Roxanne Rhoads's Blog, page 355

Hot Holiday Erotica by Roxanne Rhoads

Tasty Christmas Treats Roxanne Rhoads 
Holiday Erotica/Short Story
Publisher: Bewitching Books; 2 edition 
Publication Date: November 24, 2015
ASIN: B017T3G8HO
It's the night before Christmas Eve and all the naughty elves have been working hard in Kelly's upscale adult boutique. Santa Kelly is exhausted and in desperate need of a night off to spend some quality time with her sexy husband, Marc. 
But just as Kelly and Marc's holiday fun starts getting really heated, an emergency phone call from one of Kelly’s employees interrupts the festive fun. Her oversexed cousin, Chrissy, is up to no good, and wreaking havoc in Kelly’s shop. 
Can Kelly convince Chrissy that her store is not a brothel before the cops shut it down? Will Kelly and Marc ever get to finish their passionate Christmas rendezvous? 
Amazon     Print     Kobo     BN


Fangs for the Holidays A Vehicle City Vampires 
Short Story 
Roxanne Rhoads 
Publisher: Bewitching Books Release Date: November 18, 2014ASIN: B00PE7QANU
Book Description:
After spending the day baking holiday goodies Anwyn drops by her vampire boyfriend Galen's home so they can spend some quality time together. 
He is surprisingly enticed by the smell of baked goods on Anwyn's skin which leads them to a drama filled discussion about family holiday gatherings, the other man in her life...and eventually to very hot holiday sex. 
The events in this story take place between book one, Hex and the Single Witch, and book two, Hex and the City.
Amazon    BN    Kobo





Candy Cane Thrills Roxanne Rhoads

Publisher: Bewitching Books Release Date: October 14, 2014
ASIN: B00NYN7OUO
Genre: short story Christmas erotica
Book Description:
Adrienne has a little Christmas seduction planned. She dresses up in naughty red velvet lingerie for her boyfriend Marcus. 
But it turns out that she's not the only one with sexy shenanigans in mind. 
Marcus has been thinking along the same lines, and he has a delicious Christmas treat in store for her.
Amazon    BN    Kobo

Seven Most Wanted Criminals of the No Go Zone-The Red Light Princess James W Bodden

Seven Most Wanted Criminals of the No Go Zone
A new score of criminals rises in the headlines as Metro Police finally releases its long awaited Seven Most Wanted Criminals of the No Go Zone report.
The current Most Wanted list contains some shady characters and low lives that includes gang members, a mechanized bear, and a dangerous cultist leader. Every one of these outlaws is to be considered armed and dangerous.
This ranking is published every year to warn the public-at-large about the dangers of the underdeveloped slum on the other side of the separation barriers. The travel ban to the No Go Zone remains in place, and the borders are closed to unsupervised crossings.
A Public Message from the Metro Authority Public Communications Department.


Seven Most Wanted Criminals
7. Name: Kai.Aliases: None.Known Affiliations: The 25’s Gang; low level informant & information scavenger.Criminal History: Disorderly conduct, drug clone possession, & gambling.




6. Name: Otto the Shock Bear.Aliases: None.Known Affiliations: Mecha Beast Champion. Criminal History: Illegal animal cybernetic modifications.



5. Name: Cyrus.Aliases: The Eunuch. Known Affiliations: The Pale Horse Clan. Criminal History: Slavery & human trafficking.




4. Name: Mercury.Aliases: None. Known Affiliations: The 25’s gang; Eastern Quadrant Chief.  Criminal History: Underground boxing, extortion, & racketeering.

3. Name: Sonya.Aliases: None.Known Affiliations: New World Barbarians.Criminal History: Armed robbery & arson.


2. Name: Hannibal.Aliases: The PreacherKnown Affiliations: Cult of the Red Light Princess.Criminal History: Incitement, mutilation, & murder.


1. Name: Unknown.Aliases: The Red Light Princess.Known Gang Affiliations: The Canal Brothels. Criminal History: Prostitution & fraud.


The Red Light Princess
James W Bodden

Publisher: Montag Press, January 2015.

Genre: Dystopian, Dark Fantasy

Hook:  A low-level gang informant's clock is ticking as he tries to solve a series of copycat killings before the triads gives him up as a sacrifice in the dystopian slum's annual Night of the Clean Hands. 

Description:

Everything goes on the Night of the Clean Hands. There are only three rules: Old debts are forgotten. Payback is forbidden. Killing is outlawed. But rules are meant to be broken. 

Kai, a member of the dreaded 25’s, a local enforcement gang, jumps from the rooftops and glides over the streets to keep the population inside the slums under constant surveillance.

When a string of copycat murders disrupt the festivities of the Night of the Clean Hands, it falls to Kai to uncover the mystery behind the killings. Kai's journey deep into the underbelly of this urban jungle forces him to explore a lost city with unspoken rules, and unravel the secrets behind its devotion for the Red Light Princess.

Amazon    BN

About the Author 
James W. Bodden is the author of the Red Light Princess and Coffin Riders. He's down some dank Cold War bunker, helmet on, and braced for impact.





Twitter: @jwbodden
Blog: https://prometheushasnoliver.wordpress.com/
Amazon Page: http://www.amazon.com/James-W.-Bodden/e/B00RKMNQSO/

Allie Harrison’s Top 10 Scary Books and Movies

I’ve always been compelled to watch or read the strange, the haunting, and downright scary… Here is a list of my top ten favorite scary books and movies!
10.  Salem’s Lot by Stephen King. Both the mini-series and the book were really creepy and left me wondering if perhaps vampires really did exist.
9. A short story also by Stephen King entitled Gramma. This story is part of the collection in the book Skeleton Key. I could not read it alone. 
8. The movie The Strangers. This little tale about a couple terrorized by three masked killers was nerve-racking in the sense that it wasn’t the basic slasher movie. I could see it really happening.
7. The movie Vacancy. There are just so many of those little out-of-the-way Norman-Bates type motels out there where the guy behind the counter may be the next serial killer making headlines.
6. The movie Secret Window with Johnny Depp. It is based on the short story Secret Window, Secret Garden by Stephen King, part of the Four Past Midnight collection.
5. The movie The Astronaut’s Wife. Space is always frightening. While Johnny Depp makes a great, fun pirate, he can also be really scary when the role calls for it.
4. The book The Bad Place by Dean Koontz. This book had great, frightening characters.
3. The movie The Others. While it might have been a bit predictable, it held everything a scary movie needed—big, old house, odd characters, fog, darkness, and tombstones.
2. The movie and the book IT by Stephen King. Pennywise the clown in the drain was terrifying. Clowns always scare me.
1. I have enjoyed every one of the Halloween movies. Each held a creepy combination of music, darkness and suspense. Halloween II was especially terrifying with the empty hospital and seemingly endless dark hallways.

I have ALWAYS loved scary movies and books. I also love roller coasters and other things that thrill me and keep my heart racing. My goal with my HAUNTED series is to scare you, too. With Hargrove House, I plan to suck you in with the anticipation, romance, and the allure of a beautiful house and then scared you in the cellar so you can add Hargrove House to your top ten list of favorite books.

Hargrove House By Allie Harrison
HARGROVE HOUSE by Allie Harrison is a suspenseful, haunting tale that will capture you…heart and soul. Despite her terror, Torrie has no choice but to once again enter the haunted Hargrove House. When she discovers the graves in the cellar, she’ll find that there are things more frightening than ghosts. The house is waiting for her... They are waiting for her... If you enjoyed THE LAST VICTIM by Karen Robards, Hargrove House will warm your heart, and chill you to the bone.


Hargrove HouseAllie Harrison
Series: The Haunted #1Genre: Paranormal Suspense w/ Romantic ElementsRelease Date: October 2nd, 2015 Publisher: Indie PublishedPrint Length: 216 pagesFormat: DigitalDigital ISBN: 978-0-9969048-0-3
About the Book:
As a child, Torrie Reynolds entered the haunted Hargrove House on a dare. Terrified by what she'd heard while inside Hargrove House, she avoided it since. Now fifteen years later, Torrie is an interior decorator. When Will Dalton buys the infamous Hargrove House and offers Torrie the job of refurbishing it, she has no choice but to take the offer to keep her business afloat. As the house is restored and rooms come alive with character and color Torrie brings to them, her fear of the house fades. Hargrove House begins to even feel like home to her. With each finished renovation project, it is harder for Torrie to leave. It is even harder for her to leave the comfort of Will Dalton's arms. But she discovers there are things more terrifying than ghosts when she learns why Will is digging in the dark, frightening cellar.
Available now: 
Amazon  |  Barnes & Noble  |  iBooks  |  Oyster  |  Inktera

Excerpt #2:
Torrie needed to see the pink room in the falling light as dusk settled over the house. Again, she looked around the room. All it needed—besides the books—was a little girl. Absently, Torrie picked up the doll that someone had placed on the dresser. She placed the doll in its rightful place at the small table. “There you go, Miss Velvet,” she said. “Now all we need to get is a little tea set. And don’t worry; we’ll have real China, none of that plastic stuff in this room. Do you take cream or sugar?” Torrie pretended.
“You found Miss Velvet.”
At the sound of a soft voice, Torrie jumped and nearly knocked the doll off the chair, let out a startled cry and looked toward the door. Then she stopped short and stared at the young girl who stood there. “Who…Who are you? And how did you get in here? Where did you come from?” Torrie knew she sounded like a balloon letting out its air, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. The child had startled her so badly. And damn, she looked just like the little girl Torrie envisioned could inhabit this room. With Miss Velvet in the girl’s arms, the picture Torrie saw when she walked into this room would be complete. The idea the girl could be a child fulfilling a dare touched her. Torrie tried to tell herself the girl was too young to venture into the Hargrove House on a dare. But hadn’t Torrie, herself, been about the same age when she stepped over the threshold?
Could the girl be a ghost? She wasn’t transparent. She appeared as real as Torrie. Torrie even felt a strange pull to reach out and touch the child, to see if her hair was as soft as it looked.
“Eleanor,” the little girl said. She wore what was previously a green dress. There was a smudge of dust above her left eyebrow.
Torrie took a step toward her.
The girl stayed rooted to her spot.
“Eleanor who? And how did you get in here? What, did someone dare you?”
“I live here. I’m Eleanor…Dalton.”
“What?”
Then the little girl who claimed to Eleanor Dalton turned and left.
It took Torrie eight steps to reach the doorway. And the by time she did, the hallway was empty and the little girl was gone.


About Allie Harrison:




Connect with Allie: 
Website | Facebook | Goodreads | Amazon

Join Allie Harrison and the Killion Group as we celebrate the release of Hargrove House with this 15 stop Book Blast from November 16th to 20th. Included in this book blast is exclusive content, guest posts from Allie, a spotlight of the book, and a giveaway. 

One GRAND PRIZE WINNER will receive a $10 Amazon Gift Card!
a Rafflecopter giveaway


Follow the blast to these participating blogs for new content each day:
11/16/2015
United Indie Book Blog Romance Junkies
11/17/2015
The Goth Girl Reads Shelf Addiction
11/18/2015
Hart's Romance Pulse Fresh Fiction
11/19/2015
Mama Reads Hazel Sleeps Crystal's Chaotic Confessions Books, Movies, Reviews. Oh my!
11/20/2015
T&L Book Reviews RoloPoloBookBlog Evermore Books Yah Gotta Read This Fang-tastic Books Books & Tales

The Paranorm World Series by June Stevens

Immortal Moon: A Moon Sisters Novel(PARANORM WORLD #2) Anya Moon only has one personal rule: Don’t date vampires. She never dreamed the price for breaking it could be her life.In his five hundred years as an assassin, Jarrett Campbell has never gone beyond a one-night stand with a woman. As a vampire, he knows a lasting relationship with a Norm is out of the question. But Anya Moon is just too intriguing to pass up. A two-week fling can’t hurt as long as they both know how it will end… right?Caught up in a romance he never expected, Jarrett forgets that his life as an assassin is never safe… especially when one of his past targets returns from the dead. Now he is in a race against time to save Anya, but is her life worth his death?

