Roxanne Rhoads's Blog, page 370

Spotlight on Forsaken by S.J. Harper

ForsakenFallen SirenBook 2.5S.J. Harper
Genre: Paranormal romance
Publisher: All Romance eBooksDate of Publication: July 1, 2015
ISBN: 9781936387960
Word Count: 35,000
Cover Artist: Erin Dameron Hill
Blurb/Book Description:
Join Agents Emma Monroe and Zack Armstrong.
She protected him. He loved her.
They can trust one another with their lives, but what about their hearts?
Special Agent Emma Monroe is a Fallen Siren seeking redemption. Thousands of years ago, she was banished from Mount Olympus by Zeus and cursed by Demeter for failing to prevent the kidnapping of Persephone by Hades. Now she’s working for the FBI, seeking salvation while searching for and finding the missing. Her partner, Zack Armstrong, is a werewolf with a grievance of his own.
The former Black Ops sniper who once carried out a string of questionable assignments is atoning for his past. Ironically, Zack’s just discovered an important piece of his past has been magically wiped from his memory—an affair with Emma. It doesn’t matter she used the spell to save his life, that’s something he’ll never know. With trust eroded and love overshadowed by betrayal the only thing holding them together is the job.
When the son of multi-billionaire Roger Maitlan is kidnapped and his babysitter murdered in cold blood, Emma and Zack travel to New York to work the case. They go undercover, infiltrating a playground of private dungeons where those who are rich and powerful can live out fantasies without consequence. What they find is a conspiracy born of a twisted mind and fueled by greed. The clock is ticking. Will Zack and Emma be able to find the missing boy and their way back to one another?

Available at ARe

Excerpt:
I’ve learned that it can take a lifetime to mend a broken heart. Right here, right now, I’m ready to stop suffering this one. To stop suffering altogether. I glance over at Zack who is sound asleep. He didn’t get any rest Friday night, thanks to Demeter. He was too preoccupied with feeling betrayed, manipulated, played the fool. Just as Demeter intended. Fuck Demeter. Fuck the world. I’m not giving up. I’m not giving in. I have a role to play, a duty to perform, a failure to make up for. It’s what I do, who I am.
A Siren is a Siren. A sexual creature, born of Gaia. I’m one of three, cursed by Demeter thousands of years ago for failing to protect Persephone. It’s for this I atone, for this I pay. It’s the reason I work for the FBI and search for the missing. It’s the reason I avoid love at all costs. Finding the missing brings me closer to redemption.
Finding love? I swallow hard. That always ends in ruin and death. Once again, my gaze drifts to my partner, Zack, a dark, rugged werewolf who was formerly, and quite secretly, a badass black ops assassin. Also, formerly, my lover. We met during a case in Charleston about a year and a half ago. The attraction was instant, giving into it seemingly safe. The assignment was to be temporary after all. He was to go his way. I was to go mine. There was to be no contact between us. And there wasn’t until he transferred to San Diego, to my unit. Until he became my partner both in and out of bed. Until we fell in love and I made the only choice I could. I took his memories to save his life.
“Can I get you anything else?” the flight attendant asks quietly.
I hand her my empty cup and shake my head.
She moves on down the aisle.
I transfer the case file I’ve been perusing onto the seat between Zack and me along with my laptop and cell phone. I’ve read the dossier on real estate mogul and philanthropist Roger Maitlan a half-dozen times along with what little is known about the kidnapping of his seven-year-old son, Robby. Maitlan’s missing child is the reason we’re on our way to the Big Apple. The reason our boss, Jimmy Johnson, denied the request Zack made for transfer just yesterday morning.
I notice the light above the forward lavatory has turned from red to green. I consider waking Zack for a fraction of a second before deciding against. I’m agile, limber, and frankly not looking forward to once again facing his ire. I quietly unbuckle, lift up the arm separating the window and middle seats, then slide over. I stand in so much as I can, considering the outcropping of overhead bins, and turn to face him. Left hand on the middle seat, I lift my right leg up and over his. He doesn’t flinch. There’s no alteration in his breathing. My toe touches the ground, and I begin to shift my weight to the foot that’s now firmly planted in the aisle. His hand brushes my thigh, his eyes open.
He sits up straighter in his chair. “You could have woken me and asked me to move.” His tone is irritable, bordering on accusing.
I avoid eye contact, avoid his touch. “Let’s pretend I did,” I say before slipping out of the row and making my way toward the front of the plane. I feel his eyes on me. Never did I imagine viewing an airplane lavatory as a refuge. I take care of the most immediate needs first, then I wash my hands. When I reach for the paper towels, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I have to admit, I look a little worse for wear. Considering what I’ve been through in the past twenty-four hours, that shouldn’t come as a surprise.
This time yesterday Zack and I were staging the rescue of ten missing girls, all young, blonde virgins—pawns in a power play between two ruling vampire factions. The losing side led by the now dead Southern vampire King, Philippe Lamont. The winner? Kallistos Kouros. My betrayer, my savior, and now the Sovereign of both the West and the South. Kallistos and I had been sharing a bed for the better part of six months. The no-strings-attached relationship worked for us both—the vampire who made no demands, except for the most exquisite sexual ones, and the Siren who could fulfill those demands without sacrificing her heart. Only in the end my heart did suffer as I watched him take the lives of humans to ensure his position, grow his kingdom, and increase his power. I’d like to condemn him, but I can’t. Kallistos told me what to expect of him more times than I could count. And I have to admit he’s delivered supremely on both his promise to be there when needed and to disappoint. If he hadn’t healed me two nights ago, I’d be gone. Not dead, Demeter would never have allowed that, forced to move on to another life. Problem is, I’m not done with this one.
I lean closer to the mirror and study my appearance, seeking assurance that the two spells I pay my best friend Liz for are still firmly in place. The first, a reverse glamour that hides my true appearance and furnishes me with the wholesome, plain-Jane facade I’ve become so accustomed to seeing. The second, a dampening spell that diminishes both my innate powers of seduction and the nifty little side effect that makes me the most reliable lie detector ever. I realize that Liz, who is not only the baddest witch this side of the Mississippi, but my touchstone when it comes to matters of the heart, doesn’t know what happened in the last couple days between Kallistos and me, between Zack and me, between Demeter and me—that I’m on my way to New York, that everything is different, my life changed.
I make a half-hearted effort to smooth down my hair, which is long, dark, and pulled back into a simple ponytail. I can’t help noticing that my skin, normally fair and unblemished, is paler than usual. Not because of a lack of makeup. I never wear makeup. No mascara. No lip-gloss. Nothing. I reach up and pinch my cheeks. It doesn’t help. The inside of my lower eyelid contains only the barest hint of pink. I’m anemic. I’ve lost too much blood. Not during the mission. Though there was plenty of blood shed last night, none of it was mine. My near death experience came this morning at the hand of my favorite vindictive goddess, Demeter. After she betrayed me. After Zack discovered my betrayal of him.
Zack.


