Roxanne Rhoads's Blog, page 350

Wrath and Bones by A.J. Aalto

Wrath and BonesThe Marnie Baranuik Files Book 4A.J. Aalto
Genre: Paranormal/Fantasy
Publisher: Booktrope Editions
Date of Publication: December 28, 2015
ASIN: B018MNEBKQ
Number of pages:  486
Cover Artist:  Greg Simanson
Book Description:
Marnie Baranuik is confident that her new psychic detective agency will be a great success, and she has eight million business cards to prove it. But before the paint even dries on her open for business sign, she’s summoned to face the Demon King Asmodeus in His own playground, the revenant court, home of the undead nobility, to participate in a conclave of the most powerful immortals on Earth.
Orc prophets have forewarned her that danger is looming in the far north. In her most ambitious adventure yet, Marnie must harness her powers, gather trusted friends to wade into battle, and complete an international treasure hunt that would make Indiana Jones break into a cold sweat, before raising a new revenant house to rule from the Unhallowed Throne... and do it all without getting her heart or legs broken. Storms are brewing, threats are piling up, and the stakes are higher than ever, but Marnie is determined to dance with danger to the very end. There’s only one thing left to do: deal with it, Baranuik-Style.
Does anyone know if yetis like take-out? And when you're on a date with a mummy, who picks up the check?

Amazon      Amazon CA      Amazon UK
Excerpt: Chapter 1
“Remind me why we’re doing this? On a Friday night? The day after Christmas? With no pizza? And no beer?” Golden asked, standing on her tiptoes so her paint roller would reach the edging along the high ceiling.“Nope,” I said, turning my binoculars out the frosty office window to peer at the silver Volvo shining beneath the streetlight across the street, commercial-grade parking job and all. No real people parked like that. They'd even got the five-spoked wheels perfectly aligned. The leather of my old tan gloves creaked as I fiddled, adjusting the focus, as if the frogs embroidered on the cuff were getting quietly jiggy; they provided a touch-psychic like me a valuable barrier between my psychometrically sensitive hands and the unfamiliar items in Mark Batten’s new house, any one of which could send me reeling with unwanted visions. Thin and supple though they were, they didn't do anything to diminish my innate klutz tendencies, and I over-corrected back and forth a bunch of times before I could see my target clearly.“We’re here because of you,” she said. “You can’t say no to Batten.” “I can so,” I murmured, tempted to believe my own words. I tried to imagine Batten asking me to do something to which I’d say no, but since he’s a sexy jerk, I nearly sprained my brain before giving up. “I didn’t have to say no; he didn’t ask.”“You offered? You?” She paused in the process of dipping her roller in the tray, blowing her bangs out of her face with an upward puff of breath, then swiping at them with the back of her unoccupied hand. “But that’s a nice thing to do. You don't do nice. You do sneaky, or kooky, or clumsy, or awkwardly slutty, or exploding, or – ”“I'll throw another zombie spider at your melon if you don't shut your wang-hole. I do the occasional nice thing when I think I’m going to get something out of it,” I reminded her primly. She aimed the roller at me, and the plastic drop cloth rustled under her feet. “He’s not even here helping.”“He’s out of town on a case.” In fact, Mark “Kill-Notch” Batten was not just out of town, but out of the country, somewhere in Bolivia; his new independent work as an international vampire hunter, unhindered by his old FBI rules, took him to far-flung places tracking monsters that had chosen not to play by the rules. I didn’t like to think about him adding to the collection of tattoos on his right pectoral with fresh black hashmarks, one for each revenant kill, but I did like to think of him chasing down other types of baddies, and I assumed, with unrepentant sexual immaturity, that he did so buck-ass naked, his bronze tan slick with sweat and his big muscles glistening in the sun. Meowsa.“You’re thinking about him naked again,” Golden said with a sigh.  It was bad enough that my brother Wes was legitimately telepathic; having mundane-as-fuck Heather Golden peg me like that was intolerable, even if I was totally obviously ogling Batten's ass in my mind. I had to change the subject, fast. “Nu-unh,” I lied, as tonight’s prey came into sight. “I’m checking out this dweeb.” White kid. Early twenties. Shirt. Tie. Clean shave. Bright smile at the Mustang pulling in his driveway. My name’s Marnie Baranuik, and being nosy comes with the territory. I’ve worked as a forensic psychic for both Gold-Drake & Cross and the FBI’s Preternatural Crimes Unit. But now, I was flying solo, opening my own psychic detective agency. How I was going to manage as a business owner was anyone’s guess. Since I could pick my own cases, I expected a lot less ghoul scum and fewer opportunities for being chased around in my underpants by zombie Labradoodles. Blowing away human zombies with Diet Dr. Pepper, propane canisters, and kitty litter was still totally on the table, though. I was, I reminded myself, a badass. Now, I just happened to be a badass with tax paperwork. Oh, Goddess, I was turning into an adult. Abort, abort!“Besides, it’s our office,” I continued. “I’ll be using it, too. I just volunteered us to paint while he’s gone, that’s all.”“That’s awfully domestic. You hit your head on the refrigerator door the other night?”“Whoa, slow your roll, troll,” I said. “I’m not helping him pick out fucking curtains.”“You’re not painting, either,” she said. “I am.”Point: Golden. “I will, I will,” I promised, “but Volvo Boy’s bugging me.”She put her roller down and stepped over the mess, weaving through sheet-covered furniture to cross the room. The office was in the front of Batten’s house, a cute two-bedroom-one-bath with a fenced back yard, compact and cozy, perfect for one guy. I hadn’t thought any further than sharing an office, because the idea of pursuing anything domestic with Kill-Notch made me queasy. Didn’t I already have a serious domestic arrangement with Harry? Can you have more than one of those? Come to think of it, I doubted I'd ever seen Batten cook; he'd always come over to my place, where Harry did the cooking, and filched the beer I bought specifically because I knew he liked it. Batten and I had been on exactly one date. It had started with dinner and a discussion of what movie we might see, and ended in a giant fight about robots followed by vigorous, can’t-make-it-as-far-as-the-bedroom sex on his kitchen floor, sex that had left us both speechless and smelling like lust and linoleum polish. And if I'd hit my head on the refrigerator in the middle of it, I wasn't about to tell Golden. Two days of stunned silence followed, during which Harry wrestled with the shift in attention, focus, and power by being an absolute prince. My Cold Company’s unperturbed reaction was more disquieting than if he’d blown a fuse, but I was dreading any sort of candid confrontation about it. If I was being honest, I was more afraid he’d say it was fine; I’d learned from Harry's combat butler, Mr. Merritt, that my Grandma Vi had had many suitors while she was living as Harry’s previous DaySitter. Was Harry a Bond-boffing voyeur? I wondered. Bad enough that Asmodeus gets his jollies when I get lucky, but my Harry, too? I pondered the uneasy mixture of trepidation and sexiness into which that might coagulate. My intermittently torrid and annoying chemistry with Batten wasn't news to Golden. She was my only girlfriend in the whole country, the only person who could drag my ass to Claire’s Early Bird for coffee, girl talk, and various forms of sugar and grease. She’d settled nicely into her role as my dirty-secrets confidante, sensing my preference for shallow jabs over deep connections, stowing neither her sharp wit nor her blunt attitude. Now, she leaned over my shoulder and squinted through the window at the blond boy standing in the snow across the street. She always smelled like lily of the valley, an old lady’s perfume turned warm and classic by her skin chemistry; it was a scent I was still getting used to. In the field of new relationships, Batten wasn’t the only person dropping their guard, showing me the chinks in their armor, and inching closer to my battlements. My people skills weren’t good enough for me to drop all my defenses yet, but I was trying.  “Just some punk dealing,” was Golden’s assessment, watching the exchange between the young man and his visitors with cool detachment; though my secondary Talent woke to offer me empathic glimpses of her emotional state, it didn’t take a psychic to gather she was unimpressed.  I felt a smirk curl onto my lips. “The most notorious vampire hunter in the nation, currently contracted by the Bolivian government to hunt a Hagenbeck’s werewolf in the Andes, Mr. Ex-FBI Badass, is living across the street from a drug dealer?”“He’ll stop dealing when his mom runs out of pills.”“This is America,” I chided, aghast. “Moms don’t run out of pills.”Golden preformed a very feminine move, an effortless sweep that brushed escaped locks of strawberry blonde hair back over her shoulder where the rest of her ponytail laid; I couldn’t have matched the move without teetering over. Then she flipped me off. It was odd seeing her in garage-grey coveralls and black Converse sneakers with little skulls on them. Agent Heather Golden usually wore navy suits and crisp white shirts buttoned to the neck when working at the Boulder branch of the PCU, where I had worked, too, until recently. When we went out for coffee together, she still looked pretty professional, skipping the suit jacket but keeping everything else dry-clean-only. I knew from past adventures that her toenails were likely painted black. They might even have red stick-ons in the shape of little drops of blood. Golden had a fun streak that predated her work with the PCU. I was determined to drag it into the light so it could breathe a little.She caught me staring up at her and made a face, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue. “Adorable, right?” she asked. “So, do you figure Batten moved to Ten Springs to be closer to you?”I choked on my surprise and horror, and blurted, “No!” Then I went back to a safe subject, returning to hiding my face behind the binoculars; I swung them back to the street. “Look at this twerp.”Golden would not be distracted. “Why else would any sensible single man move to this godforsaken ass-crack of a town?” “Sensible?” I snorted. “Batten?” I could hear the smug smile in her voice.  “Why would he add long and treacherous commutes to his life?”“If he didn’t like treacherous, he wouldn’t be dating me,” I pointed out.“Fair point. Why would he add a long commute?”    “If you had that Bugatti, wouldn't you want to drive it? Besides, he said he wanted to find peace and quiet,” I said, slowly, like I was explaining to a Cocker Spaniel how not to pee on my shoe.“He couldn’t find peace and quiet in Boulder?” she asked doubtfully. “Can’t get much quieter than Ten Springs, population five hundred and forty,” I pointed out.“Five hundred forty-one,” she amended. The smugness in her voice had thickened, and I Felt her wary approval; she hadn’t always understood Batten chasing my skirt, but her opinion on the matter had changed, and she was currently rolling with it, happy to have something to tease me about.Point: Golden.  “Look at this dickazoid. Whoever heard of a drug dealer wearing a tie?” I asked, not exactly feigning my outrage, but trying to ham it up and change the subject. “You’re Canadian. Deal with it Canuck-style.”“That’s what I’ll do,” I agreed. “I’ll write him a sternly-worded letter. Dear Drug Dealer: You’re doing it wrong, eh? Sorry. Sincerely, Anonymous. P.S. Here's some maple syrup.”“Things are changing, Marnie-Jean,” she said. Nobody had called me Marnie-Jean except my mother until Golden found out what the J stood for. She rolled paint onto the walls, wide chocolate stripes of paint over the original, boring beige.“The sissification of punkdom?”“We’re all heartbroken about it,” she said solemnly. “Especially Henry Rollins.”“I like my crooks like I like my coffee: strong, smelly, and liable to choke me.” I considered the boy who waved politely at his customers as they drove away; he held up his hand and just curled his fingertips down. Once, twice. A cute little finger-wave. “Stop obsessing,” Golden said, “and help me paint your boyfriend’s walls.”“He’s not my... for fuck’s sake, this crook drives a fucking Volvo.” I clutched the binoculars tighter. “No, don’t you do it. Don’t… Ohhhhhh, bitch.”“What’s he doing? Helping an old lady cross the street?”“He saw me. He gave me one of his cute waves.”“You’re going to get shot in the face,” Golden predicted, doing precisely nothing to stop it. “He went inside and opened the curtains in his living room.” “Maybe he thinks you wanna jump his bones. Gonna put on a strip show for ya. You're the one ogling him through binoculars like the world's most boring stalker.”“He took his shirt off. Aaaaaand now he’s doing yoga in his front window. Like a dick.” I shook my head, but could not take my eyes off the wiry little jerk doing inversion poses in what I assumed were Gap for Kids chinos. “Doesn’t Harry do yoga? Don’t you do yoga?”We both did, but admitting that wouldn’t support my irritation in this case. Golden passed behind me to look out the window and steal my Dr. Pepper. I would have slugged her if it had been a cup of espresso, but my new machine hadn’t come in, so I was stuck with soft drinks, and she was welcome to them.I dipped my own roller and started on an untouched wall. In the mixed light from the ceiling fan and the camping lantern we brought to brighten up the corners, the velvety brown paint looked like a delicious blend of rich coffee and dark chocolate. I hadn't covered more than a quarter of it before I felt Harry approaching. Well before Heather or I could have heard the purring rumble of the Kawasaki come down the street, the Bond sending a pleasant thrum of anticipation through my belly, a vibration more metaphysical than biological, designed to awaken a DaySitter’s senses in preparation for their companion’s presence. I knew he felt me, too; like two machines checking one another’s distance and readiness, Harry and I pinged each other, striking metaphorical bells and whistles, and in response, dark urges rolled to life in my veins. It felt like hope, like the night was rife with endless possibilities, like I had sprouted wings and could take a swan dive off the roof without fear. His hopes, his endless possibilities, his reckless excitement, true; I got a mere sampling of his high. The creature who owned me cruised down my boyfriend’s street, an English revenant approaching a vampire hunter’s abode with a monster’s smile hidden beneath a vicuna scarf.“This guy must travel with Cirque du Soleil,” Golden continued. “I can’t even imag—” She dropped to a crouch, still clutching the binoculars, and the Blue Sense roared open to blast me with an interesting one-two punch: alarm, followed by vigilance. “Did he catch you ogling him?” I asked, but my humor failed, and I dropped the roller and got down on hands and knees to crawl to her position. “What’s wrong?”“Harry’s here,” she whispered. I relaxed with a smirk. “Duh. It’s after dusk, and he knows where I am,” I reassured her. It’s not like I could hide from him if I tried. “It’s absolutely fine.”That was a minor exaggeration; my relationship with Mark Batten had always been a nettle in my Cold Company’s backside, but one he was tolerating better these days. I often felt a wary concern through our Bond from my companion when the subject of Batten came up, but it was tempered with curiosity, and an eagerness that I didn't quite understand. Harry continued to dote on me while holding ground in a wait-and-see place. What he was waiting for was anyone’s guess. For my part, I waited until Golden returned to her painting before swiping my roller again.  “So why is he here tonight?” she asked.“He’ll say he’s coming to help,” I guessed, “but what he’ll actually do is snoop around and make disparaging remarks about the state of Batten’s wardrobe.”“Care to make a wager?” Golden suggested. “I’m betting because I’m here, he’ll take over the painting. You know, rescue the damsels in distress from the dragon that is this job.”I smiled; I could see why she’d think that. Saying Harry was a little old-fashioned was like saying the Pope was kinda religious. That being the case, I couldn’t imagine my Cold Company doing manual labor that risked getting paint on his Anderson & Sheppard trousers, not for Golden, not for me, and certainly not for Batten.“You're on. Next check at Claire's?” We shook on it, and I tried to remember what the most decadent thing on the menu was. I think it was a chocolate croissant with maple filling. Maybe I'd get two, just to rub it in.When Harry did come wading through the maze of haphazardly-stacked cardboard boxes, wearing the high collar of his bespoke navy pea coat popped against the inclement weather, the temperature of the room began to sink; revenants carry a chill with them like an immutable cloak, and some mortals get an involuntary shiver crossing paths with the undead.  His touch of the grave felt familiar and, oddly, my half of the office began to feel temporary, like my arrangement sharing office space at Batten’s was a short-term deal. Then again, to my Cold Company, Lord Guy Harrick Dreppenstedt, just weeks into his four hundred and fortieth year, most anything would seem short-term. Harry was waggling my cell phone at me urgently; I’d left it in my purse at the front door and hadn’t heard it ring.“The Orc Quarter is on fire, love,” he informed me without the preamble of a greeting. His posh British accent was crisply summoning, and laced with immortal power that likely set Golden’s goose bumps flaring. I couldn’t have ignored his voice if I tried. Few humans could, but certainly not his DaySitter. “The fire chief would like you to pop over and take a peek.”Normally I’d have said something cheeky, but the words “Orc Quarter” stomped my wit. I felt my brow knit. “I’m sorry, the what?”“The Orc Quarter in Schenectady.”“Schenectady,” I said, seeking clarification, “New York?”“Just the place, yes.” “Has an Orc Quarter?”“Well, I assume they must have, ducky, if the Schenectady Fire Department is ringing you up to attend to it,” he chided, then tried to hand me the phone. When I scowled at it, he clucked his tongue. “See, this is exactly why I stopped working for the feds and went freelance, so I can tell people who call me on Boxing Day with flaming orc problems to hop up their own ass,” I said. “Besides, there are two preternatural biology labs in Manhattan and a branch office for Gold-Drake & Cross. Why do they want me?”“One wonders,” he agreed. “Shall I inquire?” I rolled my eyes; Harry mistook this as a request, and spoke into the phone. “Might one inquire as to why you are requesting the presence of Ms. Baranuik of all people, Chief Fitchett?”I sighed, took my Dr. Pepper back from Golden, and downed it, wishing there was more. I had a feeling I was going to need it.Harry relayed, “Mister Fitchett says the Schenectady police have one resident in custody that is refusing to talk to anyone but the Litenvecht Späckkenhuggar.”I waited for the rest of it. When there wasn’t any more, I prompted, “And?”“Apparently, my pet, that would be you.”“I’m the Licken-Vicken Spackle-Smuggler?” I pointed at my chest with a gloved finger.“Quite so.”“What the hell is a Lite-Bright Spunk-Shucker?” “Since the Orc language is a largely borrowed tongue, and they originate in the area now known as Sweden, I’m going to translate the phrase roughly as either ‘small killer whale’ or ‘Little Orc-Killer.’”My jaw dropped. “But I’m not the little orc killer. Or a big orc killer. I've never met an orc, much less killed one. Unless they mean I'm little, which, I guess is true. But still, that's some bullshit.”“This I know,” Harry replied patiently. He continued to waggle the phone at my face.“I’ve never even seen an orc, except for blurry videos and a preserved fetus in an UnBio lab.”“This does not surprise me in the least. Nevertheless, they would like you on-site as soon as possible, and when you’re done with that, the Schenectady police have an orc in custody with whom you are to have what I hope should be an illuminating conversation.” When I made no move to take the phone from his outstretched hand, he noted, “My heavens, but your entrepreneurial spirit certainly does leave something to be desired.”I had started my own business as a private psychic detective, hanging my digital shingle online just the day before – a Yuletide present to myself, in a way – and until Harry had shoved the phone in my face, I wasn’t aware my number was even listed on the site yet. I was tempted to answer with, “How'd you finger my digits?” but that might not be good customer service. “Harry, you are the worst secretary ever.”He nodded his head in assent, but I could feel the mirth swirling through our Bond, so I pursed my lips and flipped him and Golden, who was trying to muffle some unprofessional laughter behind one fist, off.I listened for sounds of drooling or panting or chewing on the other end, and when I heard no such monster noises, I sighed and cleared my throat. “Bare Hand Services, how may I help you this evening?”