Excerpt:Pete’s Fight House was illuminated by a mixture of crystal and oil lanterns casting a dim, blue glow over a massive crowd that had gathered to watch the evening’s fights. Jarrett stood ringside, watching as Anya moved gracefully around the ring, throwing punches and kicks and dodging blows. He’d known, from nights of exploring her luscious body, how muscular and athletic she was, but watching her toss her opponent around and bounce up when she was knocked down told him she had a strength he hadn’t imagined.
She was magnificent, moving with a practiced grace he’d seen in few fighters. The fact that she wasn’t paranorm made it all the more phenomenal. Vampires and shifters were stronger with faster reflexes, and some mages could use magical energy to increase their agility. But Anya had none of that. Her abilities came from training and practice.
He wondered what made her work so hard on her body. And, even more, why did she fight? He fought as a part of his job, though he couldn’t deny he enjoyed it. But that was partially due to the vampire side of him. Vampires were adrenaline junkies, and fighting was one of the best activities to get his kicks. But Anya had no such compulsion. He wondered what pain or trauma from her past drove her to fight for sport.
Barely four minutes after the match began, Anya had her opponent’s shoulders pinned to the floor as the referee counted down. The crowd of spectators roared with approval as Anya was announced the winner. Jarrett couldn’t help smirking at the name “Spitfire” as the ref called it out. He knew Anya must hate it, but it fit her so perfectly. She did everything with a fiery passion that matched her hair color.
His own temperature started to rise with thoughts of having her and all that blazing passion in his bed later. But, his ardor cooled drastically a few seconds later when a man entered the ring and challenged her before she could exit.
“Come on, Spitfire,” the man said. “Your other opponents tonight barely had enough skill to warm you up. I’ll be a little tougher to put down.”
Jarrett groaned. The man was well over six feet tall, probably no more than an inch shorter than Jarrett. He was also at least fifty pounds heavier and nearly solid muscle. Unlike many of the big men Anya and Jarrett had watched fight tonight, he carried himself with the grace of a trained fighter. He wouldn’t be as easy to put down as the previous two were. Surely Anya wouldn’t be daft enough to go into a third match against someone who hadn’t fought at all tonight and clearly had the physical advantage.
“Let’s do it,” Anya said.
Jarrett groaned. Of course she was that daft.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jarrett asked when she’d joined him to rest a minute and wait for bets on the fight to be placed.
“Sure. Why not?” she said, wiping sweat from her face with a towel.
“Um, I don’t know, maybe because you’ve already fought twice and the dude’s as big as a building.” Jarrett gave her his best ‘that was an idiotic question’ eye roll.
She returned his eye roll with her own. “I’ve got this.”
She tossed the towel down and went back to the ring so that the ref could announce the fight.
The bell rang and as soon as the fight started, Jarrett knew he’d been right about the man’s training. He and Anya were evenly matched in skill, plus he had the advantage of having observed her fighting style in her first two fights. They traded blows for a few minutes, but it wasn’t long before the big man had the upper hand.
It took everything Jarrett had in him to stand still and watch as the man’s huge fists came into contact with Anya over and over. He landed three solid punches, one to her jaw, two to her stomach. Then his heavy booted foot swept out and knocked her legs from underneath her. With a grunt and cry of pain, Anya fell to the ground, blood and sweat flying. Jarret lifted his foot to rush to her, but Pete’s arm slammed across his chest, stopping him in his tracks.
“She won’t thank you for it, Son.”
At any other time Jarrett would have laughed at the gravelly voiced old man calling him son. Despite his visible age, he was more than five hundred years younger than Jarrett. But as it was, Jarrett’s mind was filled with the need to protect Anya. As he put his hand on Pete’s arm to move it, the old man spoke again.
“Seriously, boy. Just hold on a minute. Anya knows what she’s doing. She can take care of herself.”Brushing the man’s arm aside, Jarrett took a step forward anyway, stopping dead in his tracks when Anya lifted her head and met his eyes. He saw a ferocity he’d never seen before, and he knew that Pete had been right. If he stepped in and stopped the fight, Anya would be furious with him. He took a step back to his original place next to Pete, ignoring the man’s soft snort of laughter.
Anya slowly and deliberately pulled herself to her knees. It was apparent she was in some pain, but from the vitality he’d seen in her eyes, Jarrett was sure she was putting on a show to make her opponent think she was feebler than she was. Before she could reach her feet the man’s foot swept towards her mid-section. Jarrett barely had time to think what a low blow it was before Anya turned, grabbing the man’s boot seconds before it made contact with her ribs. She grasped it in both hands as she used her legs to propel herself to her own feet, pulling the man’s leg up with her. Once she was up she gave the boot a hard twist and the giant went crashing to the ground.
Instead of kicking the man while he was down, Anya stood back and waited for him to gain his feet. She stood at the center of the ring, arms loose, slightly tilted to the side as if she were favoring her left leg, head down. She looked like she was hurt and trying to catch her breath, and she probably was. But Jarrett was certain she wasn’t quite as hurt as she appeared. Despite the apparent looseness in her stance, and her unclenched hands, a tense alertness vibrated off her.
Her opponent gained his feet and went straight for her, swinging. She stood still until the last moment, then crouched, bending at the knee, and ducked his fist. Her own clenched fist shot up, pummeling his stomach three times fast. Then she rose, catching his chin with another blow. The next minute or so consisted of Anya ducking almost all of her opponent’s swings and kicks, and landing almost all of her own. She danced about in a fury unleashing all of her rage and frustration on the man.
Though she was using the skill and precision she’d had in her earlier fight, there was something hard and dark in the way she fought now. Something that could only come from a place of deep pain. Jarrett found himself wondering again what could have happened to Anya to make her fight with such edgy ferocity, and how he could soothe the pain away.
But that thought was quickly lost as Anya delivered a roundhouse kick to her beast-sized opponent’s head and he fell onto his back. He was still one long moment then raised one arm in the air and waved it. “I’m done. I’m done,” he called out in a tired, raspy voice.
The thin, denim overall clad referee rushed to the center of the ring and held up Anya’s arm to the roar of the crowd. When he let go, Anya walked to the edge of the ring. When she was still several steps away from Jarrett, her knees buckled, and she went to the ground.
 
Get Your Copy Today!!!

  Win A CTP Mystery Box!!!

  a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Paranorm World Series by June Stevens
Voodoo Moon:A Moon Sisters Novel(PARANORM WORLD #1)  
A sinister magic is sweeping across Nash City… To Fiona Moon, it’s just another day at work. And some days, well, they’re a helluva lot worse than others. As a member of the elite Black Blade Guard, Fiona is tasked with hunting down the most-dangerous Paranorm criminals. To find out who is kidnapping mages and sucking the life energy from their bodies, she has to work with the one man that embodies everything she despises.

Master Necromancer Ian Barroes, a rich professor of Necromantic Studies, wants only one thing in this world… Fiona.

They each hold secrets that could destroy them, but ones that could also be the key to destroying the evil Voodoo priest, Bokor. They must learn to trust each other and track down Bokor before more innocent lives are lost. When Fiona becomes a target of the evil madman, she is lured into his trap. Now, she and Ian have to fight for survival…and their very souls.

Get Your Copy Today!!!

  About June Stevens Westerfield June is a geek girl, fat chick, and unrepentant romantic. She writes full time and is both independently and traditionally published. She writes in several romance genres including paranormal/urban fantasy, suspense, fantasy, sci-fi, and contemporary romance. She also works part time running her greeting card company.When not working, June can be found making jewelry, reading, cooking, or watching geeky movies with her husband and snuggling with her 6…YES 6, furbabies. Notice cleaning wasn’t listed…
Connect With June
June's Website
 
 

Bone Moon Rising by LM Pruitt

Bone Moon RisingMoon RisingBook 4LM Pruitt
Genre: Urban fantasy/paranormal romance
Publisher: SP PressDate of Publication: November 18
Word Count: approx. 80K
Book Description:
You never know how much you'll miss something until it's gone for good.We brought our people. We brought our history. We brought the magic which keeps us whole and sane.
Except it isn't working. People are sick. Dying. Or worse--unable to control the beast inside them.
The survival of Selena rests on the shoulders of a select few. If there was ever a time for miracles, it's now.
Or never.
About the Author:
L.M. Pruitt has been reading and writing for as long as she can remember. A native of Florida with a love of New Orleans, she has the uncanny ability to find humor in most things and would probably kill a plastic plant. She knows this because she's killed bamboo. Twice.  She is the author of the Winged series, the Plaisir Coupable series, Jude Magdalyn series, the Moon Rising series, and Taken: A Frankie Post Novel.
http://www.lmpruitt.org
https://www.facebook.com/pages/LM-Pruitt/364776895104
https://twitter.com/lmpruitt
http://www.amazon.com/L.M.-Pruitt/e/B00427WOW4/
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4320796.L_M_Pruitt




November 18 Spotlight3 Partners in Shopping, Nana, Mommy, & Sissy, Too!http://3partnersinshopping.blogspot.com/
November 19 SpotlightFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com
November 23 SpotlightRoxanne’s Realmwww.roxannerhoads.com
November 24 SpotlightShare My Destinyhttp://sharemydestiny.blogspot.com
November 27 InterviewLiterary Musingshttp://literarymusing.weebly.com/
November 30 ReviewParanormal Romance and Authors That Rockwww.pratr.wordpress.com
December 2 Guest blogMarsha A Moorewww.MarshaAMoore.blogspot.com
December 9 SpotlightJody's Book Reviewshttp://www.jodysbookreview.com
December 15 SpotlightPenny Writeshttp://pennybrojacquie.blogspot.gr/
December 16 ReviewFantatical Paranormal Romanticalhttp://fanaticalparanormalromantical.com/
December 16 SpotlightCBY Book Clubhttp://cbybookclub.blogspot.co.uk

The Process of Writing a Novel: The Tomorrow Heist by Jack Soren

Novels are hard. If you’ve ever tried to write one, you don’t need me to tell you that.  If you’ve never tried to write one, just imagine falling out of an airplane at night and somewhere between the plane and the ground is a parachute. Oh, and there’s about a thousand backpacks along the way with nothing in them.  That’s page one.

The trick is to figure out a writing process that makes this as painless as possible. The trap is that there’s as many processes as there are writers.  And every single one of them is right.

Without a process, what happens is you spend all day thinking about writing – thinking while you read, thinking while you watch just one more episode of Alf, thinking while you eat more ice cream than any human should consume in a week.  Then the day’s over and the night of self-flagellation begins.

Oh, and once you find the process that works for you on this project, there’s no guaranty it will work at all on the next project.  Did I mention that?

In any case, here’s the process, more or less, that I currently use:

The first thing I do is go to bed the night before at a decent time.  This is so when my alarm goes off at 6AM I won’t say silly things like “Blergh con muh-shuff” and an arm won’t come swinging from the other side of the bed with deadly accuracy.

