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Reap and Repent by Lisa Medley

Reap and Repent
The Reaper SeriesBook 1Lisa Medley
Genre: Urban Fantasy RomanceReapers, Demons, Angels, Sex
Words 84K  326 pages

Book Description:

They see death. Can they share a life?

Ruth Scott can read the energy of every person she meets. Then she meets Deacon Walker. She can see his ice-blue eyes, his black hair, and his gorgeous face. But this beautiful stranger has no aura.

Deacon is just as unsettled by Ruth—and, having spent more than two hundred years ushering souls to Purgatory, Deacon is seldom shocked by anything. As he helps Ruth to understand her true nature, she awakens desires that he decided long ago a Reaper can’t afford.

A demon invasion forces Deacon to confront the darkness in his own past even as he fights to save the human souls he’s charged to protect. When he’s taken captive, his first concern is for Ruth. But Ruth just might be able to save herself—and the Reaper she can’t live without—if she can learn to wield her newfound powers.

Available Exclusively on AMAZON 
Excerpt: from  Chapter Five
Ruth opened her eyes to complete and utter chaos. There were creatures everywhere. She would have been hard-pressed to prove most of them were now or ever had been human. It was like the cantina scene in Star Wars without the fun band. Ruth’s mouth gaped open. It was dark, foggy and damp in the long underground chamber where they’d landed, like some kind of subterranean cave. She’d never seen anything like it.It was a depot of sorts, it seemed, and there were long tunnels crisscrossing every which way, disappearing into the stone walls. Her mouth still agape, Ruth followed Deacon into what appeared to be the main hall, where the floors and ceilings were also rough stone, and light from an unseen source flowed down through strategically positioned skylights along the ceiling. Reapers were everywhere: men and women but also a disturbing number of…well, monsters was the word that came to mind.There was so much to take in that it was overwhelming. Chiseled placards demarked the top of each tunnel in a language she didn’t understand. And at each end of the main channel, huge platforms rose above the fray. Sitting on stone thrones upon the platforms were two very similar-looking men who looked like angels, complete with flowing purple robes and wings.Deacon took her hand and dragged her along behind him. “Keep up.”“Don’t worry.”She did not want to be down here alone, wherever here was. They rushed through the throng of creatures, large and small, human and otherwise, toward the opposite end of the channel and the angel who was sitting there. They were almost there when someone called out behind them.“Walker? What the hell? I thought you would have cashed in by now,” the man said. Deacon spun around, pushing Ruth behind him. “Kylen,” Deacon said, grimacing and barely containing his obvious disgust. He clearly wasn’t happy to see the guy. “I’ve been…occupied.”“I can see that,” he said, leaning over to give Ruth a slimy once-over look. “Who is she?”“We’re bringing in a sleeper,” Deacon said, changing the subject.“A sleeper? Wonder how I missed that one?”“It doesn’t matter,” Deacon said, forging ahead.“Put up a good fight at least?” Kylen asked with inappropriate enthusiasm.“What are you doing down here? Have you grown tired of your ride?”“Oh, no. I just like to keep a finger on the pulse of things. Network. Mingle.” He winked, then directed a disturbing smile Ruth’s way.“Right.” Deacon pulled Ruth away from Kylen, leading her the last few paces to the platform.A line of mixed creatures wound in front of them. Ruth had no idea what some of them were. Of the ten or so in front of them, two looked passably human. The rest were all variety of sizes and degrees of grotesqueness. One great slobbering gelatinous mass in front of them, who was Deacon’s height, but twice his girth, turned to assess her. His wet reptilian skin shimmered and glistened as his Ping-Pong-sized lizard eyes looked her up and down, then locked on to hers. She looked away and snugged up closer to Deacon.“Eyes on the prize, asshole,” Deacon said to the thing through gritted teeth. Mr. Lovely turned back around with a grunt.Otherwise, there was no chitchat in the line. She wondered if all these things even spoke the same language.Deacon leaned over and whispered, “Try not to freak out—this will get easier. This is Purgatory—a way station. It’s a neutral zone. A no-man’s-land of sorts. All reapers can meet here and interact, but there can be no conflict. It’s a forced détente essentially. Pray you don’t see most of these creatures on the topside.”She couldn’t imagine any situation where she would.“The guy in the purple robe is the angel Rashnu. The guy on the other end of the station? Also Rashnu. He’s split himself into two because he doesn’t trust anyone else to do the job right. He’s the sorter. The gates of Hell and Heaven are locked up tight. No soul gets through Purgatory except with his blessing. He’s rarely wrong, but once in a while a soul gets kicked back and…well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen today.”The line inched forward. She watched as the reapers approached the angel Rashnu and wished she could hear the exchange between them. From where she was standing, she was close enough to get the gist of it. The reaper approached and spewed forth its cargo, which floated down and assumed its original shape. The deposits held their ghostly form for a few moments, and then Rashnu waved his open palm in front of them, and they were sucked away down one of the various tunnels carved into either side of the station’s stone walls. The contrasting colors of the walls clearly indicated which tunnels led to which eternal resting place. Left was lovely, and lightly colored markings and symbols adorned the wall. The right side? Not so much. It looked like street gangs had tagged the entire wall from stem to stern. The souls streamed away in a smoky mist ranging in color from black to white and everything in between.“Are all of them reapers?”“Yes, there are a lot of different races represented down here. I can give you a crash course later. But stay quiet for now—Rashnu hates disrespect.”Ruth zipped her lip, and they shuffled forward again. Deacon was up to bat. Ruth tried to look small and insignificant behind him, which was not much of a stretch. Rashnu bored a hole through Deacon, and then she felt his gaze settle on her.“Forward!” the angel bellowed.She was frozen in place. Deacon hesitated for a second then swung her around in front of him.
Lamb to the slaughter. Thanks.


About the Author:

Lisa has always enjoyed reading about monsters in love and now she writes about them, because monsters need love too.
She adores beasties of all sorts, fictional as well as real, and has a farm full of them in her Southwest Missouri home, including: one child, one husband, two dogs, two cats, a dozen hens, thousands of Italian bees, and a guinea pig.
She may or may not keep a complete zombie apocalypse bug-out bag in her trunk at all times, including a machete. Just. In. Case.