About the Author:
S.J. Harper is the pen name for the writing team of Samantha Sommersby and Jeanne C. Stein, two friends who met at Comic-Con in San Diego and quickly bonded over a mutual love of good wine, edgy urban fantasy, and everything Joss Whedon.
http://sjharper.me/
https://www.facebook.com/samanthasommersby
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000177556968
http://twitter.com/samsommersby
https://twitter.com/JeanneCStein

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July 28 Spotlight and reviewBooks, Booze, and BDSMhttp://booksboozeandbdsm.com/
July 28 SpotlightShare My Destinyhttp://sharemydestiny.blogspot.com
July 29 ReviewParanormal Romance and Authors That Rockwww.pratr.wordpress.com
July 30 ReviewBetween Dreams and Reality www.betweendandr.com
July 31 Spotlight and reviewInner Goddess     http://www.innergoddessforum.com
August 3 ReviewI Smell Sheep http://www.ismellsheep.com/
August 4 SpotlightLiterary Musingswww.literarymusing.weebly.com
August 5 SpotlightJody's Book Reviewshttp://www.jodysbookreview.com
August 5 SpotlightBooks That Hookhttp://booksthathook.com/
August 6 SpotlightMythical Bookshttp://www.mythicalbooks.blogspot.ro/
August 7 SpotlightDiane’s Book Blog http://dianes-book.blogspot.com
August 10 SpotlightZenny's Awesome Book Reviewshttps://zennysawesomebookreviews.wordpress.com/
August 10 SpotlightFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com 

The Wraith of Carter’s Mill : The Curse of the Carter Women by C. Evenfall

The Wraith of Carter’s Mill  The Curse of the Carter WomenC. Evenfall
Genre: Paranormal Suspense
Publisher: Books, Authors and Artists
Date of Publication: March 31, 2015
ISBN: 1503205096ASIN: B00VIU9YKS
Number of pages: 436Word Count: 110,800
Cover Artist: Carolyn Holland
Book Description:
The Wraith of Carter’s Mill chronicles five generations of women from the turn of the century to present day. It depicts in startling detail the result of an old curse and the wraith that haunts the family. Sensitives, The Guardians and The Forgotten tell the tale while the fourth shocking segment, Carter’s Mill provides the back-story. It reveals the shameful truth behind a century of sorrow and the curse of revenge that plagues the Carter women.
Zeb, the Carter family patriarch, is a hard, callous man. He runs his thriving sawmill, farm and family with an iron fist. When he commits an incredible act of cruelty, he ignorantly brings a terrible curse down upon all his kin. Martha Thompsons’ prophecy proves true as the family falls into ruin, and the women pay the price.
Almost a century after Zeb’s death, a Carter daughter is born with notable yet uncanny gifts. It will be up to Shyanne to unearth a long buried family secret and set an old wrong back to rights. Will she find a way to lift the curse and banish the accursed wraith that haunts her? If she fails, she risks losing her own little girl to the dark entity forever.
A small North Carolina community, where everyone knows everyone sets the perfect stage for this suspenseful drama. Rich in history and southern culture, The Wraith of Carter’s Mill harkens back to a time when life was simpler, and superstition was part of everyday living.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/5sO-swDNQPY
Amazon Paperback    Amazon Kindle

About the Author:
C. Evenfall grew up on the Crystal Coast of North Carolina. In many ways, her community was isolated from the outside world, and time simply stood still. The old ways of “doing things” surrounded her, and she was both fascinated by the rich history and influenced by it.
As with any such place, the area was rich with ghost lore and old tales of “people done wrong.”
C. Evenfall, a child seen and not heard, hovered as close as she dared, listening to the old stories when the adults got together talking about old times. She also spent many nights with the sheet pulled over her head in childish fright.
A paranormal encounter when she was just six years old, experienced by two other people at the same time, convinced her that ghosts really did exist. C. Evenfall has been seeking answers ever since. Her fascination with the unexplainable, coupled with her love of history and southern culture and the role women play in both, have inspired her to write The Wraith of Carter’s Mill, a series of novellas. Each inspired by tales from her childhood and the family members who passed them down.
Life has taken her many places, but today, C. Evenfall resides with her husband in the same fishing village where she grew up. Together they enjoy hiking, camping, gardening and the outdoors in general. She forgives his skeptics’ dismissal of things that go bump in the night and loves him dearly in spite of it. They complement one another perfectly.
Author’s Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CEvenfall
Author’s Blog: http://cevenfall.wordpress.com/
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/C.-Evenfall/e/B00MSV6YT0
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8508982.C_Evenfall
BAA Author’s Page: http://booksauthorsandartists.com/authors/c-evenfall/
Twitter: CEvenfall2
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Cover Reveal The Svatura Series by Abigail Owen

The Svatura SeriesAbigail Owen
Genre: paranormal romance
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Cover Artist: Debbie Taylor
Series Description:
Meet the ladies of the Svatura series: Ellie, Selene, Lila, and Adelaide.
One will come out of hiding to protect others from the fate she suffered. One will lead her people after being released from a hellish nightmare. One will try to start a new life only to discover that her path lies where it always has. And one will experience a loss so terrible that only oblivion can stop the pain.
Individually they are strong. But together these sisters of the heart are a force before whom even their most powerful enemies will tremble. However, that may not be enough. Is the key to their salvation power…or love?





Book One Blue Violet:
When fairy tales turn into nightmares…
Ellie Aubrey has spent most of her unnaturally long life hiding her extraordinary abilities from the world. On the run from the shapeshifting wolves who murdered her family, she risks discovery in order to secretly watch over another group of similarly gifted people, determined they won’t suffer the same fate.
Alex Jenner has come home to protect his family from an unknown danger lurking in the woods. Suspicious of the new girl in town, he challenges Ellie in ways that will spark one of two possible outcomes: they’ll spontaneously combust, or she’ll lose control of the one power she’s fought so hard to contain.
In this fairy tale, the dragon the prince must slay is also the princess who holds his heart.
Book Two Hyacinth
Selene sacrificed everything when she took her brother’s place as ruler of the Vyusher—including her secret love for one-time adversary Griffin Aubrey. When nightmares that are just a little too real start, Selene fears she’s turned into a cold-blooded killer…the monster Griffin thinks she is.
Griffin and Ellie Aubrey are finally safe for the first time in over a hundred years, and Griffin doesn’t want to easily forgive the woman he blames for killing his family. But when an unknown menace drives Selene to leave her people and seek their help, Griffin must decide.
Can he move past his hatred of everything she is? Or will the bond that could bring them both the greatest joy now be the source of their deepest despair?