I dodge the cats and all the furniture they’ve moved around in the night and stumble to my coffee maker.  I have a Keurig, because it means I’ll only have to wait a maximum of 30 seconds for my elixir of life.  Then I stumble down to my desk in the basement.

I’ll spend a few minutes checking emails, facebook, twitter and checking the rankings of my books on a couple sites.  After some swearing and headshaking, I’ll open whatever I’m working on in Word and read over what I wrote the day before.  This isn’t for editing, but to remind me what the hell I’m currently writing.

I should note that the program I open might not be Word.  I have a habit of trying other programs ( Scrivener, distraction-free editors, etc.) at the beginning of projects, but eventually I give in and just transfer everything over to Word.  I don’t really have an explanation, it’s just what I do.

In any case, I’m usually doing some actual work by about 7AM. I wear headphones and find some playlist on Spotify to listen to since that’s when other people start bumbling around over my head. This isn’t a really productive time for me, but it’s necessary so when I get to the next session all the air bubbles have been squeezed out of my brake lines.

Somewhere in the next hour or so I’ll stop and either get some breakfast (usually a fruit/spinach smoothie) or just get some more coffee.

Then it’s back to my desk.  I’ll write until I hit my day’s quota, at least.  My normal quota is 2,000 words.  If I’m feeling the mojo, I’ll keep going for a while.  Quota or not, I’ll usually stop around 11:30.  If the words are flowing, it usually takes me about two and a half hours to get my 2,000 words.  This is all new stuff.  The grunty work or errands come in the afternoon.

When I’m done my morning, I’ll try to hit the treadmill or workout for a while.  Then I’ll have some lunch and shower.

The afternoon is admin, promotion and planning.  I’ll do stuff like work on my website, maybe schedule some guest blogs, podcasts, etc.  I’ll do some reading, outlines, proposals and such, if I need to.  This is when I do most of my non-personal social networking, emails, etc.  Sometimes I track my writing and sometimes I don’t. (I need to work on that.) If I’m in a tracking cycle, I’ll make some notes about the work I got done that day. Usually in a spreadsheet or just in a notebook.

Depending on the day and when I’m done all this, I’ll start thinking about dinner or I’ll take a nap.  Whether I write at night or not depends on what my fiance’s schedule is like (she’s active in local theatre, plays guitar and paints, but works during the day as an Optician, so the night is the only time she gets to a lot of that stuff). 

Weekends are mostly free-for-alls, but there’ll usually be some writing and promotion work in there amongst going bowling or pillaging.

And somehow with that mess I get the first draft of a new book done about every four months.  Sometimes I don’t even set it on fire and throw it in the neighbor’s yard.

The Tomorrow HeistMonarchBook TwoJack Soren
Genre: Fiction/Thrillers/Technological
Publisher: HarperCollins/Witness Impulse
Date of Publication: 11/3/2015
ISBN: 9780062365200
Book Description:
Readers looking for twisting, fast-paced suspense will be swept away by Jack Soren’s newest tale of thrilling international adventure...
Jonathan Hall and Lew Katchbrow intended to leave life as international art thieves behind them-if only the money hadn’t run out. But when a shadowy organization approaches the duo offering compensation, protection, and prestige in exchange for their skills, Jonathan and Lew think it’s the answer to their problems…
But the nightmare has only just begun.
Suddenly Jonathan and Lew are thrust headlong into a race against time and a technology that science says shouldn’t exist. With the very nature of life and death on Earth hanging in the balance, it’s up to Jonathan and Lew to discover the truth behind Ashita—a terrifying futuristic city in the depths of the Pacific Ocean—and stop it. But the clock is ticking. If Jonathan and Lew fail this heist, millions will die—and the human race will never be the same.Harper Collins     Amazon




LondonThursday 12:15 p.m. Local Time
Jonathan Hall hadn't been home in almost two years. Not that he hadn’t had a place to live during that time. As a matter of fact, Jonathan had lived in some extravagantly opulent locales—a penthouse in New York, a yacht on the Aegean Sea anchored off Mykonos Island, even an abandoned palace in Thailand. But none of those were home. The last home he'd known was a tiny, run-down house in Tallahassee, Florida. But it hadn’t been the building that had made it home. It had been the company.Now, as he sat in a cafe in London, watching the crowds pass by outside in the midday September sunshine, oblivious to the magnificence of The Thames and London Bridge, Jonathan thought of his daughter, Natalie. Not that his thoughts were ever far from her. He hadn't seen her in person in almost a year. And the year before that he'd only managed to see her a few fleeting times. These were important years for her and he was missing them. The same way he'd missed the first five years of her life. He hadn't even known Natalie existed back then, but it still bothered him.He wished Natalie's mother was still alive. That's what a 13-year-old girl needed, a woman to explain all those things she was feeling and experiencing as she became a teenager. Not a father who, when he was around, put her life in danger. A father who had no idea what he was doing. A father who had been an art thief for the past twenty years.Jonathan squeezed a napkin to ease his tension as the waiter drifted by. He ordered another chai tea. The waiter nodded and took the old cup away. It was Jonathan's second. He checked his watch. Their contact was over half an hour late. But he wasn't giving up just yet; Fahd was skittish as hell and in all likelihood was pacing back and forth up the street trying to decide what to do. In the end, Jonathan knew he'd show. It wasn't hubris speaking, it was pragmatism. Fahd needed the money that was weighing down Jonathan's black leather jacket, making it hang on the back of his chair at an odd angle.Jonathan had found Fahd the same way he found all their jobs these days: through the Dark Web. Using a special web browser that protected his identity, Jonathan could access web sites and discussion forums where normal search engines couldn't go, with no fear of being tracked. He still had to vet his contacts carefully before actually meeting them—law enforcement agencies around the world were well aware of the Dark Web, and stings were becoming more and more common—but after all these years, Jonathan had become quite skilled at knowing who was and wasn't on the level.As the waiter brought his beverage, Jonathan took the opportunity to scan the room again. He avoided direct eye contact—especially with the hulking man sitting by the window, hunched over a plate of pastries and a giant, ridiculously sweet coffee, his long duster coat hanging over the back of his stool. The man was Lew Katchbrow, Jonathan's long-time partner and about the only person in the world he trusted. Jonathan nodded thanks as the waiter left again, confident that the scattering of patrons were oblivious to him.He sipped his tea as his thoughts drifted back to Natalie. She'd just started high school last week and he hated that he couldn't be there. But it was for her own good. Because of him, her life had been in jeopardy twice in the past two years. He wasn't going to let that happen again. No matter how difficult it was.The first year Natalie was away at boarding school in British Columbia, Jonathan had tried to stay away, but he'd given in to his emotions and slowly started visiting her every few months. Then it became every few weeks. She'd been mad at him for sending her away at first, but she soon came around.Then the unthinkable had happened. They'd found her. He didn't have any proof, but he was sure it was because of his visits. Canton George, an industrialist with a score to settle, had sent men to take her and to find Jonathan and Lew any way they could. It was only by sheer dumb luck that Lew had been with Jonathan on that visit to her campus when Canton George and his men came. Several tense hours later, George was blind in one eye, his men were dead and Natalie had been forced to once again abandon her life. Sadly, George had managed to get away.A new identity and a few months later, Natalie was enrolled in another boarding school. This one in Switzerland. And that was the last time Jonathan had seen his daughter in person. Even their encrypted Skype calls had started to make him nervous. As painful as it was, he’d stopped taking her calls, and instead paid the school's head master to keep Jonathan updated on his daughter's activities through a series of back channels, again on the Dark Web. The bell over the café door rang, shaking Jonathan from his memories. It was Fahd, his contact, a guard at a local museum. Jonathan waited for a small crowd of patrons to finish leaving before he motioned to Fahd. The caramel-skinned, slight, black-haired man nodded and moved towards the table, furtively scanning the room as he approached. As he did, Jonathan's phone, resting on the table, buzzed. He looked down and saw Natalie's picture displayed on the screen.He swore under his breath and swiped the Reject button as Fahd sat down. The waiter drifted over and asked Fahd for his order, but Fahd, who kept wiping sweat from his brow with a napkin, tried to just wave him off. Jonathan smiled, apologized for his "friend" and ordered an espresso for him. Though as the waiter left, Jonathan thought more stimulation was the last thing this guy needed."You're late," Jonathan said flatly."I almost didn't come," Fahd said in a British accent that said he'd been schooled well despite his position at the museum. Jonathan knew the story behind that, though not from Fahd, himself. Fahd had been expelled from school after only two years for running an illegal poker game out of his dorm. A position as a guard at a local museum was the best he could do with that track record. It was one of the reasons Jonathan had decided to deal with him in the first place. He was motivated by money even more than most people.The job was a small one, as far as their jobs went—a stolen set of rare books. But lately that seemed to be the rule of the day. Not that there weren't bigger opportunities out there, but Jonathan had become selective, taking lower profile jobs, which of course meant lower pay. But if they could stay off the radar of their usual vindictive billionaire targets, maybe it would be safe to reconnect with Natalie. Still, their resources were starting to feel the pinch, and Lew was starting to notice the pattern.Sometimes Jonathan wondered what it would be like to sell the works he and Lew stole instead of settling for the finder's fee from the original owner or museum. Even though what they did had never been about the money. Jonathan took the envelope from his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. Fahd, his nervousness gone at the sight of the fat envelope, reached out and tried to take the money, but Jonathan kept his hand on it."The name," Jonathan said when Fahd looked up at him, confused."Oh, right," Fahd said, licking his lips and appearing to weigh responding against letting go of the envelope. "Jacobson. Peter Jacobson." Jonathan hesitated for a moment but then took his hand away. Fahd yanked the envelope off the table and held it in his lap under the table, peeking inside."The address?" Jonathan asked.Fahd told him the address, practically giggling as he pocketed the envelope. The name and address were new information for Jonathan, but he'd already met briefly with Fahd and knew Peter Jacobson was another guard at the museum. One with even less scruples than Fahd."Nice doing bus--""Sit down," Jonathan said, his tone slamming Fahd's already rising butt back down on the uncomfortable wooden chair. "Why'd Jacobson tell you he has the books? You're obviously not friends.""I honestly don't know. He doesn't really have any friends that I've seen. He's, well..." Fahd seemed to be looking for the right words."He's what?""Well, he's weird. Has conversations with himself. Only wears half his uniform sometimes. He'll sit down across from you on break, stare at you and never say a word."This Jonathan didn't like. It made his ultimate target unpredictable. And that meant dangerous. He also figured something else out from Fahd's subtext."So he didn't tell you. You just heard him talking to himself," Jonathan said.Fahd looked like a kid caught swiping a sweet from the local Tesco."Relax," Jonathan said. "You can keep the money. Assuming this pans out. If it doesn't, you'll be the one your co-workers are calling weird." It was a vague threat, which Jonathan found worked best."Can I..." Fahd said, nodding towards the door."Yeah, beat it," Jonathan said. He thought about stopping Fahd and making him pay for the espresso just for kicks, but let him go. He knew from past experiences with guys like Fahd, the less you had to do with them, the better.Jonathan watched as Fahd stumbled his way back out of the cafe. The second he was out the door, Jonathan grabbed his phone. His anxiety eased when he saw that Natalie had left him a voice message. He was about to dial his voicemail when Lew dropped down into the seat Fahd had just been in."Twitchy give us anything good?" Lew asked, still chewing on a pastry."How are you not a thousand pounds?" Jonathan asked as he watched Lew inhale the rest of his "snack". Jonathan had eaten with Lew more than he had anyone else on the planet, even Natalie, and the amount of food Lew consumed was always amusing. Especially since Lew was six feet tall and over 220 pounds, but only about 10% body fat. Jonathan was jealous. He had a thinner body type than Lew, but the past couple of years he'd had to really work to stay in shape. And he couldn't remember the last time he'd let himself have anything resembling a pastry."Clea' libbing," Lew mumbled through a mouthful of dough. "So what's up?" "Talie called," Jonathan said."Yes! I knew it. Told you, didn't I? What did the little squirt say?""I don't know. She called just as Fahd got here.""No, don't tell me...you rejected her call? For that sleeze? That's messed up, man," Lew said, shaking his head."We got the name and address," Jonathan said, ignoring Lew's jabs. After all these years he'd gotten good at that. "We'll go tomorrow. Make sure you get some sleep tonight.""Yes, Mom." Lew drained his coffee. "Still can't believe you didn't answer the kid's call." He stood up, the chair creaking a sigh of relief. "I'll come by your place in the morning. Call your kid.""Want some company?" Jonathan said, standing up and throwing a few pounds onto the table. Lew furrowed his brow and looked at him. Jonathan knew why; they’d made a habit of not being seen in public together. Just in case."Uh, sure. Anything specific you want to do?" Lew asked, donning his Raybans."Just walk," Jonathan said.They stepped out into the afternoon and headed east towards St. Paul's Cathedral. They didn't talk for almost an hour. They were as close as brothers and their silences were never awkward. Sometimes it was just good to be around someone who meant that much to you. After getting a couple ice cream cones, they ended up leaning against a railing and watching the afternoon river traffic.After a while, Lew turned around and leaned back against the railing, watching the crowds. Tourists and businessmen strolled by in the September sunshine. But Jonathan knew Lew wasn't people watching; he was making sure there were no threats about."You gonna tell me what's on your mind?" Lew said without taking his eyes off the crowds."We're running out of money," Jonathan said. The smaller jobs had taken their toll. Paying off Fahd had actually made Jonathan worry about making his rent this month."I know," Lew said."You know.""Sure, but this is what you do.""What I do?""Every now and then you get all freaked out about drawing too much attention and then you only set up smaller jobs for us. But you get over it and then we're flush and back to normal. I have to admit, it’s gone on longer than usual this time, but you'll come around.  You always do," Lew said."You seem awfully sure of yourself," Jonathan said, trying to roll with what he'd just heard. He’d had no idea he was being so transparent, or that there had been enough of these times for there to be a pattern."I do, don't I," Lew said, looking at Jonathan over his Raybans. The look Jonathan could take, it was the shit-eating grin that went with it that got under his skin. "It must be annoying.""Hang on," Jonathan said. "Why are you so calm about this?""I'm not calm.""You seem calm.""I don't know why I'd seem calm.""Maybe because you're calm.""Huh, maybe.""Well?""After your last spate of cut-rate jobs, I figured it was time to add a little cash to the bugout bag in my closet.""A little. How little?""About fifty grand," Lew said."Jesus.""You can borrow some if you want.""I can?""Sure. All you have to do is ask."Jonathan sighed and braced himself. "May I borrow some money." "What's mine is yours, amigo. But you know there's a way we can make sure this doesn't happen again.""Uh huh. How's that?" Jonathan asked, but he was pretty sure he knew what was coming. Lew took off his glasses and looked Jonathan dead in the eyes."Let's be The Monarch again."Jonathan knew Lew had never minded being The Monarch. Liked it, in fact. Especially the big payouts. They had started all of this because they'd been fed up with the system -- Lew with the army and Jonathan with intelligence. Both had felt they were doing more harm than good. But then a chance meeting in Bogota, Colombia had set them on the path to make a difference. Though, there was a big distinction between returning some rare books stolen by a delusional security guard, and finding a lost Rembrandt the world had thought destroyed. As The Monarch they were preserving culture and history, but there was a big price to pay."What about Natalie?" Jonathan said. She wasn't just Jonathan's daughter, she was Lew's surrogate niece. "We can figure something out," Lew said, sounding like a kid trying to convince his Dad to take him to a ballgame."‘Figure something out’," Jonathan said flatly. "Jesus, you thought harder about which pastries to eat back at the cafe! Natalie isn't something to figure out. She's all that matters.""And I don't know that?" Lew said, getting defensive. "I'm just the fucking idiot muscle.""I didn't say that," Jonathan said. Then after a minute: "But there are times—""Fuck you," Lew said, pushing off from the railing. "If I'm such a mouth breather, get your own fucking money." He roughly put his glasses on, swung around and marched off, his coat swirling in his hurry."Lew, don't be like that. You know what I meant," Jonathan said, but Lew kept walking. "Lew! Are you coming tomorrow?" Lew spun around and walked backwards. "Sure! You might need me to lift something. Ladies and Gentlemen, Jonathan the giant brain. Give him a hand," Lew said to the people around him, waving his arms like a circus ringmaster. Then he turned and disappeared into the crowd.Sometimes I can be such a dick.Jonathan didn't believe for a minute that all Lew brought to the table was his physicality, but it was a button he could push to make Lew drop The Monarch nonsense. In retrospect, Jonathan knew he was lucky Lew hadn't knocked him on his ass. He had to apologize, but when Lew got like this you just had to leave him alone for a while. The only person who could cut through his moods was Emily, his on-again, off-again girlfriend.But as far as Jonathan knew, they'd been off for a long while. Ironically, for the same reason Jonathan was staying away from Natalie. Not that Lew would admit it, of course. Jonathan actually wished they could work things out, but he knew Lew could be a lot to take on a constant basis.She was probably better off without him.

