so I added, “Actually, the students here don’t like being called kids.”
“What should I call them?”
“Girls or guys or people. Kids—it sounds kind of young, you know.”
“I didn’t know that but thanks for telling me.”
“No problem. By the way, my name’s Fred Allen. I’m in your history class. I sit in the back.”
“I saw you.”
“You did?” God, the way I asked the question, the sheer amount of wonder in my tone, it was like she’d just told me she’d found a heart donor that could save my life. I reminded myself again to keep breathing and try to act normal. Fortunately, Aja didn’t appear to notice my clumsiness.
“Yes,” she said simply, adding, “I’m Aja.”
“I know. I mean, I heard what you told Mrs. Billard.” Aja nodded and again acted as if she wanted me to keep talking. I added, “She can be a great teacher if she thinks you’re trying. But slack off and she’ll classify you as a loser. Then you’ll be in trouble. She was serious when she told you that she’s going to quiz you on the first two chapters of the textbook. If I was you I’d study tonight. I’d read chapter three as well. I wouldn’t be surprised if she quizzed you on the whole lot.”
“I will.” She looked past me as the student body converged toward Elder High’s courtyard. We had an indoor cafeteria but no one ventured inside before the first snow came. The school lunch staff didn’t mind. They kept a half-dozen windows open where you could order a decent hamburger, hot dog, or sandwich if you had the money. Since I was on a strict budget, I usually brought a brown bag from home and just picked up a Coke from one of the vending machines. In fact, my lunch was waiting for me back at my real locker, although I felt in no hurry to get to it.
“The kids . . . the girls and guys have lunch now?” Aja asked.
“Yeah. It’s always after third period. Are you hungry?”
“This bod . . .” She suddenly stopped. “Yes.”
“Bring anything from home?” I knew she hadn’t because I’d seen the interior of her locker and it had been empty. She shook her head and for the hundredth time waited for me to go on. I added, “Then you should probably pick up something at the windows.”
“Are you going to these . . . windows?”
“Uh-huh. I can show you where they are if you want. If you don’t have other plans, I mean.”
She flashed a smile. “I don’t have any plans, Fred.”
I liked how she said my name and loved her smile; nevertheless, I groaned inside thinking how hard Janet would be laughing if she could see me now. Honestly, my nervousness made no sense. Sure, Aja was pretty, and, sure, I liked her, or at least I thought I did. But she was the new girl in town, a stranger from another country, and English was obviously a second language for her. She should have been the one stumbling all over the place.
I assumed the language barrier was the reason she had almost referred to herself as “This body.” I was pretty sure that’s what she’d been about to say.
I escorted her to the windows and if I’d been forced to critique my stride I’d have to say I looked like an extra on The Walking Dead. I was definitely taking time finding my cool gear. But eventually I began to calm down and by the time we’d waited in line and it was our turn to order I was feeling pretty good about myself. Why not? I’d just met Aja and already I was taking her to lunch. Not bad for a few minutes’ work. I’d decided to pay for whatever she ordered to show what a gentleman I was.
“Hey, Fred, how’s the demo going?” Carlos asked from the other side of the glass. He was from Mexico and worked three jobs to keep his family of six out of the rain. He was also a genius when it came to playing the acoustic guitar and was helping me to lay down tracks on a new three-song demo I was struggling to put together.
Yeah, I know, so I wanted to be a rock star.
But tell the truth. Who didn’t?
“It’s getting there,” I said honestly, turning to Aja, who was staring at Carlos and not bothering to look at the overhead menu. To his credit, Carlos acted like I showed up every afternoon with a pretty girl on my arm. “Know what you want?” I asked Aja.
She looked at me. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Want a burger? A sandwich? A salad?”
“I’ll have what you’re having,” she said.
“I was going to have a turkey sandwich with fries. And a Coke. That sound good?”
Aja nodded. “That’s good.”
Carlos whipped up our sandwiches in three minutes flat and when it was time to pay Aja pulled out a wad of cash fat enough to buy a new car with. I hastily told her I had it covered and she put the money back in her pocket.
Like the rest of town, Elder High was kind of old and kind of poor, and no part of our campus reflected those qualities more than our courtyard. It had no tables, no umbrellas to block the sun, no drinking fountains. Only peeling wooden benches that, if you were lucky, managed to catch the shade of a nearby tree.
Of course we had trees, the whole state did, except for our infamous Badlands, which I, personally, happened to love. I steered Aja toward a shady bench located somewhere between where the jocks and the bad boys gathered. Like most schools, Elder High had a variety of clearly defined social groups, none of which had ever shown the slightest interest in attracting me as a member.
For a few minutes I had Aja all to myself but I wasted them because all I did was eat and watch her eat. It was during this time I noticed that she seemed to be following my lead. When I unwrapped my turkey sandwich, she unwrapped hers. When I reached for a fry or a sip of Coke, she did the same. She didn’t take nearly as big bites as I did, though. If anything she chewed her food more thoroughly than anyone I’d ever met.
But she only mimicked me for a few minutes before quitting.
“Where are you from?” I finally asked.
Aja pointed north. “I live with my aunt Clara. In a white house by a large pond.”
I had meant where she was from in Brazil but her answer interested me. “You don’t live in the old Carter Mansion, do you?”
“Carter? Hmm. Yes, the realtor told Aunty that was the name of the man who built the house. That’s where this . . . that’s where I stay.”
“That’s one big house. Is it just the two of you?”
“Bart lives with us.”
“Who’s Bart?”
“Bart is Bart. He takes care of things.”
“Is he a housekeeper? A butler?”
“Yes. He’s been with Aunty since before I met her.”
“How old were you when you met your aunt?”
“I was small.” Aja added casually, “I ran into her in the jungle.”
“The jungle?”
“The town where I was born is surrounded by jungle.”
“And you just sort of bumped into your aunt?”
“Yes.”
“Are you saying she’s not your real aunt?”
Aja sipped her drink. “She’s as real as you and me.”
I frowned. “This was in Brazil?”
“Yes.”
I wanted to continue my line of questioning but we got interrupted right then by Dale Parish and Michael Garcia, two close friends of mine. Actually, two members of a band I’d formed—Half Life. Dale played bass and Mike was our drummer. Dale had only been playing a year but he was a natural and kept improving in leaps and bounds every month. Mike—he’d been banging on anything that made noise since he’d been a kid. No joke, he was like a force of nature onstage. We were lucky to have him. I kept expecting to lose him to a louder and more successful group.
Yet Mike swore he’d never leave us. He had faith in my singing and songwriting abilities.
Unfortunately, he also had a temper and was unpredictable. He missed plenty of practice sessions, even a few paid gigs. We never knew which Mike was going to show up. If he was loaded, on pot or beer, we knew the “Beast” was in the room and we’d better watch out. But when he was sober he was the nicest guy. The swings could be stressful.