Book Three Crimson Dahlia
Lila Jenner left her family to start a new life away from Ramsey Pierce. After decades of rejection, she needs the chance to discover who she is without him. Helping to rebuild relationships between tribes of Svatura is just the opportunity she needs.
Determined that the fire raging inside him will never harm Lila, Ramsey denies the magical bond that could be theirs alone. But when an old enemy resurfaces and Lila disappears, he realizes he’ll do anything to win her back and make her his.
However, Maddox, driven by a centuries-old quest for revenge, is stronger than any of them ever imagined. Friends and enemies must band together against this shared threat. Even then, they may discover too late that one dragon is not always enough…
Book Four Black Orchid
Only oblivion can stop her pain.
Adelaide Jenner feels nothing… she is completely numb inside. Her fated love abandoned her and joined their enemy. On that day her sister turned off all Adelaide’s emotions in order to save her from a heartbreak that could push her over the edge of sanity. But the great power she claims, wielded without compassion or love, can only lead to pain.
Nate Pierce believes Adelaide used her extraordinary powers to deceive him all these years. So he destroyed a relationship he thought to be false and hungers for revenge. Now, Nate serves Maddox, unaware that his new leader is using him as a pawn in a bid to enslave or kill all Svatura.
The only hope of finally defeating Maddox is for Adelaide and her sisters to combine their growing powers against him. But the key to a Svatura’s power is the heart, and Adelaide is still missing hers.





About the Author:
Award-winning paranormal and contemporary romance author, Abigail Owen was born in Greeley, Colorado, and raised in Austin, Texas. She now resides in Northern California with her husband and two adorable children who are the center of her universe.
Abigail grew up consuming books and exploring the world through her writing. A fourth generation graduate of Texas A&M University, she attempted to find a practical career related to her favorite pastime by earning a degree in English Rhetoric (Technical Writing). However, she swiftly discovered that writing without imagination is not nearly as fun as writing with it.
Website/Blog: http://abigailowen.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Abigail.Owen.Books
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AOwenBooks
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/abbyowen/

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CRIMSON SHADOW: NOIR by Nathan Squiers

NEW RELEASE

Synopsis: Xander Stryker wants to die. Ever since witnessing his mother's murder at the hands of his abusive stepfather when he was a boy, he has spent every day trying to reach that goal. But every night he's denied the death he craves. As his eighteenth birthday approaches, a chance for change is offered when his life is plunged into a supernatural world of vampires and other creatures of darkness. Caught in the depths of this new reality, mysteries of his vampiric lineage begin to unravel and he's offered the ultimate choice: Continue on with his wretched human life or begin a new one as the vampire prodigy he was always meant to be. Unfortunately, the supernatural world can be just as unforgiving and brutal as any other and Xander's choice is met with disastrous consequences. Now, with little support and even less hope, the chaos of his new world collides with his torturous past and threatens to crush him once and for all.

Author Bio: Nathan Squiers (“The Literary Dark Emperor” and the author formally known as “Prince”) is a resident of Upstate New York. Living with his loving fiancé/fellow author, Megan J. Parker, and two incredibly demanding and out-of-control demon-cats, Nathan lives day-by-day on a steady diet of potentially lethal doses of caffeine and (of course) bacon. When not immersed in his writing, he often escapes reality through movie marathons, comics & anime, and gnarly tunes. While out-and-about, The Literary Dark Emperor can be found in the chair of a piercing studio/tattoo parlor, at the movies, or simply loving life with friends & loved ones.

Connect with Nathan:
Website: http://www.nathansquiersauthor.com/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Nathan.Squiers Twitter: https://twitter.com/LitDark_Emperor



WATCH THE BOOK TRAILERhttps://youtu.be/ivog2yAaFmM




BUY LINKS: Amazon US: http://amzn.com/B013FA6AJ6Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B013FA6AJ6 B&N: http://tinyurl.com/osq2k9k

Interview and Giveaway: The Reaper’s Daughter by KM Randall

Can you tell readers a little bit about yourself and what inspired to write in this particular genre?
While I love multiple genres, I flew through books that were fantasy- or paranormal-based as a kid and into my adult years. I love magic and the mystic, and it’s where my creative brain goes when stories come to life in my mind.
Is there a character that you enjoyed writing more than any of the others?
I definitely loved writing Shelby, Blake’s best friend. She’s full of pizazz and snark, so she was a fun character to create.
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?
I’m more of a let them come alive as I write. The writing process is very organic for me, so my characters tell me who they are as we go along the adventure.
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?
I would say you’ll want to read the second after reading this one to continue on with the story. It doesn’t come completely full-circle in the first and is more like a To Be Continued.
Do any of your characters have similar characteristics of yourself in them and what are they?
Like Shelby, I was fascinated by the occult as a teenager and young college-something.
When did you consider yourself a writer?
I’ve considered myself a writer for as long as I can remember. I used to sit in my basement on our now-archaic computer when I was six and write stories and books of poems.
What are your guilty pleasures in life?
I get really excited about Disney original movies and TV shows. I just enjoy them, what can I say!
What was the last amazing book you read?
The Third Power, the third book in Kelly Hess’s BlackMyst trilogy. It’s really fantastic middle-grade fantasy. Awesome, perfect ending.
What can readers expect next from you?