About the Author:
JACK SOREN was born and raised in Toronto, Canada.
Before becoming a thriller novelist, Jack wrote software manuals, drove a cab and spent six months as a really terrible private investigator. His debut novel The Monarch was nominated for the Kobo Emerging Writer national book award. He lives in the Toronto area.
www.jacksoren.com   
www.facebook.com/jacksorenwrites
@jacksorenwrites
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22308744-the-tomorrow-heist

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Exclusive Excerpt and Giveaway: Veiled Magic by Deborah Blake

A spellbinding new novel from the author of the Baba Yaga novels . 
Since Witches came out of the broom-closet in the early 21st century, they have worked alongside humans as police officers, healers, stock traders, and more. But they aren’t the only paranormal entities in our world… 
Police officer and Witch Donata Santori spends her days interrogating dead witnesses by summoning their spectral forms. Normally the job is little more than taking statements and filing reports. But when she’s called in on the case of a murdered art restorer, she finds herself suddenly in possession of a mystical portrait that both the human and paranormal communities would kill to get their hands on.Unable to take on the forces hunting her alone, Donata seeks help from two unlikely and attractive allies: a reluctant shape-changer and a half-dragon art forger. But as the three of them hurry to uncover the truth about the powerful painting, Donata realizes that she’s caught in the middle of not one but two wars—one for possession of the painting’s secrets and one for possession of her heart…Barnes & Noble |Amazon |Penguin
Excerpt:

Donata Santori looked down at the dead body lying at her feet and thought, Oh, well, at least I’m not in the basement.
Behind her, cops from the Central Gates Precinct picked their way carefully around the evidence of a botched robbery: scattered tools, a fallen painting, and a second body, lying across the room with blood congealing around a jagged head wound. The corpse she stood next to, the thief responsible for all the mess, wore a dingy black sweater, battered black sneakers, and a slightly surprised expression. His neck sat at an angle never achieved by the living.
Her boss, Chief O’Malley, shifted his bulk to look over her shoulder at the dead thief. “So what do you think, Santori? Can you get anything useful out of him?”
Donata shrugged. As the precinct’s Witness Retrieval Specialist, she spent most of her days in the bowels of the old stone building talking to dead people. Nicknamed “Ghost Yankers,” Witness Retrieval Specialists were Witch-cops specially trained to use their particular abilities to talk to the one witness to a murder who had always been beyond reach of the police—the victim himself. Talking to dead criminals wasn’t usually in her job description.
When Witchcraft came out of the broom closet in the early twenty-first century, there had been a period of adjustment for everyone involved. Then the Catholic Church settled most of the lawsuits for religious persecution out of court, confessing to centuries of lying to the public for the greater glory of God and his coffers. It hadn’t hurt that the latest pope’s mother turned out to be the last in a long line of Stregas, traditional Italian Witches. And then the scientific community had sheepishly conceded that it had proven years before that clairvoyance and other psychic abilities existed and could be measured. They’d kept it under wraps for obvious reasons. So now Witches were accepted as part of the landscape, just another once-oppressed minority working to find their place in society. Most Witches had respectable jobs, like dowsers (who could save a company the cost of drilling exploratory holes for water or oil wells), or healers.
And then there were the folks like Donata, who did the unpleasant jobs nobody else wanted. Her fellow cops acknowledged her usefulness but could never quite get comfortable with her, so she was relegated to the basement, where the depressing miasma that accompanied her work wouldn’t affect them.
Even the Chief mostly left her alone to do her job, summoning the ghosts of the recently murdered so they might bear witness against those who’d killed them. Not a pleasant occupation, to be sure, but one which Donata had taken on with enthusiasm and pride, pleased to be able to use her unique talents for the greater good.
Of course, that had been a long time ago, and after seven long years of dealing with misery, tragedy, and (more often) petty Human failings, she’d finally burned out enough to seriously consider quitting. Maybe find a job that wouldn’t make her family look down their collective patrician noses, nor get her rejected by both cops (who didn’t much like Witches) and Witches (who didn’t much like cops).
But that was before last week.
Last week was when the Chief came to beg her for help with a personal crisis. His beloved granddaughter had been kidnapped by a vengeful ex-con, who had then been shot dead before he could reveal where he had hidden his five-year-old victim. By the time the Chief had descended to her basement lair, he was out of other options and desperate for help, even from a source that clearly made him twitch.
Thankfully, Donata had been able to trick the dead kidnapper into giving up the location before little Lacey’s air had run out. But in the process, her boss had gotten a good look at both her dismal work environment and the scope of power she rarely showed to anyone. He hadn’t said a word at the time, but a week later, here she was at the West Gates Art Museum and out of the basement.Donata didn’t know why, but she had a feeling she was about to find out.
“Marty ‘the Sneak’ Williams,” the Chief said in her ear, making her jump. “Petty thief. Strictly a hired hand.” He snorted. “This kind of job is usually out of his league. Looks like he surprised the vic—Clive Farmingham, the museum’s restorer. The place was supposed to be empty, other than the night guard Williams knocked out on his way in. Must have stumbled across the poor guy working on the painting, they tussled, and Farmingham got his head bashed in.” He nudged the body of the dead thief with one toe. “Stupid waste, killing a guy because he happened to work overtime, and then ending up dead himself. All for an ugly painting.”
Donata glanced at the painting lying just out of reach of the thief’s limp hand. It didn’t look like much to her, but then, she was a Witch-cop, not an art historian.
“Is it really valuable?” she asked. A look around the room showed plenty of other more appealing paintings, along with a few statues and other works of art. And, of course, this was just the restoration room—the rest of the museum contained thousands of other pieces. “Why pass up all the more accessible stuff to grab this one painting?”
“Damn good question,” the Chief responded with a scowl. It was common knowledge around the precinct that the Chief didn’t like mysteries or unanswered questions. “Doesn’t make a lot of sense, him traversing the entire length of the building, walking right past a lot more costly artwork, just to get that.” He cast a disdainful look at the drab painting.
Donata had to admit that, even with her less-than-expert eye, she wasn’t impressed either. The picture showed six very different people, all in old-fashioned garb, sitting around a fire in a meadow. The scene was dark and gloomy, although part of that might have been the patina of age—something the restorer had been working on, no doubt. A corner of the painting showed the marks of his work, where a lighter patch revealed the cleaned-up paint underneath. An uneven blob of black paint covered one of the faces and the upper half of its body. Other than that, there was nothing to distinguish this painting from any other oil.
“Was the artist famous?” Just because she didn’t like it didn’t mean the artist wasn’t well known. Heck, she didn’t much like Van Gogh, and look how expensive his work was.
The Chief shrugged his broad shoulders. Even on the verge of retirement, he barely showed signs of his years behind a desk. “Guy named Caspar David Friedrich, according to the museum’s curator.” He jerked his graying head in the direction of a stout man giving information to an officer across the room, and then looked down at his notebook. “Died in 1840. Apparently this painting came from the end of his career, when he’d been going downhill for a while. Valuable, but not excessively so.”
Donata raised her eyebrows. “So why this painting?” She looked down at the body again. “And what happened to our pal here? He get so depressed by the crappy artwork, he threw himself down the stairs?” Behind her, she heard one of the other cops snicker. Dead body aside, this was already a better day than any she’d spent at the precinct in recent years, and it was barely dawn.
The Chief’s scowl was only slightly undermined by the hint of a smile at one corner of his lips. “You’re closer than you think, Santori. Maybe we’ll turn you into a real cop yet.”
He gestured with one stubby finger toward the steps they stood next to, pointing at the circle of crime scene tape that outlined a dark spot on one riser. “Looks like some kind of oil got spilled on the stairs. Probably came from one of those bottles over there.”
He moved the finger to aim it at the workbench near where the dead restorer sprawled in uneaseful repose. “The curator says it smells like the restorative oil Farmingham liked to use—something about the distinctive odor of balsam, I think.” He glanced at his notes and shook his head again, mouth screwed up in disgust. The Chief didn’t like stupid waste of life any more than he liked mysteries.“So, let me get this straight.” Donata tugged on the end of her long, dark brown braid. “We’ve got one dead restorer, killed in the process of a robbery because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She looked down. “And we’ve got the thief who killed him, also dead, from an accidental fall down the stairs while he was rushing to get away with his loot.”
Her boss grunted his agreement, clearly unimpressed by her brilliant summation of the situation.Donata tried to figure out what she was missing, and failed. Great, she thought miserably,he finally lets me leave the building, and I can’t even figure out what I’m supposed to be doing. I’ll never get out of the basement again. She tried not to show her frustration, but she failed at that too.
“So what am I supposed to be doing here, Chief?” She straightened her shoulders and pulled herself up to her full five feet, nine inches. She still felt puny compared to the grizzled old cop standing next to her—but that could have been because he held her future in his hands. “There’s no guilty party for me to find—the gang’s all here.” They both looked down at the dead thief.
The Chief glanced around at the other cops and shifted her a few feet away from the body.
A shiver of interest slid down her spine. Maybe there was a reason for her presence at the museum after all. O’Malley clearly had something in mind.
“There’s a guilty party unaccounted for, all right,” he said, square chin set in a firm line. He jerked his head in the direction of the dead thief. “Old Marty over there never planned a job in his life. Hell, the guy could barely plan what he was going to have for breakfast. Somebody hired him to steal this painting, and that someone is responsible—one way or the other—for two deaths. You find out who that guy was, and why he wanted this particular painting, and I’ll give some serious consideration to using you in the field more often. Maybe even get you an office with windows and an occasional glimpse of sunlight.” His hazel eyes peered into her dark brown ones keenly. “What do you think, Santori? Up to the task?”
Donata snorted under her breath. What did she think? She thought this was a damned test, that’s what she thought. Not that she didn’t believe the Chief when he said he wanted someone to take the rap for the crimes that had gone down here. The Chief was a stickler for justice, and if she could get the dead thief to implicate the man who’d hired him, the guy could face charges for accessory to murder, contracting an unlawful act, and an assortment of other felonies that could land him behind bars for years.
And, of course, her boss wanted his unanswered question resolved, too, just so it wouldn’t nag at him later. But that wasn’t the point here—not really. Donata was pretty sure she was the point, the reason he’d pulled her away from the others. Or rather, after what she’d done for the Chief last week, he was looking at her more closely, testing her to see how well she worked in the field, while also rewarding her for what she’d done for him.
Well, she’d been waiting for a chance like this for years, and she didn’t really care what his motivation was. She finally had an opportunity to prove she was good for something more than hiding in the basement and talking to dead murder victims. As far as Donata Santori was concerned, Marty “the Sneak” Williams was about to become the most talkative ex-thief in history . . . even if she had to follow him all the way to hell to make it happen.



Deborah Blake is the author of the Baba Yaga Series from Berkley (Wickedly Dangerous, Wickedly Wonderful, Wickedly Powerful) and has published nine books on modern witchcraft with Llewellyn Worldwide. When not writing, Deborah runs The Artisans’ Guild, a cooperative shop she founded with a friend in 1999, and also works as a jewelry maker, tarot reader, and energy healer. She lives in a 120-year-old farmhouse in rural upstate New York with five cats who supervise all her activities, both magical and mundane.

Newsletter: http://dld.bz/dWEQs
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/deborahblake
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/deborah.blake
Blog: http://deborahblake.blogspot.com/
Website: http://deborahblakeauthor.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/246753.Deborah_Blake



a Rafflecopter giveaway

My Top Five Favorite Dragons from Film Guest Blog and Giveaway with Paula Millhouse

Dragons have come a long way in film. Let’s face it – CGI rules when making dragons. Who knows, maybe one day Magnus, Garnet and all my dragons from The Kingdom of Chalvaren will grace the big screen along with my other favorite dragons. 




 5. Draco from DragonHeart – 1993




I adored Draco, and maybe, just maybe it was because of Sean Connery’s voice bringing him to life. 

 4. First flight from Avatar 


The dragons of Avatar were a wonderful surprise in this movie. I’d love to find my own dragon on Avatar. 

3. Smaug from the Hobbit – 2013
   
Probably the first dragon I fell in love with from the Hobbit. I adored what Peter Jackson and Benedict Cumberbatch worked up together. Smaug totally rocks the mean dragon angle, and he’s so intelligent it’s scary. 
2. Donkey’s Fire breathing dragon from Shrek


I was thrilled when Donkey found himself a mate. And the way she saved the day in the climax of the movie Shrek still makes me laugh. 
1. Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon
   
Still my favorite dragon of all time, Toothless stole my heart in How To Train Your Dragon. 
So, who’s your favorite dragon? 
Leave a comment on this post to enter the giveaway for The Kingdom of Chalvaren Romances.
DragonstoneA Lunchbox Romance PrequelThe Kingdom of Chalvaren RomancesPaula Millhouse
Genre: Fantasy Romance
Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group
Date of Publication: May 12, 2013
ISBN: 9781938876288ASIN: B00CRMRWPK
Short StoryNumber of pages: 39Word Count: 15,630
 Book Description:
Elf prince Kort Elias journeys to a new world in search of a stolen royal dragon egg and discovers a lost elven princess, a prophecy, and danger; and only true love--and an erotic magic he's never experienced--will set them free.


Amazon   Smashwords  ARe 
Goodreads    BN    Kobo
Boroughs Publishing Group    Smashwords

Check out the Inspiration Board on PinterestExcerpt:

“Great. First royal dragon egg stolen from Chalvaren in ten thousand years and the damn thing’s already hatched.” Kort Elias grimaced and stared at the remnants of the Aurora eggshell. When he crouched down and touched the enormous object—he could have easily crawled inside—it crumbled to dust in his hands. “Worse, it’s been at least a day, maybe two.”A thieving mercenary had brought the egg here to this planet of humans, one dimension hop away from Chalvaren, and Kort had required a wizard’s help to teleport in pursuit. The queen his mother forbade him to give chase, but when Kort discovered the double-crosser took the egg from the royal hatchery, Queen Elissabet’s edict paled before the need to recover the dragonlet. Also, ignoring his mother’s wishes was a lifelong sport at which Kort particularly excelled. He picked up three black dragon scales, smelled them, manipulated them in his fingers then held the fragile scales up to the sunlight. They were translucent, iridescent…baby dragon scales. His grimace became a frown. Poor thing. All alone in a strange world with no other dragons to coach him, to show him what to eat, how to fly, how to roar, how to be what he was. Kort’s heart hitched. He’d tracked the thief for well over a week, but he was clearly too late. He was seeing the fallout of his mother’s bad decision-making. “Damn you, Elissabet!” He shook his fist at the sky. “Look at what you’ve conjured up with your ridiculous legend, mother.” No treasure, just a lost little dragon. “At least he’s eaten.” Kort’s eyes ranged to the remains of the mercenary. Without proper handling, without a first feast available right outside his eggshell, the hatchling had devoured his abductor. Served the bastard right. Before stealing the egg, the larcenous mercenary had filled the queen’s head with stories and romantic notions, claimed he had intelligence on the whereabouts of Chalvaren’s mythological treasure, the Dragonstone. The fist-sized amethyst was valuable beyond means, and a prophecy of peace accompanied it. Kort doubted the thing existed, but even if it did, the mercenary wasn’t man enough to return it. Clearly.Kort stood up and surveyed the scene, fingering the dragon scales, noticing their smooth texture. “Where’d you go little one?”The wooded forest around him held similarities to his home world in the types of trees, brush and rocks. Kort heard water running somewhere off in the distance. Good. The dragon would find it and drink. Small winged fowl fluttered about the sky, in the bushes, searching for food, calling to their kind. Insects hummed and a breeze blew. The sun shone brightly in the midmorning sky. The major difference here? No dragons. When his mother paid the mercenary to locate the Dragonstone of Chalvaren she’d surely had no idea he would double-cross her, but really, how better to find a treasure than with a dragon? Dragons had affinity for all things valuable. Unfortunately for the mercenary, the only treasure here was the one he’d brought with him…and that treasure had turned on him. Kort shook his head and laughed wryly. Dragon-wrangling took a special touch. Most men failed because they had no idea what the hell they were doing. He knew dragons, and dragons responded to his gentle, firm hand. It was women who were dangerous, women like his mother, what with their manipulations and imaginations. He did his best to stay away from them, though that drove Queen Elissabet insane. He preferred the company of dragons. No deception, no worries. Just straightforward danger.Ruling Chalvaren meant danger, too, or at the very least the hard life of a soldier, a warrior, a dragon wrangler. Though the palace was his for the taking, Kort had focused on building up his kingdom’s defenses. He left the gold brocade suits and comforts to his younger brothers, and while his father King Elias insisted Kort attend his mother’s parties on major holidays—something he tried his best to get out of—Kort had no heart for softness. He had yet even to choose a future queen. Perhaps he never would. His heart belonged to dragons, and he only felt at home with his bow strapped to his back, a quiver full of arrows, and a mighty beast flying beneath him.Magnus. That was this dragon’s name, or it would be when the beast was found. Recovering the Aurora was imperative. Prophecy foretold of a dragon named Magnus leading the winged guard on Chalvaren, and if the beast remained missing the other dragons would surely revolt. Lucan Brix the wizard had told Kort as much.Kort’s aura flared blue around him, and he began tracking the Aurora through the forest. As he walked he recalled more of what the wizard said. After a half-mile, he smirked down at the tracks. “Magnus. Sworn protector of Chalvaren, an Aurora-class dragon gifted with the ability to breathe both fire and acid at maturity—and with flight from birth. So, why is he walking?” He laughed, but then sadness gripped Kort. The dragon was only a few days old. The little guy was lost, wandering all alone, and he hadn’t figured things out yet. Kort would not rest until he had the dragonlet safe beside him.He knelt down and placed his hand beside the dragon tracks. Three times the spread of his large hand, the youngling’s print indicated he’d already grown. A new worry flooded Kort’s heart. He had to find Magnus, but he also had to figure out a way to get them both back home. The wizard’s teleportation amulet had disintegrated along with half his clothes. But, surely magic existed on this plane; the wizard had alluded to it. If not, Kort would be stranded. In time, he supposed, Magnus could help him find that magic, as dragons were attuned to the arcane. But Kort didn’t want to spend years waiting for the creature to develop that ability, and this was all predicated on the possibility he could find the beast, keep him safe, hidden and fed. A tall task.The ring on his third finger glinted in the sunlight, casting his family’s royal crest back at him, and Kort glowered at it. Getting back to Chalvaren and his adoring mother would prove an interesting task. But as he rose and strode forward in pursuit of his charge, Kort remembered one last point that lifted his heart. “Speech. This dragon will be gifted with the power of speech.” Ha. That would be the day. A talking dragon would be rare indeed. Almost as rare as one who demonstrated loyalty without being broken. Or a woman who demonstrated as much. When he found that, perhaps he’d let his mother marry him off.