Worse, Mike caused Dale constant grief. Because Dale was in love with him and Mike didn’t have a clue. On the surface it seemed impossible, since they’d grown up together. But the truth was Mike didn’t even know Dale was gay. And Dale had begged me and our keyboardist, Shelly Wilson, never to tell him.
Carlos had warned me—and Carlos never lied—that Mike often hung out with a Hispanic gang in Balen that controlled most of the area’s drug traffic. If anything was going to tear our band apart, I knew it was going to be the tension between our drummer and bass player.
“Who do we have here?” Mike asked, straddling the bench beside Aja like it—or she—was a horse he was anxious to ride. Dale nodded to me and smiled uneasily in Aja’s direction but remained standing.
Physically, the two couldn’t have been more unlike. Mike was dark-skinned, short and stocky, and could bench-press more than Elder’s heartiest jocks. If a swinging chick was looking for a bad boy who could rip holes in the sheets, Mike was it. While Dale—well, I never met a more gentle soul in my life but there was a reason his stage name was “The Corpse.” He was way beyond skinny and pale. Onstage, under a harsh spotlight, he almost looked transparent. But the boy sure could play. That was all that mattered to me.
I spoke up. “Aja, these are two musician friends of mine, Mike and Dale. We’re in a band together. Dale plays bass and Mike the drums. Guys, this is Aja. She’s from Brazil. This is her first day at Elder High.”
Aja nodded in their direction. “I enjoy music.”
“But do you like musicians?” Mike asked, teasing. “That’s what I want to know. Besides, what the hell are you doing with Fred? Did he tell you he’s such a wuss that he won’t go onstage—and I’m talking practically every single gig we play—without me swearing that I’ve got his back?”
“I’m afraid it’s true,” I admitted. In the band, during shows, once Mike got going he created such a ferocious rhythm that he drowned out any flat notes I hit on my guitar or with my voice.
“Fred has more talent in his little finger than the rest of us combined,” Dale added.
Mike slapped me on the back. “Yeah, Fred’s the only one in this town that’s going places. Take my word for it. So how did you two meet?”
I assumed Aja would remain silent, given her habit, and that I’d have to answer. However, she stared Mike right in the eye and said, “We met last Friday in the park. He was watching me pick flowers and I smiled at him but he ignored me. But today he’s a lot more friendly.”
Her comment caused my heart to skip.
She’d smiled at me?
Mike was suddenly curious about her accent. “¿Hablan español en el lugar de Brasil de donde vienes?” he asked.
“No muchos. Pero algunos,” Aja said.
“¿Pero creciste hablando portugués?” Mike asked.
“Sim,” Aja said.
“What the hell are they saying?” I asked Dale. He’d taken four years of Spanish at school but his real knowledge of the language had come from hanging around Mike’s family. Dale leaned over and whispered in my ear.
“Mike asked if they spoke Spanish in her part of Brazil. Aja said, ‘Not many, but some.’ Then Mike asked, ‘But you grew up speaking Portuguese?’ And Aja said, ‘Yes.’ ”
“Why the sudden interest in Aja’s background?” I said. But Mike ignored me and continued to speak to Aja, who appeared to fascinate him.
“Your accent—you remind me of my grandmother,” Mike said. “She could speak half a dozen languages. She sounded like she was from everywhere, and nowhere, if you know what I mean. Sort of like you.”
Aja lowered her head. “Ninguém do nada.”
“What was that?” I asked quickly.
Apparently she’d answered in Portuguese, which neither Mike nor Dale understood. When I asked Aja what she’d said, all she did was shake her head like it didn’t matter.
Dale flashed Mike a sign that it was time to split and Mike, knowing my bad luck with girls, bid us a quick farewell. When they were gone Aja and I returned to eating our sandwiches and fries. A long silence settled between us but to my surprise it wasn’t uncomfortable. I suspected Aja had spent most of her life alone and wasn’t bothered by quiet.
“I apologize for Mike,” I said. “He can be a handful when you first meet him.”
“He has a fiery spirit.”
“I suppose that’s where all the smoke comes from.”
Aja turned her big, brown eyes on me. “They look up to you. Are you that good?”
I assumed she was asking about my musical abilities and shrugged. “As far as South Dakota is concerned, I could be the next Mozart. But if I performed at a club in Los Angeles or New York or Seattle I’d be laughed off the stage.” I took a gulp of Coke. “Trying to make a living as a singer/songwriter is probably the most irrational ambition a guy can have. One in a million—no, one in ten million—ends up making money at it.”
“But it’s what you want to do,” she said.
“Unfortunately.”
“Then you’ll do it.”
I chuckled. “You haven’t even seen us play.”
The remark was far from subtle. I was hoping she’d bite and say she’d like to come to a show. Also, it wasn’t by chance that I’d switched from talking about me to talking about the band. If she didn’t bite, then she was rejecting Half Life, not me. So went my crazy logic. The truth was I’d brought up being a musician to impress her. It was shameless, I know, but I figured I had to play what cards I held.
“Is it fun for you?” she asked.
“Being onstage? Sometimes—when I forget what I’m doing and that people are watching me. Then I love it. But most of the time I’m way too self-conscious and can’t wait until the gig is over. Seriously.”
Aja continued to stare at me and because she didn’t blink often, it was a bit disconcerting. “Play for me sometime,” she said.
There. I’d practically begged her to ask but now that she had I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. I shook my head. “I’m not a solo artist. Better to see me in the band.”
She nodded but I didn’t think she believed me.
“How about you?” I asked. “What’s your favorite hobby?”
She hesitated. “I don’t have any hobbies. I just . . . enjoy things.”
“What sort of things?”
“Bart told me to watch out for questions like that. He said they’d get me into trouble.”
Her response caught me off guard. “Huh?”
“I told you about Bart.”
“I know, I heard you. But he actually told you how to behave while you were at school today?”
Aja nodded. “He spent the weekend trying to teach me what to say and what not to say.”
“Isn’t that a little weird?”
If my question bothered her, she showed no sign. “Bart said he had to teach me so I wouldn’t appear weird to the rest of you.” As if to reassure me, she reached out and touched my arm. “He was trying to help.”
The instant she touched me, I felt something odd, a lapse of sorts, where I had trouble focusing. The scene around us, the guys and girls walking back and forth across the courtyard, they didn’t stop but they did seem to slow down. I shook my head to clear it and the sensation eased up, somewhat. I noticed Aja had taken back her hand. I had to struggle to get out my next remark.
“I should meet this guy. Maybe he can help me with my weirdness.”
Aja suddenly stood, leaving what was left of her food behind on the bench. She wasn’t tall but at that moment she could have been standing on a chair and looking down at me. I worried that my peculiar sensation had not passed, after all. Again, I had to remind myself that she was new to the school, the stranger in a strange land, but right then I was certain I had it all wrong, that she was more at home in Elder than I could ever hope to be.
“I’m glad we got to talk, Fred. I hope I see you again soon.”
With that she turned and walked away.