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Guest blog and Giveaway: Enchanter’s Echo by Anise Rae

When Fantasy and Reality Collide Among the Smoke and a Curse is Born
Anytime a fantasy/paranormal/sci-fi author develops a new world, she has to create everything from scratch or decide which parts of the real world to incorporate in the story. I’ve spent hours, days, weeks pondering the world of the Mayflower Mages. Some of that world is entirely made up, like the magic system. Some of it is reality; both books are set in a real city. Some of it is a mesh of reality and fantasy, like the origins of the Republic of Mage Territories. Instead of Puritans coming over to the New World on the Mayflower, it was witches fleeing the inquisitions.
Another example of that mesh of reality and fantasy is the mages’ curse words. I wanted their choice words to reflect their culture, so I had to create new twists on our foul language for upset mages to fling about the pages. As the series continues, I keep lists of the curse words and who tends to say which ones so that I can remember them all.
I’m not much of a bad word girl myself. Or at least I don’t say them out loud very often. I keep them in the mental realm. That can be problematic. Sometimes the barrier to the mental realm and the spoken realm thins…and breaks. I’d like a cure for that. A magic cure, in fact, since I’m all about magic and clearly should have been born with psychic powers at the minimum. (What? You too? I totally understand.)
While I wait for my personal magic to come online, I give the people who live in my head plenty of special powers. The heroine in Enchanter’s Echo has enormous amounts of fabulous, beautiful power. She’s an enchantress, a rare breed in the mage world. She’s very special. But she’s gotten herself into a bit of a mess, and it’s making her quite nervous and anxious. When anxiety grips hers, she tends to lose control of her magic. Sparkly clouds of power surround her…much like the book cover shows, only she’s very embarrassed about this glitter. Blasted sparkly clouds, she calls it. In fact, she says it on one of the first pages of the book.
As I was in the midst of editing this book, I had to take a break to cook supper for the kiddos. I had spent hours going over and over the first pages. Not a smart endeavor since the words eventually merge into a knotted mesh in my mind. So the cooking break was much needed to clear my head. Alas, I lost control of the grilled cheese and blackened that baby. Word to the wise, if you’re distracted, do not attempt a grilled cheese sandwich. Try soup instead. 
“Mom, what’s that smell?” asked a child with ten years of scorn so sharp in his voice that it ricocheted around the house.
I burned the blankety blank grilled cheese. That’s what that smell is. The words bounced in my mind, silent and light but very present. I didn’t explain aloud because he came into the kitchen to see for himself.
He peered into the smoking skillet that cradled the black square. “How is that even possible?” His face was tight, his nose pinched. The disgust! The horror!
I looked into the skillet with faux shock, getting my drama on. “Blasted sparkly clouds! I burned the grilled cheese!”
It just came out. It was so appropriate for the moment. You see, this child does not approve of a drama mama. He never has, and the vast majority of the time, I oblige, providing him with the steady, calm, serious mother he prefers me to be. It’s not that out-of-character for me anyway. Er, not totally. But no cook needs a repulsed critic. After all, accidents and distractions happen to the best of us.
He scrunched up his face at my theatrical response and backed away. He paused in the doorway of the kitchen. “Do we even have more bread?”
Oh. Crap. I was supposed to go to the grocery.
“Blasted sparkly clouds! I forgot to get the bread!”
And poof! A curse is born.




Enchanter’s Echo                   Mayflower MagesBook TwoAnise Rae
Genre: Paranormal romance
Publisher: Kensington/Lyrical
Date of Publication: February 17, 2015        
ISBN: 9781616505394ASIN: B00PP2ZX8M
Number of pages: 270Word Count: 99,685
Book Description:
Aurora Firenze lives a quiet life hiding in a junkyard. Her repair shop is the last hope for gadgets and gizmos before they get tossed onto the trash towers. Fortunately, Aurora can fix almost anything, including mages, though repairing people with metal enchantments is highly illegal.
Edmund Rallis, heir to the Rallis senate seat, has spent months hunting down his errant enchantress. He’ll play every game he knows to win her back and entice her to share the secrets she hides. But he’s inadvertently put her on the frontlines of a new game, one with an opponent who’s determined to destroy Rallis Territory and drive the Republic toward war. If the new enemy isn’t stopped in time, Edmund will lose his enchantress again—and this time there won’t be another chance.
Available at   Amazon    BN    Kobo   iTunes


Excerpt:The keep-out spell awoke at her approach. The enchanted mesh of vines and branches that blocked the entrance to Rallis Territory’s forbidden forest vibrated in welcome as its creator returned. Aurora Firenze cast her vibes along the perimeter of her spell, testing and prodding. Its strength resonated back. It was as strong as it had been six months ago when she’d created it and hid her secrets within the forest’s depths. She let go of a relieved breath, but it didn’t cure her tension.Her nerves were strung tight, as if she’d spent hours placating customers in her repair shop. But the day had been quiet. She’d even made decent progress—fixing a curling iron with a too-hot heating spell and a stapler that had a bad habit of chasing the boss around the conference table. Yet a restlessness itched at her skin with an unpleasant persistence. She’d closed up early and headed out for the short walk to the forest. Within its heart, she’d find the peace to wash away this unease.She sent another stream of vibes into the keep-out spell. A discreet doorway formed. With a quick glance around the barren field and the junkyard behind her, she stepped beneath her illegal spell.As she brushed against the branches, a faint thump sounded at her feet—the soft crash of a pinecone or a weak branch falling to the ground. A normal forest noise. She flinched anyway. Her glitter puffed around her in an anxious cloud as her mage energy escaped her control. It was the fifth time today. Enchantresses did not make good criminals. She should probably let the other three in existence know, in case they were considering lives of crime. Those blasted sparkly clouds would blow their covers wide open.She lifted her foot to continue into the small forest that was tucked inside the territory’s capital city, but stopped. A proper lawbreaker should investigate mysterious noises outside her lair. She turned and scanned the ground for the culprit. A gold coin glinted in the crisp weeds. That wasn’t normal. She reached to pick it up, scanning the field and the junkyard beyond with a twitchy gaze. Empty. She was alone.Behind her, the forest shuttered closed, nearly catching her in its fortress wall. She jumped forward with a surprised lurch at the swat of vines and twigs. A basic rule of illegal enchantments: get out of the way or risk being incorporated into the spell.Ignoring the sting of the swat, she stared at the coin. It was tarnished at the edges, a used-up charm. See-me-not was embossed on its golden surface. She jerked her head up. A man stood ten paces away. He was tall, broad...beyond familiar.“Edmund,” she whispered. A shiver tiptoed across her shoulders like kisses, soft lips that hid a sharp bite. Her nerves stretched thinner yet, trapped in a battle between memories of lovers’ frolics and the promise of a dark fate that had just materialized from thin air.Behind her, the forest’s trees rustled with the wind, a warning to retreat, one she dare not heed. Not until she knew why he’d finally come searching for her. She hadn’t thought he’d ever come back.He prowled forward. “Hello, princess.” Though his words might have held some affection, nothing of the lover she’d once known appeared in his countenance. He lifted his left hand to reveal a glowing ball of mage vibes in his palm. His blue eyes reflected the tiny flashes of energy, and his power snapped in the air like a miniature electrical storm. The heir to the most powerful territory in the Republic had quite a steam of anger built up.Dark hair waved across his forehead, and little curls peeked out at the edges of his neck. Though the wind buffeted and pushed at Aurora, winter’s boldness didn’t dare touch Edmund, not his hair, nor his dark gray suit or scarlet tie.The hard slope of his nose matched the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. When he smiled, he was deadly handsome. At the moment, he was simply deadly.“Aurora.” He cast her name through the air and a piece of her soul tumbled away, as if it might dash toward him and cling like a forlorn, discarded lover. But he hadn’t discarded her....“You stand accused of melding earthen metals to human flesh with an enchantment.”Her heart thumped once, hard and loud, and then took off with a sprint, drenching her veins from head to toe with lightning sharp fright.Goddess, he’d found out. How?Even as she thought it, he revealed the answer. The glow faded from his ball of energy to reveal a small metal sphere. Her racing heart shriveled at the sight, pulling the rest of her organs with it, as if they thought to hide, seeking a chance to slip past this disaster unnoticed and, perhaps, survive. She shifted her feet on the ground, unable to resist the fear pumping through her core. Run, her gut whispered. She couldn’t afford to listen... not with the evidence sitting in his hand.The sphere was heavier than it looked. She knew that. After all, she’d made it...and thought it long gone. He closed his fingers around it, capturing her fate within his fist.“How’d you get that?” Her fast words shot out, hustling forward before fear, creeping up her legs with tingles and pricks, stole her voice.“You ought to be down on your knees thanking me for confiscating it.” His voice was sharp and cutting. He sounded like a stranger, his jokes and teasing wit long gone.“What did you do? Sneak into the junkyard and pluck his eye from his skull? Has it been hiding under your pillow for six months?” Not at all where she’d thought it was. Betrayal jolted through her. “Hardly actions befitting the heir of the mighty Rallis realm.” Her voice wavered.“You have no idea what I’ve done.”