Chalvaren RisingA Kingdom of Chalvaren RomancePaula Millhouse
Novel
Print Length: 318 pages
Word count: 103,300K

Publisher: Boroughs Publishing Group
Date: September 10, 2015ASIN: B0157RBDHO
Book Description:
When Mia Ansgar follows Elf Prince Kort Elias back to the Kingdom of Chalvaren she wants her happy ever after, but Mia gets blindsided in a war where sorceress Isa Ansgar targets everything she loves with black magic and a legion of wraith-possessed elves, with the kingdom of Chalvaren as the prize.

Kort’s fallen hard for Mia, but despite their passionate new love affair, how can he possibly protect her when she refuses to listen to him? Not only does Magnus imprint on Mia, she insists on using the powerful magic of Chalvaren’s ancient artifact, the Dragonstone, to stand up against the threat of Isa Ansgar.

Isa wants the Dragonstone’s magic to raise a powerful wizard from the grave so she can claim Chalvaren for herself. But, when she attacks Castle Elias and kidnaps Magnus, she sets in motion a revolution of magic where the elves of Chalvaren band together to stop her malicious crusade. Will Mia convince Isa to turn away from darkness and rejoin the light before it’s too late?


Keynote:
With the love of Kort Elias, Chalvaren’s warrior-prince heir, Mia Ansgar will seize her birthright and become the great dragon-riding wizardess prophesied to free that elven kingdom from her embittered sorceress kin.


Back Cover Copy:

TO ASCEND TRIUMPHANT

Twenty-five years ago, Theo Ansgar abandoned the Kingdom of Chalvaren for a hiding place on another world. Some called him traitor. Some, thief. Now his fully grown daughter Mia must return to the land of her birth…and their war.

It was the elf prince Kort Elias who brought her back. Theirs was an instant connection, an inescapable union of body, soul and sorcery, reminding Mia of what she truly is, and what she must become. There is also Magnus, destined to be more potent than any wyrm Chalvaren has ever seen, a three-day-old dragonlet Mia must nurture and then ride. And then there is the Dragonstone, an artifact of power nonpareil. Joined, they can tip the scales of battle against the wraith-possessed forces of darkness, of Mia’s own embittered kin.

Redemption will be offered, the protected will become the protector, and an ancient prophecy will come to fruition, but only righteous love can conquer all.



Boroughs Publishing  ARe
Amazon    BN    Kobo
Smashwords    Goodreads    Createspace

Chalvaren Rising on Pinterest  https://www.pinterest.com/pmillhouse/chalvaren-rising/
Chalvaren Rising Book Trailer   https://youtu.be/q2FCU-gJPog
Excerpt:


“Dragons do exist…?” Mia Ansgar stared at the horse-sized creature. He slept peacefully just outside her cottage door under a protective spell of magic that she’d just helped conjure. She edged around Kort Elias, the strange but beautiful elf with whom she’d cast the spell, the first of her kind she’d seen who was not her family, to get a better look and satisfy her curiosity. “He’s awfully small. I thought they were bigger.”“He’s only three days old, Mia,” Kort said, and joined her inspection. “Trust me. They get bigger. This little guy’s egg was stolen, and I’m here to see him returned to be with others of his kind on Chalvaren.”The dragonlet’s wings were iridescent black like the rest of his hide, but their tips were swirled with purple and teal. His head was rather equine, Mia decided, with rounded bony horns. She peeked up into Kort’s sapphire blue eyes. His magnificent face, his pointed ears intrigued her, set her heartbeat racing. She pointed at the beast. “What’s his name?”“This dragon’s name is Magnus.”Magnus. “So, there are truly more dragons? My father always said so. But…how did you both get here? To Earth.” “That’s another story for another day. The main question is how we are all going to get back to Chalvaren.” Kort pointed at the dragonlet. “That containment spell we cast over him won’t last for long. I need your help to get Magnus home.”Mia stood bolt upright. “I cast the containment spell by melding my aura with yours when we touched, for the good of the dragonlet, but I don’t know how to work that kind of magic. Do you?”He clearly knew how to work many kinds of magic. Kort clasped her hand in his, then lifted it to his lips for a kiss. Mia’s belly flipped, warm and low, and her body flooded with desire. It was new for her, this physical reaction if not the reason. Mia wanted a family more than anything else, more sometimes even than she wanted sunshine to warm her skin or air to sustain her life. After years of loneliness by a human village that reviled and misunderstood her…A violet aura, her magic signature, cascaded across her skin. Kort’s aura spiked, too. His was royal blue. Handsome, six-foot-something and covered with hard muscle, and magical, this elf just might be the perfect male for her. Mia blinked several times, trying to take it all in, to reconcile this sudden change to her overly quiet and lonesome life. For twenty-one years she’d been hidden here on Earth, alone, friendless, with only her parents for company until their death. Now this. Him. Out of nowhere.To mask her discomfort she said, “My mother taught me magic auras are tied to our gods. Yours is blue. Your deity must be Marineth, the demigoddess of peace, unity, and trust.” Indeed, Kort had those very words tattooed on his arms in elven runes. She could see them clearly as he pulled her close. “And your violet aura ties you to Varik. You know about our people, Mia? About our ways?”She gripped his hand tighter. “Before my parents died they told me other elves would come for me someday. My father didn’t say I’d get to rescue a dragon.”“Did your father say why he stole the Dragonstone and hid you away for twenty years?” Mia flinched. Defending her father’s decision might prove difficult to Kort Elias, Prince of Chalvaren and next in line to the throne. It was his family that had been deprived of the artifact.“He did it to prevent a war. A holy war, I think…” Mia glanced down at the sleeping dragonlet and tried to remember all the details. “He said there was a struggle between heaven and hell, like the humans believe…or good versus evil, if you want to think of it that way. A wizard who practiced black magic was killed for tapping unsanctioned power, and his wife went crazy. Her actions threatened to tear the seven kingdoms of Chalvaren apart. My father took the Dragonstone so she couldn’t use it.”Kort nodded then sighed. “He did the right thing, I think. Magic should be used to sustain life, not take it—and she would have gotten hold of the stone. Our allied kingdoms are at peace now…for the most part.”Mia lifted her brows. “Go on.”Kort pointed to Magnus. “That dragonlet fits into the prophecy your father made before he vanished. Magnus is an Aurora-class dragon, tied to the element of Spirit.”“Ah, yes. The elements tie all of us together…,” Mia said dutifully, smiling. “Fire. Air. Water. Earth. And Spirit unites them all. That’s the basis of all things, the way our universe is made up. My father told me he bred a Spirit Dragon once. Of course, he was always telling tales.” She looked back at the dragon and swallowed hard. If Magnus was real, as real as Kort Elias, then the concept that all her father’s tales of magic and adventure might be true as well flooded Mia’s mind with possibilities. “I never believed him. Not really. He had a penchant for dramatic flair.…”Kort gently cradled her face between his hands. He stared at her, and a thousand words seemed to pass through his blue eyes. Flutters of trepidation strummed her belly. “Mia. Listen to me. Magnus is the dragon your father created.”She shook her head. “Those were just stories.”Kort turned her to face the dragonlet. “He’s as real as you and me, Mia. Look. He’s the most magnificent dragon ever born to Chalvaren. One day he’ll reunite his brethren, dragons that want to protect Castle Elias, but who are reluctant, afraid and scattered because of the witch and her black magic. Magnus can bring them together again—if we see him safely home.”Mia recalled the part of the prophecy she’d been forced to memorize as a child. “‘Destined to wield the Dragonstone at maturity, a force of magic made real by the blessing of our chief deity, Varik.’” She hesitated and trembled before she went on, glancing into Kort’s eyes again. He finished speaking the legend along with her. “‘Destined to end a reign of darkness in all the allied lands of Chalvaren.’”The sudden connection she felt to Kort was too intense. Especially since her father had not been the only one to predict the future. Before she died, her mother Melia had told her things, too. “One day your One True Love will come for you, Mia, and you’ll be honor-bound to help in his quest. How will you know him? Only your True Love can help you reverse the spell your father put on the Dragonstone. But if the two of you fail in his quest, you will end forever alone.” Mia pulled away from Kort and turned to stomp off into her cottage. He pursued. “Wait!”She threw up a hand to stop him once they were inside. “You said the seven kingdoms are at peace.”“We are, but not everyone agreed with what your father did. Some are loyal to the witch. She uses black magic against us. Killing dragons. Sacrificing wizards. Gathering so much elemental power that even I don’t understand what is intended. We have to get Magnus back to Chalvaren. Now, Mia. He’s our only hope against h—”“He’s three days old! You must have this all wrong.” “He can’t stay on Earth, Mia, and neither can we.”She wheeled on him. “We? You keep saying we like I’m supposed to believe all this, Kort. That I’m supposed to believe you want me to accompany you back to my homeland…” And do what there after our arrival? Rear dragons to fight witches? She did not ask. This elf seemed in many ways a perfect match, her One True Love. But was that what he was proposing? She feared she was being naïve.She turned back and stared at the hearth in the central room of her cottage. Kort saw and guided her over to it. “Ah. The answer.”The keystone held  a fist-sized amethyst embedded in the rock. Kort twined their hands together and touched it, and the jewel lit up, glowing violet with their combined magic. Mia gasped. Kort chuckled. “We can do this together,” he said. “With the right kind of magic we can blend our auras and blast that artifact out of the stone then use it to open a portal back home. Yes, Mia, I want you to come with me, with us. You’re obviously fond of the dragonlet, and he’s displayed an affinity for you. He led me straight to you.”Should she do it? It wasn’t like she had much choice now. Once the humans in the nearby village realized Magnus had eaten their vicar as one of his first meals, the whole vicious lot of them would come after him with pitchforks and axes. She simply couldn’t stay here anymore…but did she want to go with Kort? “You said we could unite our auras and free the Dragonstone from my father’s protections…?”Kort’s smile broadened. “That amethyst is the largest chunk of dragon ore ever known to the elves of Chalvaren. The legend around it, if you go in for that sort of thing, is that dragons themselves tore it from the Drahkos Mountains.” It was luminescent, the most beautiful jewel Mia had ever seen. She blinked, her mother’s words pouring through her mind. Your One True Love… If she was willing to risk being forever alone.Kort whispered close in her ear, “It’s a conduit for energy of all kinds, Mia. Plus it has a special attunement to…” He eyed her meaningfully. “The physical.”She gulped. “So…? How, exactly…? I mean…” She searched Kort’s eyes and smoothed her other hand down the skirt of her purple dress to dry her palm. “What are you proposing we do to liberate the thing?” Kort pulled her into a kiss. Mia let him. Their magic auras mingled, and she nearly lost her breath. She trembled in his arms and arched her chest into his. Kort held her tight, his hands drifting down her back. She let the warmth of his body flush through her, and the spark of desire she’d felt earlier when they melded their auras to cast the spell over Magnus burst into full flame. His touch destroyed her with need, and she pressed closer, mindless, reveling in the first kiss she’d ever experienced.He plundered her mouth with his tongue, and Mia reveled in his mastery. When Kort broke away, she arched her neck so he could kiss her neck and he trailed hot moist kisses up to the crest of one pointed ear. “Let me love you, Mia. You don’t belong here. You belong with me. Let’s use the power of our auras at the height of ecstasy to release the Dragonstone and go home.”At the height of ecstasy? Was he saying they would make love?Whatever this magic was—whatever its intent and whatever its danger—Mia wanted more. All of this had been foretold by her parents. Magnus had led Kort to find her. She was ready to see where he led.