About the Author:
AJ Aalto is an unrepentant liar and a writer of blathering nonsense offset by factual gore. When not working on her horror novels, you can find her singing old Monty Python songs in the shower, eavesdropping on perfect strangers, stalking her eye doctor, or failing at one of her many fruitless hobbies. Generally a fan of anyone with a passion for the ridiculous, she has a particular weak spot for smug, pseudointellectual a**holes and narcissistic jerks; readers will find her work littered with dark, imperfect creatures and flawed monsters.
AJ cannot say no to a Snickers bar, and has been known to swallow her gum.
http://www.ajaalto.com/   https://twitter.com/AJAalto  
https://www.facebook.com/aj.aalto.5
https://www.goodreads.com/AJAalto  


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Character Profile- Call of Affliction by Lara S. Chase

Today I wanted to give you the lowdown on the main love interest in Call of Affliction, Sasha. Here’s an excerpt from the character profile I put together for him while I was writing the book.
Name: Alexsandr (Sasha) Harris
Age: 21
Approximate height:  6”3”
Body Build: Tall and with some lean muscle.  He still heats his house and cooks entirely by wood fire, so does a decent amount of chopping and hauling logs.
Hair: Jet black, wavy, and thick. Wears it longer, to his shoulders.
Eye color: Pale blue
Family: Parents Jeremiah and Yuna Harris.  No siblings.
Occupation: Owns a great deal of land in the mountains of North Carolina.  Sells the timber rights to a logging company.
Best Friend: Loner, doesn’t have one.
Where he’s from: Near Boone, NC, but has traveled extensively.
Things he loves: To be left alone, a good steak, and did he mention to be left alone?
Things he doesn’t care for: Being forced to leave his cabin and have to interact with other people, Galine’s careless disregard for her own safety, Sirin
What first draws him to Galine: Her strength.
What makes him want to strangle Galine:  Her blasted stubbornness.
Strengths: Loyalty, accuracy with firearms, knowledge of the world of the Gamayun, honor.
Weaknesses: His temper, jealously, a certain female with flame-colored hair.

Call of AfflictionThe Gamayun PropheciesBook OneLara S. Chase
Genre: Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy
Date of Publication: November 22, 2015
ISBN: 978-1518876059ASIN: B018FE5Z0M
Number of pages: 364Word Count: 72,353
Cover Artist: Resplendent Media
Book Description:
I am no longer in control of my own body.
Without warning and without my consent, my shape shifts and contorts into the half woman, half bird form of the Gamayun.  That’s bad enough, but then I’m forced to deliver prophecies to Sirin, the immortal who guards the gates of hell.  Messages she doesn’t care to hear, and she’s not afraid to use deadly force to silence me.
I’m starting to see things no one else can see.  The last Gamayun died in a psych ward, having lost everyone she ever loved.  I refuse to meet that same fate, even if that means lying to my sister and best friend.
The only person I can turn to is Sasha, the mysterious stranger who guarded the previous Gamayun.  When I stare into those pale blue eyes, it’s hard to be objective.  Can I really trust someone with that much barely suppressed anger and hurt?  For every piece of advice he gives, there are ten more secrets he’s not telling me. 
But when he kisses me, do I really care?
Call of Affliction is the first book in a six part series.  99 cents until Christmas!
Available at AmazonExcerpt:CHAPTER 1
Part of me knew it was the dream again. The sensible part of my brain was screaming at me to wake up, but when does that ever work? So I watched the film unspool once more, with me cast as the villain.The bones in my fists crunched with every blow to her face and torso. She fell, and did not move. Her blood dripped off my fingers and onto the body at my feet. I focused on the slow progression of the red trickle, hoping in vain that I wouldn’t have to identify my victim this time. My breath echoed in my ears as the rest of the world grew still. Drip. Inhale, exhale. Drip. The pain in my swollen fists forced its way into my thoughts as I stood over her. Inhale, exhale. Throb. I shook out my hands and forced my gaze down. I didn’t need to see her lifeless eyes look back at me to know who it was. It never changed. Who could inspire a killing rage from me but my mother?I squatted lower to study the broken form of Senovia. Victory—the thought rose before I could squash it, and it made me nauseous though the blood had not. I turned from the body with a jerk. The jerk took me to the edge of my bed, startling me. I awoke screaming and choking, my hair plastered to my face with sweat. I tried to untangle my hair, but the thick waves were strangling me. “Galine! Galine, it’s okay!”The sound of my sister’s voice drew me back from my nightmare. I was in my bed, my sister was safe in the room with me, and our mother, still alive, was several miles across town. My pulse began to come down to a reasonable level. However, now that I could think, the guilt came. Not only did I commit matricide in my sleep, but I woke Katja in the process. I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the sudden light of the lamp between our twin beds. I propped myself up on an elbow to get a better look at my sister. Kat sat on the edge of her bed, her long legs crossed. The oscillating fan shot a burst of air in my face. It didn’t make the stuffy air that much cooler, but it brought me out of my stupor.“Kat, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.” The words croaked out, my throat raw from screaming.“Was it the one about Mom again?” I nodded. Katja ran her fingers through her long dark hair. Her brown eyes studied the tips for split ends with an intensity that betrayed her uneasiness. “Do you want to talk about it?”“No.” “It’s okay if you need to cry or something.”After having had the dream for years, I couldn't muster that depth of emotion. With my mother, it was best to strive for indifference. She wanted a reaction, and I refused to give it to her, even dream versions of her. “Really, Katja. Go back to bed. I’m fine.” She studied me for a moment and saw that I was at least no longer hysterical. Pulling the sheet over her, she lay back down.I tried to think about something else, but the nightmare was still banging around in my head. The clock on the nightstand informed me that it was forty minutes until my alarm went off anyway, so I crept into the bathroom and showered. I scrubbed my hands raw. The water began to run cold, and still I remained, shivering until my skin grew numb.My teeth chattered as I finally stepped out of the shower. I wrangled my mass of curly hair into a towel on top of my head, and stared at Katja’s hairdryer with envy. She had straight hair that took five minutes to blow dry, and then she looked perfect. But every time I tried to blow dry my hair, it looked like I had a massive dark red shower pouf attacking my head. Maybe it was the nightmare, which always put me on edge and made me depressed, but I felt frumpy as I pulled on my threadbare hospital scrubs. They made cute scrubs in pretty fabrics and flattering cuts, but I could only afford the basic blue ones. My scrubs already looked sad with their fraying hems, and they didn’t do my ample figure any favors, either. I could almost hear my mother pointing out all of my problem areas—hips, rear end, thighs, stomach. I shook my head to clear it. Nope. The days of listening to Senovia’s criticism were over. I marched myself into our tiny living space that held the semblance of a kitchen and dining area and poured myself a bowl of cereal. I ate standing up, leaning my back against our hideous mustard yellow counters. No one should have to look at that color before noon.I should have opted for looking at the counters, because what I saw on the wall in front of me was much more disturbing. If I hadn’t choked on a stray off-brand Cheerio, I would have screamed. A cockroach the size of a toddler was crawling up my kitchen wall. Guessing that a can of Raid would only anger it, I inched toward the coat closet to locate our broom. As I grabbed my weapon, I kept an eye on the monstrosity. It didn’t move. Wait a second...I marched up to the Guinness world record sized roach. It was a painting of a cockroach. “Katja!”She stumbled out of the bedroom with narrowed eyes. “What?”“Why did you paint that thing on our wall?”“Oh, you mean Zeke?” She smiled at the painting with pride. “Didn’t he turn out great?”Oh good grief. The thing had a name. “Yes, Zeke’s very life-like. Perhaps too life-like. His point?”“Well, you know how sometimes we get roaches coming over from the neighbors? And the landlord is never going to do anything about it? Well, I thought Zeke here might scare them off. You know, like this place is already claimed by the big guy.”“I wasn’t aware that roaches were engaged in turf wars. Tell me, is Zeke a Crip or a Blood?”She shrugged. “Hey, you don’t know. It could work.”“What if instead, Zeke becomes some sort of cockroach deity and all the roaches in Durham start making pilgrimages to our apartment? Did you think of that? Huh?”Kat crossed her arms over her chest and gave me her best defiant teenager face. “Listen, if you want me to paint over it, just say so. You don’t have to get all snarky with me.”“Listen, even if it did work, I’d rather see an occasional small roach than Zeke here every day. Paint over it.”“Fine.” Her mouth was saying yes, but as she studied her nails, I was pretty sure I was going to pay for my lack of tact.“Kat, you know I love your paintings. The windows, especially.” I threw my arms wide to gesture at all of her work around us. Our landlord was notorious for never returning deposits, so I had given Kat free reign with the walls. I didn’t always understand her more abstract stuff, but I did love those windows. In our entire apartment, we had only two actual windows: one that was a mere foot square in our bedroom, and another one just three feet by eighteen inches in the living room portion of our one big room. The little light the windows let in seemed to highlight just how dismal the place was, so Kat had painted dozens of fake windows all over the apartment. The scenery they displayed changed depending on her mood. Right now, most of them looked out on various Nordic fjords and glaciers. It was supposed to help us think cool thoughts since our window AC unit was struggling to keep up in the August heat.“Whatever.” Kat turned in the doorway and headed for the bathroom to get ready for school.I sighed and picked up my bowl of cereal, then glanced down at my watch. If I didn’t leave in two minutes, I was going to be late. I shouted a goodbye to Katja and ran straight out the front door. I hustled down the apartment stairwell and headed for the bus stop, careful to avoid the obstacle course of trash and the loose step the super was never going to fix. Once on the bus, sweaty and out of breath, I plopped down on the first available seat and zoned out. I would have stayed that way, but at the third stop a passenger demanded my attention.She was short and anorexic thin, with light brown skin and eyes so dark they looked black. I would have guessed she was from some place in the Middle East, but her hair threw me off. Man, I didn’t even want to think about how much that dye job had cost. I counted at least six different colors in her hair—red, burgundy, copper, orange, yellow, gold, and I swear I saw flashes of blue. As she passed me in the aisle, she reeked of cigarette smoke. She was an odd sight, but as soon as she passed, she fell off my radar. Thinking is not a top priority for me until I’ve had caffeine.I closed my eyes and leaned against the bus window in hopes of squeezing in a few extra minutes of sleep, but then I felt someone yank on the corner of my shirt. I turned around and saw the woman with the strange hair gripping my scrubs. “Medicina. Gorod medicina,” she muttered.I froze. That was not normal bus behavior. “What did you say?” I couldn’t believe what I heard. She released my shirt and scurried to the back of the bus. That woman had spoken Russian. Durham was full of transients, and one of the city’s running jokes was that no one was from here. I was one of the few people at work that was born and raised in Durham. Russians were rare, though.Still, I had made out what she said, even if it didn’t make any sense. Who went around muttering Durham’s motto—City of Medicine? I gave the woman one last hard look. She was still murmuring to herself, or perhaps to an imaginary friend. The rest of the passengers on the bus gave her the wide berth reserved for those reluctant to use deodorant. I was trying to decide if it was worth asking her what she meant when the bus reached the hospital, and my decision was made for me. I couldn’t afford to be late. I had to run a little, but I arrived at Durham Memorial on time and reported to the nurses’ station with three minutes to spare. My best friend Harper Carlisle arrived right behind me, twirling the keys to her silver Audi on one French manicured nail. “You okay, hon? You look wrecked.” Her Southern accent drew out the vowels in a sleepy way that made me even more tired. “Thanks. We can’t all be glamorous, you know.” I shouldn’t have snapped at her. I knew she was just worried, but I always felt frumpy around her. Who wouldn’t feel frumpy next to Harper’s glossy blonde hair, model-thin physique, and dazzling blue eyes? All that perfection would have made me hate her if she weren’t so darn nice.“I meant you look exhausted.” She smiled at me and patted my hand.“I know. Sorry I’m such a grouch. Rough night.”“What happened?”“Nothing. Couldn’t sleep.” I decided not to tell her why. Harper frowned at me and then began to dig through her Coach purse. When her hand reemerged with her checkbook, I sighed. “It’s that horrible bed of yours. I told you not to buy a used mattress. You’re probably being eaten alive by bed bugs.” She retrieved a pen flashing with gold and filled out my name on the top line. “Let me buy you a decent bed, Galine.” When I didn’t disagree with her she smiled and added, “Of course, in that neighborhood of yours even if you do buy something nice, you could have bed bugs again by the end of the week. I don’t suppose you and Katja would reconsider moving in with me?” By this point I couldn’t help an eye roll, so she added, “You could pay rent. A little bit. If you feel it’s necessary.”“No, Harper.”She gritted her teeth, but refrained from pushing the issue of moving. She tore off the check and handed it to me. I didn’t bother to look at the amount, but I’m sure it had an excessive amount of zeros at the end. I tore it in half and handed it back to her. “Galine!”“I said ‘no.’ I meant no to everything. My bed is fine.”“You are so stubborn!”“True. But you’re too trusting.” I couldn’t recall how many times we’d had this argument. Harper had a big heart and an even bigger bank account, and people waited in line to take advantage of that. “Quit flashing your money around.” I did a quick survey of the area to make sure no one saw us.Now it was her turn to roll her eyes at me. “This isn’t the Murder Mart, for heaven’s sake.” I stiffened at the less than flattering nickname for my neighborhood. “We’re in one of the nation’s top ten hospitals. I think I’m safe. Besides, I’m standing in the Carlisle Wing. I think the word is out that my family’s loaded.”“You two going to stand there yakking all day, or are you going to work?” Selene, the charge nurse, yelled at us. Little bits of the Bojangles chicken biscuit she was eating spewed out as she talked.Harper and I made matching faces of disgust as we moved off in separate directions to begin our rounds. Harper followed the line of nurses and I split off with the CNAs when I heard Selene bellow my name again.“Galine!” She emerged from around the corner looking annoyed. “Gal—oh, there you are. The fourth floor psych ward called for a nursing assistant. Trouble with one of their patients. I thought immediately of you. You’re so good with the difficult ones. Kindred spirits and all.” Her smile was so wide I thought her face would crack.“Sure, no problem, Selene. I’ll head over now.” Psych did not scare me. Compared to living with my mother, it was a cake walk. Selene was still sputtering, trying to figure out how her plan had backfired. I headed for the elevator.After what Selene told me about this patient, I was expecting things to be hectic when I got off on the fourth floor. Instead, I found the charge nurse sipping coffee and flipping through a magazine. I could hear a TV laugh track coming from somewhere, but otherwise the floor was silent. I pulled my ID badge forward to present it to the nurse at the desk. “Karsavina. I was told you needed help with a patient.”“Karsavina, right. We need a full time babysitter for this one.” She slid a chart over to me. “The police just brought in a Jane Doe. Picked her up on Holloway for a ‘drunk and disorderly’ but tests showed no alcohol. Suspected paranoid schizophrenic with intent to harm herself and others.” The nurse rattled all of the information off in a bored tone, but I was alarmed. “Oh, and she speaks Russian.”I looked up from the chart. “Russian?” What was with the sudden influx of Russian speakers?“Yes, that’s why you’re here. We think she might just be refusing to speak English, because she seems to understand us when she wants to. We’d prefer to send in someone with medical training instead of an interpreter if possible.”“I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I’m out of practice. There aren’t many opportunities to use Russian in Durham, and my family stopped speaking it when my Dad died.” “Well, some Russian is better than none.”I nodded like I was okay with all of this information, but I wasn’t sure that was true. I walked down the hall toward the room number indicated on the chart and tried to take some deep breaths. I hadn’t counted on an angry woman shouting at me in Russian. The experience was familiar enough that my palms were starting to sweat. Why did I have to have that stupid nightmare last night? I stood up straight in what I hoped looked like a commanding posture and knocked once on the door before entering.The cigarette smoke choked me. That was familiar, too. I waved my hand in front of my face to clear the air in the dark room, and spotted her leaning against the window ledge staring into space. The cigarette was burned down to her fingers, but she made no move to snuff it out. For causing so much trouble, she was a tiny bit of a thing, not much more than five feet tall. She was also much younger than I had expected; I would guess in her twenties. At first I didn’t recognize her, but then the light from the window caught her hair. The strands were shimmering red, as if on fire. Maybe they were, considering the amount of smoke in the room. She was, I realized, the strange woman I had encountered earlier on the bus.Apparently my Russian wasn’t as rusty as I thought, because all the tirades I used to give Senovia on how smoking was both unhealthy and inconsiderate (and in this case illegal) came pouring out smooth as glass. The woman gave me a condescending smirk, then she trashed the cigarette. In the fake ficus. “Feel better now that you’ve gotten that off your chest?” Her English was perfect.“Yes, thank you. I’ll feel even better once you’ve handed over the rest I’m sure you have squirreled away some somewhere.” I held out my hand. She gave me a dirty look, but placed two more cigarettes in my palm. “All of them.” I flicked the fingers of my palm, demanding more. “And the lighter.” She swore at me, but I got the actual pack this time, with four left in it, and a grungy Bic lighter. As she stretched out her arm to hand over the contraband, I noticed thin scars running along her wrists. The coloring and level of fading alternated between white and a faint pink, suggesting two distinct suicide attempts—she’d meant business. My stomach lurched. She caught me staring and yanked her hand back.I cleared my throat and looked away. “Now, why don’t you start by telling me your name?” I sat down in one of the hospital’s molded plastic chairs. It was a super tasteful chartreuse. If I was going to be here awhile, I might as well get comfortable.“You can call me Manya.” Her lips curled into a sneer. Her tone was as bitter as the word’s definition in Russian. “Something tells me your mother didn’t name you that.”She gave one short, coughing laugh. “No. And what is your name, O Sharp Tongued One?”“Galine.”The effect of that one word was astounding. She turned the full force of her wide black eyes on me and grabbed both of my arms. “What did you say your name was?”“Ow! That hurts! Ease off my arms, will you?” Her nails left little half-moon marks. She collapsed onto the floor, muttering.“It’s not possible,” I heard her whisper. “I gave up. It’s been so long. You weren’t coming. He said ‘no.’ I was sure He said ‘no.’ I was being punished. After everything, why now?”“Hey, uh, Manya, what’s going on? Are you okay?” I got out of the chair and sat next to her on the cold, industrial floor. Her behavior was starting to worry me. She came out of her daze. Turning her focus back on me, she grew brighter, almost like that crazy hair of hers was starting to glow. She spoke again, and this time the tone was pitched deeper. Every word vibrated through me. I don’t know how I knew, but I was certain what she was saying was important, and that it was true, even though it made no sense to me:“In the city of healing you will find your rest,The one God has redeemed will take your burden from you,From exile He will bring you,And you will suffer no more.”And now I was freaked out. “Manya, what are you talking about?”“I’m sorry, my dear. I wouldn’t wish what is coming to you on anyone, but I am selfish enough to still want it.” With that, she kissed me on the cheek and died.