About the Author:
Anise Rae has been reading romance novels since she first discovered her grandmother’s stash of books hidden away in a cabinet. Learning that she wasn’t the only one dreaming about love and magic was a turning point in her life. She started her own stash of books and wrote a few too.
A native of Ohio, Anise long ago moved south, armed with boxes of romance novels and degrees in chemistry and library science. Creating chemistry on the page between two lovers proved to be a lot more fun than working with test tubes in a lab or searching patent databases. She refocused on writing.
Her stories revolve around heroines who dare to stand up to society’s expectations and be true to themselves and heroes with plenty of savvy to fall in love with such brave women.
Anise lives in Atlanta with her two children and a fluffy dog that has an amazing ability to find dirty socks.
For information on future releases and giveaways, sign up for her newsletter at www.aniserae.com
www.twitter.com/aniserae
www.facebook.com/aniseraeauthor
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7849324.Anise_Rae
Author photo by www.surianiphoto.com

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Character Interview and Giveaway: Infected: Prey by Andrea Speed

To introduce you to my book, Infected: Prey, I thought I’d interview one of its main characters, Paris Lehane. Luckily, he likes attention much more than Roan, the other main character.
Andrea: Why don’t you introduce yourself to everyone?
Paris: I’m Paris Lehane, six feet tall, one fifty on a good day, generally too sexy for my shirt. Turn ons include a sense of humor, sly eyes, and amazing asses.
Andrea: This isn’t a personal ad.
Paris: It totally should be! I like chocotinis and cheeseburgers, although not usually at the same time, snuggling and ice cream. Turn offs include hypocrites with sticks up their butts, whisky breath, and nose hair.
Andrea: Are you done?
Paris: No, I have a sizable list, but since I’m really not in the market for a boyfriend or girlfriend I’ll let it go.
Andrea: Why don’t you tell everyone about your boyfriend and the world you live in?
Paris: Well, I have the greatest boyfriend in the world – sorry, everyone else, he’s mine. He’s Roan McKichan, badass private detective, and sexy as hell. He also has a heart of gold beneath that hard shell, because the best ones do. He’s a lion strain infected, which makes total sense, ‘cause, look at his hair. That’s a mane if I’ve ever seen one.
Andrea: Lion strain infected?
Paris: Oh, right. There’s this killer virus that infects people and causes them to turn into big cats a few days a month when it doesn’t kill them outright. Instead, it kills them slowly, but it doesn’t buy you as much time as you’d like. It’s pretty nasty.
Andrea: You’re not lion strain?
Paris: No, I’m tiger strain, the worst of all strains. I mean, it’s awesome to be a tiger, but it kills you pretty quick, so that’s a bummer. Also, it hurts like hell.
Andrea: This doesn’t cause problems?
Paris: Being different strains? No, why would it?
Andrea: I don’t know. I guess I just assumed. Um, you don’t self-identify as gay, do you?
Paris: No, because I’m not. I like guys and girls equally. I just happened to fall in love with this wonderful man.
Andrea: Bisexuals get a lot of crap, especially bisexual men.
Paris: Don’t I know it. Now, I’m kind of a worst case scenario, since I was kind of a selfish bastard when I was younger, and I used my powers of seduction for evil, but not all bis - or handsome men - are like me. Also, I just have to say that anyone who says you’re not bi – or gay, or what have you – can go sit and spin. Only you have the right and the ability to label yourself. So if anyone says you’re not something or other or insist you are something, tell them to go run someone else’s life for a while. And if you don’t like labels, don’t feel pressured to make that call. Go ahead and call yourself fluid or queer or nothing. Don’t let anyone tell you who you are, especially if they’re hung up, bigoted a-holes.
Andrea: I had no idea you were so inspirational.
Paris: I’m not Roan, but I have my moments.

That he does. And to read more about Paris and Roan, I hope you pick up Infected: Prey.




Infected: PreyInfected SeriesBook OneAndrea Speed
Genre: Gay mystery/urban fantasy
Publisher: DSP Publications
ISBN: 163216325XASIN: B00NJRJZGG
Number of pages: 376Word Count: 152,000
Cover Artist: Anne Cain
Book Description:
In a world where a werecat virus has changed society, Roan McKichan, a born infected and ex-cop, works as a private detective trying to solve crimes involving other infecteds.
The murder of a former cop draws Roan into an odd case where an unidentifiable species of cat appears to be showing an unusual level of intelligence. He juggles that with trying to find a missing teenage boy, who, unbeknownst to his parents, was “cat” obsessed. And when someone is brutally murdering infecteds, Eli Winters, leader of the Church of the Divine Transformation, hires Roan to find the killer before he closes in on Eli.
Working the crimes will lead Roan through a maze of hate, personal grudges, and mortal danger. With help from his tiger-strain infected partner, Paris Lehane, he does his best to survive in a world that hates and fears their kind… and occasionally worships them.