About the Author:
Paula Millhouse grew up in Savannah, Georgia where Spanish moss whispers tales in breezes from the Atlantic Ocean, and the Intracoastal Waterway. As a child, Paula soaked in the sunshine and heritage of cobblestones, pirate lore, and stories steeped in savory mysteries of the south.
Paula lives with her husband at the base of the Blue Ridge Mountains with their pack and pride of furry babies. In the southern tradition of storytellers, she loves sharing the lives of her characters with readers, and following her muse on the quest for happily-ever-afters in thrilling romantic fiction.
Find the Author on Social Media:
Amazon Author Page http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B006991RF8
Website https://www.paulamillhouse.com
Blog https://www.paulamillhouse.com
Twitter https://twitter.com/pmillhouse
Facebook Page https://www.facebook.com/paulamillhousefans
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/PaulaMillhouse.Author
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5398221.Paula_Millhouse
GooglePlus https://plus.google.com/+PaulaMillhouse/posts
Pinterest http://www.pinterest.com/pmillhouse/boards/
TSU http://www.tsu.co/pmillhouse
You Tube https://youtu.be/q2FCU-gJPog
Tumblr URL: paulamillhouse.tumblr.com



a Rafflecopter giveaway

Release Day Blitz The Good Girl’s Guide to Being a Demon by April Aasheim

Five Quirky Fun Facts about Author April Aasheim
I’ve always been unusual, or as I like to say, quirky. I could write a much longer list than this but I thought this would be a good start :-)

1.   I once lived in an abandoned miner’s shack in the town of Superior, Arizona. I lived there with my family for nearly 2 years. It was maybe 600 square feet with two small bedrooms, one tiny bathroom, and no air conditioning. It also wasn’t grounded so we got ‘shocked’ whenever we touched anything metal (like faucets). We moved there because my stepfather was certain he was going to get rich picking jojoba beans in the nearby Superstition Mountains. At first, his plan succeeded and he’d sell the beans for about $30 a pound. But after a while the market dried up, as did the beans, and we had to move away. Still, those days living on that shack, are among my most    memorable ever.
2.   My mother reads fortunes. Normally, she does this through the use of tarot cards. Occasionally, she can just use your hand. She’s always pretty accurate, especially when it comes to me, but that could be because I’m her daughter. When I was younger, I didn’t believe her, but after a few predictions came true, I stopped doubting. She is one of my main inspirations for writing in the paranormal.
3.   One of my more disgusting habits is eating cereal straight out of the box and then pouring milk into my mouth. I usually only do this way when I’m in a hurry. It horrifies my husband, but he still married me. By the way, Lucky Charms made this way are the best.
4.   I get most of my writing ideas either early in the morning, just as I’m waking up, or right before I go to sleep. This makes sleeping almost impossible for me, and I suffer from long bouts of insomnia. I admit that I self-medicate with caffeine during the day and sometimes Excedrin PM at night. It’s not healthy, and my doctor isn’t always happy with me.

5.   I used to have a dog that was half wolf. I went to the rescue society and fell in love with this gorgeous white husky ‘mix.’ They didn’t tell me that the mix part was Wolf until after I’d filled out the paperwork to take her home .She was only eight-months-old and I got her, and was nearly as tall as I was. What I learned is that Wolf-dogs are a lot of work! They are pack animals and I couldn’t leave her alone without her destroying the house, and so I had to get another dog. She was clever and agile too, and learned to stand on her back legs and open the door using only her paws. I returned her to the rescue society at least three times, missed her too much, and went back for her. Luckily, no one else adopted her in those short intervals.
She was with me until she died just a couple of years ago. I have to say I miss her.


The Good Girl’s Guide to Being a Demon Woodland Creek World April Aasheim
Genre: (sweet) Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Dark Root Press
Date of Publication: Nov 15, 2015ASIN: B016NZTP4C
Number of pages: 157Word Count: 42,000
Cover Artist: J.M Rising Horse Creations
Book Description:
Strange changes are happening to Cassie Walker. She’s losing track of time, seeing shadows, and developing…horns?
Fearful, she returns to her childhood home to solve the mystery of what she’s becoming. There, she meets up with childhood friend, Josh Tucker, who convinces her to enter the annual Demon Run in Woodland Creek.
But things aren’t always what they seem in Woodland Creek, and people aren’t who they appear to be.
Soon, Cassie finds not only herself in danger, but Josh as well.
Can she save them both? Or has her lineage tainted her forever?
Woodland Creek Series 30 Authors 30 Shifter Stories

Available at Amazon
Excerpt:  Prologue
The creek churned, black and thick as tar under the cloak of night.Cassie Martin stumbled along the raging waterway as she searched for the North Star, Polaris––the star that would guide her home.It was in the tail of one of the dipper constellations, she remembered, but which one? She tried to call it up as she ambled along, while her ears listened uneasily to noises created by the dark: howls and heavy footsteps, scurries and whisperings.To her right there was smoke accompanied by the crackling sound of a roaring campfire. She wanted to run to it––to tell whoever was tending the s’mores that she was lost and afraid and could they please escort her back to her cabin?But fear kept her out of the woods. She had read enough books to know the woods were full of bad things––bears and werewolves and things that wanted to eat you. So she followed the creek, for lack of other options.She shouldn’t have been so stupid, she scolded herself. She knew there was no such thing as a Snipe, but she went along anyway because her brother Kevin teased her about being afraid.“I am not,” she’d said, balling up her fists.“Then prove it,” Kevin returned. “Go into the woods and find a Snipe. If you do, I’ll never call you scared again.”Her best friend Jenn wrapped an arm around Cassie’s shoulders. “I’ll go with you, Cass. We’ll find that Snipe.”Only their friend Josh seemed worried, elbowing Kevin in the ribs. “They’re only nine, dude.”“So?” Eleven-year-old Kevin argued. “At nine we were sneaking beer out of dad’s cooler and watching late night HBO. These girls need to man up, Josh. We won’t be around to take care of them forever.”“We can take care of ourselves,” Cassie said, sticking out her tongue. “We’ll get that Snipe. Then you’ll admit that girls are better than boys.”“If you bring us a Snipe,” Kevin said, “I’ll admit anything you want.” He spit into his hand. Cassie spit on hers too. The siblings shook on it.The problem was that Jenn disappeared shortly after entering the woods with her. Now Cassie was alone and disoriented. “Jenn!” she called nervously, trying not to awaken the bad things lurking. She hated it in here alone. She felt watched, as if the trees had eyes.When she heard the sound of rushing water she remembered the creek ran behind her campsite.She would follow it back…She ran through the trees, half covering her eyes, and when she emerged in a narrow clearing she spotted her watery guide. The creek was swollen and bloated. It didn’t trickle. It gushed. In the dark it moved like a winding, creeping serpent on the hunt, ready to devour her. “Kevin!” she called out, cupping her mouth with her hands. “Jenn! Josh?” Her words were met with a low mournful wail, followed by an even more frightening silence.Her father once told her that if she got lost, she should find a spot and wait for someone to come. Spying a tree stump, she sat down. The summer moon was nearly full and several fireflies lent their talents to holding back the dark. It would have been beautiful, if she wasn’t so scared.“One Miss-issippi,” she counted, deliberately slowing the first syllable. “Two Miss-issippi…”Another wail echoed through the night, bouncing off tree limbs and ringing through boughs. It was quickly followed by another. Banshees? Ghosts? Wolves? Tree branches rustled as if spirits played an invisible game of tag.Dad will come, she told herself. He always came. He’d see she was missing and he’d find her––and Jenn as well.The sounds grew louder, like the moans of old ladies crying at a funeral. Cassie shivered, wrapping her arms around her chest to shield herself from whatever came. Several twigs snapped nearby, followed by the sound of small, scurrying feet. With building fear, she bolted from the stump and raced along the water’s edge, following as it churned towards its unseen destination.Soon the clearing ended and the woods began. She spun around, uncertain where to go. Back towards the moaning sounds or into the blackness of the trees?Her decision was made when she saw them.The Shadow People.An army of them, dropping from tree branches and skittering her way. Their sizes were varied but their faces were all the same, dark expressionless blobs with unblinking eyes.They were quiet as cats as they came for her, and more terrible than wild animals or werewolves or things that would eat you. The Shadow People didn’t eat you. They took you away.Cassie fled in the opposite direction, away from the forest, screaming as she went. Her voice joined in with the chorus of wails, until it all became the sound of the wind.Risking a glance back over her shoulder, her foot hit a sleek stone. She slipped and tumbled, falling into the cold raging water.“Help!” She called out just before she was pulled under.When she surfaced she caught hold of a branch extending out from the bank. She clung to it with both hands while her feet pulled her downstream. The creek gnawed at her, biting and ripping at her skin and clothes, chewing up one shoe and then the other. She couldn’t hold on for very long. At any moment she would be swept away.Above her, she spotted the North Star.“Mom,” she whispered, focusing her wish on the star as the water dragged at her and the Shadow People advanced. “If you can hear me, please send help.”A figure sprang from the woods. A boy, not much taller than herself.“Josh!” she called, kicking with her feet as water filled her lungs.“Cassie!” Josh grabbed her hand just as she lost her grip on the branch.He slowly pulled her from the river’s maw. She crawled onto the bank, coughing up water. He removed his flannel jacket and wrapped it around her shivering body. When she could stand again, she hugged him, nearly crying as she rubbed her nose into his chest.“I don’t think there’s such thing as Snipe,” she sputtered.He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “But you were brave to find out.”Her father, her friend, Jenn, and her brother, Kevin, all appeared, hollering and racing in their direction.“Thank God you’re alright!” Cassie’s father said, scooping her up in his arms. “You had me scared to death. You can’t go traipsing off by yourself like that, young lady! You’ve got to be more careful.” He lifted her chin firmly. “Promise me.”Behind him, Kevin’s eyes were imploring. If she told about the Snipe hunt, her brother would be in big trouble. And possibly Josh, as well.She nodded. “I’ll be careful from now on. I promise.”“Good.” Her dad carried her back to their rented cabin but her gaze remained affixed on Josh. He walked alongside them, his blue eyes shining like the moon.
About the Author:
April Aasheim is a full time writer with interests in the paranormal, the supernatural, and the metaphysical. Having ‘seen things’ at an early age, April has made it her life’s work to seek out the truth, and then to write about her findings in the guise of fiction.
She lives in Portland, Oregon with her family and is the author of the Amazon best-selling witchy series: The Daughters of Dark Root.
www.aprilaasheimwriter.com
@aprilaasheim
https://www.facebook.com/AprilAasheimWriter