About the Author:
Lara Chase was born and raised in rural Indiana surrounded by corn fields. 
Finding her environment somewhat boring, she spent most of her childhood with her nose buried in a book or writing stories in her head to entertain herself.  Eventually she decided she should probably start writing some of them down.
After graduating high school, Lara decided a change of scenery was in order.  She lived in Oklahoma, Minnesota, and Illinois picking up the first bachelor’s degree she doesn’t use and a husband.  The husband she’s quite fond of, but the states she wasn’t as taken with.  She moved again, but this time she was smitten.  It would likely take an act of Congress to remove her from Durham, North Carolina.    Since relocating, Lara has acquired another bachelor’s degree that has proven to be merely decorative.
She still gets restless at times, though, so she and her husband swap houses with families in other countries.  Lara wrote some of the first lines of her current  project hanging precariously out of a third floor apartment window in Italy trying to get a wireless signal.  Luckily, writing at home is usually less dangerous.  Her greatest threat there is the disgruntled cat who keeps sitting on her keyboard.
Website/blog: http://laraschase.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/laraschase
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorLaraSChase
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/LaraSChase

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Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse with Theresa DaLayne

Ahhh, the Zombie Apocalypse. It’s a favorite subject of conversation among me and my friends, in my house, and oh, just while I’m sitting by myself, plotting my own survival plan.
The fact is, if you can prepare for zombies, you’re prepared for just about anything. And I give a lot of thought as to whom I’d bring into my “group.” Yeah, if Rick were here, I’d be the new Maggie. Don’t get me wrong, Michonne is kick-ass in so many ways, but I don’t know how to swing a sword, and she rocks those dreads way better than I ever could—so Maggie it is.
But aside from the fearless leader and myself, who else would I hand pick to trust with my life? And I’m talking real-life people. Friends and family. Who would I take, and who would I trip on the way out? 
plays a role, and each role is equally important to keep the machine running, right? 
I have a friend named Heather, who I’d definitely bring along. She can grow anything. Seriously. Anything. Her passion is identifying fungi and pruning wilted leaves from otherwise thriving plants. Once she gave me a Sex Ed lesson in the male and female flowers on her cucumber vine. Awkward, but interesting. So Heather, in.
My friend, Karen, knows almost nothing about plants, and cried when I took her horse back riding for her birthday. Not out of joy, mind you, but because she’d never touched a horse in her life and was terrified. She claims she would be vital for comic relief, but F-that. Comic relief won’t stab a zombie in the temple. But she is from New York and can throw a pretty mean right hook, so I figure her surly nature would make her a pretty good zombie slayer—whether she knows it or not. Karen, in.
My husband—of course—because not only is he pretty talented with a handgun, strong, and smart, but I could picture him being second in command. He knows people and can sniff out a threat from a mile away. Plus I’ll surely need a good snuggle when I come to the realization the world has gone to hell in a hand basket. Husband, in.
Lets just get my mom in there, too. Not only can she make a meal out of anything, but she’s my mom, so…can’t really leave her behind. Mom, in.
Speaking of relatives, my sister—who lives in Canada—would be an amazing addition. The only problem is, I’d have to get to her first. With no planes and limited car accessibility with cluttered highways and no gasoline, that would be a challenge. But her husband is totally into survival stuff, loves to camp, and I’m pretty sure would gnaw on a stiff squirrel if there was nothing else to eat. Plus, I may not step into the shoes of Michonne well, but my sister would rock a ninja sword with just a little practice. Sister, in. (And her husband in, too. He could be our tracker and survivalist.) 
Education is important, even when the world has ended. I’d still want my kids to know how to read and write, so I’d definitely bring my friend, Zubaidah, who is a teacher. She’s also really strong and most likely has a zombie-killing beast laying dormant inside her somewhere. I could see her taking down walkers with a buck knife and zip line. Zubaidah, in.
Now that the group is getting bigger, I have to start being choosy about who I let in. We have a lot of who we need already. My question for you is, would YOU qualify to be in my group? Tell me why, and I may add your name to the list…




Stone Legacy Series OverviewGenre: Mature YA
Their empires have fallen, but their mythology lives on…
Zanya Coreandero is a seventeen-year-old orphan with only a single friend and no hope for a normal life. The only home she’s ever known is the isolated institution—where breakfast is a handful of medications, the psychiatry sessions are mandatory, and her every move is watched.
When Zanya is kidnapped, she meets a group of gifted Mayan descendants, each with a unique ability. Gone from a nameless castaway to the only hope of mankind, Zanya is forced to make a grueling decision: bond with an enchanted stone and save humanity from rising underworld forces, or watch helplessly as Earth falls victim to a familiar dark deity from her dreams. This time, he’s playing for keeps.
A wicked secret hides behind a handsome face…
When Arwan, a dark-eyed timebender, takes interest in Zanya's mission, it's unclear if his intention is to help, or if he's on a hell-bent mission for revenge. Wary of falling for another guy with major secrets and a tainted past, Zanya fights to keep her distance. If only her heart gave her a choice.
With the approach of an ancient bonding ceremony, Zanya struggles to control her abilities—and her desires.
As the winter solstice approaches, it brings an onslaught of unexpected side effects. While Zanya battles to seize control over her supercharged powers, she must also face an overwhelming suspicion that her new boyfriend, Arwan, is hiding a secret so dark it could destroy them both. And with her powers finally taking root, pacing their relationship becomes even more of a challenge.
Just when she thought life couldn’t get more complicated…
With the arrival of a surprise houseguest, Zanya’s deepest fears about Arwan are confirmed. And when middleworld deities intercede, the group of gifted Maya descendants are confronted with hardships they never saw coming—including an enemy more deadly than they have ever faced.
When the heavens, middleworld, and underworld collide, an epic battle for power threatens the existence of mankind. Their survival rests in the hands of Zanya and her new, enchanted family. But when a final secret turns her world upside down, her stone, family, and future aren’t the only things she’s destined to protect.
Mayan BloodStone LegacyBook OneTheresa DaLayne
Their empires have fallen, but their mythology lives on…
Zanya Coreandero is a seventeen-year-old orphan with only a single friend and no hope for a normal life. Diagnosed with anxiety and night terrors, no one believes her cuts and bruises are a result of an evil entity, and not a brutal case of self-harm.
With the only home she’s ever known being the isolated institution—where breakfast is a handful of medications, the psychiatry sessions are mandatory, and her every move is watched—the only relief is her red-haired roommate named Tara, who’s more like a little sister than her best friend.
Free will is strong, but destiny is stronger.
When Zanya is kidnapped, she meets a group of gifted Mayan descendants, each with a unique ability. Gone from a nameless castaway to the only hope of mankind, Zanya is forced to make a grueling decision: bond with an enchanted stone and save humanity from rising underworld forces, or watch helplessly as Earth falls victim to a familiar dark deity from her dreams. This time, he’s playing for keeps.
A wicked secret hides behind a handsome face…
When Arwan, a dark-eyed timebender, takes interest in Zanya's mission, it's unclear if his intention is to help, or if he's on a hell-bent mission for revenge. Wary of falling for another guy with major secrets and a tainted past, Zanya fights to keep her distance. If only her heart gave her a choice.
Goodreads

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InterludeStone LegacyBook TwoTheresa DaLayne
Tara may have spent years in an asylum, but that doesn’t make her crazy–just fearless.
Dropped in Moscow with a the group of enchanted Mayan descendants, seventeen-year-old Tara is forced to wait on the sideline while her best friend—the Stone Guardian— battles to reclaim a friend’s soul trapped in the underworld.
It sucks being ordinary when everyone else is superhuman…
A mortal girl with a tainted past, Tara is left to deal with an overwhelming sense of inadequacy. Her boyfriend, Peter, is a healer. Her best friend is The Guardian, and everyone else is a powerhouse of awesome strengths. Meanwhile, she struggles to leave her childhood of abuse in the past, and while Peter picks her up every time she falls, it becomes clear he deserves better.
When they opened Pandora’s Box, hell came pouring out…
When she’s given a chance to aid in the group’s mission, Tara is eager to pull her own weight, even if it means uncovering buried memories of being held prisoner by the underworld general. Now haunted with flashbacks of torture, Tara wanders from the safety of Peter’s arms into a city of depravity and corruption. And amidst all this evil is a young man with an agenda of his own, who leads her down a road that will either prove she is a hero at heart, or drag her into a world she’s always feared.
He wants revenge, she wants redemption. And in an underground ring of missing girls and bloody sacrifices, only the fearless can survive…
Goodreads    Lights of AuroraStone LegacyBook ThreeTheresa DaLayne
After living her entire life in an orphan asylum, Zanya fears she may actually be losing her mind.
Following the discovery of her ancient Maya bloodlines, eighteen-year-old Zanya Coreandero is faced with a daunting responsibility. She must protect the relic stone while Sarian, the underworld general, ceaselessly drives her to the brink of insanity.
With the approach of an ancient bonding ceremony, Zanya struggles to control her abilities—and her desires…
As the winter solstice approaches, it brings an onslaught of unexpected side effects. While Zanya struggles to seize control over her supercharged powers, she must also face an overwhelming suspicion that her boyfriend, Arwan, is hiding a secret so dark it could destroy them both. And with her powers finally taking root, the struggle to pace their relationship takes on a life of its own.
Just when she thought life couldn’t get more complicated…
With the arrival of a surprise houseguest, Zanya’s deepest fears about Arwan are confirmed. And when middleworld deities intercede, the group of gifted Maya descendants are confronted with hardships they never saw coming—including an enemy more deadly than they have ever faced.
Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. And when that woman has no soul and a taste for revenge, they will need the powers of every surviving ancestor simply to stay alive.
Goodreads
AnarchyStone LegacyBook FourTheresa DaLayne
Jayden’s heart may have stopped beating for good when he was rescued from the underworld, but it can still break…
After an ancient Mayan ceremony goes horribly wrong, Jayden is left to face reality—the girl he once loved is pledged to another. At his breaking point, he steals a cab to leave behind the group of enchanted descendants, this time for good.
When Hawa—a beautiful but lethal acquaintance—decides to call shotgun, his only choice is to take her along for the ride.
He’d be glad to have the company…if it were anyone but her. He only knows her by occasionally sharing a hallway in Renato’s huge estate in Belize. It’s clear she has a perma-chip in her shoulder, and they have absolutely nothing in common. So he thinks…
With no cash and nowhere to stay, Hawa leads him into the heart of Guatemala City to an abandoned hotel of orphaned kids. As more of her tainted past is revealed, an unwelcome memory reappears in flesh and blood, threatening to break her wild spirit.
A mysterious orphan is the only one standing between him and the new queen of hell…
Modem, a spunky twelve-year-old girl with a knack for computers, seems to be keeping her eye on Jay. When his abilities go rogue and pull him back to the underworld, Modem shows she’s more than meets the eye. And as everything spirals out of control, Contessa proves no realm is out of reach…
Goodreads ENTIRE FIVE-BOOK SERIES COMPLETE IN APRIL 2016! WATCH THE BOOK TEASER HERE
About the Author:
A long-time enthusiast of things that go bump in the night, Theresa began her writing career as a journalism intern—possibly the least creative writing field out there. After her first semester at a local newspaper, she washed her hands of press releases and feature articles to delve into the whimsical world of fiction.
Since then, Theresa has been married, had three terrific kids, moved to central Ohio, and has been repeatedly guilt-tripped into adopting a menagerie of animals that are now members of the family. But don’t be fooled by her domesticated appearance. Her greatest love is travel. Having traveled to over a dozen countries—not to mention an extended seven-year stay in Kodiak, Alaska—she is anything but settled down. Wherever life brings her, Theresa will continue to weave tales of adventure and love with the hope her stories will bring joy and inspiration to her readers.
Author website: http://www.theresadalayne.com
FB: https://www.facebook.com/theresa.dalayne
Twitter: https://twitter.com/TheresaDaLayne
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authortheresadalayne/




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Catching up with Horror Author Fiona Dodwell

Catching up with Horror Author Fiona Dodwell
1)Can you tell us what you've been up to over the last few months?

            It's been a really busy but productive few months for me. I now have a literary agent, Keith Chawgo from Media Bitch Literary Agency. He has worked on several horror films and books, and I am really pleased to be represented by him. Since signing with Media Bitch, I have been working hard at my writing. I have released Nails (a horror novella), The Redwood Lodge Investigation (a horror short for Kindle) and I have also just finished preparing Juniper's Shadow, a horror that will be released on Christmas day. I have also been promoting The Shift, because it has been freshly edited, promoted and slapped on with a brand new cover!            A horror anthology, The Dichotomy of Christmas, has also just been released. My story is included in it (it's called The Wassail) and there are also stories by Graham Masterton, M.R Sellars and Michael Bray in it.

2)Can you tell us more about your re-release of The Shift?
            The Shift was originally released in 2013, but at the time, due to some very difficult personal circumstances, I was unable to focus on promotion and giving the project the time and energy it deserved. I returned to it recently, as it is a novel I feel very passionately about. There are some fresh edits and additions to it, as well as a beautiful new book cover. I am also pleased to say it is available as paperback as well as ebook. Readers have contacted me about how much they have enjoyed the book, and I am happy to hear that it is finding its way into the hands of new readers.

3)Tell us about your Christmas release, Juniper's Shadow.
            I am really very excited about this project. It is a horror short being released under Media Bitch Productions. It's about a young man called Leighton Banks who finds himself in possession of an extremely rare record. He begins to hear rumours about the music being cursed, and suddenly finds himself immersed in a dark world where music can hurt, control and endanger lives. Leighton must uncover the truth about the cursed recording before it is too late to save those he loves.

4)As the year draws to a close, what can readers expect from you in the future?
            Well, I have high hopes for 2016. Time will tell. I recently finished writing a full length paranormal novel called The Risen. That will be submitted to publishers through my agent at some point in the new year. I also have several short stories on the go, that are being submitted to various horror anthologies. I am also planning on attending some book conventions in the UK with fellow authors from Media Bitch.            In December, I have a lot to pack in. I'll be promoting Juniper's Shadow and I am taking part in a horror podcast with The Darkness Dwells show. I am also appearing on the Gut and Bones radio show later in the month.             There are other exciting projects in the pipeline but they are yet to be confirmed. For more updates as and when I get them, please check my Twitter and Facebook account.

5)Where can readers find out more about you?
            Well, I'm always on Twitter and Facebook (links supplied) but I also run a website called Study Paranormal. It isn't just about my writing (although I do share updates about my books on there). It is also about anything dark – horror film reviews, book reviews, paranormal articles, interviews and general horror stuff. On my Study Paranormal website, I've interviewed actor Aaron Poole (from The Conspiracy), paranormalist Uri Geller, and horror movie director Andrew Jackson (of Robert, Haunting at the Rectory etc). www.studyparanormal.wordpress.com


Thank you very much for having me as a guest!





The ShiftFiona Dodwell
Genre: Horror/Psychological
Publisher: Double Dragon Publishing
ASIN: B00CQ59LKM
Number of pages: 230 pages
Formats available: Ebook and paperback
Book Description:
Michael White is a man desperate to escape his past. After tragedy costs him his job and marriage, he finds himself abandoned in a world of depression, loneliness and unemployment – until a new start working at a luxurious care home is offered.
But Hill Wood House isn't like any other care home. What are the shadowy figures that follow Michael? What do they want? And beyond the paranormal, who is stalking Michael? Who is entering his home at night and leaving disturbing messages across his walls?
Can anyone ever really escape their past? Michael is about to go on a dark journey to uncover the truth behind what is haunting him – a truth that will wreak death and destruction to those Michael cares about.