About the Author:
Christopher Pike is a bestselling author of young adult novels. The Thirst series, The Secret of Ka, and the Remember Me and Alosha trilogies are some of his favorite titles. He is also the author of several adult novels, including Sati and The Season of Passage.
Thirst and Alosha are slated to be released as feature films. Pike currently lives in Santa Barbara, where it is rumored he never leaves his house.
But he can be found online at www.Facebook.com/ChristopherPikeBooks
Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/RealChristopherPike
Series of writing advice on Wattpad:https://www.wattpad.com/story/52999302

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For Love of a Vampire by Eileen Sheehan

For Love of a VampireEileen Sheehan
Genre:  Vampire Romance
Publisher:  Earth Wise Books
Date of Publication: 12/22/2015
ISBN:  978-0692588796ASIN: B0195YZ57E
Number of pages: 254Word Count: 80,824
Book Description:
When young witch, Jane Wells, discovers her love is a vampire she risks all to travel back to a time when Vampires and Witches are plentiful and powerful to try to change his fate.
A risky venture, it is a feat that even the most adept witches find challenging.
Does she have what it takes to succeed?
Amazon Excerpt:
Duncan moved off the bed as his father stomped out of the room; slamming the door soundly behind him for emphasis.  He stood at the side of the bed and looked at me apologetically before silently bowing to Margaret and strolling none-too securely out of the room.I found it remarkable that these people had the power to bring my vampire lover to his emotional knees like that.  It was clear that the beliefs of his upbringing were strongly instilled within the depths of his being.  I couldn’t help wonder what this meant for us.“Remove this trollop from my bed and away from my sight,” Margaret barked at Elizabeth. Without warning she flew to the bed and slid her hand beneath my skirts to fondle the sticky proof that Duncan had truly been with me. I gasped, but was too shocked to do anything about it.  She pulled her hand free and stared at her fingers in disgust. “Make certain the bedclothes are immediately disposed of!”Silence permeated the room as Lady Margaret-Jane left the room as majestically and as quickly as possible.  I remained on the bed, still stunned into silence, while I processed what just happened.  Elizabeth was the first to come to her senses and begin moving around the room.“’Tis most irregular m ‘lady,” she said nervously.“My name is Jane,” I replied softly.“Pardon?  Yes… yes, Jane,” Elizabeth wrung her hands. “’’Tis most irregular.  ‘Tis wrong to address you as Jane, m’ lady.  I do not know who you are, but you are clearly someone Lord Duncan cares for and you… well… you are the image of Lady Margaret.  I do not feel right calling you by your given name.”“Well, I’m not a lady,” I boldly stated in my own American English, “and I’m not from this time.  I’m from the future and in the future we aren’t called m’ lady, or Lady, or whatever,” I flipped at her as I hopped out of bed.  My shock was replaced by anger and indignation.“Oh?” Elizabeth gasped and backed up.
“In the future, Duncan and I are lovers. We live together openly as a couple.  What you saw when you unceremoniously barged in on us was a reunion between a couple and I resent being called a trollop!”  I declared.  I knew it wasn’t right to take my anger out on Elizabeth, but she was the only one in the room to listen to me and I needed to vent.  “We don’t use the word trollop anymore either!” I puffed. “It’s slut!”
About the Author:
Eileen Sheehan lives in her native upstate New York where she enjoys the beauty of the New York Countryside.
When she is not sitting at the computer creating a new fantasy, she can be found helping her clients through her holistic business as Lena Sheehan a.k.a. Psychic Lena.
She takes advantage of her experiences, wisdom and knowledge of the paranormal and often finds ways to insert them into her writings.
Curl up with your e-reader or paperback and lose yourself in Eileen Sheehan's exciting paranormal/fantasy world of magic, time travel, vampires, shape shifters, werewolves, and more! You'll grab the edge of your seat, befriend -and maybe fall in love with- her heroes and heroines and have a laugh or two as you enjoy her fast paced novels for readers of most ages. Although she strives to create a well-rounded story, Eileen is an incurable romantic so don't expect an abundance of horror.  She prefers to make love, not gore.
Visit her online at:  http://www.sheehan-author.info
https://www.facebook.com/sheehan.author
https://twitter.com/AuthorSheehan
https://www.goodreads.com/14219489.Eileen_Sheehan

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Book Trailer, Excerpt and Giveaway: Divide and Conquer by Carmen Fox

Divide and ConquerChampions of EloniaBook 1Carmen Fox
Genre: Urban Fantasy with romance elements
Publisher: Champagne Books
Date of Publication: March 2, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-77155-175-5ASIN: B00U0W2BIM
Number of pages: 377 print pagesWord Count: 97k
Cover Artist: Ellie Smith
Book Description:
Two women. One prophecy. Zero places to hide.
Flung from her mundane Seattle existence into a world of magic, scientist Lea struggles to make sense of a destiny she doesn’t want. The moment she finds comfort in the arms of a man who appreciates her inner nerd, a new magic sweeps the realms.
Nieve, Lea’s instructor, may be seasoned in the art of war, but she’s clueless when it comes to romance. To save her world, she allies herself with her enemy, a kindred warrior soul, who leaves no doubt he’s after more than her cooperation.
As each tick of the clock swallows another person’s memory, Lea and Nieve will do anything to hang on to theirs, but betrayal drives a wedge in their friendship. Can they reconcile and rally the troops before the magic wipes out their pasts?
Video Trailer: http://youtu.be/jLmIiCumCQE