Shattered World, the second book in the Dreamer Saga trilogy. Then after that it will be Song of the Scythe, the second book in The Reaper’s Daughter series.
The Reaper’s DaughterThe Reaper’s Daughter SeriesBook OneKM Randall
Genre:  Paranormal/Dark Fantasy
Publisher:  BooktropeDate of Publication:  5/9/15
ISBN: 978-1-62015-841-8ASIN: B00X90741G
Number of pages: 244
Cover Artist: Shari Ryan
Book Description:
I've always felt like an average girl ... except for my strange relationship with death. You could say I like to court it. Whether I'm soaring through the air as a flyer for Specter University's cheer squad, or speeding down the steepest mountain with only grace and balance keeping me from an icy end, I've always needed to feel a rush. But now Death is courting me―in more ways than one. First, there's Rishi, a rogue death deity who has a penchant for annoying me nearly to my grave and whose intense gaze has the power to see right through me. Then there's Hades, who I'd rather had stayed just a myth. Now that he knows I exist, he's not going to leave me alone until I meet the same end as my mother.
Oh yeah, did I forget to mention her? I spent my whole life thinking she had died when I was a baby, but now I've found out she's much more than dead. Fifty years ago, Hades banished my mother from the underworld and took away her ability to cross over souls―souls that have wandered lost through the world ever since. Now she wants me to clean up the mess.
You may have heard of her before...
They call her the Grim Reaper.
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/SATOtS9Ehuk

Amazon     BN

Excerpt:
Present 
THE ROLLING GREEN of her eyes was dimming fast, losing color and life to the quick click of time that beat out her days and nights, a perpetual circle that was now fading to a close. Light brown hair that had been recently styled into looping curls was limp against the black pillowcase―a metaphor for her wilted spirit, I mused, thinking offhandedly how proud my English professor would be at my thoughtful use of language.  I sighed. I didn’t want to be here. When her eyes met mine, I knew she saw me for who I really was—what I really was. She reached out an eager hand to take mine. I didn’t want anything to do with it. But it wasn’t because her fingers were slick with blood, deep crimson dripping down her arm and fingernails from where she’d so precisely placed a razor blade to her vein and dug deep, thinking she’d be free of her pain. It was because her face reflected back to me all the times I’d felt I’d been given a shitty deal. Current situation: case in point. “Hi,” she whispered, her once pink lips fading with every pump of her life, which was idly dripping away from her to the plush white carpet below. I could smell the newness of it, the fresh aroma of a recently laid floor. That’s going to be a bitch to get clean. I looked around her bedroom, at the dance trophies and pictures of smiling friends, and wondered why.  Why me? “Blake …” Hearing my mother's warning tone, I looked over at her where she stood in the shadows, overseeing my tutelage.  “Why can’t we just call an ambulance? It’s not too late. They could save her,” I whispered fiercely, staring at the girl’s hand stretched out to me as if I were her savior and not her end. “We should save—” “It’s not for us to decide, you know that. We are only here to bring souls over, not save their mortal lives. Take her, she wants to go.” “And will she still feel the same when she’s looking down at her body?” I asked, not even bothering to check my mother’s expression when she didn’t answer. Suicide wasn’t a peaceful death. It was pain―that much I knew. I choked back the tears that wanted to rise in my eyes for this girl, for me … I turned to her once more and leaned down, brushing a strand of her hair from her graying face. “What’s your name?” Barely blinking, her pale eyes darted to me. “Carly,” she said, choking around her words. “Just hold my hand and I’ll help you cross,” I said softly, forcing myself to meet her gaze so that someone would witness her ending as they had her beginning.  She smiled slowly, and I saw that in life she had been pretty. When she’d believed. When she’d had hope.  “The light?” Her eyes widened, glittering green for a brief moment in their otherwise colorless depths at the prospect of going somewhere beautiful after this life had been so cold. I nodded, although I didn’t really know where she would go. I was only in training, but I hoped it was someplace good, where her tormented soul could rest. She had small, feminine hands, I thought, as she laced her slippery fingers around my longer warm ones. She didn’t last long, her pulse giving one last flutter before sputtering out.  The room was suffused with the silence left behind in the absence of such a simple thing. The thundering lack of a person’s heartbeat had never seemed quite so loud. As life departed Carly’s mortal coil, her soul lifted from the body, but unlike some souls I’d seen that were light and buoyant, at peace with the next step in their existence, hers was outlined in darkness, and it rippled, suspended in space like a special effect in a bad horror film. Her gaze turned from her body to me, sorrow coming to settle on the slope of her bowed shoulders and in the recesses of her eyes. Regret was a fickle creature. It always came too late.

About the Author :
As a girl, K.M. always wished she’d suddenly come into magical powers or cross over into a Faerie circle. Although that has yet to happen, she instead lives vicariously through the characters she creates writing fantasy and paranormal.
When K.M. is not busy writing her next novel, she serves as a freelance editor and writer. She has a master’s degree in journalism from Syracuse University and a bachelor’s degree in English-Lit from Nazareth College of Rochester. K.M. lives in Upstate New York’s Finger Lakes region with her husband, her extremely energetic little boy, and their crazy goldendoodle Luna (short for Lunatic)
Learn more at http://www.kmrandallauthor.com/
@KM_Randall
https://www.facebook.com/authorKMRandall
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8125589.K_M_Randall

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Guest Blog and Giveaway Willing Servants by Eric Turowski

Horror vs Terror
Some things are too frightening to write about. I think I came close to crossing the line with Willing Servants. I don’t recommend it to the faint of heart. But there are subjects, while not exactly taboo, that I don’t go near.

As far as Willing Servants goes, part of the inspiration stems from Stephen King’s criticism of William Peter Blatty’s The Exorcist, i.e., that it was unfair to visit terrible horrors on an innocent child. Of course, we can all take that critique with a grain of salt, as some years following, Big Steve wrote It. (You haven’t read It? or The Exorcist? Why are you reading this?) Be that as it may, I opted to visit such terrible horrors on adults. Despite the hoard of YA fiction that puts innocent children in harm’s way, I steer away from it.

Why?

It all comes down to the difference between horror and terror. 

My take on the difference goes something like this: I once wrote a story, I can’t remember if it ever got published, about a woman and her baby fleeing an abusive relationship only to run afoul of an evil revenant cop. Said cop wants to drink her soul, and especially the baby’s soul, or drag them to hell--it’s been awhile, I can’t remember. There are layers upon layers here, how cops seem attracted to the guilty, how poorly a stressed out driver might perform, and that sort of Twilight Zone-esque “you seem to be on the right track-- however...”

Okay, that’s a horror story. It’s full of creeping dread and monsters and good v. evil and whatever. 

What if the cop wasn’t an undead thing, though? What if it was just a really evil cop? We would throw out the soul-drinking stuff and instead focus on rape or murder or torture or all three. None of us would sleep the better for thinking that predator cops might be prowling the back roads pulling over defenseless women for nefarious purposes.

Is that scarier than the revenant cop?

You bet it is. In fact, the idea is terrifying. Thus the difference, at least in my mind. between horror and terror. The former is an entertaining chill, the latter more like a surprise slap upside the head. 

So I don’t write terror stories, even though my stygian imagination can go there. Probably a good litmus test for writers is simply: would I want to read it?