Available at    DSP Publications     Amazon

Have you started this series yet? If you are an urban fantasy fan this is a must for your to-read list. Infected: Prey is the first book in a series that already has five books available for your reading pleasure. I love starting a series like this, late in the game, so I can binge read them all back to read. It's a great way to immerse yourself in the series, world and characters. ~Roxanne

Excerpt:
HE was on his third beer of the evening when he thought he heard a noise in the backyard. Hank DeSilvo scowled and looked out the window over the kitchen sink full of dirty dishes. He could see nothing but darkness, and maybe a bit of reflected light from the television. This was probably a bad time to remember the back porch light had blown out two days ago, and he’d forgotten to replace it. Not that it mattered. The only light currently in the house was coming from the television, and as long as he ignored it, he developed enough night vision to make out a shape moving in the back garden. Or was it the wind moving a shrub? Kind of hard to say. He slammed his can down with an annoyed grunt. It was probably the Hindles’ stupid ass dog again, shitting all over the place and tearing through his garbage. He hated that fucking thing, some ugly Rottweiler mix they insisted was a “friendly” dog, and yet it always had a look in its flat, black eyes that was just this side of rabid. They never leashed the damn thing either, and apparently his yard destruction was “cute.” He was just about out of this fucking place and that damn thing had to make a final appearance. And it was final all right; he was going to make damn sure of that. He went back to the living room, glancing at the game as he walked past—it was a fucking damn boring game anyway—and got his shotgun from the cabinet. It was illegal as all hell, a sawed-off thirty ought six with the barrels cut so short you could have stowed it under a jacket, but the barrels had been filed down expertly; it wasn’t just the rough work of a desperate amateur but the sign of a pro. Which was why, when they’d searched the drug mule’s truck and he’d found it wedged under the front seat, he hid it in his trunk and didn’t report finding it. It wouldn’t have added that much to the mule’s sentence; he already had enough rock in his glove compartment to put him away for the rest of his pointless life, especially if it was his “third strike” (and it was, no surprise there), and he doubted the guy was so stupid that he’d actually ask why he wasn’t charged with owning an illegally modified weapon. Yeah, he was dumb; you had to be dumb if you were speeding and had a few thousand in rock in the car, as well as being obviously stoned yourself. But asking after that was a special kind of stupid, the kind only politicians and people on reality television ever seemed to crest. He cracked open the gun and made sure he had some shells loaded in it before snapping it shut again with a sharp flick of his wrist. Man that felt good. This was a real man’s weapon, made him feel a foot taller and made of pure muscle, and he knew why that meth fuckhead was carrying it around with him. A weapon like this was a real god-killer; it made you feel invincible. It was pure overkill, of course. The Hindles’ dog was fairly big, and yet one shot from this gun would rip it in half clean down the middle, as well as make a boom loud enough to set off every car alarm on the block. But what the fuck did he care? He was an ex-cop; he’d say the dog charged him, and on his property he could shoot the fucking thing if he wanted. He’d swap out the sawed-off for his Remington before they arrived. Ballistics wouldn’t match, but by the time they proved that, he’d be long gone. Good-bye, shit-hole city; hello, tropical paradise. It was just a shame that it took him this long to collect. He stood at the back door for a moment, cradling the shotgun gently, and let his eyes get adjusted to the dark before going out onto the concrete patio. He had a mini Maglite with him with a red lens over the bulb, so if there was something he needed to see he could twist it on without losing his night vision. Not that he needed to make a direct hit; even if he just winged the dog, he’d probably rip half its face off, maybe a leg. First step off the patio his foot squelched in something; it felt too liquid to be shit, but the smell that hit him was meaty, redolent of shit and offal and God knew what else. Had that fucking dog already strewn his garbage about? Goddamn it. Holding the shotgun in one arm, he turned on the flashlight and looked down at what he’d stepped in. At first it looked like a puddle, which didn’t make sense since it hadn’t rained in a week, and the thought that it was dog piss was dismissed since it was dark, and dog piss wasn’t usually black. Or was that red-black? Swinging the light outwards, he saw greasy, ropey strands that couldn’t have come from his garbage can, and then a big hunk of raw, bloody meat like a lamb shank… only it was too long and thin to be a shank, too dark, and ended in a paw. It was a Rottweiler leg. Someone—something—had dismembered the Hindles’ psychotic dog and spread about a third of it all over his backyard. He saw the leg, which was the biggest piece, an assortment of internal organs, loops of intestines laid out like fallen party streamers, and lots of blood. But where was the other two thirds of the dog? The hair stood up on the back of his neck, and he knew he had to get the fuck inside now. But as he turned, shotgun at the ready and braced against his hip, he saw the flash of white teeth in the dim moonlight, and his brain sent out the impulse to pull the trigger. He didn’t have time to wonder why it never happened as the teeth ripped open his throat.

About the Author:
Andrea Speed was born looking for trouble in some hot month without an R in it. While succeeding in finding Trouble, she has also been found by its twin brother, Clean Up, and is now on the run, wanted for the murder of a mop and a really cute, innocent bucket that was only one day away from retirement. (I was framed, I tell you - framed!)
In her spare time, she arms lemurs in preparation for the upcoming war against the Mole Men. Viva la revolution!
Website: www.andreaspeed.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/andrea.speed.3
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Andreaspeedwriter
Twitter: @aspeed
Google+: https://plus.google.com/109420358312270961913/posts
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/andreaspeed
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Guest Blog and Giveaway: Blue Words by MC Edwards

Tattoos
To this day, I still have vivid memories of sitting in class as a twelve year old, scribbling skulls and lightning bolts onto my arms and legs before admiring them in any reflective surface I could find. I have always been intrigued by tattoos.  I’m not sure why exactly, but something about them just fascinates me.  Whether it’s the artwork itself or the way immaculately designed skin art clings to the body contours, it was inevitable that I would end up as a skinny 16 year old thrusting a jittery fistful of cash towards a terrifying man and swearing I was eighteen.  So yes, I am tattooed myself and would be far more tattooed if finances allowed. And surprise, surprise suits of body art inked with mystical blood feature in my writing.  In honour of the evolution that this often underappreciated craft has taken over the years, I thought I would take a brief adventure into the origins and folklore of the art.
Tattoos have appeared around the world and all through history, from the 5000 year old trendsetter Otzi the iceman through to identifiers of ancient and modern gang culture.  They have also been known by many names like moko, cicatrix and keloid.  The word tattoo, as they are now known by today, casts its origins back to the Samoan word “tatau”, meaning workmanlike.  The term was first recorded in European texts by Joseph Banks, the botanist on James Cook’s Endeavour.
Methods of inscribing this art into flesh were not always been as relatively painless as they are now. 
I say relatively purely in comparison to some of the more......let’s say primitive methods.  Anyone who has had their stomach or underarm tattooed would surely agree with me that our modern methods are still far from pain free.  One traditional style, which might I add is still practiced around the world by some hard mother f&^*ers, involved a single or small collection of ink soaked needles being hammered repeatedly into the flesh to form the designs.  While that technique may not have you leaping out of your chair to have it done, I think I still find it preferable to the next one, which consisted of covering fine cotton in soot before stitching it through the flesh in patterns.  As the cotton was pulled through, it would leave the soot behind, creating dark spots on the flesh.  Ouch!  Imagine a chest piece done like that.
I am also fascinated by the polarising aurora which surrounds tatts, whether it be the stigma which some people attach to them (see this stuff...crazy right??) or some of the ancient superstitions which follow them.  The old sailor traditions are some of my personal favourites.  I’m sure most people know about the anchor tattoo, which is synonymous with nautical culture, but what about the pig and the hen?  For centuries, sailors tattoed the likeness of pig and a hen on their bodies.  A strange choice right? Swines and chickens are certainly not considered the most avid of water going animals, but therein lay the point.  They were seen as two of the few animals which couldn’t swim, so it was hoped that should the ship go down the almighty lord would gaze down upon them and take pity on the poor beasts, thus saving the sailor they were inked upon as well.  Then there are the Bedouin tribes who employ a form of medical tattooing known as Dakkah in which certain parts of the body are tattooed in order to treat chronic pain.  I would have loved to try and claim my hours in the tattooists’ chair on health insurance.
So whether it be an amazing work of art, a hilarious caricature or some bizarre saying scrawled in gothic script, I see beauty in all tattoos.  Mind you though, not because I always like what the wearer has chosen, more because it is a pure expression of their personality, something they have selected to bear upon their skin for life and beyond.  I thought I would finish with a quote, it’s a common one that I am sure you have come across before, but I think it is relevant. 
“My body is my journal and my tattoos are my story.”Johnny Depp