Short Excerpt:
He leaned forward, pressing his face close to her mouth and listened, waiting for breath that would not come. Her skin was a pallid colour, void of the pink that used to tint it, and her lips were blue, an impossible blue. He gaped as he stood upright, looking down at her body while resisting the urge to vomit. It was the most terrible thing he’d seen in his entire life. He lifted her wrist into the air and her hand fell limply forward. He felt for a pulse and found none; it was useless, the confirmation of a fact he already knew. She was dead. The stale air in the room suddenly became too thick, too hot, and he struggled to find his own breath. He gagged, then lurched over to the bedroom window and pushed it open, allowing the cool night air to swiftly enter. He breathed deeply, the air cold and sharp as it hit his lungs. The moon hanging above him in the navy sky was wide and looming, sending darkened shadows across the lawn below. Everything looked different, somehow; everything seemed marked. He turned back, reluctantly, his eyes falling on the corpse lying in front of him. In life, she had been beautiful, despite her problems. In life, she had been wonderful. Now death had claimed her and the mask of that eternal sleep was already sliding into place.  Soon she would be stiff with rigor mortis, her slender skin toughened under the blanket of death. Soon she would be taken away, zipped inside a body bag, a label attached to her toe or wrist. She was gone. He fell to the floor, the weight of the reality sitting firmly on his shoulders as he wept bitterly. He would never forget this day for the rest of his life. It would change everything.


Author Biography
Fiona grew up in Buckinghamshire in the UK. She has had a passion for the written word since she was a child, and found herself a regular visitor of local book stores and libraries from a young age. Growing up, Fiona became a big fan of the supernatural and horror genre – in both film and literature. She devoured Susan Hill, Dean Koontz and Stephen King novels with relish, and soon realised she wanted to create dark fictional worlds of her own.
Fiona has studied a variety of subjects in recent years, from Theology and Psychology, to Film Studies and Drama. Her passion for writing, though, is what she focuses on now. In 2011, she released her debut horror novel, The Banishing, and then went on to publish Obsessed and The Shift. These novels were published with Double Dragon Publishing and Damnation Books. 
Fiona also enjoys writing articles and has written for Paranormal Underground Magazine, Pinched Literary Magazine, Supernatural Magazine and also runs her own website, which contains various selections of her articles, interviews and reviews. 
In September of 2015, Fiona signed a contract with Media Bitch Literary Agency where she is now represented. She has recently finished several short stories and is working on her new novel, The Risen, which she hopes to release in 2016.
Fiona currently lives with her husband, Matthew, and her unruly ginger cat, Oscar. 
Twitter: angel_devil982
Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/fionadodwellauthor



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 December 21 SpotlightRose’s Brainhttp://roseshababy.com/category/roses-brain/
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Top Ten Favorite Movies- Guest blog: Annabeth Neverending by Leyla Kader Dahm

My Top Ten Moviesby Annabeth Prescott
Ever since I discovered that I’m a reincarnated Egyptian princess, things have taken a strange turn. I’ve been reliving old memories from my past life in ancient Egypt, and exploring my mortality (or lack thereof) while looking for answers. None are readily apparent, so I’m going to bury myself in film. 

York, Maine, doesn’t have a video store anymore, but luckily, my boss, Mrs. Lansing (I work at an antique stand) has an amazing collection of DVD’s, and even VHS tapes (yikes!). Some of them aren’t the best quality, but they’ll have to do.

Here’s a list of movies that reflect a bit of what I’ve been going through, and my take on each:

1) Chances Are


Chances Are is a rom com about reincarnation! A romincarnation? A reincomration? Anyway, the story centers on a young man (Robert Downey Jr.) who realizes that he’s a reincarnated lawyer. The only wrinkle? He’s dating his own daughter (Mary Stuart Masterson) and is falling back in love with his former wife (Cybill Sheperd)!

2) Stargate


An archaeologist (James Spader) and a team of soldiers goes back in time through the aptly named “Stargate” and discover that the innovations of the ancient Egyptians were actually achieved by aliens!  What the heck? This movie is crap! But, a young Kurt Russell… 

3) Time After Time



I can’t get enough of movies that involve travel to other eras. In Time After Time, H.G. Wells (Malcolm McDowell) voyages to the 1970’s in his time machine to hunt down Jack the Ripper (David Warner), all with the help of his new, modern girlfriend (Mary Steenburgen). This movie has it all!

4) The Notebook



The Notebook is about an old man (James Garner) whose wife (Gena Rowlands) suffers from Alzheimer’s. He reads her diary back to her every day so she’ll remember their love story. It’s a beautiful tale both in the past and present day, but I have to admit I keep fast-forwarding through the present day parts, because—Ryan Gosling.

5) Sleepless in Seattle 


This is the story of a widower (Tom Hanks) who talks about his romance with his deceased wife on a radio show. He becomes something of a sensation, and one listener (Meg Ryan) instantly falls in love with him via his voice. Sleepless in Seattle explores fate in the most heart-warming of ways.

6) Somewhere in Time



In SIT, Richard Collier (Christopher Reeve) falls in love with a photograph of old-timey actress Elise McKenna (Jane Seymour) while staying at the Grand Hotel in Mackinac Island. He hypnotizes himself back in time to be with her, and their romance is truly chill inducing! Damn, I want to watch this with Gabriel. Or C. J.

7, 8  and 9) The Mummy Trilogy


A swashbuckling adventure series, these epic films are an amalgam of archaeology and magic! Starring Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz (and strangely, in the last one, Maria Bello), The Mummy Trilogy is filled with ancient Egyptian flashbacks (my favorite kind) and a healthy dash of romance. And spoiler alert: there’s reincarnation, too! 

10) Titanic


What is there to say? Leo, Kate, a sinking ship. And my relationship situation is a disaster lately, so it’s no wonder this film resonates with me! 




Annabeth NeverendingLeyla Kader Dahm
Genre: YA paranormal romance/historical
ISBN-13: 978-1518613289ISBN-10: 1518613284 
Number of pages: 300Word Count: 75,000
Book Description:
At first, teenager Annabeth Prescott thinks she’s found quite a deal when she talks down the price of an ankh pendant she discovers at a flea market. She soon wonders if the bauble is more than she's bargained for when she faints and glimpses images from a past life in ancient Egypt.
The discovery coincides with another new find: Gabriel, a handsome young man who takes an interest in her. When she meets his twin brother C. J. at a Halloween party, she realizes they look exactly like two boys who figure prominently into her memories.
Does C. J. share the heroic qualities held by his past incarnation Sethe, her bodyguard when she was Princess Ana? Does Gabriel possess the same evil powers he wielded as Kha, the black sorcerer who sought her affection?
Love meets the supernatural in this gripping young adult paranormal romance. Readers with an interest in reincarnation, as well as ancient Egypt, will be drawn to its mystical mixture of history and hesitation as Annabeth sways between the two brothers.
Will her reincarnated soulmate win out? Or will Kha finally find the way to her heart?



Available at Amazon
Excerpt: Chapter One
Mrs. Lansing pulls her SUV into the dusty, unpaved lot, which is located behind two antique malls. I exit and unload her trunk, suppressing a groan as I hoist a heavy cardboard box and set it carefully on the dirt.I take in the ramshackle affair. I’ve heard that the flea market is a popular meeting place for bargain hunters and collectors, and it looks as strange as its name sounds. There are rows of rickety wooden tables, and it’s surprising that none of them buckle from the sheer number of goods they hold.“This is the Arundel Flea Market. It’s the hub of Maine’s secondhand economy,” explains my elderly neighbor, who now doubles as my boss and triples as my tour guide.As we make our way through the helter-skelter maze of booths, the buzz of negotiation can be heard coming from every direction. I drag along the cart of wares, but stop when I’m seized by a sneezing fit, courtesy of free-floating dust and mold. When Mrs. Lansing offers me a handkerchief instead of a Kleenex, I’m made acutely aware of the fact that I’ve entered a new…er, different world.Mrs. Lansing’s stooped over just low enough that her poor posture has probably cost her a couple of inches, but that doesn’t slow her down. She shuffles toward a vacant table nestled under the welcoming shade of a chalky-white birch tree.Seeing that she’s claimed a prime spot, I follow her lead by setting out everything from orphan candlesticks to shell cameos to tin wind-up toys. Then, Mrs. Lansing adds a few eccentric items like yellowed tarot cards and an iridescent crystal ball to the collection.“What’s the deal with this?” I ask while turning over the fortune-telling device.“It reeks of mystery and the supernatural, which I love. Besides, the weird stuff always sells,” explains Mrs. Lansing, her eyes twinkling.“So, who usually comes here?”“Most of the sellers are serious dealers, but there are also everyday folk looking to earn extra cash. Usually by cleaning out their musty attics or basements.”“I’ve never sold anything before. Not even girl scout cookies,” I admit.“You’ll get the hang of it. Why don’t we try some role-playing?”Mrs. Lansing lays down a parchment document with what looks to be a children’s book illustration of an old masted ship. This is something I’ve seen before. Many times. It’s a Mayflower Society certificate.“My mom’s a member, you know.”“Now that’s a great angle. The certificate’s going to be passed, in a manner of speaking, from one Pilgrim descendant to another,” states Mrs. Lansing, her voice crackling with wear.“I’m not a blood descendant. I was adopted, remember?” I gently remind her.She looks ruffled. Of course, the subject makes everyone feel awkward, especially me.“Oh, that’s right. I’m so sorry. My mind isn’t the steel trap it once was.”I shrug it off, not wanting her to feel bad when it’s a common slipup, and we engage in a marathon training session as we try to sell her product that goes on for hours and hours. In addition to the finer points of salesmanship, she fills me in on all the vital information I need to know regarding the current stock and teaches me how to handle the money that comes in.While learning how to work the old-school cash register, my friend Bernadette, wearing a floppy straw hat and oversized sunglasses, steps up to the stand. She looks over the merchandise, with a mouth that’s either puckered in interest or disgust—I’m not sure which.“Can I wait on this person I’ve never seen before?”Mrs. Lansing nods and crosses her arms while standing back to observe my efforts.“Miss, are you looking for anything in particular?” I ask in my most professional tone.“Not sure if you noticed…all these things are used but still expensive,” Bernadette states, as though she’d doing me a favor by educating me.“They’re antiques.”“In that case, I’ll take none of everything.”My lips tighten in displeasure.“You sure about that?” I ask.Mrs. Lansing chuckles.“Annabeth Prescott, I’m impressed. Not every new employee cons a friend into acting like a fake customer,” she says with a smile so wide I can see all her dentures.“You recognized me?” asks Bernadette, sounding genuinely puzzled. She pulls off her hat and glasses, revealing her delicate Asian features.I sigh, disappointed that my plan failed so wretchedly. I should’ve figured that Bernadette could never fully disguise her…Bernadetteness.“Shocking, I know. But it does show that you really care about this job, dear,” Mrs. Lansing says, before jotting something in her inventory log.“Well, I better get back to work. Thanks for coming. Don’t forget to make a purchase before you go,” I say loudly and somewhat pathetically.“I don’t think so.”“If you don’t buy something from me, who will?”“Excellent question,” she agrees.“Please?” I ask, eyes pleading.“Begging. Interesting strategy,” Mrs. Lansing says, pretending to mull it over.“No offense, but I’m heading to the Kittery Outlets. Later!” Bernadette cries as she scurries off.“Don’t worry. My associate, Gabriel, will help you refine your sales technique. He’s the master.”I gaze around and notice an elderly army of gray-and-blue hairs surrounds me. I’m the youngest person manning a table by a long shot.“So he’s…older, huh?” I ask.            “Yes, you could say that. Of course, everyone seems like a baby to me. Now, let me give you some details about this Bakelite phone.”I scan my surroundings some more and shake my head in hopes of clearing it. My waning attention must be obvious.“All right, I’ve been doling out a lot of information. Why don’t you take a break? Walk around the market; get an idea of what the others have for sale? We can pick this up when you get back.”“OK, but when I do, give me your worst piece of merchandise, and I’ll unload it,” I say with false confidence, hoping to salvage things.“That’s the spirit!”I peruse the market, and a strange sense of stillness falls. Brass wind chimes break the silence, eerily clinging and clanging as I wind my way through the many stands. I keep passing one table in particular. Though nothing interests me at first, I repeatedly find my way back to it despite myself. It’s as though I’m on autopilot.I dig in and pick up a broken tassel necklace, which is entangled with several others. While trying to pry them apart, I knock to the ground a box chain holding a pendant. They’re both caked with grime. I bend down and grab the necklace. I look over the charm, which is roughly three inches long and resembles a cross with a loop on top.My hands tremble. The wind whips through my hair and whistles in my ears. Are the northeastern breezes whispering to buy it?I give the piece to the table’s merchant, a middle-aged Mainer in a threadbare brown overcoat and scuffed L.L.Bean rain boots. He turns it over in his stubby, chapped fingers.“How much is this?” I ask nonchalantly, trying to hide just how much I want it.“Uh, twenty dollars oughta do it,” he says, in a regional accent so thick it sounds like he has a speech impediment.“Twenty? That’s kind of steep…I really shouldn’t…” I grumble sadly.“Ten?”
***
I gleefully run toward Mrs. Lansing, hardly able to contain my excitement. But I manage to rein it in. Which is hard because I suspect that I’ve achieved a tiny triumph.“Wait till you see what I bought!”“I thought the point of this job was to make money, not spend it,” she replies tauntingly.“I know, I know. But you’ll be happy to know that I totally haggled. And this seems…special.”I give over the encrusted ornament to Mrs. Lansing, who offers to clean the piece. She takes out a cloth and some jewelry cleanser and polishes the necklace in a flash.“This shape is an ankh. It’s an ancient Egyptian symbol.”“Do you know what it means?” I ask, curiosity seeping in.“I believe it represents some sort of key.”Now that it’s been spiffed up, Mrs. Lansing and I admire my find, which sparkles in the muted autumn sun.“Is it real gold?” I wonder aloud.“I’d say so. In fact, this is the darkest, most beautiful gold I’ve ever seen. Just enough alloy was added to the precious metal to make it durable while maintaining its warmth of color. What did you pay for this?”“Ten dollars.”“Looks like somebody’s a born negotiator,” Mrs. Lansing states, with a hint of pride. “You got quite a bargain, kiddo.”I take the ankh back into my possession and caress its cool, smooth surface. I feel everything around me go topsy-turvy, upside down and inside out…
***
I’m enveloped by heat stronger and more intense than any I’ve experienced before. Drops of perspiration tickle my skin as they run underneath my flowing linen gown. I feel arms clasping a chain behind my neck. My hands fly up to find the ankh resting on my collarbone, but I didn’t move them there. It’s as though I’m a mere observer, instead of a participant, when it comes to this body’s actions.The man who has just bestowed the necklace upon me pulls away, and I’m allowed a good look at him. He’s a hideous fellow with bulging eyes, a hooked nose, and a shock of bright-red hair that peeks out from underneath a black-and-white headdress. His outfit, the way he has about him, makes him seem important. Is he a pharaoh?He grins, semitoothlessly, and I feel myself smiling in return.“This is all for you, to commemorate your sixteenth year, your entry into womanhood,” says the probable monarch.“My gratitude runs as deep as the Nile,” I reply, in a voice that is not my own, in a language that is not my own, and yet I know exactly what I’m saying.The man, who’s wearing a tunic covered with fringe, motions to a procession of beautiful objects, the likes of which I never could have imagined. Priceless treasures zoom past, carried by servants wearing loose shift dresses and stiff black wigs. Elaborately carved pieces of ivory and ebony furniture, lion and leopard skins, gem-encrusted gold jewelry in the shape of beetles and butterflies, and granite statues of animal-faced men and women are all presented to me individually. Clearly, these are gifts for a very privileged young lady. What I wouldn’t give to own them myself.Another Egyptian, a young man who is ostensibly a prince, looks to be seething with anger. His arms are crossed, his face set in a scowl. He watches on in disgust as the gifts continue to appear.“This show of generosity shall stir jealousy in her sisters,” he states venomously.“I reserve the right to spoil my favorite daughter as I see fit,” replies the suspected ruler.And now, the last offering, the one with the place of honor at the end of the parade, is finally brought before me.A boy! Or is he a man?“This prisoner of war is such a fine specimen, he would be wasted as a lowly house slave. He shall serve as your bodyguard,” announces the intimidating ruler.“His name is Sethe.”The captive has shackles on his hands and feet. I can even make out a brand upon his chest. It seems as though it’s still scarring over, which is understandable, since he was not born into slavery. Regardless, he looks like somebody who has done nothing but labor in the sun. His skin is bronzed, and his muscles are impossibly defined. He seems reluctant to look at me.Finally, his gaze meets mine. I’m at a distance, yet I can still make out the flecks of gold that dapple his hazel eyes. For a blissful moment, I’m lost in them, swimming in their beauty, floating in their comfort.
***
I come to amid a background of concerned chatter and find myself surrounded by a crowd of curious onlookers…and a strange boy. His muscular arms are holding me tight, making sure I don’t RSVP to the gravel’s invitation. He’s impossibly good looking, with the palest-possible blue eyes and the darkest-possible black hair.He couldn’t be less like the slave in my…hallucination?…but he’s just as handsome. Not like it’s a contest.
“You passed out. Good thing I was here to catch you,” says my hero, while wagging a pair of thick brows.
About the Author:
Leyla Kader Dahm popped popcorn and dreamt of a career in show business when working in a movie theater while in high school. The small-town Midwestern girl went another route and studied communications at Carroll College and Cornell University, but still found herself drawn to the big screen when a temp agency placed her in a production and development gig at Miramax/Dimension Films.
Dahm went on to work as a script consultant for numerous production companies. She appeared in the acclaimed spoken word show Sit ‘N Spin and had her comedy feature spec, Due North, optioned by Michael Levy Enterprises. She sold her pitch, Survival Instinct, to Nickelodeon Original Movies. Dahm lives with her husband, sitcom writer Richard Dahm, and her children in Los Angeles.
https://leyla-dahm-6b8g.squarespace.com
https://twitter.com/annabeth_egypt
https://www.facebook.com/annabethneverending/
https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/48461643-leyla-dahm


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Crestfall: A Novel of Earth and Fire by Lily St. John McKee

Hi, my name is Beverly McKee and I would like to tell you a bit about the author of the "Crestfall,” a novel that weaves romance, murder and otherworldly mystery as it explores the relationship between two estranged sisters in a fictional town in Maritime Newfoundland.    