Amazon     BN     Kobo

"Urban Fantasy doesn't get better than DIVIDE & CONQUER.  Action, excitement, and 2 kick-ass heroines to root for fill this rich, complex and dynamic world. Carmen Fox does not disappoint!"
~National & USA Today Bestselling author Anna J Stewart
Excerpt:
NIEVE
I dropped my magical defenses, allowing my luster to envelop me in a powerful light. Without the sun’s ready supply of energy, that meant using some of my precious resources.
“Holy crap.” Lea jumped out of her bed and squeezed against the far wall of the room.
Finally, some reaction. “It’s called luster.” I twirled to prove I wasn’t hiding a flashlight behind my back. “It’s a by-product of an Elonian’s affinity with light. Anyone sensitive to magic can see it unless I suppress it.”
In my mind, rows of thick bricks piled one on top of another around me, extinguishing my luster.
“A-are you an angel?” Her airless voice barely traveled the distance between us.
I kinked back my head and laughed. “Definitely not.”
She unglued herself from the wall and took a few steps toward her bed. “You said I’m an Elonian. Why don’t I shine?”
“You can’t see your own luster, but it’s there. Without the training to suppress it, you’re a living flame to the Shades. It’s the reason they call us Sparks. It’s also how they’ll identify you. You know, before they kill you.”
Lea picked up a sweater from the floor. Her focus went distant, no longer in this world. Something I’d said must have triggered a switch in her brain. Not a day too soon.
I trotted to the corner by the window and picked a collection of stuffed animals off the armchair. From the deep V between Lea’s brows, I concluded her thought processes weren't going anywhere fast. Once the toys occupied the windowsill, neatly arranged by height, I sat.
With her dark lashes, a tiny nose and a sprinkling of freckles, she looked so young and so…Kindred. Unexpected sadness ripped through my chest. The misery pressed onto my diaphragm, making me feel like I was an evil monster come to chop up her innocence like next week’s firewood.
Even though she was predicted to be my ally through the dark days, she was still a total stranger. Yet her pale, elfin face stirred something in me, some glimmer of recognition, of familiarity even. My childhood friend Belinda had a similar innocence about her. She’d chew the end of her pen for hours while pondering her words. Her poems were meant to bring joy to a war-torn land. They burned with her when Galleo invaded her village.
Lea would not share Belinda’s fate. I’d see to that. By the end of her training, she’d be able to take on a whole battalion of Shades by herself. I squinted at her short stature and took a sobering breath. If not a battalion, then a group of ten.

About the Author:
Carmen Fox is an Amazon no. 1 bestselling author in the vampire and werewolf mystery categories for her book Guarded (The Silverton Chronicles). Guarded was also the Amazon no. 1 urban fantasy novel in Australia.
She lives in the south of England with her beloved tea maker and a stuffed sheep called Fergus. An avid reader since childhood, she caught the writing bug when her Nana asked her to write a story. She also has a law degree, studied physics for a few years, dabbled in marketing and human resources, and speaks native-level German and fluent Geek. Her preferred niches of geekdom are tabletop games, comics, sci-fi and fantasy.
Website: http://www.carmen-fox.com
Twitter: @authorcarmenfox
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Divide-and-Conquer/557838687668817
Book page: www.carmen-fox.com/dac
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25032954-divide-and-conquer
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Also By Carmen Fox


GuardedThe Silverton Chronicles Book 1Carmen Fox
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Romance/Suspense
Publisher: Smart Heart Publishing
Date of Publication: July 31, 2015
epub: 978-0-9931992-0-2 paperback: 978-0-9931992-1-9 hardcover: 978-0-9931992-2-6
Number of pages: 276 print pagesWord Count: 104k
Cover Artist: Ana Grigoriu
Book Description:
When everyone's existence depends on the lies they tell, trust doesn't come easy
Ivy’s neighbors have a secret. They aren’t human. But Ivy has a secret, too. She knows. As long as everyone keeps quiet, she’s happy working as a P.I. by day and chillaxing with her BFF Florian, a vampire, by night. When a routine pickup drops her in the middle of a murder, her two worlds collide. While Florian knows how to throw a punch, deep down he's a softie. His idea of scary? Running out of hair product. It’s time Ivy faced facts. Even with a vampire on stand-by, one gal can only kick so many asses.
For help, she must put her faith in others. A human, who might just be the one. A demon, who will, for a price, open the doors to her heritage. And a werewolf, who wants to protect her from herself.
Torn between these men, Ivy must tread carefully, because one wants her heart, one wants her body, and one wants her dead.
Available at Amazon

Video Trailer: http://youtu.be/9gEgmHhoABg
Review Trailer: http://youtu.be/rpI5DtqvR8E
Blurb Read by Voiceover Artist: http://youtu.be/6i3DmvcaMWs

Top Ten TV Shows with S. K. Gregory

SK Gregory’s Top 10 TV Shows 
When writing I tend to think visually and let a story unfold in my head as if I am watching it on TV. This is a list of the top ten supernatural based TV shows that have influenced my writing.



10. Buffy the Vampire Slayer- I was eleven when Buffy first came on TV and I loved the show from the start. The idea that one girl could take down vampires, demons and even Gods, was amazing. Too many TV shows and films featured the men as the heroes and this was something different. There were so many themes and messages running through the show. I love Joss Whedon and I think he is a great storyteller. Snappy dialogue was what I took from this show.



9. Marvel’s Agents of Shield- another Joss Whedon show. Some great twists throughout the show and the sense that it is always changing. Coulson is a great character and I'm glad they resurrected him for the series. I think sometimes you have to turn things on their head and do something really unexpected.



8. The X Files- a show I started watching at about eight years old. Weirdly my mother saw it in the TV guide and pointed it out to me, saying it looked like something I would watch. I cannot wait for the revival. I preferred the monster of the week to the alien conspiracy storyline. Eugene Victor Tombs is one of the stand out characters and I think the episode Bad Blood was really good.