Blue WordsMC Edwards
Genre: Contemporary/Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Warpath Print
Date of Publication: 30/11/14
ISBN: Paperback - 978-0994172303ISBN: e-book - 9780994172310ASIN: B00PWIW1ZC
Number of pages: 334Word Count: 110,000
Cover Artist: Geoff Craig
Book Description:
Common threads have always woven through the world's mythology and folklore, strings which seem to link cultures divided by the vastness of oceans and time.
Have you ever wondered why? What if I told you that they all stem from a single origin.....the Varth-lokkr. Within this ancient creature's blood, stirs the power to save or enslave the world as we know it, a power ignited by a simple word. But which does it truly desire?
This dark urban fantasy follows one of these creatures through its emergence into 21st century Australia. It chronicles the rise of those who oppose it, those who ally themselves with it and those who are unwillingly drawn into its wake.
Shed the blood. Speak the words. Change the world.
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/9Ez7jHeFp2U
Available for Purchase at Warpath Print
Amazon     Smashwords

Excerpt:"Don't move or we'll fire," ordered one of the guards, his voice shook and his trigger finger twitched. Gudrik glared at him and swiftly shot towards George, who was now leaning over the stainless steel top rail, still scouring for an escape which didn't exist. The guards began to fire wildly at him. They may not have seemed overly competent, but they could shoot. Several projectiles tore through Gudrik's flesh as he moved, spattering blue onto the grass. Startled by the gunshots, George spun just in time to see the scruffy relic hurtling towards her. A bullet buried into Gudrik's knee. He stumbled. Before she had a chance to react, Gudrik crashed into George. His momentum forced her backwards, toppling them both indigently over the safety railing in a tangled mess of arms and legs. The pair rocketed towards the ground. George screamed profanities so coarse that they blistered the very air around her. She scrambled and flailed as if trying to climb back up Gudrik's body. He wrapped himself tightly around her. "Earvictius groot," he bellowed. His bullet wounds glowed, and the tender flesh surrounding them began to transform into cold, speckled granite. The stone rapidly spread along his limbs and across his abdomen, searing with pain as it went. He cringed and grated his teeth. As it spread across his chest and onto George she began to scream as though he were slashing chunks of flesh from her. Thankfully, the agony did not linger and in the blink of an eye, stone had completely swallowed both of them. No matter how hard she tried George could not move. It was both claustrophobic and frightening. The living statues whistled closer and closer to the ground. Until......SMASH!  They crashed unhindered onto the roof of a parked car. Glass and shrapnel exploded from the vehicle as they tore through the chassis and into the road beneath. Just as painfully as it had spread, the rock retreated returning the flesh to its vulnerable state, leaving it sensitive and speckled with sweat. Both lay for a moment of recovery. Their chests heaved deeply as they came to terms with what had just happened. Gudrik crawled out of the mangled wreck and climbed to his feet. "Are you harmed?" he grunted, lifting George to her feet. She was pale and disheveled with blank shock clouding her eyes. Time was of the essence. Gudrik slapped her across the cheek. Fire filled her blank eyes. She swung a punch, which he avoided. He grabbed her shoulders and repeated his question, "Are you harmed?""I-I'm confused as hell," she responded, panicked, but glad to be alive. "But fine. I think. Yes fine. Definitely ok," she stammered nervously, quickly checking her body over for injuries and pulling her dress down to cover the lacy black panties on show to the world. Her hand quickly went to her locket, checking it was still there. "Was I made of stone then?” Gudrik ignored her question. His attention was otherwise occupied. By that stage, a huge crowd of onlookers and good Samaritans had gathered around their impact point. "We must keep moving."He dragged his hand along a twisted shard of the car's metal shell and spoke, "Unjallius.” Gudrik groaned as huge, white wings tore from the flesh of his back in a puff of loose feathers and a splatter of blue. They stretched to a massive, elegant span and quivered in the sun. The suit jacket and shirt were left torn and tattered, spattered, stained and hanging in shreds from Gudrik's muscled shoulders. The stunned onlookers stepped back in awe. He grasped the confused woman tightly and with a few powerful beats of his mighty wings launched the two of them into the sky. George clung tightly as they whipped and glided through the city. They weaved between the highrise buildings, slowly gaining altitude and suddenly plunging toward the ground as Gudrik negotiated the unpredictable up-drafts above the busy city streets. George was not as terrified as her brain insisted she should be. She loved the speed, she loved the wind and she loved the gaping faces of the populous below. It all exhilarated her. Gudrik's grasp was gentle and caring, but still so firm and reliable that there was no fear of falling. Finally, Gudrik surged up and breached the top of the sky scrapers. The onlookers below were now nothing more than ants. George released her grip on Gudrik and shielded her eyes. The sun was much fiercer up there without the buildings' protection. She swivelled and squirmed as she gathered bearings. "Land on those cliffs over there," George said pointing at a small lookout point above the river.Gudrik dived and swooped in, gently putting the two of them down on the grass in a rapid flutter of tiny wing beats. "Gratitude," Gudrik grunted as the wings collapsed into a sprinkling of blood.