I had a unique viewpoint from which to observe the emergence of this book’s gifted author as I am her mother.  

Lily was an enchanting, theatrical, and imaginative child from the beginning.  Her earliest endeavors involved elaborately costumed productions including anyone wandering dangerously close to the performance area. The plot, dialogue and sequence of events spilled from her dictatorial direction.  Always entertaining, her plots wove numerous story lines, fantastical (homemade) costumes and usually included some of the neighborhood pets or delivery people in addition to any friends she could corral.  She had a compelling persona that was difficult to refuse - almost hypnotic - so it was common to find the characters performing amazing feats that defied the laws of common sense or the physical world, but always with charm and personality.  She was a magical creature who refused to be denied.  You had to "experience" Lily.

Lily was an avid reader from an early age, devouring books from every genre.   It has been my experience that most writers are voracious readers.  Lily soon left the classic childhood authors behind and developed a definite preference for books that weave the magical world with reality.  Only the cleverest authors could keep pace with her imagination.  Magical powers, shape-changers, mystery, murder and mayhem kept company with Shakespeare and Bronte.  It was no surprise to me when Lily began writing her debut novel, "Crestfall." 

"Crestfall" was something of a shape-changer over the 10 years that Lily was writing it. She was gaining experiences from travel, study, and a passion for theatre and all of those informed her book. As she matured, she wanted her writing to convey a message to young people.  She wanted them to know that after the rigors of adolescence, there was a rich, full life waiting for them.  They would not be defined by the limited viewpoint of their adolescent world.  She dedicated herself to helping them address bullying by peers and protecting our precious environment.

Lily was on the verge of publishing “Crestfall,” choosing among her own photos of Newfoundland for the cover art, when she became ill.  She died at the age of 27 of acute respiratory distress syndrome.  She would be so proud to know her book has reached her audience. She touched all who knew her with her purity of spirit.  Friends and family appreciated her refreshing honesty, fierce loyalty, and ability to live life with dramatic flair.  Her bravery in life, sickness and death will always be the bar I strive to reach.

I hope you will read Lily's book, now that you know a bit about her as an author and a person.   hope you will share with us your reaction to the book and your feelings about the topics she strove to illustrate.  You can reach her family through the web site: www.Lilysmckee.com

Crestfall: A Novel of Earth and FireLily St. John McKee
Genre: young adult/paranormal
Publisher: Posterity Press, Inc.
Date of Publication: November 23, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-889274-50-8
Word Count: 64,425
Cover Artist: Robert L. Wiser
Book Description:
Crestfall is a dark fantasy with a heart of love—for the earth, its creatures and plants, for people who strive, care, and face down fear.
Its young heroine, Aria Andrews, interrupts her medieval history studies to attend her sister’s funeral in a town on the rugged coast of Newfoundland.
Her estranged twin was murdered, and Aria becomes a suspect before setting out to uncover the brutal truth with the help of her brother Fynn, his girlfriend Sophie (a witch), and forthright Bennet Halfnight, a handsome detective.
All three Andrews siblings have possessed unworldly natural powers; Aria uses hers to pursue an old antagonist and confront new ones: shape-shifters and werewolves in this startling romantic novel of beastly gore and human tenderness.

CHAPTER 1: STRANGER THINGS

Myths are truths buried beneath layers of speculation and obscurity. There are those who would disagree, but I have seen enough of the world beneath the veneer of civilization to know better. Legends travel in the same boat as myths. They only differ because they were once thought to be real, but the validity of such things has been shrouded by the passage of several generations.            These thoughts circled in my mind as I waited to go through the long lines at immigration and at the airport car rental. With a long drive ahead, I stopped to stock up on the necessities – food, water, and a couple of books on CD.            In northeastern Canada, an island called Newfoundland breaches the Arctic Circle. Newfoundland is a strange place. The Vikings found it, but did not stay. The Irish, English, Portuguese, Spanish and the French settled the wild land in the 18th and 19th centuries. It is a rough land, full of crags and uneven edges. The climate weeds out those who are unable to withstand colder weather. It takes a sturdy constitution to survive in the vicious winters and cool summers. The temperature rarely climbs above 70 degrees Fahrenheit. The water can be an unreal shade of blue, such as one would never see north of the tropics. The forests that line the coast are thick and green in the summer. Coral formations sit just underwater in the coves bordered by the jagged coast. Thousands of years of erosion are lined by watermarks that delineate the different water levels. And this island is where my siblings have decided to live.I still could not believe that she finally got me to come to Newfoundland. After years of taunting me with her shenanigans, she got herself killed. I was finally free of her. My identical twin and I were as opposite as night and day. Though she and I were not always like that. Something changed when we turned thirteen. She became cruel and careless to herself and others. When we were young she was my best friend. She was the kindest person you could ever meet. Then she began to delight in crushing the hopes of those around her. She would take their opportunities for herself. Sonata was an opportunist from hell. She had the ability to ferret out my dreams, and would systematically demolish them before my eyes.            The worst part was that Mom and Dad were oblivious to her manipulations. Only our brother, Fynn, knew the real Sonata. When I tried to get our parents to see the lies she was spinning, I was punished. When I turned eighteen, I left home and never looked back. The only reason I stayed as long as I did was Fynn. My big brother was a godsend. But when one of Sonata’s friends got her claws into him, I could no longer trust him. So I hardly ever spoke to him in the intervening years while I was studying abroad.            I left to go to college on the opposite side of the ocean. I went to Cambridge and graduated with honors. Afterwards, I decided to stay to pursue a master’s. I was working on my master’s thesis, about the Black Death of 1348-1350, when Fynn called with the news that Sonata was dead. The service was being held in the Crestfall Church, in the town she called home. With everything that she had done, she had no right to be buried on hallowed ground.            Memories of the past flitted through my mind as the miles sped by. Before I knew it, I had entered the outskirts of Crestfall. I had never even heard about this town until Fynn called me. We were raised on the opposite side of Canada in Vancouver. Nevertheless, Crestfall was a beautiful town. The houses were quirky and painted in a riot of colors—one bubblegum pink and another the color of purple hydrangeas. The town itself was close to the ocean, beside a large bay with a rocky headland that made a sheltered anchorage for the dories of solitary fishermen and the trawlers that coursed offshore for the big cod and salmon. Sea gulls were everywhere and the townsfolk were obsessed with puffins. Everywhere I looked stores had “puffins” in their names. Also, on the docks were many boats advertising whale watching tours and trips to see these comical seabirds.I would have preferred that Sonata be cremated, so that she could never come back. I never could tell with my twin, she might be having a big joke on me, forcing me to come here for her funeral only to show up and mock me. But it was not my call. It was Fynn’s, since our parents’ death in a freak accident had made him our guardian of sorts, even after we became adults.My car squealed to a stop in front of the church. I paused to straighten my outfit: a black skirt that stopped just short of the knees, knee-high stiletto boots, a black and white V-necked shirt, and a black jean jacket. Finding nothing amiss, I walked up the steps and into the church. This was going to be hard, but I was not grief-stricken. I was sad that my sister was dead. After all, she was my second half, but I only mourned the loss of my childhood half, my womb-mate.I had not seen Fynn for seven years and it scared me to think about seeing him so soon after Sonata’s death. I would have preferred being invisible and I dreaded the thought of being the focus of every irritated and stunned eye as I walked toward the pew designated for family. But it could not be helped. I had been traveling for so long, I could not remember what I was doing when I got Fynn’s call. I waited until the last minute to book my flight. It was not as if I wanted to come.The service was almost over—I hadn’t thought I was that late—and my entrance caused a slight commotion as I interrupted the minister’s eulogy.Head held high, I walked down the aisle searching for Fynn. I found him seated in the front row. He looked stoic as always, but thinner than I remembered. He must not be eating right. I made a mental note to restock his fridge before I left and to create a list of things he should continue to get. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a young woman with black hair, with streaks of pink, purple, green, and blue threaded through it. Her eyes were a strange amber color. I reached Fynn and took a seat next to him. I could hear the whispers from those who had come to mourn. I was unsure whether this had been a good idea.When the minister did not resume his speech, but rather stood and stared at me, I felt a twinge of unease and said, “apologies.”“Would you like to say something?” the minister asked.I thought for a moment and stood. I turned to the congregation and said, “My mother once told me that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”  I nodded as if that was final and sat back down.The young minister continued to stare at me.Sighing, I waited for him to regain the ability to speak.“I thought Mother told that to Sonata,” Fynn whispered to me. It echoed in the now silent church.“You only thought it was Sonata,” I whispered back.I saw a muscle in his jaw tick and he nodded. Fynn had changed a bit over the past seven years. He was still tall, but his lanky frame had filled out. His grey eyes held a sadness that hadn’t been there before. I could see the outlines of some of his bones and that scared me. I always remembered him as being strong and healthy looking.The minister cleared his throat, jerking me out of my reverie. “Into thy hands we commend thy servant Sonata, a sheep of thine own flock, a lamb of thine own fold, a sinner of thine own redeeming. Amen.”As we walked out of the church to go stand by the gravesite at the far side of the cemetery, Fynn took me aside.“Aria, it’s great to see you. I’ve missed you.”  He looked sincere and my gut twisted with guilt. I hadn’t talked to him since he told me our parents had died in my freshman year of college.“It’s great to see you too, Fynn.”  I struggled to think of something else to say.We shared a rather awkward hug.“I’m glad that you could make it. I didn’t think you would come.”“Thanks. I almost didn’t. I am supposed to be working on my thesis.”  I would not lie and say I was glad to be here. I never wanted to be anywhere within a fifty-mile radius of Sonata.“All the same, it’s great to see you.”We stood awkwardly until we realized that everyone was waiting for us. I could feel their eyes on me and it was slightly unnerving.                                                            *I drove to Fynn’s house after the burial. He lived on a rambling estate, in a mansion with huge bay windows, set back from the road. It was nothing like the house we grew up in. I realized that I did not even know what Fynn did these days. Whatever it was, it paid well.The door had been left open for mourners to come and go as they pleased. I was awestruck by the extravagance as I entered his foyer. There was crystal, gold and dark wood everywhere. The place looked slightly less extravagant than Versailles. There were waiters carrying trays of champagne and canapés. Seeing the champagne made me cringe.I found Fynn talking to a tall young man whose broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist. He wore Ralph Lauren black trousers. From the back, the man’s dark brown curls were slightly longer than the current fashion. I immediately had the sense that he was powerful.“I know,” Fynn was saying as I neared. “We should have told you that Sonata had an identical twin. But I didn’t expect her either. I thought she wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow. It was awkward what she said.”For a moment I froze. Lord. I probably wasn’t supposed to hear that. I hesitated for just a second until my eyes narrowed,“Fynn,” I said. “Are you talking about me?”Fynn looked slightly abashed. “May…uh…er—”“Yes,” said the man beside Fynn. “We were talking of you.”I looked the stranger in the eye. His eyes were a strange mixture of brown and grey. I believed he was expecting me to flinch, but I knew better. To hide my shaking hands, I clasped them behind my back. I wouldn’t be undone by him.“Well, I think it’s safe to assume that it was not good things that were being said about me,” I said.“No indeed” the man said. “But there is an explanation.”“Really?  I would be happy to hear it.”“Actually, I believe the explanation lies in your corner.”  His eyes raked me over from head to toe. My skin felt like it would like to crawl right back to England.“I do not have to explain myself to a complete stranger, nor do I have any wish to.”  I would not defend my existence to this ass-hat.“I have a right to know why someone would be so crass as to come late to my girlfriend’s funeral, and then refuse to speak.”  The man squared his shoulders, and then looked away.I wanted to laugh. “Why would you think I have anything, nice or otherwise, to say about Sonata?”“Because you are an exact replica of her!”The laughter died in my throat. A replica?  Was he serious?  Who was this guy? Fynn, who noted the high color in my cheeks, spoke up. “Aria, why don’t I show you to your room?”It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “I’m staying here?”  I said it slowly, trying to grasp the meaning of this. I had not been under the same roof with Fynn in years and he assumed that I would stay with him.“Yes, I think that would the wisest choice, don’t you?”I got his meaning instantly. He wanted me to stay so that we could talk. Apparently there was more to Sonata’s death than I knew.“Sure, I would love to stay here.”As we walked up the stairs, the entire room froze. Everyone and everything in it stopped moving. People stopped in midsentence, in mid-action. Only I was still able to move. I had never experienced this before—someone was freezing time around me!  I let out a yelp of surprise and fear. Acting on instinct I dropped to the stairs and placed my hands over my head, expecting an attack that never came.“Sonata Andrews, back in the flesh.”  A derisive voice sounded behind me.I jumped at the hostility, and turning slowly I beheld a young woman about my age. She was tall and had a willowy build. Her long curly black hair streaked with color hung to her waist in a riot. Her skin was pale and her eyes were a brilliant amber. She was the woman I had spotted in the church earlier.“You are incorrect,” I said. “I’m Aria. She was my twin.”  My eyes kept searching the room. Panic was settling in under the surface of my skin. I tried to keep a cool mask on my face so as not to display how totally weird this all felt—a place and its people frozen in time.“I don’t believe you.”“Believe whatever makes you happy.”  My voice had no trace of panic, thank God.“You should,” her voice held a promise of some sort.“I should what?”  I countered, feeling as if she was continuing a conversation that she had started with someone else, perhaps Sonata.The woman stared at me, her eyes seeing things that only she could comprehend. Most unsettling was the feeling that she was not something I could understand. The ability to manipulate time was foreign to me. I had not ever thought about its existence. That is what most unnerved me.“What are you?”  I asked.“I’m a witch,” she acknowledged. “What are you?”“I don’t know,” I said in all honesty. Mom and Dad never explained to me how I was able to do the things that I can do. If they knew, they never said. They kept that information to themselves.The woman appraised me. “You say that you are Aria Andrews?”I sighed, “Yes, that is what I said.”“Sonata knew what she was—a witch. She had figured it out a few years ago.”“Bully for her.”“That is not the answer I was expecting.”“Too bad.”“How come you have no idea but your sister knew?”  She asked.“Perhaps because I have not spoken to her in years.” “Why—”“I don’t know.”  Exasperated, I wanted her to be gone. For her to just disappear and let Fynn show me to my room.Then she broke the spell and everyone began talking once again. The sudden noise nearly deafened me. I looked around as I saw that conversations were continuing as if the last few minutes hadn’t happened. Stunned I tried to catch up to what had just transpired. It was so unreal…“You okay, Aria?”  Fynn asked.“Yeah,” I resumed walking up the stairs. “I think.”  Still shaken, I was unwilling to divulge what had just happened. The woman had melted back into the crowd.Fynn nodded and I knew that we would talk about it. We entered one of the suites. I was not surprised, given the grandeur of the rest of the house, to see a walk-in closet, a full bath; there was a small sitting area and a large four-poster bed. Soft colors were mixed with bold accents. It was decorated exactly how I imagined a room of mine would look like if I had the choice. There were pinks mixed with browns and purples and random bold blues. It was beautiful.Fynn eyed me with a grin. “I thought you would like this.”“Indeed,” I told him. I wondered if he designed this room for me, but I was afraid to ask.“I had this room made up for you when I built the place,” Fynn confessed, answering my unasked question. “I wanted to make sure that there would be a space for you if you ever wanted to…” He trailed off and stared uncomfortably at the floor. He probably thought I wouldn’t believe him.“I’m truly touched,” I said, and I meant it. “Wait, you built this?”“I bought the land, designed the house and hired a contractor to do the actual building. And of course Sonata was furious when she found out about the room. I tried to cover it up by saying it could be a guest room, but she saw right through it. She tried to burn it.”“I am glad it survived.”  I didn’t tell him I wasn’t staying long. Not right now. I wanted to make sure everything was in order first.“Look, I wanted to apologize for the things you overheard. Archer is just…well. I don’t really know how to describe him.”“Was he really in a relationship with Sonata?”  The idea of her being steady with anyone seemed laughable.“Yes, she was sweet and kind with him. The way she always was with men that she wanted something from, or to anger their women.”“Still pulling the wool over their eyes?”“Of course. Herding sheep was her favorite pastime,” Fynn said with obvious disgust. I thought of Sonata’s friend, Morgana, who had turned him into the untrustworthy person I left behind.“What happened to Sonata?”“I honestly don’t know. The police have been pretty tight lipped about it. I do know that her death was no accident…the police are investigating it as a homicide. I think Sonata was murdered. I think you’d better get ready to be questioned.”