7.  The Vampire Diaries- After losing the main character in the show, Elena, this show has kept going strong. I think Caroline is my favorite character, I understand her control freak nature and it would have been easy to make her into a two dimensional character but they didn't. All characters should be real, have their own backstory and personality and a life of their own. They are not just there to play off the main character.



6.  Supernatural- I am definitely a Dean girl. I think this is a unique show in that it is possible to go from being terrified, to crying to laughing your head off all within a single episode. The two leads have real chemistry that shows. Castile was a welcome edition to the show and I wish he had more to do. Just don't mention Charlie. Or Bobby. Or Jo. Ellen. Kevin. And too many others to count. (Sob) But you can’t be afraid to kill off your main characters.



5. Bitten- From author Kelley Armstrong, I started reading her books back in 2001. The Women of the Otherworld series is my favorite book series and again features a strong female lead. The show has gone in a slightly different direction, but it is a good show. Not everything is as it seems in the supernatural world and the weak looking blonde could probably tear you apart.



4. Witches of East End- I was devastated when this show ended. Even though it only lasted two seasons, I loved it. My favorite character was Freya. There are very few witch based TV shows. I loved the main story arc and the mythology for this show. The idea of the two sisters living all these different lives, then dying and coming back again.



3.  Charmed- the Halliwell sisters stayed on the air for eight years. The idea of having magical powers always appealed to me although I always wanted Phoebe’s powers over everyone else's. It was about the importance of family, even if you didn’t grow up with that person.



2. Teen Wolf- a show that had a shaky first season, but just got better and better. Season three is when it really hit its mark. The way they have expanded the mythology and the fact that they have kept going strong even after losing main cast members is impressive. My favorite character though is Stiles, with Lydia as a close second. I think the character is the heart of the show, the human surrounded by all the supernatural creatures. Dylan O’Brien is a great actor and really sells his performance.



1. Haven- I watched the first episode of Haven when it originally aired and I didn't actually like it.  Pilots are sometimes hit and miss. A couple of years later I watched it again and this time stuck with it. I binge watched four seasons over several days. The show is unique in its ‘monster’ of the week story. I am a big Audrey and Nathan fan.

These shows have all had an influenced on how I write and have taught me about what is needed to tell a story and how you have to keep moving the story forward and let it evolve to keep the reader or watcher’s interest.



Daemon MadnessDaemon SeriesBook 2S. K. Gregory
Genre: Fantasy/Supernatural
Publisher: Mockingbird Lane Press
Date of Publication:  Oct 26th 2015
ISBN: 978-1944169220
Number of pages: 206Word Count: 46,000
Cover Artist: Jamie Johnson
Book Description:
Mackenzie Murphy thought her demon troubles were behind her, but with Taryn as her new roommate and his father still out to kill him, it seems there's no getting away from them.
When Taryn begins to act erratically, Mackenzie discovers that he has to face the consequences for saving her life. Deadly consequences.
So it's up to Mackenzie to save him, while avoiding the attention of a local cop and her homicidal boss.
Maybe demons are the least of her worries.
Available at Amazon


Excerpt:
England 1887
Drawing his cloak around him tightly, Jeremiah Fleming walked along the dirt road at dusk as he had been instructed to do. The map he had been given was old and the markings on it were faded, making it almost impossible to know if he was heading in the right direction. He had been told to go alone and he had agreed at the time but now he wondered if he was walking into a trap. He was after all, a prominent figure, making him a good target for kidnapping.  The demon he was being sent to find, the Traveler wasn’t recorded in the journals. He was elusive and did not always reside in this plane. Tonight was one of the rare nights that he could be summoned and a deal could be struck.Since being initiated the year before, Jeremiah had been pushing for this to happen. The old order had all died out and as the new leader he had complete control. There were always going to be naysayer’s but he would deal with them in time. He came to the crossroads by the old oak and stopped. This was the spot. Making sure he had his knife within reach, he settled under the tree to wait. It grew dark before long, the silence was interrupted occasionally by the call of an owl but otherwise all remained still. The long walk had tired him, the quiet night lulled him and he dozed.A shrill scream jerked him awake. It didn’t sound human, more the primal screech of an animal. He quickly climbed to his feet, knife at the ready. A thin mist curled around his ankles and he squinted in the darkness to see what had awakened him. “That knife won’t harm me,” a voice said. Jeremiah turned to find to see a dark shape behind him. The dark cloaked figure moved and a cold chill ran along his spine. He knew he was in the presence of real evil.“I’ve come to make a deal,” he said.The Traveler gave a low chuckle, “Such a righteous man wants to make a deal with me? What could you possibly want?”“Power. The kind only you can provide.”“Many humans have come before, asking for the same thing. Why should I grant it to you?”“The others weren’t worthy. I am,” he said with more confidence than he felt. He held himself still. To show fear would be his death.The Traveler moved closer, almost gliding across the ground. Jeremiah stood firm, although the thought of this thing touching him made him nauseous. From the blackness under its hood, Jeremiah swore he saw two red eyes staring back at him. When he blinked they disappeared.The hand the Traveler held out was dark red in color, the fingers ending in pointed black claws.Jeremiah realized he wanted his hand. With a slight shudder, he reluctantly gave it.One of the claws snaked out, piercing the palm of his hand. Jeremiah hissed, more in surprise than pain, as a bead of blood blossomed.Bending his head over the wound, Jeremiah first thought the Traveler was smelling it, but realized almost immediately that the demon was drinking it. He jerked his hand away on instinct, but the grip around his wrist was like iron. He raised the knife in an instinctive gesture, but dropped it with a cry, his hand burning like fire. Raising his head, the demon said, “Your blood is tainted. You have killed for your own gain, betrayed those who are loyal to you and will do anything for power. You are worthy.”Jeremiah smiled through the pain of his burning hand. “So you will help me?”“I will. You are aware of the sacrifice required?”“I am. Do I need to sign a contract?”“That won’t be necessary. The agreement is already made. You will need these ingredients,” he handed Jeremiah a piece of parchment.“You will need seven for the sacrifice.”“Seven? I only have four.”“Seven are required. Do what is necessary to complete the ritual.”The demon turned away.“Wait. Do they have to be willing?”“It’s not a requirement.”“Good. It will be done.”