About the Author:
M.C. Edwards, or Eddie as he is known to his mates, grew up in a coastal town on the picturesque Central Queensland coast of Australia.  He has travelled to many corners of the world and has a love of all things bizarre.  He enjoys motorcycles, beards, comics, videogames and the taste of a fine single malt scotch.  In his writing he crafts immersive worlds which mix reality and fantasy to create a strangely believable mix.
Facebook – www.facebook.com/mcedwardsworld
Goodreads – http://www.goodreads.com/MCEdwards
Twitter – https://twitter.com/_Matt_Edwards_
Wattpad – http://www.wattpad.com/user/MCEdwards
Instagram – http://instagram.com/bluebloodedwarlock
Website – www.warpathprint.com

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Guest Blog Wildest Dreams by Stefany Rattles

Music Playlist
        There were a few songs that I really like that remind me of Wildest Dreams every time they come on the radio. The first song that always gets me when I hear it is The Kill by 30 Seconds to Mars. That is one of my favorite songs ever. If you have read Wildest Dreams then you know that this song is mentioned in the book, a special scene I might add.
            Another band that I really like is Linkin Park. Most of their songs are awesome and I know the lyrics to a lot of them. A few of the songs that I listened to while working on WD are: What I’ve Done, Leave out All the Rest, New Divide & Burn It Down. Although Alaina knows 30 Seconds to Mars and Linkin Park, they remind me more of Rayden and his sweet yet ruthless personality.
            When I hear Ellie Goulding on the radio, it reminds me of Alaina. Especially when I hear: I Need Your Love and Anything Could Happen. Other songs by other artists that I think would go with WD are: The Way by Ariana Grande, I knew You Were Trouble by Taylor Swift and Set Fire to the Rain by Adele.
            If I were to make a playlist of songs for Wildest Dreams, these would be a few that I listened to and really think it would go with the book theme. There are of course more but I’ll save them for the next book coming out this year!
–S.R.
Wildest DreamsSweet Dreams SeriesBook 1Stefany Rattles
Genre: Contemporary Romantic Suspense
ISBN: 978-1500659530ASIN: B00MV3TO42
Number of pages: 172Word Count: 50,863Cover Artist: Stefany Rattles
Book Description:
When nineteen year old Alaina Sanders scores a position as an assistant at L&A law firm where her lifetime crush Rayden Matthews happens to work, feelings and emotions from the past resurface. With the physical attraction stronger than ever, soon they find themselves in a complicated situation. Rayden is engaged to his high school sweet-heart, but things are not what they seem and Rayden must make a choice before it’s too late.
L and A is Alaina’s first professional job, needless to say that the last thing she wants is drama or to lose her job. Unfortunately she finds herself surrounded by a series of events that are out of her control… like a stalker for one.
When her work and personal life intertwine, how will she be able to handle them? In a boring town like Springdale, Arkansas how much worse can things get for Alaina?
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/r6HWhZpWUnw
Available at Amazon Kindle and Paperback

Enter to win a paperback copy at Stefany’s website
Excerpt:
The first time that I saw Rayden Matthews, I was in seventh grade. We were both on a bus on our way to school I was talking to my friend at the time, Daisy. "I'll give you back your homework before you go to math class." she was saying.I nodded, 'Okay, don't forget because if I don't turn it in today I’ll get an__ Ow!" My hair had been pulled.That day, I had it up in a ponytail and it wasn't short. I turned around in my seat and scowled at the stupid boy that pulled it. Boys...There were two of them. "What was that for?" I glared at both of them.They both looked a little older than me about two years but not much. The boy sitting by the window pointed at his friend who was intentionally looking away from me.Daisy giggled beside me. Since neither one responded I turned back around in my seat and forgot about them, that is, until my hair was lightly pulled again. "Hey!" I spun around, "why are you bugging me?" The boy by the window laughed hard while his friend turned a little red, "he likes you," explained the friend. I looked from one to the other, trying to figure out if it was a joke. But as I looked at the kid that wouldn't look me in the eye I could tell he was blushing.Hmm…He was cute. "What's your name?" I asked him and just when he met my eyes and was about to answer, the bus came to an abrupt stop and all the kids jumped out of their seats shoving one another. The kid that liked me and his friend quickly walked past me and left the bus. Daisy and I shared a confused look and then we both stepped off the bus. "His name's Rayden," said Daisy as she handed me back my math homework, "he's in the ninth grade."We were both now in the cafeteria getting lunch. Daisy had told me that she had seen the kid -Rayden- before, she had friends who had friends who were friends with him. Finding out his name was not going to be a problem, she'd said.In a matter of hours she managed to find out what it was. "Ninth grade?" I asked a little skeptical. She gave me a look. "That's only two years! It's not like's old or something." Conversation stops for a few minutes while we get our tray with food and sit to eat."So anyway, his name's Rayden Matthews, he's in the ninth grade and he's cute." So Daisy thought so too, well that made two of us.I rolled my eyes. “Do you see him anywhere?” I asked while I looked around the cafeteria myself but there were too many kids, hard to find one out of over a hundred.Daisy shook her head, “he’s a ninth grader, so he’s probably the other half that eats after we do.”She had a point.Days later I don’t really pay attention to Rayden, I didn’t think he was taking the bus to or from school. I didn’t see him.Daisy wanted to talk about him and his friend, she said that his friend’s dad had been taking them to school extra early because of band practice and they also stayed after school.I told her that I didn’t care. There were many boys and it’s not like at that point I was old enough to date yet, especially a ninth grader.But I saw him again.I was at the school library, looking through books. After searching for over fifteen minutes I picked one of those mystery/scary books and was ready to check out, Daisy was with me.“Oh my god,” she covered her mouth.I looked over at the direction where she was staring.“Oh.” There he was, standing by a window looking at some books on a shelf. The sun light was hitting him directly and he’s hair looks a little lighter, it almost looks like there’s a halo. He’s__Our eyes met and we stare at each other for a minute… In that very moment, it’s like the world had stopped and it literally revolved around us. We had made a connection deeper than anything I could have felt in my life. It was a weird feeling that as young girl I could not possibly explain to anyone, ever. The only word that could come to mind was mesmerizing. It was mesmerizing.And then I’m being pulled.“Ah!” Daisy is pulling my arm and I’m trying to shove her out of the way.“Hey,” He said to me and smiles.I smiled back.“We have to go back to class,” said Daisy pointing at the clock on the wall.“Fine,” I looked over my shoulder one more time. And catch Rayden looking at me and then he walked away.I didn’t understand why Daisy didn’t want me to talk to Rayden and then other times when she where she would be such a brat. Later I found out she had a crush on him. Well wasn't that great!She was my best friend for about a year until I realized what a sneaky… you know, she really was. A little later I met Brie.Rayden and I spoke on a few occasions. I finally got his phone number a year later and called him.We had the longest conversations and it was nice talking to him. There were times where we even passed notes during school but it never went beyond that. I even tried to hook him up with some Costa Rican chick that he’d been crushing on but unfortunately for him -and fortunately for me- she was never interested. Daisy transfers to a different school and as far as I know, she has no communication with Rayden.One day I discovered he had a girlfriend, he was dating a teacher’s daughter her name wasn’t important. I still talked to him and we still wrote to each other, once in a while.Eventually they broke up.One day we stopped talking, I was fifteen and new to high school. I learned that he had a new girlfriend, Jessica. She had a pretty face, not a great body. But I could tell he really liked her, not because of her looks but maybe it was her personality, that’s just the kind of guy he was.It wasn’t fair but all through high school they continued dating. I did meet someone and we started a relationship that lasted a few years, we even lived together.But it wasn’t the same and that’s why I was single again.I saw him from a distance for the rest of the week. We didn’t end up in the elevator together again.Which was only a little disappointing but I got over it.From a distance I could see a few changes in Rayden. He had more of a toned body than he used to, he had a confident walk unlike the shy boy I remembered.I wished I could talk to him...***