About the Author: 
Lily St. John McKee was born November 24, 1987, in Washington, D.C. Finding refuge in books from childhood challenges, she graduated cum laude from Ohio’s Muskingum University in 2011 and earned a master’s degree at Bath Spa University in England. She traveled widely—to Costa Rica, Iceland, Patagonia, Egypt, and Newfoundland, the setting for her novel Crestfall, which she finished in the autumn of 2014.
In the winter Lily McKee fell ill and passed away on March 19, 2015.
http://lilysmckee.com/
https://www.facebook.com/lily.mckee
https://twitter.com/lilymckee


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Mariposa by Kim Wells

Pinterest makes a great place to collect my inspiration for some of the story moments.  The initial spur for me came when I got the first line, so I knew I had to have the “great outfit” clearly described. I initially had them all downloaded to my computer, and then when I discovered Pinterest, it got so much easier. My pinterest page is here, but you really don’t want to look at it if you haven’t finished the story. It will spoil a number of super secret plot elements. 
https://www.pinterest.com/daydreamsdandel/mariposa-novel-inspiration/ 
So I’ll research a topic like crazy, even a place I know as well as I know San Antonio. It’s much easier to pull up a photo when you want to write a scene than to drive over there to make sure you got the details right. And even if it’s just the briefest mentions of something, something you would only notice in passing, I need the details to be right. 
It works, because a number of readers have told me they liked the descriptions of San Antonio so much they want to visit there now. I need to send the tourist & visitor center a bill. 
I’ll admit that a number of scenes of pure description from the story ended up cut because I get so caught up in describing the scene that the story lags. But at the same time, I want my stories to be very grounded in real places, very sensory in nature, and for that to happen, the reader wants to know what the couch looks like, what the food tastes like, what songs might be playing on the PA system. So when I get stuck, I’ll go look at an image. Why? Because that’s the kind of story I want to read. I hate it when authors leave everything up to your imagination. I want to know what color the shirt is! And sometimes, I want to find out later that the shirt being red meant something special. 
One scene in the novel, where Meg is trapped in one of the “bad” ghost’s lair, I knew I wanted the bad ghost to have a series of collectibles, magic-items that she used to ensnare other ghosts. So I googled something like “antique nick nacks” and found this amazing picture of a dresser covered in items like silver brushes, jewelry boxes, scarves, feathers. One of the items ended up being the focus-item in one element of Meg’s magic, a kind of talisman, until she could figure it out on her own, without the help.
Other things, like the snow globe of San Antonio—I actually used to own one of those. My son broke it a couple of years ago which drives me nuts because they’re super rare and collectible now. You just can’t find it on the internet anymore. But I have a pin of it because I had stuck the image on my hard drive, back in the day, and it helped me visualize what I wanted to do with that particular scene, a scene which moves the narrative into the home stretch towards the big conflict finale. Another pin that I have is of a video by a band called CocoRosie, for their song “Gallows.” They really get this very spooky, madwoman haunting and scaring, otherworldly vibe in the video, and the song is just creepy and weird. I listened to the song about 100 times on repeat while I was writing several of the scenes. I know that when Renata, the audiobook narrator, wanted some information on how to voice characters, I told her about the video and with one of the major baddies, you can really hear the influence of this song. 
The story really is grounded in the city, and the fantasy peeks through in elements like the mural (which is a major player on the cover, too) and the descriptions of the ghosts that make up a major part of Meg’s quest. I love being able to share the files with people, too, because then they go “OH WOW! That’s totally how I pictured Martha!” Also, there won’t be any confusion when Hollywood decides to cast the movie. :D 


MariposaChildren of MariposaBook OneKim Wells
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Magic Realism
Publisher: Daydreams Dandelions PublicationsDate of Publication:  December 24, 2014
ASIN: B00O9DCRDC
Number of pages: 293 pagesWord Count:  106,993
Cover Artist: Lawrence Mann
Book Description:
What if the best night of your life was also your last?
On the eve of a much-anticipated proposal, Meg is happier than she could have ever imagined. The future she sees for herself on that magical night is bright, one that’s full of love and laughter and dreams finally realized.
That is, until one random act of violence changes everything…
Consumed by fate and forces she can’t comprehend, Meg finds herself at the center of a spectral conflict that transcends life and death.
Her very soul is up for grabs in this war, and what’s worse… she’s not the only one.
Now, she’s fighting not just for the love she lost, but the daughter she would have called her own. She must fight the battle of her life, for the sake of her friends and family, and find out for herself if love can indeed be stronger than death.
Intertwined with true-ghost stories, some heart-warming, some heart-breaking, this love-note to San Antonio combines history, myth, and vivid description.
This is the full story of Meg & Amelinda's quest-journey, what author Laura Metzger calls "A beautifully written story with compelling characters that reach between the universe of the living and the dead to embrace their mutual destiny" and author Elena E. Giorgi calls "A beautiful tale of love and redemption."
Book Trailer:  https://youtu.be/u8wWa70P7ck
Kindle    Paperback    AudiobookExcerpt:
Meg: Vanilla and Lavender
On the day I died, I was wearing a great outfit. This is important to know because it turns out that your default look for eternity as a ghost is what you’re wearing when you die. I mean, seriously. Who knew? If I’d have known that, I wouldn’t have risked any days in mediocre clothes. In that respect, I was lucky I was on a date when I was killed, but of course, if I hadn’t been on a date, on that date, maybe things would have turned out differently.Not everyone gets to be a ghost. In fact, some people disappear immediately, and I don’t know what happens. But they just wink right out of existence, only out of their bodies for a few seconds. Maybe it has something to do with intent, or their last actions, or their own belief systems. I hope the good people go somewhere good, no matter what they did in the last moments of life, that there is a way for them to make up for those Big Mistakes.Some people, people who haven’t Figured Things Out, people like me, linger for a while. We hang around those we love and sometimes try to influence their choices, trying to keep loved ones from making Big Mistakes.My grandmother had been my ghost–I was not surprised when it came right down to it. Back when I was alive, I used to smell her perfume in the apartment we shared, vanilla and lavender. I could never figure out what actual perfume brand she wore to get that scent, and believe me, I tried. I loved it and wanted that for my signature perfume. I haunted the local drugstores, especially the old ones, and vintage stores, looking for an old- fashioned perfume that featured those fragrance notes, but never found anything that smelled even remotely like hers.I guess it was just her individual magic that combined the scents that way. It seemed to linger in our apartment, long after she had been gone. Especially at certain important moments. I wouldn’t know those moments were important ‘til later, but looking back, it’s obvious.I’m getting ahead of myself, moving way too fast for normal people. First, you probably want to know more about me, right? You can’t just start in the middle of the story; you have to work up to these big deals. I made it 23 years on the planet before checking out. I guess you’d say I was pretty, although I was never very stylish or together. I thought that would come with maturity, but I never got to find that out. When I died, I had shoulder length wavy copper colored hair, cut in a bob that was always tickling my chin and sometimes made me want to cut it all off. I certainly never had the patience to grow it all out. It was “in between” hair, lack of decision hair. My eyes were basic gray, nothing exciting, although I desperately wanted the “limpid blue” or “decisive green” eyes of a romance heroine. A light plague of freckles scattered across the bridge of my nose showed my Irish- Scottish mutt background, and I had fair redhead’s skin that burned, rather than tanned, which kept me indoors most of the time or slathered in sunscreen. 5’8’, skinny without being too skinny. I did have my family’s big butt, which we will not discuss.Why I have to go through eternity with that butt is beyond me. I tended to prefer jeans and a comfortable cotton shirt, paired with flat old- fashioned Converse tennis shoes as my daily outfit, but I could clean up pretty nice when I had to.


About the Author:
Kim wrote her first critically acclaimed (if you call her fourth grade teacher a critic, and she does) short story when she was 9 years old. It was about Christmas in a Cave, and it featured such topical, ground-breaking subjects as homelessness & cave dwelling. She's been writing ever since.  The state of publication depends on who you ask.
She has a Ph.D. in Literature, with specialties in American Lit, Women Writers, Feminism, Sci-Fi/Fantasy & Film Studies but please don't hold any of that against her. She teaches academic writing and how to read literature at a university in her hometown and tries to convince college students that it really is cool to like poetry.
She lives in the South, has twin children (one girl, one boy) and a husband who is the model for all her best romantic heroes. She also has two cats-- one black and sassy, one stripey and fat, and also kinda sassy.
Website: http://www.kimwells.net/
Find her on Facebook here:  https://www.facebook.com/kimwellswrites
Twitter here: https://twitter.com/dandeliondreams
Pinterest here: http://www.pinterest.com/daydreamsdandel/

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Dragon King by Marie Harte Blitz and Giveaway

Favorite Dragons in Fiction
I’m a fan of dragons, no question. There’s that magical mix of fire-breathing creature, treasure-hoarders, and raw power that’s just…amazing. Add that into great fantasy and romance fiction, and you have a winning combination.
Some of my favorite dragons in fiction are:
Pete’s Dragon. Okay, I know this one goes waaaay back, but Elliot, Pete’s invisible dragon, was just so neat. I totally wanted my invisible best friend to be a dragon. Then I hit my twenties and realized this probably wouldn’t happen.
·       Smaug, from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit. The movie version is just epic. Benedict Cumberbatch’s voice and that animation? Killer good.
·       Dragos Cuelebre, from Thea Harrison’s Dragon Bound, the first in her The Elder Races series. I have read and re-read this book a bazillion times. I absolutely love this series, and she grounded it with a creature straight out of the primordial beginning. Dragos is powerful, sexy, fierce—and surprisingly loveable, though he’s dragon through and through.
·       Fearghus the Destroyer, from G.A. Aiken’s Dragon Actually, the first in her Dragon Kin series. Of course I had to mention Fearghus, from the book that started it all. I absolutely love G.A. Aiken’s sense of humor, and her arrogant dragons are the perfect mix of funny and sexy. I am so thrilled the series is ongoing.
·       The dragons in the movie Reign of Fire. I admit, I love the movie because it stars Christian Bale. But the cruel, angry dragon at the center of it is just…scary. What’s not to love?
·       Mushu, from Mulan. Because, come on, Eddie Murphy’s trademark humor, and he’s tiny. I always think of dragons as huge, but Mushu is small in size, if not spirit. That and he’s a spiritual advisor to Mulan, a woman in a man’s army trying to do good. This story sings to me.
·       Draco, from the film Dragonheart. It’s such a terrific tale of looking beneath the surface. And the dragon has Sean Connery’s voice, so score.
·       And last but not least, Jentaron, from my Ethereal Foes series. He’s the only blue dragon in existence, and he’s inherited the knowledge from all of his royal predecessors. He may be young in years, but he’s a fully mature dragon with a head full of information and a heart full of mischief. He was so much fun to write. I knew, when I’d first written about him in The Dragons’ Demon, that he’d be just as powerful, if not more so than his brothers Ranton and Teban. You can catch Jentaron in The Dragon King: Not So Ordinary. And be warned—he’s HOT.
·     



Mariemarieharte.com


DRAGON KING by Marie Harte Hot Dragon and Ethereal Danger!
A blue dragon descended from royalty, Jentaron, faces an unspeakable danger threatening his planet. The other denizens of Ethereal may not acknowledge him as king, but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to fight to return Dragonkind back to the Ordinary.  Even if that means creating his own chaos along the way. 
DRAGON KING by Marie Harte is a story of rising above those that challenge you to achieve your fate.  If you enjoyed Sacrificed to the Dragon by Jessie Donovan, you’ll burn to get your hands on Dragon King.
Title: Dragon KingAuthor: Marie HarteSeries: Ethereal Foes #4Genre: Demon, Dragons, Menage, ParanormalRelease Date: December 22nd, 2015Publisher: SamhainPrint Length: 151 pagesFormat: DigitalASIN: B013UEHQGIDigital ISBN: 9781619231368
Synopsis:


What good is being king if you can’t burn your own rules?Ethereal Foes, Book 4In the two years since Jentaron hatched, he’s grown into an adult blue dragon full of the knowledge of his royal predecessors. He’s a true king, even if the other denizens of the Ethereal, those demons, havoc, angels and the like, continue to test him.But he’s got heavier worries. Namely, an unspeakable danger that threatens all life as the planet knows it. He can feel it, can sense that he’s got a bigger role to play than just pissing off the Ethereal.With the blood elves and havoc making more trouble than usual, magic no longer flowing freely in the Abyss, and angels massacring everything demonic they can get their holy hands on, the Balance has reached a tipping point. Time to take charge before the rules change.What’s a dragon to do but create his own chaos? He’ll take a mate or two, instill fear where needed, and finally return dragonkind to the Ordinary—the human lands—where a dragon will decide the fate of the worlds.Because he’s king, and he says so.Warning: Contains a dragon king challenged by a devious demon and an alluring, not-so-human human. Expect carnal hunger only a king can satisfy, and heat only a dragon can generate.

Find out more at: 
Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | iBooks | ARe | Samhain
Excerpt from DRAGON KING:

Ella Nelson had thought about getting back at her ex-best friend for a solid month.  Ever since she’d found out that the pretender had not only cheated her out of a promotion, but stolen out from under her the one man Ella found interesting, she’d been biding her time until the perfect opportunity arose.Unfortunately, Ella didn’t do revenge. Or exciting. Or sex with a hot guy. She had a bad case of ADD with life. Everything bored her after a while. This was the longest she’d held a job in years, and already she found herself wanting to leave it all behind. Even a need for vengeance had become too dull to put any more than thought into.I’m the queen of blah.“Hey, Ella. You ready for that board meeting today?”“Sure am.” Ella smiled through her teeth. “I’m sure your presentation will knock it out of the park.” Especially since I did all the work.“We’ll kill ’em dead.”“And it’ll be messy, I’m sure.” Their old joke felt so appropriate right now. Ella wanted her life to be messy, to mean something. She felt as if she floated past everything, not quite in touch with the world around her. She wasn’t someone others ever looked to for guidance, advice or a relationship. Not like her ex-friend.Lauren wore a professional A-line skirt and low cut blouse. It said “I’m feminine and sexy, but I want to be taken seriously.” Ella hated her a little for that too, that the woman could wear anything and look like a million bucks. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed Lauren ate what she wanted, regularly skipped gym workouts and had any man’s attention for the asking. Which made it questionable as to why she’d come on to Peter when she’d known good and well that Ella liked him.Of course Peter had welcomed her attention. And sure, Ella had never out and out declared dibs, but she’d talked about him all the time. Lauren knew how she felt. Ella had just about worked up the nerve to ask Peter for a date when she’d heard the unmistakable sounds of Lauren banging his brains out while she stood outside the woman’s apartment, waiting for their weekly movie night.Now it all seemed suspect, as if Lauren had set herself up to be caught in the act. A way of telling without telling. Sly, subtle and something Ella wished she could pull off. Pesky morals.She finally understood why so many colleagues seemed to give Lauren the cold shoulder. Not because they were jealous, as Lauren had often complained, but because they’d been the victims of her narcissism. The woman stepped over everyone to get what she wanted. It had only taken Ella a year to learn the truth.Backstabbing, two-timing, money-grubbing witch. A comforting rage settled deep in her bones like a warm glass of whiskey. Welcomed, smooth and familiar. Anger took her from the doldrums. Only fury made her feel alive—and that was the one thing she had to hold back, because too much anger inside her became a very bad thing.“After you.” Ella followed Lauren into the conference room and moved to the back with the other peons not important enough to sit with corporate’s big boss, the man who’d come down from Green Bay to visit their satellite office in Plymouth Meeting.Taking her place with the others, Ella readied her cell phone to record, because she’d said she would and hated to break a promise, and gave Lauren a thumbs up she didn’t mean.The perky man-stealer smiled and chatted with the bosses. Then the presentation started. Lauren wowed everyone with the slides created courtesy of Ella’s unwavering diligence. She struck the right chords with a sense of humor, charm and obvious physical appeal.The unfairness of it all built. All the hard work, the unpaid overtime, the hassling with phone calls and outdated computers and effort in hopes of getting that promotion. For what? So Lauren could flaunt her considerable assets and steal it all right out from under her?The final portion of the meeting started, and something clicked into place inside Ella.Uh-oh. Showtime.Lauren flashed a toothy smile. “And now, a short video about what Care & Concern Medical Services can do for you.”Their home health care for the elderly had garnered national attention. They’d even opened a few dozen more centers where those with special needs, as well as the elderly in need of daytime care, could be looked after. Those had been Ella’s brainchild. Ella’s hard work.Ella should have seen this coming. She and Lauren had never had an issue, because they liked different things. Ella preferred to blend in to the woodwork and offer support. Lauren wanted to be the center of attention and rule the roost.Ella closed her eyes, unable to stem the freaky headache that would open the door to that other sense she had. The one that spilled secrets most people wanted to hide. Like a diver plunging into the deep end, she stroked deep into the center of Lauren’s private thoughts, the ones Lauren kept hidden, even from herself.Filled to the brim, Ella needed to direct those private images somewhere else. The idea of revenge became too tempting to ignore, and she shifted those images into the presentation. Though she’d never understood how she could do it, she’d always been able to transform a person’s secrets into a visible manifestation.
Normally uncomfortable with what felt like a curse, today she relished her gift. No longer bored, she felt alive. Angry. Steal my thunder, will you?“Bravo so far. No wonder your office is in my top five, Brad,” Mr. Kellen directed to Ella’s supervisor, a man susceptible to big blue eyes and bouncy breasts.“Thanks. But this is all Lauren’s work, isn’t—What is that?”On the screen, a video of Lauren going down on Peter replaced two old men in wheelchairs. Peter played with her hair while he had her suck him down. Then he had her lick him in all manner of places before she begged him for an assf*** in that whiny, breathy tone that annoyed Ella to no end.“Oh my God.” Lauren gasped. “That’s not me. It’s not!”Two more men walked into the bedroom with Lauren and Peter and joined in the fun. The scene had never actually occurred, but deep down, Lauren had wondered what it might be like. Thus, another secret spilled to the big screen.“Lauren!” Brad sounded shocked.Ella’s head pounded, but she kept filming with her cell phone, wanting to immortalize the moment. Was it wrong to take comfort in Lauren’s misery?Who the hell cared?Mr. Kellen had yet to blink. No one at the table or in the back said anything, likely still in shock at the raw sex onscreen.“It’s not true,” Lauren said through tears as she fiddled with the computer, trying desperately to shut it off and unplug it.Not going to work, sweetie. Ella could sometimes affect electronics, and today her gift worked on overdrive, a result of too much stress. Her headache continued to grow, but pleasure over Lauren’s humiliation made the pain more than tolerable.I should win an Oscar for this production.The room remained silent, while onscreen moans and groans filled the air. Not one person even pretended to turn away, leave or try to help Lauren turn off the computer.The video scene shifted to Lauren lying in Peter’s arms, still naked, while she laughed about her colleagues at work. Then Peter suggested she don a strap-on and get ready to ride him once more.Too bad that had also had been fantasy rather than reality.Despite being attractive, Peter had never seemed too adventurous. Sweet, kind, sexy and hung, sure. Ella mourned the grand size of his cock. He would have been someone to stave the tediousness for a while. But she had a hard time handling nice. Even if he did have a nice package.She coughed to muffle a snicker.
Now sobbing and at her wit’s end to turn off the video, Lauren scrambled to apologize. “I’m so embarrassed. None of this is real. It had to be Photoshopped or something. They must have edited me into this—this pornographic movie.” She hiccupped. “I’ve never seen any of those men before.”Ella had to say something. “But, Lauren, isn’t Peter your boyfriend?”Lauren’s cheeks blanched. “He, well, no. I mean, I know him. But not like that. Someone set me up. None of this is real!”You got that right, witch.“I don’t know what to say, Lauren.” Brad’s voice shook. In shock or arousal, Ella couldn’t tell. Her head was about to explode from exerting so much energy into the computer as well as keeping it on.But she hadn’t had this much fun in ages.Lauren looked around, as if searching for support, and found none. When her gaze met Ella’s, Ella feigned a sad face and shook her head in disappointment. She stepped aside when Lauren ran out of the room in tears.The computer finally winked out. No one moved or said anything.Then one of the women giggled. Others started whispering, then the noise grew deafening.Ella caught a few loud thoughts. Ha. She’s finally getting hers after diming me out for being late.Serves her right. My kid was sick a few days, and Miss High and Mighty pulls rank on me then blames me for her report errors. Please.Take my promotion and this is what you get. Hell, even Ella would have been a better fit. Lord knows she and I both deserved it. Not Lauren Look-at-My-Tits Daley.Oh man. If I’d known what a freak she is, I wouldn’t have waited so long to ask her out. Wonder if she’d lick my balls like that.A few other mental rumbles piled on until Ella’s eyes teared up. Her head throbbed and she forced herself to shut down before she risked a bloody nose. But God, had that been worth it.She followed the excited mob out of the conference room and went back to her cubicle. She didn’t get much work done, but she only had to fake it another hour before she escaped for the day