About the Author:
S. K. Gregory is an author, blogger and journalist from Northern Ireland. She has been writing since she was seven years old and loves horror/fantasy books. When she isn’t writing, she runs a website that provides reviews and promotion for writers.
http://storyteller-skgregory.weebly.com/
https://twitter.com/sam_skgregory
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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6574558.S_K_Gregory
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Release Day Blitz Vampire Hunter by Victoria Danann

Vampire Hunter
Rammel HawkingBook OneVictoria Danann
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: 7th House
Date of Publication: January 18, 2016
ISBN:ASIN:
Number of pages: 428Word Count: 97k
Cover Artist: Victoria Danann
Book Description:
Ram’s book is partly My Familiar Stranger retold from his unique point of view with chapter insights from other significant characters. The story begins the first time he runs away to the New Forest at age ten, follows his recruitment by Black Swan along with his training to be a vampire hunter, and tells the story of the death of his first partner.
Set in the world of the Knights of Black Swan.


Amazon
Excerpt:
Lan (narrated by Ram’s first partner, Sir Lansdowne)
I had finished my education and chosen to sign on with Black Swan. The ink wasn’t dry on the paper before I was out the door. First assignment was Grunewald, the unit that serviced Berlin. It was close enough by whister to patrol, but far enough away to be secluded. The building was a renovation, or adaptation really, of an eighteenth century grand house, set in the middle of a forest preserve that was off limits to anyone not Black Swan. I had seen a lot of the world by then, but had never been to Berlin. I knew why we had a unit there. Because wherever you find prevalent nightlife, you find active nests of vampire. I didn’t have any personal experience with leeches at that time. But you don’t have to experience a thing personally to believe people when they tell you it’s nasty. I had never heard anything about vampire until six months ago. They trained our minds and bodies to be precision instruments and occasionally said something vague about protecting the innocent. But crap on a croissant. We had no idea we were preparing to be the only barrier between humanity and monsters that turned out to be real. Our story when we met civilian juvies was that we were in military school. Hel. Close enough. Right?Anyway, six months ago they clued me in. There are vampire out there. I had two choices when I turned eighteen. I could sign on as a vampire hunter or go home and keep my mouth shut about everything I’d learned. I was told that, if I chose the first option, I’d find that my training hadn’t even begun. I didn’t believe that. I mean how much harder could it be? Really.They said they took the mouth shut part of option two very seriously. No threat was spelled out, but it was certainly implied. I had six months to decide. So. Sure. I thought about it. A lot. The day before I turned eighteen I still hadn’t decided. I returned to quarters around ten o’clock, closed the door, switched on the light and nearly jumped out of my skin.My uncle was sitting there in the dark waiting like some creeper from a film noir movie. He laughed when I jumped. “Right. Real funny. What are you doing in this part of the world?”His smile slowly faded away. “Sit. I want to say something.” Uncle Al wasn’t the sort of guy you said no to. I sat in the chair closest to the sofa where he’d parked his overbearing ass. He didn’t speak at first, just stared at me, and I have to tell you it took every bit of the self-discipline I’d learned to keep from squirming under that kind of scrutiny. But I knew it was some kind of test. I was supposed to be patient and wait it out. So I did. “You’re going to be eighteen tomorrow.”I smirked. “So I hear.”He nodded. “Are you decided?”I looked away. “Honestly? No. I’ve been hoping for a sign.”“A sign, huh?”My uncle didn’t seem to think that was a reliable approach to decision making.“Well, I don’t know what kind of sign you’re expecting. I thought I’d stop by. Won’t be here tomorrow. So happy birthday.”“Thanks.”I stood when he got up to leave. He turned toward the door, but turned back like he’d forgotten something. I could almost see him mentally patting his pockets. “Anything you want to ask me?”I wouldn’t have thought so, but since he put it that way. There was something.“I guess it’s clear what choice you made. Any regrets?”He grinned. It was a thing so rare I couldn’t think if I’d ever seen him look pleased before. “A good question for a seventeen-year-old.”“Almost eighteen.”“Indeed.” He nodded. “The answer is no. Not one. Hope that helps.”I thought about it for a second. “Would you feel the same way if you died tomorrow?”His grin got even bigger. “Definitely.”With that he left without looking back and, in fact, it did help. Immensely.
Teachers are known to go on every year about how you’d better get ready because the next year is going to be so much harder. But it never is. It’s always the same thing. So when I signed on to Black Swan for life and they told me it was about to get real, I just smirked on the inside and thought, “Yeah. Yeah. I’ve heard it before.” Looking back now I could slap my little bratty self for acting like a punk. Even if I kept it on the inside. For once the future of dread hadn’t been overstated. It had been understated. The next four years were rigorous enough to make the first five look like a glide on a paddle board over a smooth-as-glass lake. Naturally, once we understood that we were going to be vampire hunters, and what that meant, we began to pay attention in earnest. But here’s the bare truth of that. Nothin’ they can do or say can truly prepare you for what it feels like the first time you are face to face with a pale-eyed leech who wants to rip you apart with virus-dripping fangs. My internship was mostly served as backup to the Grunewald Unit knights. I went to Brazil for a few months and did an awful rotation in Central America looking for Chupacabra. Ew. Things give me willies when I think about them. Yeah. They’re even worse than vampire.I was always sent back to Berlin though. Like it was home base. That was okay with me. There was a lot of action and the Grunewald knights were good solid teachers. They taught me about slaying vampire and they taught me about camaraderie. Then, of course, there were German girls. I mean, you’ve gotta love girls who have beer with breakfast. Right?It was a good place to pay my dues and hone my skills. Three years later, I was told that I was being sent to Jefferson Unit. Rumor had it that I was going to be a vampire slayer in New York, New York.  I wasn’t very impressed when the jeep stopped in front of J.U. It was the farthest thing from Grunewald Castle. A plain brick building with not a single window showing. Looked more like a prison than a Black Swan facility. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t require frills to complete me. It was just an observation. I stopped at the intercom.“Knock. Knock.”“Who’s there?”“Landsdowne.”“Just a minute.”I heard the buzzer and pushed on the door. My first thought was that there was an awful lot of activity for a place that looked so quiet on the outside. I hoisted my duffel up higher on my shoulder and stopped a kid going by.“Sovereign’s office?”“Down one level and turn right.”I nodded my thanks and headed toward the elevators. The central area was impressive with its three-story ceiling, modern gleam and polish. The place looked like a prison from the front, but once inside it was open and light with a view to what appeared to be a park on the other side of tall windows. When the elevator opened, I checked to make sure the down arrow was lit, stepped inside and pushed S1. A couple of girls, well, young women I guess you’d say, got in after me in workout clothes. One of them looked me over, taking in the duffel, “Transferring in?”“Yeah.”She smiled. “I’m Ellsbeth. I work in medical.” The elevator opened. When I realized they weren’t getting off, I finally got the hint and exited. “See you around.”The sovereign’s office wasn’t hard to find. The reception area was glass to the hallway, but I checked the plaque just to be sure. Sol Nemamiah, Sovereign.There was a kid at the desk, young enough to be a student. He looked up when I walked in and dropped my duffel. “Transfer from Berlin,” I said.“Go on in.” He pointed to a closed door.I opened the door, hoping the instruction wasn’t a new-guy-hazing prank. The first thing I saw was a mess of blond hair. I knew he was an elf because he had some of that hair tucked behind the ears. I guess he could have been fae, but I didn’t know of any fae knights. When he turned around, I had three thoughts. That he was just about my age. That his eyes sparkled with elf mischief. And that the only word to describe him was beautiful. Now don’t get me wrong. I have a strong preference for the opposite sex and don’t usually think about whether other guys are attractive or not. But this elf had it going and I would have had to be blind to not notice.I looked past him to the man behind the desk. You could tell it was the Sovereign by the way his jaw seemed permanently clenched. He pointed at the elf. “Rammel Aelshelm Hawking, meet Basil Rathbone Landsdowne.” The elf stuck out his hand. I took it and shook. That’s when it registered. I laughed and blurted out, “You’re P.P.”“Excuse me?” he said, with his brow knitting.I looked at the Sovereign and thought better of saying more. “I’ll explain. Later.”“You two are getting a try out as partners, attached to B Team, starting,” he looked at his monitor, “Thursday. Mr. Hawking, Mr. Landsdowne’s quarters are next to yours. Show him the way.”“Aye,” said the elf as he moved toward the outer office. He held the door open to the hall and gestured toward the elevator. “Welcome to worm patrol.” “Worm patrol? Sounds like I should turn around and ask for reassignment.”He laughed. “I’ve been told that’s what they call rotation in the Big Apple.”“Oh.”Once inside he pushed the third floor button and leaned back against the wall facing me. “So what was the peepee thing?”I grinned. “Not peepee! P. P. Your reputation is widely known. Parties and pussy.”He cocked his head and gave a tiny smile. “’Tis what they say about me?”“Yeah, man. It could be worse. They could be sayin’ you’re a limp dick wanker who’s scared of girls.”
He combined a grin with a sly look that I’d come to think of as Ram’s trademark smile. “Spent a lot of time alone as a kid. I suppose there was some pent-up party in me. Maybe I’ve over-compensated. I would no’ want P.P. on my tombstone.”
About the Author:
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of eleven romances. Victoria's Knights of Black Swan series won BEST PARANORMAL ROMANCE SERIES TWO YEARS IN A ROW. Reviewers Choice Awards, The Paranormal Romance Guild.
Her paranormal romances come with uniquely fresh perspectives on "imaginary" creatures, characters, and themes. She adds a dash of scifi, a flourish of fantasy, enough humor to make you laugh out loud, and enough steam to make you squirm in your chair. Her heroines are independent femmes with flaws and minds of their own whether they are aliens, witches, demonologists, psychics, past life therapists. Her heroes are hot and hunky, but they also have brains, character, and good manners. **Usually.
Victoria lives in The Woodlands, Texas with her husband and a very smart, mostly black German Shepherd dog.
Website: http://www.VictoriaDanann.com
Mailing List: http://bit.ly/1IfByBg
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/vdanann  
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/vdanann
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/vdanann
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5822912.Victoria_Danann
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Katherine McIntyre’s Top Five Paranormal Shows