Interview with Sarah Stafford Author of The Handmaiden of Death

Can you tell my readers a little bit about yourself and what inspired to write in this particular genre?
A:  My father’s job took us to Europe quite frequently, giving me the unique opportunity to explore old ruins, castles, and palaces – experiences that heavily influenced my early years. As a result, I became fascinated by the past and the indescribable sense of ‘otherness’ one experiences when visiting such places. My mother’s proclivity for old horror movies further added to my growing interest in all things dark and macabre – an obsession that remains with me to this day.
What is it about the paranormal, in particular vampires, that fascinates you so much?
A:  Vampires have always fascinated me because they represent the darkness lurking inside all of us while at the same time embodying the eternal struggle between life and death.
What inspired you to write this book?
A: My book was inspired by a story I wrote in high school about a teenage girl whose parents were murdered by drug dealers. Initially, the story began with Amber being rescued after her apartment is set on fire in an effort to cover up her family’s murder, but that scenario opened the door to too many legalistic and technical issues that I simply didn’t feel prepared to tackle at the time. I shelved the story for many years but couldn’t stop imagining how my characters might feel or react in particular situations. I finally revisited the story in my late twenties, jotting down notes and ideas, until five years ago – when I sat down at the keyboard and never looked back.
Please tell us about your latest release.
A: The last two installments of the Dark Angel Trilogy are scheduled for release in both e-book and paperback format in October, 2016.
Do you have a special formula for creating characters' names? Do you try to match a name with a certain meaning to attributes of the character or do you search for names popular in certain time periods or regions?
A: Yes, I use a combination of those techniques when thinking up character names. In the case of the main character, I wanted a contemporary girls’ name referencing eye color but all the options were simply too dated – i.e. Violet, Hazel, Beryl, etc. – so I finally decided on Amber. In the case of my protagonist, my choices were leaning toward very British, stoic-sounding names such as Edward, William, and Richard (I was writing in the pre-Twilight days) however, changes to his back story resulted in a name that represented his past as well as his defining characteristic: Fortis is Latin for ‘strong.’
Was one of your characters more challenging to write than another?
A: Absolutely! Fortis was by far the most difficult to write because I didn’t want him to come off as arrogant and snobbish. He needed to be the typical strong-and-silent-type, distant but not inaccessible, confident but not aloof, strong but gentle in a paternalistic sort of way.
Is there a character that you enjoyed writing more than any of the others?
A: I’d have to say that Amber’s four friends were by far the most enjoyable characters to write. They sprung to life from a combination of my own high school friends as well as current acquaintances.
Do you have a formula for developing characters? Like do you create a character sketch or list of attributes before you start writing or do you just let the character develop as you write?
A: Yes, I always create a profile for each character that I gradually ‘flesh out’ during the brainstorming process, including traits and defining characteristics, while allowing any subtle quirks and flaws to present themselves during the actual writing, itself.
What is your favorite scene from the book? Could you share a little bit of it, without spoilers of course?
A: My favorite scene takes place toward the end of the book and involves Amber sneaking off to meet Fortis in a very public place and the confrontation that ensues. It was arguably the most technically challenging to write in the sense that it needed to be quick, in-the-moment, and not bogged down by heavy description.
Did you find anything really interesting while researching this or another book?
A: I’m a history major who genuinely enjoys doing research. During the developmental stages of writing The Handmaiden of Death, I spent considerable time combing through online archives and dusty old libraries for accurate information on the legal issues pertaining to my story as well as my character’s back-story, discovering numerous interesting facts that I put to good use.
What is the most interesting thing you have physically done for book related research purposes?
A: I downloaded the entire manual of standardized procedures used by Children’s Protective Services agents in the state of Michigan.
Can you tell readers a little bit about the world building in the book/series? How does this world differ from our normal world?
A: Perhaps the only major difference was creating a microcosm of sorts around the main character and protagonist in which their version of reality was somewhat less gritty and raw than what most typical people experience on a daily basis.
With the book being part of a series, are there any character or story arcs, that readers jumping in somewhere other than the first book, need to be aware of? Can these books be read as stand alones?
A: Aside from the final book, each installment of the Dark Angel Trilogy can be read as an independent story.
Do any of your characters have similar characteristics of yourself in them and what are they?
A: Each character in the story embodies different aspects of myself to varying degrees, although I’d have to say Amber is closest to me personality-wise at that age.
Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? How do you deal with it?
A: I haven’t dealt with ‘writer’s block’ in the traditional sense because I’ve been more or less living inside my characters’ heads for quite some time. My closest equation to writer’s block would be occasionally having difficulty deciding where in the scene to begin/end or how to describe a setting while keeping my narrative concise and succinct. I handle situations like these by stepping away from the keyboard and taking a short break so I’m able to come back and approach the problem with a clear head.
Do you have any weird writing quirks or rituals?
A: I’m an extremely visual person, and because of this, I tend to work alone and in an area where I can minimize distractions as well as help get myself in the right mindset for writing whatever scene I’m working on that particular day. For example, I tend to write darker scenes at night and lighter, happier scenes during the day.
Do you write in different genres?
A: Yes, I’ve written some dark erotica short stories and horror that doesn’t involve supernatural beings.
Do you find it difficult to write in multiple genres?
A: I’m comfortable writing anything that leans toward the darker aspects of life, however, I can’t say I’d ever consider tackling a cozy mystery or a piece of commercial women’s fiction.
When did you consider yourself a writer?
A: There’s an ongoing argument in the writing community that only authors who’ve received large advances from major publishers can legitimately refer to themselves as ‘authors’ and ‘writers.’ I feel this is incredibly jaded and believe that anyone who feels truly passionate about sharing his/her story with the world is a writer – regardless of whether they’ve been tapped by one of the Big Five.
What are your guilty pleasures in life?
A: Starbucks, Halloween decorations, and things that sparkle.
Other than writing, what are some of your interests, hobbies or passions in life?
A: I’ve been an avid enthusiast of the Renaissance faire scene since I was a little girl. I taught myself how to sew after my father said, “If you want another costume, you’re going to have to make it yourself.” Since then, I’ve made numerous pieces of elaborate, historically-accurate garb which I enjoy wearing each summer at the local festival in Holly, Michigan.What was the last amazing book you read?
A: I’ve only now just gotten around to reading the entire Harry Potter series from start to finish and absolutely loved it.
I tend to refrain from reading current books while I am working on my own novels in order to avoid any hint of plagiarism or cross-inspiration. I’m planning on reading the Hunger Games series once I’ve finished my current writing projects.
Where is your favorite place to read? Do you have a cozy corner or special reading spot?
A: In a big, soft armchair with a cup of tea.
What can readers expect next from you?
A: Once I’ve released the final installment of the Dark Angel Trilogy,I’ve got plans for a non-supernatural YA horror novel also set in my home state of Michigan.
Where can readers find you on the web?
A: Readers can find me on all major media platforms: Facebook (/authorsarahstafford)Twitter (@DetroitGothic)Goodreads (Sarah Stafford)Tumblr (detroitshadowlands.tumblr.com)Pinterest (/sarahstafford13)Or, they can also visit my site at authorsarahstafford.com where they can find links to purchase by book(s) as well as read my blog.
Would you like to leave readers with a little teaser or excerpt from the book?
A: Excerpt (Chapter One)            Amber awakened with her breath frozen to the car window. The long, dark street was full of abandoned houses, their yards overgrown and strewn with garbage like so much discarded hope. “Mom, where are we?”            “Detroit.”            “Where’s Bryce?”            “None of your business,” Lynn replied. “You never did learn not to stick your nose where it don’t belong.”            The sixteen-year-old rolled her eyes and distracted herself by carving her name in the frost when a sharp, metallic sound pierced the silence. Bryce burst from a nearby house and raced toward them screaming for Lynn to start the car. Gunshots rang out in rapid succession.  Her mom scrambled into the driver’s seat.            “Get down!”            Amber threw herself on the floor.            Bullets shattered the windows, sending shards of glass raining down on her like hail. The gunfire ceased. Unfamiliar voices and footsteps echoed around her. She kept still and listened to the feverish rattling of her heartbeat. Then, the steps drew away and the voices faded. Doors slammed followed by the growl of a truck engine turning over. Gravel ricocheted off the sides of the car, tires squealed, and soon, the night was once again silent. She waited a few seconds before poking her head over the back seat.            Red taillights danced into the distance.            She drew a breath and hoisted herself off the floor. Frigid air gushed through the windows, stinging her eyes and nose. Something clung to her hands and whatever it was, it was hot, moist, and sticky.             “M-Mom . . . ?”            Her mother lay slumped over the steering wheel, her lifeless, glassy eyes reflecting the city lights. Amber jolted backward and grasped the handle. She rattled it, but it wouldn’t budge. She reeled back and landed a good, hard kick. The door flew open with a horrendous bang that reverberated up and down the long, empty street. She leapt out. Bryce’s body was sprawled across sidewalk. Blood seeped from a hole in his head and trickled to the ground where it formed a dark, steaming pool.            Somewhere off in the distance, a dog barked.            The sound startled her, reminding her just how alone and exposed she was standing there out in the open. Snowflakes danced through the air and landed on her face and clothes. She glanced from the stains on her hands, to the bullet-riddled car, to the bodies of the two people who’d been her only family.            “That could’ve been me,” she whispered.
***
Excerpt from THE HANDMAIDEN OF DEATH, Part I, Chapter One, reprinted by permission of Carpe Noctem Press, copyright © 2015 by Sarah Stafford. All rights reserved. No commercial reproduction allowed.


The Handmaiden of Death

ISBN-13: 978-0-692-55268-1

Publisher: Carpe Noctem Press

About the Book:

Sixteen-year-old Amber Marsden must fight for survival after a botched drug deal leaves her orphaned on the frozen streets of present day Detroit. Her hope for rescue fades until she mysteriously awakens in the opulent abode of prominent businessman Fortis Lombardi, who offers the wayward teen a place to stay and the chance for a new life. 

Over time, Amber discovers that her wealthy guardian has been harboring a dark secret that could change the course of her life, forever.... 

The Handmaiden of Death is a fast-paced, darkly spellbinding foray into the human psyche that will captivate fans of the vampire genre seeking a story with a lot less sparkle and a lot more bite. 


Available at Amazon


About the Author:

Sarah Stafford is a Michigan native with lifelong ties to the Detroit area. Sarah credits her abiding interest in the macabre from spending her childhood summers exploring castles and delving into the works of authors such as Anne Rice, Stephen King, and Bram Stoker. She earned her BA in History from Oakland University in Rochester Hills, Michigan, has lived abroad and traveled across much of the US, Europe, and Asia.

Visit her official website at www.authorsarahstafford.com