Other Books in the Ethereal Foes Series:

Dragons’ Demon: A Dragon’s Dream


Book 1 Available at: 
Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | ARe | Samhain

Duncan’s Descent: A Demon’s Desire

Book 2 is available at 
Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | iBooks | ARe | Samhain

Havoc and Hell: A Dragon’s Prize

Book 3 is available at 
Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Kobo | iBooks | ARe | Samhain

I Dream of Dragons Vol. 1


Anthology is available at 
Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Powell’s


About Marie Harte:
Caffeine addict, boy referee, and romance aficionado, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Marie Harte has over 100 books published with more constantly on the way. 

She’s a confessed bibliophile and devotee of action movies. Whether hiking in Central Oregon, biking around town, or hanging at the local tea shop, she’s constantly plotting to give everyone a happily ever after.

​ Visit http://marieharte.com and fall in love.
​



Connect with Marie:  Website  |  Blog  |  Facebook  |  Twitter  |  Amazon | Goodreads



Follow the tour on December 22nd! One grand prize winner will receive a $15 digital gift card for Amazon (Open Internationally) and two grand prize winners will receive a digital copy of a Marie Harte backlist of their choosing (Open Internationally). 
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Top 10 Gifts for the Reader in Your Life with Lisa Beth Darling

Top 10 Gifts for the Reader in Your Life
1- A good book, of course. If your favorite reader is a fan of Indie Authors, many of us offer signed paperbacks through our websites at prices that rival unsigned copies available at online retailers.
2- A lumbar pillow for their favorite chair, sitting all that time can be stressful on the back.
3- A soft blanket to curl up with keeping them comfy and warm while they devour their latest read.
4- Scented candle is nice to add a little atmosphere to their reading experience.
5- A book light, the good thing about these is they're usually inexpensive. You can get one that clips to the book or one that goes on their head sort of like a doctor's light.
6- An e-reader, admittedly I don't own one of these but if I did it would be a Nook or a Kobo. Adding a few books by their favorite authors is also a nice touch.
7- If your favorite reader likes to imbibe a nice bottle of Barefoot wine is always appreciated. My personal favorites are Moscato and Riesling.
8- In the alternative to #7 a sampling of herbal teas or large can of Colombian coffee for those nights when they're up late because they just can't put down the book. The coffee can also be for the morning after their binge when they have to get motivated and go to work!
9- Swag from their favorite writer (coffee cups, t-shirts, bumper stickers, rack cards).
10- While a bit impersonal, a gift card to their favorite bookstore is always nice.
The best thing about all of the above is that you can make a lovely gift basket with as many of these items as you choose. Just put them in a nice wicker basket from the local discount store, wrap it up with bright cellophane, and stick a little bow on it.
OF WAR SERIESAn Epic Journey of Love, Lust, Betrayal,   Rage, and RedemptionLisa Beth Darling
The Complete no-box set.ASIN: B00RI9I2CO
Series Description:
Fall in Love with Ares God of War and Alena MacLeod. Together they Rock the World from the Heights of Olympus to the Celtic Moors.
In The Heart of War, Magdalena MacLeod has been on the run from Cernunnos, Great Horned God, for 200 years when she mysteriously washes ashore on secluded isle of the God of War. When the Olympians discover her presence on Ares' island, they send Apollo to the island to retrieve her while Ares is away. Diplomatically winding her way out of immediately going to Olympus and having nowhere to turn, Alena strikes a bargain with the God of War--her virginity for his protection.
Ares sees a sweeter deal; her in his bed and himself back in his rightful place on Olympus even if it means turning Alena over to Zeus. After Alena proves herself to Ares in battle and his bed, the God of War must choose between his Divinely Dysfunctional Family, his pride, and Alena.
Child of War-A God is Born  Ares and Alena have settled on snowy Olympus to await the birth of their son, Raven. Before Raven is even born, Zeus outwardly despises him for his Fey blood. With only one to keep his family safe from his father, Zeus the God of Gods, Ares enters into a blood pact that could cost the God of War everything he holds dear.
After a harrowing birth wherein mother and son are nearly lost to Ares, it quickly becomes clear that Raven may be the most powerful and cunning Olympian ever born despite his muddled bloodline. Zeus, Apollo, and Aphrodite plot against the new family by carefully planting the seeds of rage and doubt in Ravens' mind, they turn son against mother. It appears as though Cernunnos' prophecy is coming to life as Raven grows to be a very angry young man.
As the true past between the Olympians and Celts is revealed, the battle for Ravens' mind and the ultimate control of Olympus begins. Before it's over, the white snows of Olympus will run red with blood.
Child of War-Rising Son sees Raven on the verge of manhood as his rampage continues and he begins the difficult path to Acceptance by his fellow Olympians. Out to prove he's as good, if not better than, any of them he bests the Trials set before him by Hades and Poseidon. This isn't enough for him, in his quest to prove to his Father, Ares, that he is an Olympian Raven preys upon the Mortals below Olympus in a time of great weakness. Enlisting the aid of his Uncle Apollo and settling for nothing less than utter Chaos, together they push the Mortals to pure anarchy. Ready to conquer the remainder of his Trials so he may take his place at the Counsel Table, and bring Ares the glory Cernunnos once prophesized, only one thing stands in his way; the night his Mother fell down the stairs.
Apollo, ever the Man Behind the Curtain, pulls Raven's strings like a true puppet master. It's far too late when Raven realizes all he's done in hopes of pleasing his Father actually makes Ares look guilty of destroying the Mortal World. A little Chaos and a little Anarchy aren't enough for the Golden God, in his on-going quest to destroy Ares, Apollo sets a plague loose upon the embroiled Earth. By the time the Olympians discover what's going on twenty million people are dead with the number multiplying exponentially every day.
Women of War gives us a brief reprieve from the death and darkness as we journey backward in time spanning four generations of women in Alena's family. From her great-grandmother, Shar Draiocht the last known Queen of the Dark Kingdom to her tortured daughter Morrowind, to Maven Alena's free-spirited mother and through the lonely life of Alena MacLeod ending where The Heart of War begins with the night Alena washes up on Ares' shore. With intensity, lust, fear, and strength these Women of War make their way in the world revealing the hidden truths of the past and Ares true connection to his beloved Wife, Alena.
Kingdoms of War, the OF WAR Series Finale, sees nearly four billion souls lost to the ravages of Anarchy and the dreaded disease Major Falls.  Ares, Athena, and Raven journey the Mortal World vainly reaching for a sliver of what was only to discover what will be. From the fiery wreckage a new world is slowly arising one where the descendants of Olympians, Celts, Dark Fae, and all manner of Magickal Being will rule.
Ares and Athena wander the world, hoping to curtail further damage by obliterating weapons of mass destruction the Wolf inside the God of War slowly succumbs to Major Falls. A rabid God of War is not a pretty sight. Soon it becomes clear that Ares may not live to see the glory of Olympus restored.
By the time Ares' fevered body is brought to Olympus, Apollo's descent into madness is utterly complete. The Gold God is quite insane as he expertly kills off the members of his Divinely Dysfunctional Family. Yet, Alena's greatest nemesis holds the key to saving Ares' life. The price is high and, should she pay it, Alena can't be sure Ares would ever be able to forgive her.
Trailer: https://youtu.be/T8v8DdXqwDM
Available at Amazon
Price Reduced 40% from $9.99 to $5.99 until January 7, 2016
The Heart of WarBook OneLisa Beth Darling
Genre: Mythological/paranormal, dark romance/erotica, suspense/action/drama, contemporary
Publisher: Moon Mistress Publishing
Date of Publication:  December 2010
ISBN: 978-0615424682ASIN: B004DCB3CA
Number of pages: 597Word Count: 200,000
Book Description:
Inside the Heart of every Warrior breathes the Soul of a Hero--even within The Heart of War.
Meet Ares God of War, the greatest Warrior the world has ever known. He's moody, grumpy, dominant, ravenously sexual, and above all, built like a Greek God.
Suspected of killing his Daughter in-Law, Psyche, and long in exile from Olympus, the solitude of Ares' island is interrupted when Magdalena MacLeod a brash and sometimes manipulative Fey washes up on Ares' island after believing she's been shipwrecked. It's not mere fate that has brought the unlikely couple together yet it may be what tears them apart.
Branded with a golden chastity belt bearing the mark of Cernunnos, Celtic God of the Forest and Death, Alena has been on the run from her husband the Great Horned God for 200 years. When the Olympians discover her presence on Ares' island, they send Apollo to the island while Ares is away with orders to bring her to Olympus. Diplomatically winding her way out of immediately going to Olympus, when Ares returns and with nowhere to turn, Alena strikes a bargain with the God of War--her virginity for his protection.
Ares sees a sweeter deal; her in his bed and himself back in his rightful place on Olympus even if it means turning Alena over to Zeus. After Alena proves herself to Ares in battle and his bed, the God of War must choose between his Divinely Dysfunctional Family, his pride, and Alena. Get lost in this sweeping dark saga battling Ancient Gods while falling in love with Ares God of War and Alena MacLeod. Ares and Alena share a love that will rock the world from the heights of Olympus to the Celtic moors but; will it be enough? Will love triumph, or will revenge and rage win the battle for the Heart of War?
Book Trailer:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ai8maYw89s
Amazon     Nook    iBooks    Smashwords

Excerpt The Heart of War
Ares was in a foul mood and suffering from a splitting headache when he arrived back on the island with Alena. "Go inside." He said gruffly and pointed toward the cliffs and the cave above.
"Ares?"
"Please, Alena, just do as I ask. Go."
She didn't want to leave him here, alone, on the beach but it didn't appear Ares was wanted company, not hers anyway. In the face of his Father and the other Olympians, Ares stood tall and strong. He'd come to her aid just as he said he would and kept his promise. Alena was stunned. When Zeus said he would return Ares' property and his station to him, she felt sure the God of War would sell her down the river. She wanted to thank him, wanted to ask why he had done it but she held her tongue. "Yes, my Lord." Hiking up the hem of the dress, she turned to make her way up the long strange stairs leading from the beach to the top of the cliff. With a heavy heart, she walked a few steps until she got to the base of the stairs and there she turned around. Ares was sitting on the sand facing the water and the setting sun. He had thrown off the belt with the heavy sword and his thick leather vest; they were in the sand next to him as he sat there with his head down in his hands. She could not leave him there. Quietly coming up behind him, Alena sat down, wrapped one arm over his left shoulder and the other under his right lacing her fingers together and pulling him backward. Alena expected him to balk or to fight but, instead, Ares settled backward into her arms, rested his head in the crook between her neck and shoulder as he let out an exhausted sigh. "I'm sorry I'm so much trouble, my Lord." She whispered as she nestled her face into his hair.
Letting the softness of her touch and the warmth of her body comfort him, Ares closed his eyes and drew in the peaceful shelter she offered. "It's not you. It's Them."
The Olympians were quite the Divinely Dysfunctional Family. Alena had never seen or heard so much bitter bickering from one clan. If that was her Family, she might be damn happy that she lived in Exile on a beautiful island such as this. "They're awful." She whispered in his ear careful not to let any prying ears overhear. Ares gave out a deep chuckle and then another sigh as his hand rose up to caress her arm. She thought of how brave, how daring, and even dashing, Ares had been as he stood there telling all of them they could not have her. When she listened to him speak of Artemis, Alena nearly cried. Then she had been stunned into silence having expected the God of War to hand her over, maybe not with ease but readily enough, in return for his crown and scepter. "Thank you for keeping your promise."
"You expected this chauvinistic pig to do less." Ares mused still with his eyes closed. "Everyone does."
Child of War-A God is BornBook TwoLisa Beth Darling
Genre: Mythological/paranormal, dark romance/erotica, suspense/action/drama, contemporary
Publisher: Moon Mistress Publishing
Date of Publication:  November, 2011
ISBN: 978-0615523460ASIN: B0063I60HU
Number of pages: 386Word Count:  150,000
Book Description:
Do you remember Damien? Raven makes that kid look like an angel.
In book #2 of the OF WAR Series, Ares settles down with his wife, Alena, to await the birth of their son, Raven. As Alena struggles to enjoy what should be a blessed event, prophetic visions of an adult Raven haunt her dreams. Are they true visions or false ones implanted by Cernunnos who told her the boy would bring glory to Ares but only pain and agony to her? The strong but delicate Fey is relentlessly bombarded by hostility from the Olympians making her yearn to be back on Ares' secluded island home, far away from all the bickering and backstabbing that makes up Life on mighty Mount Olympus.
Before Raven is even born, Zeus outwardly despises him for his Fey blood given to him by his filthy Celtic mother. With no way out and no way to keep his family safe from his father, Zeus the God of Gods, Ares enters into a blood pact that could cost the God of War everything he holds dear.
After a harrowing birth wherein mother and son are nearly lost to Ares, it quickly becomes clear that Raven may be the most powerful and cunning Olympian ever born despite his muddled bloodline.
As Zeus, Apollo, and Aphrodite plot against the new family by carefully planting the seeds of rage and doubt in Ravens' mind, they turn son against mother. It appears as though Alenas' visions and Cernunnos' prophecy are coming to life as Raven grows to be a very angry young man.
As the true past between the Olympians and Celts is revealed, the battle for Ravens; mind and the ultimate control of Olympus begins. Before its over, the white snows of Olympus will run red with blood.
Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Et3HZTTVJno
Amazon     Nook    iBooks    Smashwords