I’m not just a fan of paranormal romance and urban fantasy when it comes to books, I also enjoy my TV in that flavor too! Television has offered some fine paranormal stories, and I’ve definitely watched my fair share, so I figured I’d share my five favorites.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer:

This will always be at the top of my list. I’m a huge fan of Whedon’s work, and I happened to get introduced to Firefly and Buffy around the same time. When I think about what I want from a paranormal romance show, this tends to be the paramount example. Give me snarky dialogue, unique monsters, big bads who actually pull some weight, and characters you fall in love with and I’m one happy girl. 

Angel:

Out of the two, I think while I adored Angel, Buffy still tops the list for me. After all, that brand of sass isn’t as prevalent in Angel. The darker tone in this show leans more towards sarcasm, although like Buffy, the cast is one that will stick with you for a long time. Though they feature crossover characters, in tone they represent two very different sides of paranormal shows, Buffy being a more young adult feel while Angel maintained a bit more of a serious tone.

Vampire Diaries:

This was a show I never expected to like. I thought there’d be too much sappy melodrama and so for a long time I veered away from it. However, this happened to be just the sort of sassy I adore, and what I love with Vampire Diaries is that they’re not afraid to get messy. Characters die, alliances change, and relationships evolve, rather than stagnating on the same ones over and over. Each season manages to find some new danger that happens to broaden the scope of the world and remain ever entertaining.  

Supernatural:

All I have to say is…Carry on My Wayward Son. There was a formula with Supernatural that was so different from everything else out there—a blend of horror, paranormal, drama, and classic rock, that just hit such a broad audience. I have to say too, the first season was so terrifying for me, which was one of the reasons I loved it so much. Even as the series continued, the creativity only expanded, and the episodes became more playful leading to some incredibly memorable moments. 

Lost Girl:

This show stole me from the start. I love stories about fae (as evident through many of my books), and the fae puns in the title were hilarious. Bo and Kenzi are one of the best examples to date of a healthy kickass female friendship, and I think they really set the standard. Lost Girl is fresh, innovative, and carries all of the trademarks of what I enjoy in paranormal shows, so it goes down as one of my favorites.


All of these shows did a great job at cementing the elements I enjoy in a story about the supernatural, so when you sit down with a copy of my release, Hunting for Spring, I hope you find shades of those paranormal story essentials!