Currently, I am living in terror. There is nothing entertaining about it. Hopefully in the (very, very near, please God) future, aspects of my current situation will arise in my work. Not my exact story, for as frightened as I am right now, the tale would be fairly boring reading to anyone on the outside.

Therein lies another determiner. A horror story is never pedestrian. While we’ve all heard the phrase “the banality of evil,” who wants to read something banal? A predatory cop, while terrifying, is also kind of depressing. Rape and murder are pedestrian in the same way, in that “it’s just the way of the world” way that makes us cringe and probably sigh and feel helpless.

In the end, horror is about hope. You can hope to defeat monsters, you can hope to overcome evil, and even if you don’t get a happy ending, you get an ending. There is joy in the concept that good can banish evil. There is no joy in simply being afraid.



Willing Servants  Eric Turowski
Genre: Horror
Publisher: Booktrope Forsaken Imprint
Date of Publication: July 14,2015
ISBN: 978-1-5137-0081-6
Number of pages: 290Word Count: 93,908
Cover Artist:  Gonet Designs
Book Description:
March, 2000
Mara Singleton, ghost hunter, went pro when California real estate laws demanded that agents must disclose when a house is haunted. When the Halloways turn to her to examine the paranormal goings on in their home, Mara agrees—as a favor to old friends.
Everett, Mara’s father, has always had a talent for speaking with the dead. He reluctantly aids law enforcement when ten-year-old girls are targeted for kidnapping and murder—as a favor to an old friend.
Lieutenant Sam Bradford made his career on killing a serial rapist-murderer, the Predator Priest. Recent reports indicate a suspect with a similar MO stalking the city, and Bradford seeks help, both from a higher authority—and from an old friend.
Father Bill Tarter, Monsignor Francis Capelli and Reverend Holly Owen have experience exorcising personal, intelligent evil. Yet none have them have ever faced anything like this—the Ancient Enemy of all humanity.
Call it Satan, call it Legion, call it the devil—how can they stop a rampaging evil ravenous for bodies, for blood, for meat, for life, for souls? How can they recognize an eternal foe that clothes itself in the visages of Willing Servants?
Excerpt:
Prologue: November 1991
SERGEANT BRADFORD LOOKED OUT over the devastation from the safety of his patrol car, the radio squawking at a barely audible volume. Below, blackened remains of neighborhood upon neighborhood stretched off to meet the setting sun. When the last of the contractors′ trucks swept headlights across the empty road and disappeared over the hill, he got out and walked down a steep driveway to nowhere. This point, the farthest south and east of the firestorm damage, looked like a pointing finger from above, as if the fire sought out this one site, so far from the rest of the burn, with intelligent purpose.He remembered the row of cottages that lined the street before the fire, split-levels on the odd side of the street, single-stories on the even. In a neighborhood most Oakland residents knew nothing about, gardens blossomed and tall trees grew; structures and paint appeared well maintained, save for one property.In his mind, he could still see the house at the end of the driveway, behind a screen of dead branches from trees planted so close to the structure that the foundation reared up. Windows either stared with flat darkness or hid behind gray plywood patches. While around the rest of the neighborhood stood cords of fresh, white lumber, this patch of ground remained black and burned, so far untouched by reconstruction.Bradford continued down the driveway and around to the concrete slab, a former porch. Where the front door once stood now lay a steep drop to the crawl space under missing hardwood floors. The sergeant stopped here, not wanting to sift through the charred remains.″I just wanted to make sure you burned,″ he said aloud.His eyes couldn′t help but trace a trail he himself had followed nearly ten years before, the length of time this house had been abandoned. Through the front door, his foot exactly parallel with the lock, charging headlong into a living room filled with antique furniture and hundreds of knick-knacks and pounds of fragile bric-a-brac. Screams and growls had come from the other end of the house. Bradford had run though the kitchen to a hallway, finding three doors. Two stood open, and his eyes had darted to them and away as quickly. Bradford was almost certain he’d shouted, ″Police!″ as he broke down the bedroom door, gun drawn. His lips formed the word silently as he stood amid the wreckage. He mused that those two impacts—his foot against the front door and his shoulder against the one in the bedroom—set him on a dual path from that moment on. On one hand, it led to a promotion from traffic patrol to the Violent Crimes Unit, and he believed subsequently to his current rank of sergeant, on the fast track to command, as his lieutenant put it. On the other hand, it led to his divorce and his inability to sleep at night.Philosophy aside, he couldn′t shake the goose flesh that crawled up his arms beneath his warm Tuffy jacket or stop fondling the 9mm holstered on his hip. Even though the nightmare house remained only a bombed-out hole in a fire-blackened neighborhood, his memory rebuilt the place more solidly than any contractor ever would.His feet had slipped when he smashed the bedroom door half off its hinges. Slipped in blood that soaked nearly the entire off-white wall-to-wall carpet, that painted the walls in arcing spatters, dotting the ceiling and overhead light in bright red.All of it had come to him in the quick beam of his flashlight, held away from his body to make him less of a target for gunfire. On the bed, the beam had caught two eyes, reflecting the bright light like an animal′s. He was crouched on the bed on all fours, black shirt, white collar, stripped from the waist down. The man, too, had been dripping blood, chalk white flesh peeking through in streaks on his face, his legs. The shirt had shined with fresh liquid, the collar pinkish with it. When the man saw Bradford, he’d snarled, showing teeth stained almost black, ragged bits of flesh hanging from the gaps. Bradford had aimed his gun, a .38 special in those days, at the dark mass of the bloody man′s body.″Freeze!″ With his finger slightly squeezing the trigger, Bradford had edged closer. ″Get on the floor!″At the same moment, he saw the woman.She’d lain on the bed beneath the crouching animal-man, white hair matted with dark crimson and brown, eyes staring at nothing. Red had smeared her mouth and cheeks like ghastly clown makeup. Frail and naked, her age must have been somewhere around eighty. The old woman had bounced and flailed on the bed with stiff, creaking movements.Because the animal was still fucking her dead body.And worst of all, he’d recognized a series of torn, glistening marks running up and down the victim′s corpse, though his mind desperately wanted not to acknowledge the fact. But he couldn′t have denied his senses, even in the wan light of his flash. Bite marks, human bite marks torn into the skin, some surrounded by drying brown stains—pre-mortem, the coroner would say. The man had savagely ripped the woman apart with his teeth, eating her flesh before she died, and while she died, and after…Bradford′s teeth had clenched involuntarily.His gun had fired.The man had jerked back from his victim in a spray of blood—his or hers, Bradford couldn′t tell—and fell half off the bed. Growling and snarling, the murderer had tried to rise on palsied limbs. More blood added to the gruesome slaughterhouse, and more again as Bradford walked forward, still shooting. In flashbulb moments from the blasting revolver, the officer had seen the downward-pointing pentagrams scrawled on the walls, satanic, fresh.Four, five shots had entered the predator, making his body jerk, his naked legs spasm, his red-stained erection fall.