Excerpt Child of War-A God is BornAlena, daughter of a warrior and wife to one as well, had no objections and she joined them in the basement daily. Ares wholeheartedly approved, as he believed it was high time Alena worked with her own powers and skills. Even though she was the boy's mother, since her powers were bound for so long, they were very evenly matched and sparred well together, Raven with spear and she with the staff Ares made for her.
Having the complete run of the cavernous basement, they sparred and chased each other around as Ares shouted out encouragement and strategies to them. Alena was only a few inches taller than Raven but his arms were already longer than hers, and that gave him an advantage when thrusting and swinging out with the spear. Alena almost always seemed to sense such moves and jumped over the spear as though she were playing double-dutch. The smacking of wood on wood clattered throughout the Fortress. Raven gave it his all but Alena treated the matches more like a game; when she struck out it wasn't with all of her force and a few times Ares caught her letting Raven best her. He took great exception to that. An opponent either won or lost in battle; there was no mercy. A few times, late at night in their bed, Alena told him it was good for Raven's self-esteem if she let him win once or twice, but that only made him angrier as he told her self-esteem was earned and not given like a toy. Raven would learn nothing if she let him win; he had to learn how to be victorious on his own, or when it came time for a real battle he would be unprepared.
From that night on, Alena won every match between her and Raven, though the last few had been very close and Raven was catching on to his mother's moves and strategies. It turned sour yesterday as they sparred and Raven chased his mother into the small meat locker where their meat was either cured by smoking or roasted in the huge stone pit. The pit was five feet deep and seven feet across, surrounded on three sides by stone four feet high that came together in an arch at the center. A drop from the top to the bottom wouldn't prove fatal, but it was certainly deterrent enough when Raven cornered his mother up there. Alena was going to jump to the top and then down the other side to use the stone walls as cover, but Raven was faster than she thought. By the time her foot landed on the uppermost stone, Raven was already waiting for her on the other side, sharp point of the spear thrust upward toward her throat. "Yield!" Raven commanded, feeling victory in his fingertips for the first time.
Ares still didn't know just how she managed it. Alena swung out with one foot as she pivoted on the other, knocking the spear safely away from her as she turned, silver hair flying out behind her like the mane of a steed, to make the jump to the other side and safety. When she came around the corner with her staff at the ready, Raven, angry at having been cheated, let an ice ball five inches thick fly from the palm of his hand to hit her squarely in the jaw. Alena was knocked back by the force, her lips split open, gums bleeding, nose broken. Raven loomed over her, his eyes vacant and empty as he held the sharp spear to her throat. "Yield, bitch." It was no command-it was a threat.
Before Ares could shout to his Son that was enough, a great gust of wind swirled around in the small room. It blew back his hair and then pushed against him with such force he had to fight to stand his place. Alena's beautiful gray eyes closed as her arms splayed out at her sides, one with the palm open and the other choking the staff. The point of the spear wavered in the strong wind as Raven struggled to stay pitched forward as the growing gale threatened to lift him off his knees and toss him across the room. Raven countered, his young hands glowing with an eerie blue light as they began freezing to the staff, the new ice ball growing between them. This one was twice the size of the other and if he hit her with it at this close range, Raven might well kill his mother.
Without any warning, the wind seemed to turn on Alena; it lifted her body upward from the small of her back to her shoulders, bringing her throat dangerously close to the tip of the spear. Suddenly her eyes opened to reveal only the whites. As though she could see through them, they shifted to Raven's hands and then back to his face. Amazingly, Alena's lips turned into a cold grin that fixed Raven's stare to her face while she lifted the staff and then brought it crashing down to the marble floor with such force the echo was deafening. Raven flew off her. The staff left his stunned hand, the ice ball retreated, and he hit the stones of the fire pit with such force that they shattered. Before the boy or his Father knew what was happening, Alena, her eyes still showing only the whites, was standing over Raven with her staff pointing at his throat and her foot on his heart. "Yield," she whispered as the wind whipped around them, tossing bits of dust into Ares' eyes.
Angry at having had victory snatched so cruelly from his grasp, Raven stared up her as he shielded his eyes from the biting wind. "Uncle," he spat.
It took a few moments but the wind subsided, Alena stumbled backward on unsteady feet before the whites of her eyes rolled down and she looked out at the world through those luminescent pearls of gray.
"Wow," Ares muttered, stroking his beard trying to digest everything he'd seen. Magick was not normally part of Alena and Raven's sparring routine; she was afraid to use it even though he'd tried to tell her that he could counter any damage she might do. No matter what he did he couldn't coax her into it, so magick was off-limits when they sparred. Today when Raven unexpectedly threatened her with it, Alena didn't hesitate to answer the call.
Catching her breath and feeling a wave of nausea wash over her, Alena looked down at Raven, who looked up her angry and afraid. "Are you ok?" She reached out a hand to him but Raven batted it away.
"Fine, mom." Jumping to his feet in a quick move, he brushed off the dirt and debris from his bare skin. Instead of stepping up and congratulating his mother, when she turned her back to him to look at Ares, Raven let an ice ball fly from his hand to strike her in the back of the head, splitting it open as it brought her to her knees. "Take that, you whore."
Ares didn't hesitate, he didn't even know he was doing it; all he did know was that one moment Raven was standing there with that snide smug look on his face and the next he was screaming as flames surrounded him. He stumbled in the fire a few moments before turning his whole body to ice and putting out the flames. When Raven returned to normal, he was lightly singed but otherwise unharmed. "Don't ever do that again, boy."
Christmas Eve on OlympusBook ThreeLisa Beth Darling
Genre: Holiday, Romance, Fluff
Publisher: Moon Mistress Publishing
Date of Publication:  December, 2011
ASIN: B006HUECGA
Number of pages: 20Word Count: 10,000
Book Description: 
This holiday themed short story is meant as an enhancement to the OF WAR Series. Join Ares, Alena, and Raven as she brings Christmas and Yuletide to Olympus. This bit of romantic happiness contains graphic adult material.
Amazon     Nook     iBooks    Smashwords

ExcerptChristmas Eve on Olympus:
As her mind feverishly searched for what she'd missed, a small bit of fluffy white and green came into her view and she felt relief as a smile broke out on her pretty face. "What's that?"
"Mistletoe, I believe there's some Mortal custom about standing beneath it and then being forced into kissing."
Alena glanced upward over her shoulder to take him in and marveled at how handsome he was. "Forced? How terrible."
"Awful," Ares held the mistletoe over their heads with one hand and pulled her in close with the other. He lowered his head for the kiss he'd been waiting for all night. When their lips he was not disappointed but encouraged to probe deeper with his tongue and grasp the soft red velvet surrounding her tighter as the mistletoe fell to the marble floor and he grabbed her with both arms turning her fully around to face him. Her heart raced against his stomach, even through the velvet, he felt it as she pressed against him and reached up to grab handfuls of midnight hair. "You know, if you're lucky," Ares said breathlessly as their lips parted, "I think I might have a candy cane around here for you to suck on."
"Oh, really? I love candy canes," she winked up at him as she bit down on her lower lip, "where oh where could it be? Over there by the tree?"
Ares shook his head as he ran a hand through her silky silver tresses, "No. Guess again."
"Did you put it in my stocking?"
"Not yet." Ares crooned making Alena giggle like a schoolgirl.
Child of War-Rising SonBook FourLisa Beth Darling
Genre: Mythological/paranormal, dark romance/erotica, suspense/action/drama, contemporary
Publisher: Moon Mistress Publishing
Date of Publication: November, 2012
ISBN: 978-0615721422ASIN: B00ADAWTSS
Number of pages: 396Word Count: 151,000
Book Description:
On the Verge of manhood, Raven's rampage continues
as he begins the difficult path to Acceptance by his fellow Olympians. Out to prove he's as good, if not better than, any of them he bests the Trials set before him by Hades and Poseidon. This isn't enough for him, in his quest to prove to his Father, Ares, that he is an Olympian Raven preys upon the Mortals below Olympus in a time of great weakness. Settling for nothing less than Chaos, he enlists the aid of his Uncle Apollo and pushes the Mortals to pure anarchy when a global financial crisis leaves the entire world destitute, in ruins, and at each other's throats. Ready to conquer his Trials, take his place at the Counsel Table, and bring Ares the glory Cernunnos once prophesized, only one thing stands in his way; the night his Mother fell down the stairs.
Alena, her body asleep in Ares' bed for four long years, is lost deep in the clutches of a never-ending dream induced by Morpheus. After years of living an illusion and becoming Morpheus Wife, Alena discovers his deception and struggles to escape her prison. Morpheus has no intentions of ever letting her go. He'll fight to the death to keep her.
Apollo, ever the Man Behind the Curtain, pulls Raven's strings like a true puppet master. It's far too late when Raven realizes all he's done to please his Father actually makes Ares look guilty of destroying the Mortal World. A little Chaos and a little Anarchy aren't enough for the Golden God, in his on-going quest to destroy Ares, Apollo sets a plague loose upon the Earth. A bio-chemical weapon stolen from the United States Government at Area 51, known commonly as Major Falls. By the time the Olympians discover what's going on twenty million people are dead with the number multiplying exponentially every day.
With only one option left to each of them, Raven and Alena turn to their unlikeliest of enemies-- Aphrodite and Apollo for help. One night in the bed of the Goddess of Love can be painful but one night in the bed of the Golden God can kill and destroy all that Ares and Alena have built and endured. To ensure that her beloved Husband and her Son are not put to death she may have no other choice.
Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A-hhoBlX3_k
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ExcerptChild of War-Rising Son:
"Trinity?" He called out.
"HERE!" They all called back.
"No, not you. Her! Trinity! Look at me I want to help you. I want to get you out of here but you have to help me do it. Turn around, please. Turn around."
In the cage near the middle of them all, the girl who sat still and quite with her head resting unnaturally on her shoulder turned around and watched him gasp. "What?" Trinity asked through lips nothing more than shredded meat. She stared him, her head on her shoulder, her face smashed in, and one eyeball bulging out of its socket. When he flinched, she gave a smile nearly hideous enough to freeze the raging river below her.
Raven found it very hard to look at her, he wanted to turn away, wanted to run away. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do but stand back and fully appreciate his handy work all over her face. What a jagged little pill, but Raven swallowed it the best he could before he opened his mouth. "I'm gonna throw this to you, you catch it, you tie it around the bars and then I'm going to swing you this way and pull you down, got it?"
"Why? What do you care? Why should I trust you?"
"You're gonna burn in that river," Raven warned.
"So what?" She turned away from him again.
"So what? What...so....so you don't deserve that, do you? You didn't do anything. Let me help you, I'll take you back to the Fields where you'll be happy."
"I was happy on Olympus," she mumbled. "You were my Brother, you were supposed to protect me, look out for me not kill me. You're only doing this so you can rule Olympus one day."
"I want to help you, please, Trin, I'm gonna throw this, we'll only get one shot if the rope lands in the river it's gone. So get up and catch it. Let me help, let me get you out of that cage." Raven waited but she didn't turn around and she didn't say anything. "I'm sorry," he muttered looking down at the rope in his hands and feeling the nasty sensation of guilt run through him. "I never should have…I'm sorry, Trin." Words he never thought he would utter fell out of his lips, "Please forgive me."
Women of WarBook 5Lisa Beth Darling
Genre: Mythological/paranormal, dark romance/erotica, suspense/action/drama, contemporary
Publisher: Moon Mistress Publishing
Date of Publication: February, 2013
ISBN: 978-0615767611ASIN: B00BEJPA3S
Number of pages: 206Word Count: 58,000
Book Description:
Venture on a Mystical Journey through Time and Secrets Past This story spans four generations of women in Alena's family from her great-grandmother, Shar Draïocht the last known Queen of the Dark Kingdom. Morrowind, her tortured daughter. Maven, Alena's free spirited mother. And ends the night Alena washed up on Ares' shore. With intensity, lust, fear, and strength these Women of War make their way in the world revealing the hidden truths of the past and Ares true connection to his beloved Wife, Alena.
Book Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02WcvnLy8-8
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Excerpt Women of War:
Sitting in the dank cell hour after hour and day after day, time lost all meaning. Not even the rancid food came to him on anything that resembled a steady basis. All Ares knew for sure was that one moment he'd been doing his best to sleep on the tilting cot with his knees hanging over the foot of it when the cell door burst open and a full battalion of the Queen's Guard rushed him. Wrestling him to the ground, they clasped him in chains and dragged him to the center of their little underground village. The whole town gathered to witness, torches, staffs, and readily available throwing items in hand. They hissed at him, cursed him, and tossed their stones while guards led him up to a round platform with a pillar of granite jutting out of the middle. Ares needed no introduction to the structure or to learn its intended purpose, after all he invented the whipping post.
Understanding their intention, Ares fought as mightily as he could with his ankles and wrists bound together. "I'm a GOD! How dare you try to whip me?" he railed as he threw off the guards to deliver double axe handle blows upon them, but they were so damn small and agile that he kept missing them. This infuriated him mostly because he was so large they couldn't help but land their return blows on his half-naked frame. It wasn't long before the Queen's Guards knocked his legs out from under him with a heavy blow of a study staff. Once on his knees, blows landed on his head, shoulders, and jaw. Ares discovered that tiny fists hurt a great deal. Bloody and dazed, they shoved him down on all fours and attached the chains on his wrists to the post.
Looking out at the crowd with seething eyes, he cursed them. "You're going to regret this."
"I think not," replied a soft but stern voice from behind him.
Ares looked back over his shoulder to see Shar Draiocht standing there, whip in hand, ready to dole out the punishment they thought he so rightly deserved. "Unusual for a Queen to get her hands so dirty," he snarled.
"It's a special occasion," she hissed back as she brought the whip forward with a practiced wrist. It licked between his shoulder blades and split open a wide swatch of his olive flesh.
Each time the whip sliced through his perfect flesh, Ares snarled, "You bitch!"
With every crack of the whip the crowd shouted out, "Hazzar!" They raised their staffs in victory.
Queen Shar gave Ares God of War fifty lashes before she dropped it to the floor and took her leave in silence. The guards left him tied to the post, sweating, bleeding and in agony for the next five days.

Kingdoms of WarBook 6Lisa Beth Darling
Genre: Mythological/paranormal, dark romance/erotica, suspense/action/drama, contemporary
Publisher: Moon Mistress Publishing
Date of Publication: June, 2014
ISBN: 978-0692248409ASIN: B00LEVJAJ6
Number of pages: 496Word Count: 190,000
Book Description:
With nearly four billion souls lost to the ravages of anarchy and the dreaded disease Major Falls, Ares and Raven journey the Mortal World vainly reaching for a sliver of what was only to discover what will be. Unleashed by Apollo, Major Falls—a weaponized version of the flu and rabies-- has wiped out every person of watery Mortal Blood.
From the fiery wreckage a new world is slowly arising one where the descendants of Olympians, Celts, Dark Fae, and all manner of Magickal Being will rule. For the last millennium the Dark Kingdom has sent small legions of its Daughters in search of its Lost Queen. Among their number is Lenora, a sharp tongued Dark Fae who joins up with ARES hoping to get close to its leader, Raven. And she does.
The Wolf inside the God of War contracts Major Falls. As Ares and Athena wander the world hoping to curtail further damage by obliterating weapons of mass destruction he slowly succumbs to the sickness taking over his fevered rabid mind. Ares may not live to see the glory of Olympus restored nor fight to keep his Wife. If he does, how high will be the price for Ares' life? How long will Alena have to keep paying Apollo even once Ares is crowned King of Olympus?
With devastating consequences shattering their lives will Ares ever be able to swallow his pride and forgive Alena when the truth is revealed or will she take her place on the Throne of the Dark Kingdom leaving Olympus and Ares behind forever?
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ExcerptKingdoms of War:  
Apollo looked off into the distance and to the glittering reflection of stars dancing on the ocean surface. "Just thought I'd check in and see how things are going." He glanced back to the opening of the cave. "I take it they're not going well."
"A hundred million dead aren't enough for you? You have to come here and watch three more die?"
Apollo looked down at his feet and kicked his feet around a little. "Actually, we're closer to two hundred million-left alive that is," Apollo proudly crooned before raising his golden eyes back to the sea to wonder aloud.
That couldn't possibly be right. There was no way nearly six billion people dropped dead in a few short months. Apollo was playing her. "You're lying, you always lie."
"Awww, Maggie, you wound me." The Golden God hung his golden head but his eyes didn't stop shining as they stayed fixed on her. Holding her stormy stare firmly Apollo let his head roll up on his long neck as he wondered aloud. "Maybe those women in there don't have to die? Maybe I can help."
Ragging flooded through Alena's small frame. The fine tea cup in her hand tumbled to the ground at her feet and shattered as she reached out for his throat. "There is a cure? You son of a bitch!"
Apollo stood there unflinchingly but at the last second he batted away her angry talons as though she were no more than a fly. "Maybe, but you won't find out that way."
Knowing he couldn't be trusted, Alena took a step back and away from him, a step toward the edge of the cliff. "You're still lying! You're trying to get into my head, that's all. You don't have a cure. This is just another mind game of yours."
"Is it?" Apollo muttered thoughtfully. "Hmmmmm. Maybe. Maybe not."
Surely there was some pact with the devil to be made here and Alena wasn't interested in signing on the dotted line. "Get out of here. Nothing that comes from your venomous lips is the truth. You're just a nasty little boy with a wide cruel streak."
Apollo kept his voice tight as he bit back the sting of her barb. "Look into my eyes little Fae then tell me I'm lying," Apollo challenged as he took a purposeful step toward her. "As for my cruel streak, you haven't seen the worst of it yet." He glanced down at her hip hidden below the tight fitting blue jeans. "What did you tell my Brother about the scar? I know you didn't tell him it was me or I'd be dead. Is that because you dream of me in the night? This…nasty little boy," Apollo whispered seductively. "Now that the belt is no longer between us do you lay awake aching to know how I'd feel inside you?"
Instinct took over and Alena's little hand curled up into a tight little fist as she landed a right hook across Apollo's smug face. "You're a pig!" Alena spat and took another step away from him, another step closer to plunging off the cliff. "Get out!"
Apollo rubbed his cheek and ran his tongue along the inside to catch the salty taste of his Ichor. His golden eyes rolled in her direction, the rage in them unveiled. He wanted to hit her back but that wouldn't get him what he wanted. It wouldn't do him any good if she fell off the cliff either still he ventured one more step. Alena backed up, lost her footing and began to topple just as he slipped his arm around her waist to catch her. "Fine," he whispered, holding her close, "but when their eyes are glazed and the fever hits their brains, when they're foaming at the mouth, snarling, trying to bite everything that comes into view as they twist and turn in agony, " he glanced off toward the cave's opening and then smiled slyly, "don't say I didn't offer." Twirling her swiftly back to safety, Apollo chuckled and then disappeared from the cliff.




About the Author:
It was in the 4th grade when Lisa discovered she was a naturally gifted writer. The teacher asked the class to pen a story about a baby bird's first flight and read them to the class. Putting pencil to paper, Lisa was instantly whisked away by a force she couldn't explain. When they were finished, all of the children read their happy stories to the class.
Not Lisa. She got up and told of how the baby bird flew too high, hit a plane, crashed to the ground and died. She told of how the mama bird and daddy bird cried of how even God was upset sending the rains pouring from the sky. The class was speechless when she finished all they could do was stare at her. The teacher kept her after class told her the story was very good but it was different from the others. She asked Lisa if she'd ever heard of Icarus and did she base her story on him. Lisa had yet to encounter Greek Mythology or hear a whisper of Icarus. As Lisa left the classroom the teacher again told her how good the story was but suggested she might want to write something happier next time. When Lisa asked her teacher why she had no answer. Luckily for us, Lisa I never took her advice.
Lisa Beth Darling is 49 years-old, lives in her hometown of New London, CT with her husband of nearly 30 years, Roy.  She is the author of more than fifteen novels along with several short stories and non-fiction books.
Website: http://www.moonsmusings.com
Blog: http://lbdarling.wordpress.com
Twitter: @lb_darling
Facebook: http://facebook.com/lbdarling

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1577311.Lisa_Beth_Darlinga Rafflecopter giveaway

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