About the Author:
Stefany Rattles, lived in Los Angeles California for eight years and then moved to Arkansas and has been living there ever since. She has a full time office job and writes on her free time.
She wrote Dark Night when she was eighteen years old after it sat on her computer for several years. One day that she decided to work on it and finish it. Now, she has published 3 books, one of them is her first New Adult- Contemporary Romantic Suspense book in the Sweet Dreams Series.
She graduated Springdale High in 2007. Currently she is also attending Post University and hopes to get her degree in Computer Science.
She loves to read, write, read and write… when she’s not playing with her two little ones.
Web: http://stefanyrattles.wix.com/strlnggry
Blog: http://stefrattlesblog.blogspot.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/StrlngGry
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Stefany-Rattles/628466587263459
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8292431.Stefany_Rattles

10 Things A Fallen Angel Needs to Know to Survive in NYC with Yelena Casale and Tina Moss

10 Things A Fallen Angel Needs to Know to Survive in NYCBy: Yelena Casale and Tina Moss
1. Where to find the best pizza. It's vital for sustenance and happiness. Recommendations include Artichoke Pizza in Manhattan, DiFarra’s and L&B in Brooklyn.

2. How to use the subway system. First, it's a train system, not a sandwich shop. Second, it can take you anywhere in NYC as long as you get used to the crowds, the dirt, and the inevitable rail rat.

3. The nature of flea markets and antique shops. Magical places where you can literally find anything. Needed information to take your girl shopping on a weekend. Recommendation: Chelsea Antique Center.

4. The important male bonding rituals. A boxing match at Madison Square Garden to blend in with human males and see how humans fight. Or go to the Thomas Casale Dojo in Brooklyn to actually learn how to fight the way humans do.

5. Where to find the local hospitals. Welcome to our world, big boy! Complete with human frailties, like physical pain, slower reflexes, and the occasional klutzy accident. The ER takes ten hours, but it is your friend.

6. Why New Yorkers are so angry. They're not. They're busy and don't have time for nonsense. Everyone is rushing everywhere at all times. Choose your questions for them carefully and make it quick.

7. Why Central Park is truly special. New Yorkers are surrounded by concrete and steel 90% of the day. The oasis in the city is our respite.

8. It's the City, not Manhattan. Nothing will peg you faster than a tourist as this distinction. Technically, NYC consists of Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, and Staten Island. But, it is always the City.

9. How to manage a city apartment. Carefully, and without drawing unnecessary remarks to its size. Do you like being told your small? Didn't think so.

10. Why it's the greatest city on earth. It's noisy, smelly, dirty, and crowded. It'll make you hard. It'll chew you up and spit you out. But, as the saying goes, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. And New Yorkers wouldn't have it any other way.







A Touch of DarknessKey SeriesBook OneYelena Casale and Tina Moss
Genre: Urban Fantasy / Paranormal Romance
Publisher: City Owl PressDate of Publication:  3/2/2015
ISBN: 978-0-9862516-0-3ASIN: B00QJKUAUU
Number of pages: 295Word Count: 75k
Cover Artist: Tina Moss
Book Description:
Cassie Durrett dreams of the darkness. And lives the nightmare. She's working for a tightwad boss at a pretentious NYC diner, dealing with paralyzing pain that doctors can’t diagnose, and trying to hide her hands that glow purple whenever she ...well, whenever.
So, when mystery man, Gabe, walks out of her dreams and into her life to spout some nonsense about her being a mythical creature, she chalks it up to one more crazy thing to add to her it’s-a-crappy-life list. Yet, when his predictions start to come true, she'll need his help to beat back the darkness-spawned creatures invading her reality.
Pretty soon Gabe has her running half way across the country in search of answers. As a bond grows between them, Cassie worries not about losing her mind to the paranormal madness, nor her life to hellish monsters. Rather her deepest fear is surrendering her heart to a powerful man fallen from grace.
FIRST PLACE in 2014 Readers' Crown Award for urban fantasy.
FIRST PLACE in Central Florida RWA's Touch of Magic contest for paranormal romance.
Available at   
City Owl Press    Amazon

BN    Kobo    iBooksExcerpt:
Cassie moaned as the remnants of the attack wore off. She opened her eyes to stare into her dream man’s gaze. Oh, just great. I need to dream about him again? Her body already tingled with pleasure at the familiar vision. A trench coat molded to his tall frame. Across his chest, droplets of water clung to a black shirt, then dripped down to run over his dark jeans and heavy boots. Gabe. The name came to her. How do I know his name’s Gabe? Reality flooded back with a vengeance, the whole encounter snapping into focus as if the picture emerged from a snowy TV. What she didn’t recall was what happened after and why this man was now here, in her apartment. Her gaze darted around the room, looking for something to use as a weapon. Bookcases lined the far wall with plenty of thick books inside, but she’d never make it past him to reach the shelves. A tiny statue of a marble angel stood on top of the old TV just a foot out of her reach. Next to the TV sat an opaque yellow vase with a couple of long-stemmed white calla lilies. Neither the statue nor the vase, she decided, would be adequate for the job. When she couldn’t find a satisfactory weapon, she opened her mouth to yell.Before she could utter a sound, Gabe moved so fast she saw him in nothing more than a blur. His hand covered her mouth and he breathed into her ear. “You fainted. I had to get you home, off the street. Please don’t scream. I mean you no harm. I promise.” As if to punctuate his last words, he took his hand away.Cassie suppressed the rising terror as she considered the situation and chose anger instead. She narrowed her eyes and curled her hands into fists.“How did you find out where I live if I was unconscious?” she said, her body tensing in the fight or flight response.“Your wallet. I went through it.”“Oh...” Her hands remained fisted.“You’re a strong woman, but you shouldn’t direct your anger at me.” He went to touch her shoulder, but she flinched away. “Look,” he said. “There’s something we need to talk about. But first tell me, how long have you had these headaches, this pain?”“How do you know about them?” Her voice raised an octave higher.“I just know. I also know what they mean. Do you?” He seemed eager to hear the answer.“I’ve had these episodes forever,” Cassie said, unsure why she answered him. “They’ve been getting worse lately.” Her head titled to the side. “Are you a doctor or something?”“And have you ever felt any other feelings or sensations during or after the headaches?” Gabe went on, ignoring her last question.“Yes...Maybe...But how on earth would you know?”“Tell me more,” Gabe insisted, his voice flowing smooth like water.She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “Enough. I’m not telling you anymore until you tell me what the hell is going on, who you are and what you want from me.” Cassie heard him whisper under his breath, “Easy...” It seemed more instructions to himself than to her. She ignored it and waited for his answer.“Cassie, I know everything I’m going to say will sound crazy to you, but you’ve got to listen to me. Haven’t you ever wondered at all the weird things happening to you over the years, at the feeling you get with the headaches, the energy?” She was about to interrupt but he raised his hand to silence her and continued, “This is not going to be easy for you to understand but...there’s more to you than you think.”And I thought I was crazy. Cassie started to tremble. “What’s that supposed to mean?”“Well...you’re not exactly...technically...you’re not...” He struggled with whatever he was trying to get out.“Just say it.”Gabe locked his gaze with hers. She didn’t look away. She couldn’t.“You’re not completely human.”
  