″This is Officer Bradford. I need back-up at 9092 Greene Street,″ he’d said into the mic on his shoulder—rote, routine, training.Six, the last one in his head right between the reflecting beast-eyes, and the cop had seen that the eyes were white-blue, darkly ringed, wolf′s eyes.No breathing.No twitching.Bradford had inhaled, cordite, blood, shit, viscera burning his nostrils, then exhaled hard. Dumping his shells, he’d reloaded—rote, routine, training—and gone to the victim. Just a quick look had shown her to be eviscerated from her sparse gray pubic hair to the visible bone between wrinkled breasts. He’d moved out of the room, searching the rest of the house, talking in his radio; he needed backup, detectives, an ambulance; he′d found the Predator Priest, code three, please, everyone.Leaving a trail of red footprints across hardwood floors and throw rugs, he’d checked closets, cupboards, any place large enough for a man to hide. Point of entry, he saw, was a jimmied back door leading onto a deck. He’d touched nothing, leaving only scarlet shoe marks that faded more with each step.As he’d examined the grooves on the back lock, a crowbar, he imagined, he froze as the growling and the screams came again from the bedroom. He’d ran back, slamming his hip against the corner of the stove, nearly falling. Sirens echoed in the distance, the sound of little solace compared to the predatory snarls coming from twenty feet away, the tearing scream of defiance or pain or both—neither sound very human.Again, with the flashlight held away from his body, Bradford had entered the bedroom, this time turning on the overhead. Shock flooded through him, sudden and cold, leaving him paralyzed in the doorway.Light, still smoky with gunpowder, had blazed clinically down in a solid beam. The body of the woman once again floundered on the mattress, dead arms flopping. The bony knees were raised, the feet off the bed. Her torso heaved back and forth on the scarlet- and sienna-drenched sheets. Howling, shrieking sounds had filled the room, echoing off the walls. On the floor, the half-naked man had lain dead. The din rose in volume as the dead woman′s corpse was flogged harder and harder. Sounds with no source.Bradford had pointed the gun at nothing, at the nothing that raped the lifeless body, at nothing, nothing, nothing there, though he could see indentations around her ankles where fingers seemed to grip, twin indentations on the mattress where knees must have been—must have been, but were not. Organs, purplish gray, green, sickly, creamy white, fell from the open cavity on the victim′s abdomen, spilling to both sides of her wracked, pale form.A dresser on the far wall began moving, bumping up and down on the floor. Pictures fell from the walls as one, smashing simultaneously on the soft carpet. Both bedroom windows exploded inward, showering the bedroom with shards of glass, shutters banging in a gust of unfelt wind. The bed itself lifted, pounding its legs on the floor but barely disturbing the victim and invisible predator.Reaching a crescendo of pounding, screeching, roaring cacophony, the fragile old woman′s body tore in half, head lolling to the left, gore-slick spinal column and ribs to the right, meat falling on all sides, with a tremendous rip louder than all the unnatural noise in the small chamber.Bradford fell on his ass, gun still aiming in mid air. At once, the room froze into quiet, normal stillness, save the quite pat of dripping.″Bradford!″Officer Bradford had twisted, gun raised, finger tight on the trigger. Someone knocked the weapon from his hand. It went off, a bullet puncturing the ceiling. Cops everywhere, uniforms, suits, the hall full of people and light, hands shaking him, someone vomiting behind him. Jump-suited EMTs had run forward in spite of the voices shouting for them to leave. Then, Bradford had gazed at the ceiling racing past him like a maze as they wheeled him out of the abattoir on a gurney.Standing on the concrete slab, Sergeant Bradford felt his heart race at the memory from ten years before. Unconsciously, he took his pulse. Those ten minutes of his life remained fully focused, fully intact, a burn scar on his mind; yet, the month after the incident was lost to him. He knew he was hospitalized for a time. Perhaps for the whole month, but he couldn′t be certain.Bradford′s refusal to talk about what happened after gunning down the priest ate away at him, awake or asleep. To this day, he never said a word about the invisible presence; to this day, it still festered inside him, waiting to be purged.At least the place, the house, the room, no longer existed, the firestorm pointing a blazing finger and erasing an entire neighborhood. Bradford last visited two years before almost to the day. He hoped that 7.1 on the Richter scale was enough to shake the place apart. But, the Loma Prieta earthquake, destroying half the Marina District over in San Francisco and collapsing the Cypress Structure on the west side of town, hadn′t touched the quiet neighborhood in the hills, though it stood less than a quarter mile from the Hayward Fault. Not one crack in the stucco walls, leaving Bradford to believe that an act of God was not enough to rid the city of the hellish place.Now, with the house razed, the real underlying problem surfaced again. Bradford′s promotion hinged on the fact that he′d solved the case of a serial rape-murderer, ending the matter without a trial—only a brief inquiry into his actions that, considering the violence and the apparent strength of the suspect, passed without a great deal of scrutiny by the IAB. But in the sergeant′s mind, the case remained open.He′d tracked the Predator Priest, as the papers called him, through several eye-witness accounts that the detective squad overlooked, mainly due to the proximity of St. Stan′s Cathedral to the scenes of the attacks, mostly on hunches, mostly on his own time. Father Mark Joaquin Bloch, actually defrocked for a decade, lived in his deceased mother′s house three blocks from the church. Through happenstance, Bradford learned the first murder occurred a week after Bloch′s mother′s death. And Mrs. Bloch′s resemblance to the other victims sparked a deeper suspicion than the mere hunches he followed.For all the good police work he put in, however, the end result still stood out as unsolved in his mind. What happened to the final victim, Lorraine Hartwell, white female, age seventy-eight, was not the work of what the FBI called a sexual sadist.But what had happened to her, Bradford couldn′t say. He wanted to know, with absolute certainty, that it wouldn′t happen to anyone else ever again.And yet another hunch, a persistent twitch in the back of his brain, told him otherwise. Pulling a pack of cigarettes from his coat, he remembered the fatal words of his doctor two weeks before. He hesitated, staring at the butt of a filter, then put them away, feeling he needed to hang around a while longer.