Hunting for SpringKatherine McIntyre
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Loose Id
Date of Publication: 1/12/16
ISBN: 978-1-68252-060-4ASIN:
Word Count: 63,000 words
Cover Artist: Veronica Tibbs
Book Description:
Hunters are a lonely breed, and Conor’s no exception, until the day he meets Brenna. Even though she slinks in unannounced and kills the wight he was hunting down, the girl’s a mystery and he can’t get that blinding smile or those gorgeous curves off his mind.
Since they’re both after the same caster who’s unleashing these monsters, he suggests teaming up, and despite her initial reluctance, the hungry way she scans him down promises something powerful.
However, her secrets have repercussions, and faster than Conor can lift his Glock, he’s drawn into the web of kidnappings and Unseelie mischief, all concealing the machinations of a darker foe—one that plans to bring Philly to ruin.

Available at Loose IDExcerpt: He took two steps back, quite aware of the presence on the other side of the room. “You know, stealing someone’s kill is bad form,” he complained, cutting through the quiet tension.“Looked to me like you could use the help.” The female voice came from behind him.Conor turned around, his hand inching for his Glock.She sat on the countertop, one leg hanging over the edge. Long strands of dark, messy hair hung past her face, brushing her cheeks as she lifted her chin. The woman had the sort of striking features that made men gape, and Conor fell victim. Her blue eyes intensified with a curious light as she scanned him, and in the shadowy room, her pale skin took on a silver hue. Even though her dark eyebrows knitted together, lending her features a sort of stark fierceness, her pursed mauve lips softened her face.The girl tugged on the cord of her hoodie, and her eyes narrowed. “What’s a normal kid like you doing hunting a beastie like that?” Her boots hit the ground with a thud, and she brushed her knees off, making the buckles of her cargo pants jangle.Conor arched his brow, wiping his jacket sleeves on the wall in a sad attempt at getting rid of the wight crud. “Sweetheart, whoever trained you in magic should’ve given you the rundown on everyone you might encounter—including hunters.”He caught the recognition flashing in her eyes, as well as the careful way she stalked around him like a panther surveying an encroaching predator. “Well, feel free to piss off, then.” Her words were curt but not shocking. Hunters and casters shared a history of bad blood due to the chaos so many irresponsible witches caused. However, one bit of curiosity lingered within him—why had she been tracking the wight? Unless she’d created this monster.His anger flared at the memory of the wounded dog. At the remains of what used to be a human male lying on the floor, all wreckage from some stupid caster playing around with powers he or she shouldn’t have been.“Maybe my work’s not done yet.” He leaned against the wall and tugged his hunting knife from his boot. Her entire body tensed in a slight, almost imperceptible way, but the inquisitive look never left her eyes. Without further ado, he began picking under his fingernails with the tip of the knife. “Care to share why you were tracking that wight?”“Hoping it would lead me to its master.” She shrugged. “You wouldn’t happen to be trailing him too?”“If finding the source will stop these attacks, I’m joining you.” Conor didn’t leave any room for disagreement in his voice. Casters in a spat could get ugly, and he didn’t want to clean up more of these messes.“Excuse me?” She placed her hands on her hips, those blue eyes of hers flashing. “From where I stand, you’re not much help.”Conor tapped the side of his nose. “Unless you happen to have an item of his. You’ll never find a better tracker than a hunter, even with magic.”A huff slipped from her lips, followed by a frown. “Fine, but the second you try to slip a knife in my back, I’ll torch you faster than those wight remains.”Conor snorted. “I’m humbled to inspire such faith.” He ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced at the dirt he’d raked through. A rustle came from the door.She snapped to attention as fast as his hand tightened around the hilt of his knife.A whine followed by a snuffling sound came from the entryway. Conor squinted as the outside light cast the visitor in shadow.He relaxed his grip and slid the knife back into his boot.The small beagle from earlier made its way toward him, limping as it favored its side. Relief flooded through him to see the little guy survived. Even though his father had trained him to shut out emotions since they blinded fast and efficient decision-making, he couldn’t help the occasional indulgence. After all, he didn’t envy his father’s lonely existence. Crouching, he scooped the beagle into his arms, careful not to brush the wounded stump.“I’m Conor Malone, by the by. If you want my help, we’re going to take a quick side excursion, because this guy needs medical attention and I need to clean up.” The dog whined again when he clutched the shuddering body closer.She arched an eyebrow. Based on the curl of her lip, she must be more in his father’s camp of anti-emotion. Not like he gave a damn while a dog trembled in his arms. After a minute of stale tension that weighed heavily in the carnage-filled room, she spoke up.“Fine. We can save your puppy, but if I catch you singing to the woodland critters, I’m out.” At that, she cracked a grin. Not one of those casual tossed-aside ones but a smile that lit her eyes with mischief and illuminated her whole face.Conor made his way to the door, pausing before he stepped out onto the street. “You never told me your name.”
“And you never asked.” She outpaced him, hopping down the first couple of steps. “You can call me Brenna.”
About the Author:
A modern day Renaissance-woman, Katherine McIntyre has learned soapmaking, beer brewing, tea blending, and most recently roasting coffee. Most of which make sure she’s hydrated and bathed while she spends the rest of her time writing. With a desire to travel and more imagination than she knows what to do with, all the stories jumping around in her head led to the logical route of jotting them down on paper. Not only can her poetry and prose be found in different magazines, but she’s had an array of novels and novellas published through Decadent Publishing, Boroughs Publishing, Hazardous Press, and Jupiter Gardens Press. For more casual content, she’s a regular contributor on CaffeineCrew.com, a geek news website.
Website: http://www.katherine-mcintyre.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/pixierants
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/kmcintyreauthor
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Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6473654.Katherine_McIntyre
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Katherine-McIntyre/e/B00J8U4VNU

Download your free January issue of Bewitching Book Tours Magazine

This month’s features include: The Deepest Well by Juliette Cross​ Strange Girl by Christopher Pike, Top Ten Book Couples with Angela McGurk​, Five Things That Suck Me Into a Horror Film or Novel with Kathleen Collins​, Jessica Aspen​’s Favorite Fairytale Characters, 5 Things You May Not Know About TF Walsh, Top Ten Kickass Heroines by Lori Sjoberg​, Monsters Need Love Too by Lisa Medley, and Interviews with Theresa Dalayne​, Leyla Kader Dahm​ and Paul Barrett.
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