  ″Applying the strict rule of caveat emptor to a contract involving a house possessed by poltergeists conjures up visions of a psychic or medium routinely accompanying the structural engineers and Terminix man on an inspection of every home subject to a contract of sale. Whether the source of the spectral apparitions seen by defendant seller are parapsychic or psychogenic, having reported their presence in both a national publication and the local press, defendant is estopped to deny their existence, and, as a matter of law, the house is haunted.″—Ruling from Justice Israel Rubin of the Appellate Division of the New York State Supreme Court

About the Author:
Newspaper founder, bookstore owner, artist, musician, and slacker Eric Turowski writes lots of mixed-genre books when he’s not too busy playing laser tag with Tiger the Cat and his fiancée Mimi deep in the Central Valley of California. He is also the author of Inhuman Interest (Story By Tess Cooper #1). 

Find out more at 

http://www.ericturowski.com
https://twitter.com/eric_turowski    
https://www.facebook.com/Turowski.Books

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A Review of Frozen in Amber by Phyllis Ames

Frozen in Amber by Phyllis Ames
My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Frozen in Amber is formulaic urban fantasy featuring shifters.

Amber is the typical self loathing protagonist of the genre, hates her "monster" self due to a "mystery" incident that went horribly wrong and cost her the man she loved.

She lives and works in the shifter world but wants as little to do with it as possible, which means she never reaches out for help or approaches her family with questions. Her stubbornness leaves her in the dark and vulnerable to the danger surrounding her.

She hates her Wer self and changes into Cougar form as little as possible. She learns of a possible cure to make shifters human and decides she wants to track it down- but has she already received the treatment unknowingly? When her senses start to fade she realizes how much she relied on them- and how much she needs them to keep her safe.

Mystery, intrigue, conspiracies, secrets and lies abound in this book but unfortunately don't provide anything new to the genre.

Strong premise, good characters, the overall story is predictable but not awful. If you like shifter urban fantasies you may enjoy Frozen in Amber.

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Giveaway: Devil’s Nightmare by Robert Pruneda

Devil’s NightmareDevil’s Nightmare SeriesBook OneRobert Pruneda
Genre: Horror
Publisher:  Forsaken ImprintBooktrope Publishing
Date of Publication: July 15, 2015
Cover Artist:  Laura Hidalgo
Book Description:
Veteran homicide detective Aaron Sanders thought he’d seen it all, but nothing could have prepared the seasoned detective for the mutilated remains of a kid’s parents or the equally vicious deaths of three boys at another crime scene.
As Aaron works to solve the cases and protect his only witness, an orphaned child, he learns of an ancient curse that leaves him questioning all he’s ever believed. Now, to save himself and the child, Aaron must confront his own inner demons, and some he never knew existed. But if he does, will he make it out alive? 
Devil’s Nightmare is an occult suspense horror novel by Robert Pruneda, who shakes readers with his visually graphic scenes, supernatural twists, and disturbing settings in this first installment of the Devil’s Nightmare series.

Excerpt:
Cody’s lungs burned with each frenetic breath as he made his escape toward the gated entrance of the old cemetery. He ran past rows of tombstones and lost his footing several times, whimpering in fear as he picked himself up. His blood curdled from a distant scream. A loud explosion of thunder startled him as he checked over his shoulder and slipped, collapsing onto the wet, muddy ground. He pushed himself backward, his hands frantically splashing in puddles of muddied water. The darkness of the cemetery made it impossible to see anything more than a shadow, but Cody knew what stalked him. He knew the evil coming.
He screamed and jumped back to his feet. He ran as fast as he could on the slippery ground. Another loud crash of thunder followed a bright flash of lightning. He was so close, so close to the entrance to the cemetery, but the rain, stronger than before, hammered down upon him. He splashed through puddles of water, flinching from the sheets of rain slapping his face. He struggled to increase his speed, his tears blending in with the rain. Four bicycles lay scattered on the ground near the entrance of the cemetery. Cody yanked his bicycle upright off the ground and checked behind him, but there wasn’t anything there. He hesitated, his heart breaking at the sight of his friends’ bikes lying next to his.
“I’m so sorry,” he cried before mounting his own bike.
The mud, caked onto the soles of his shoes, caused his feet to slip on the wet pedals. He peered into the dark depths of the cemetery again and found the familiar shadow creeping towards him. Whimpering again, Cody reached down to scrape the mud off with his bare hands, and then pedaled a mile to his home in the heavy rain.
Rain-drenched, Cody jumped the curb in front of his house and dropped his bicycle on the lawn. He ran to his open bedroom window, stumbled through it, and fell onto the floor. His bedroom curtains flapped inward as rain splashed onto the hardwood floor. Picture frames on the walls rattled as Cody grabbed his bedroom window and pulled down on it several times until it slammed shut. He dropped to the floor and wept below the window with his head lowered and arms wrapped around his legs, tucking them close to his chest.Cody lifted his head when the bedroom light came on. Two adults stood in the doorway. His mother rushed inside the room while his stepfather Tony placed a hand on the door frame, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.
“What in hell’s wrong with ya, boy?” Tony said in a deep southern drawl. His eyes dropped to Cody’s wet shoes and the muddied floor. “And why in hell ya soakin’ wet? Goddamn it, boy, ya sneaked out again, didn’t ya? And where in the hell is—?”
“What’s wrong, honey?” Cody’s mother broke in, noticing her son trembling. “Are you—?”
“He’s in deep shit, that’s what! Told ya we couldn’t trust this little bastard.” Tony pointed a stern finger at Cody and warned, “Ya pull this shit again and I’m gonna bust yer ass! Now get yer ass up and—”
The lights flickered and went dark.
“Goddammit!” Cody’s stepfather yelled. “Piece a shit electricity always goes out when it rains.” He grabbed his wife’s arm. “Carol, get me the goddamn flashlight. And a mop so this little shit can clean up his mess.”
A flash of bright light shot through the curtains as Carol stepped towards the hallway. Cody’s eyes grew wide. He scooted backwards, mumbling and whimpering.
“What in hell’s yer problem?” Tony said.
Cody’s face whitened. Tears flowed from his eyes. He whimpered “No” repeatedly as he scooted further away, only to find himself trapped in a corner of the dark bedroom.

Heavy rain poured outside as a web of lightning scattered across the sky. Intense thunder muffled the screams and breaking glass. A moment later, all was quiet. The rain stopped, the lightning dissipated, and the thunder grew faint in the distance.
About the Author:
Robert “Sharky” Pruneda is a native Texan, video game “enthusiast” [addict], and fan of all things horror. He left a career in the newspaper industry in 2011 to pursue the life of a nocturnal author, brainstorming new and creative ways to creep out his readers. He doesn’t only write horror though.
He also pens the occasional family-oriented tale just to keep from going completely nuts with all those creatures of the night whispering in his ears. When he’s not pulling ideas out of his twisted brain, you’ll likely find him on social media or fighting alongside his fellow gaming buddies where they all get shot up into Swiss cheese (or turned into little bite-sized chunks because of “Sharky’s” obsession with explosives). Medic!
Pursue your dreams . . . and never look back.
https://twitter.com/SharkbaitWrites
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https://www.goodreads.com/SharkbaitWrites
http://www.amazon.com/Robert-Pruneda/e/B004WDX2PG
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Desecrated Beauty by Kyleigh Castronaro

Desecrated Beauty
Twisted Fairy TalesBook OneKyleigh Castronaro
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Date of Publication: July 6th
Number of pages: approx. 180Word Count: 58,883
Cover Artist: Kyleigh Castronaro
Book Description:
Once upon a time, that’s how most of these stories start. But this isn’t one of those stories… Sure, it has the heroine and the hero but they’re not as you would expect them. Both of them have a bloodlust, one different from the other.
Quill was born and raised as a cold killer who takes enjoyment from the kill. Nero is the son of a Viking and a 1500-year-old vampire whose never been denied his pleasures before.
Until he meets Quill. He forces her to exchange her life for Rose’s, his indentured servant and Quill’s little sister. Drawn by her fearlessness and strength he has to have her but such a woman cannot be possessed. Both must learn to give up their carefully afforded control to let the other in. Only then may they have their happily forever after.
Sink your teeth into this dystopic re-telling of Beauty and the Beast and satiate your booklust.
http://getbook.at/desecratedbeauty
Excerpt 2:

She moved through the crowd, following the Lieutenants with her eyes to ensure they didn’t go anywhere as she crossed to them. Nearly there, she stepped through two bodies and almost collided right into someone’s chest. She stumbled back, her face screwing up into a glower.
“Excuse me.” She said sharply, turning herself to try and go past him, but he only stepped back in her way.
“I saw how you play pool…”
“Listen.” She said, looking up at him finally and stopping short for a moment. He was gorgeous. Easily the best looking guy she’d ever seen in all the guys she’d ever seen - and she’d been around a lot of guys. His jaw was chiseled so sharply under smooth alabaster skin, full rosy lips that seemed to pucker naturally and his eyes were so deep she felt like she was falling to the bottom of an ocean. His hair was brown, maybe even black it was so dark, and hung longer in the front than some guys felt comfortable wearing it, but it suited him so much.
He seemed to wait, patiently listening for whatever she was going to attempt to tell him but her brain had completely stalled and she’d forgotten where the clutch was.
“Listen?” He prompted, raising an eyebrow to silently ask her to continue.
“Yeah. Listen…” She wasn’t nearly as cold and to the point as she had been before. “I’m here on business…” The words were sticky on her tongue and it took way too much effort to get them out. Slow to start but once they started to come back she shook herself from her reverie. This was ridiculous why was she fawning over this stranger?
“I’m here on business and whatever lame pick up line you were going to attempt on me I’m not interested. So you need to fuck off because I’m busy.”
“Well, that’s rude.” He said with bemusement as she peered around him, noting that the Lieutenants were getting up and getting ready to leave.
“Maybe but it’s also presumptuous of you to come over here and make some cringe-worthy statement about how I’m so good with balls and I’m welcome to play with yours.”
“And who said I was going to let you anywhere near my balls? Do I look like I have a death wish?” 
Her eyes finally flicked back to him, somewhat taken aback that he wasn’t coming on to her. That was arrogant of her and she felt foolish for thinking it immediately but then one look in those eyes and she didn’t care.
“No…” She said dreamily, another frown forming in the middle of her forehead. “I have to go…” She protested weakly.
“Mmm, I’m sure you do.”
“I do.” She insisted, tearing her eyes painfully away from him. The Lieutenants were getting away. 
“Now get the hell out of my way.” She tried to shoulder him out of the way, but it was like slamming her shoulder into a rock. Her body ached from the force she exerted and the minimal reward she’d gotten. She glanced up at him once more, imagining for a moment the state of his body underneath those clothes for him to be so hard.
About the Author:
Kyleigh Castronaro is the author of the debut series Grace of Gods. She is a self-published author who tackles many of her projects entirely on her own. She designed the cover of her first novel, self-edited and prepared all formats of the book for publication. Originally from Milton, Ontario, she currently lives in Nottingham, England with her husband and their adorable miniature dachshund Hera.
When not writing Kyleigh enjoys spiritual development, crafting, travelling, spending time in nature, going to the movies, cooking and baking (and then eating), working on self-improvement and spending time with friends and family.
http://kyleighcastronaro.com
http://twitter.com/kcastronaro
http://pinterest.com/kcastronaro
https://www.facebook.com/authorkyleighcastronaro
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8415377.Kyleigh_Castronaro
http://Author.to/KyleighCastronaro

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It's August- Your Know What That Means? Time to Plan for Halloween!!!

It's August? Already??? I guess I better start planning my Halloween costumes and schedule.

October is a month long Halloween event for me, Zombie Walk, Witches Ball, Halloween itself...

I am working on some kind of dragon costume for the Witches Ball this year- the theme is Magic and Mayhem.

Not sure what the kids want to dress up as this year. I guess I better have them look at PureCostumes.com. I shop at Pure Costumes every year for costumes and accessories for the entire family. 

Halloween is on a Saturday this year- my daughter wants to create a haunted trail in the back yard with the possibility of a party...will need accessories and decorations for all that. Definitely need to start planning early.

So costumes, haunted house/trail ideas and decor, creative food and drinks, party possibilities...

At least I have this book on hand for fun drink and dessert ideas-
Bewitching Brews and Devilish Desserts 
A Collection of Cocktail and Dessert Recipes 

By Bewitching Book Tours' Authors
Roxanne Rhoads, Sharon Baylis, Ami Blackwelder, Cassandra Lawson, Susannah Sandlin, Cherrie Mack, Maggie Mundy, Suzanne Johnson, Katalina Leon, Kay Dee Royal, Sophie Avett, Elizabeth Loraine, G.L. Ross, T.W. Kirchner 

Book Description:

Stir up a little magic from our cauldron full of cocktails and desserts.

The authors of Bewitching Book Tours conjured a collection of delicious potions inspired by their books and characters.

Grab your wand (or spoon) and cast one of these spellbinding recipes today.


Available at Createspace and Amazon