About the Authors:

Yelena Casale is an award-winning author of urban fantasy and paranormal romance. Born in Kiev, Ukraine, she moved to New York at thirteen. Being very curious, she has been a devoted reader and writer since childhood. As a 2nd degree black belt and instructor in Shotokan karate, an avid traveler, and history and art enthusiast, she weaves universal themes with martial arts philosophies into her stories. She lives with her amazing, supportive husband and the best Siamese cats. In her spare time, she reads, paints, watches cool shows on TV and tries to get more sleep.
Website: www.yelenacasale.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/Yelena_Casale
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/yelena.casale.5
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5891772.Yelena_Casale
Tina Moss is an award-winning author of urban fantasy, paranormal romance, romantic suspense, and New Adult novels.  She lives in NYC with a supportive husband and alpha corgi, though both males hog the bed and refuse to share the covers. When not writing, she enjoys reading, watching cheesy horror flicks, traveling, and karate. As a 5'1" Shotokan black belt, she firmly believes that fierce things come in small packages.
Website: www.tinamoss.com
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/Tina_Moss    
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tina-Moss/126390774082870
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5894584.Tina_Moss
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Spotlight on Help Me Move On by Angie Hemmings

Hey... I’m Angie Hemmings, the author of Help Me Move On.  Today I wanted to give you guys an excerpt from the book.  When we first meet Ally Dunn she’s at the funeral for her fiancè, struggling with the regrets that haunt her and mistakes she can’t unmake.  Moving on from her first and only love is something Ally never thought would happen and yet the moment she starts to move on with her life she realizes that everything she thought she knew was wrong.  Attacked in her own home, her grandmother hospitalized, and Isaiah unable or unwilling to give her any answers Ally finds herself at a crossroads.  The problem with unanswered questions is sometimes you don’t need someone to give you the answers...sometimes the answers are there all along you just have to open our eyes in order to see them.
Ally went upstairs, her mind filled with questions that Isaiah wasn't willing to answer.  She needed to get away from him at that point.  She walked up the wide wooden stairs, into her bedroom, her hands working to unbraid her hair as she walked over to the bed.  She sat down, her hands sliding across the smooth comforter.  So many questions but no answers.  She lay back, her eyes following the large wooden beams above her head.  The stone fireplace covered the entire wall in front of her bed, large stones in various shades of grey.  Sitting beside the fireplace next to the checkerboard was something new...a dozen lavender roses.Ally shot up, her hand going immediately to her chest, but the chain wasn't there.  She got out of the bed, looking to the night stand for the chain.  I took my chain off, I sat the chain down on the nightstand.  Last night, I did this last night.But it wasn't there.  The chain, the dog-tags.They were gone.  Ally dropped to her knees, laying her body flat to the floor as she looked under the bed.  Using her hand to stretch, she swiped her hand across the wood floor.  Crap.She looked under the nightstand, pulling it away from the wall.  The dog-tags missing.  She shook her head, her arms crossing when she walked over to where the roses sat beside the fireplace.  A dozen, lavender roses with a sweet scent that filled the room.  Yet still, no card.  She was in a home that had two separate gates to go through before you could even get to the house.Yet someone had managed to get into her bedroom?Her mind was going a mile a minute.  There was something she was missing but she couldn't figure out what it was.  Then she thought of it...the panic room.  Eric designed the room for her, the roses always came on a specific date, and the panic room required her fingerprint as the key...Ally walked over to the wall, her hand skirting along the edges until finding the right stone.  Pulling at the stone she opened the door, typing in the code and placing her finger on the screen.  The door opened long enough for her to walk through.  Using her hand she slid it along the wall, flipping the switch to light the room.  She heard the door closing behind her, but she was to focused on the panic room and what she was missing.  She started with the wall next to the door, her eyes scanning the flat, grey wall covered by a large painting hung in the middle.  She stood back, admiring the painting, the water was a blue that had always reminded her of Eric's eyes, a scattering of pink water lilies floated along the water.  That painting had been one of her favorites when she was in college.And then she remembered.Like a lightbulb going off, she remembered the time Eric had taken her to the museum in Raleigh.  She had gone on and on about the water lilies and how she wanted a print but they couldn't find one when they were there.  And now, here in the panic room he had built for her sat a print of the painting she had wanted so long ago.She turned away from the painting, looking through the rest of the room, sliding her hands along the sides of the couch, going to the shelves and pulling out packages of dehydrated food.  The dog-tags were gone, taken by the person who brought her the flowers.What am I missing...She walked around the room, the last twenty-four hours coming back to her.  The attack, the desperation she saw in the mens eyes.  They wanted to know where someone was, but she didn't know who that person was.  Eric was gone, she watched his casket go into the earth and she watched the men cover that same casket with dirt.  Ally looked through the entire room, ending up in front of painting again.  The painting...Why she did it, she wasn't quite sure but she decided to move the painting.  Sliding her hands along the sides she lifted it from the hook on the wall, placing it on the floor by the still closed door and turning back to the wall.Oh my God...Her hand covered her mouth, standing there she found herself looking at eight different television screens.  Each screen now showing different parts of the house, only not just the cabin but her house...her house in Pilot.Her living room. Her kitchen.Her bedroom.Someone could stay in this room and watch her.  She knew Isaiah owned his own security business.  He was the reason she had such a state of the art security system, Isaiah was always experimenting with different ways to increase security.  But had Isaiah installed cameras in her bedroom?  To be able and watch her, watch her when she was changing, when she thought she was alone...was disgusting.A knock woke her from her gaze, completely engrossed in the fact that she had absolutely no privacy.  She could easily see Isaiah standing at the wall to the panic room, knocking on the door to get her attention.  That screen kept going to each room of the house.Ally swallowed back the bile that had crept into the back of her throat, turning to open the door.  Isaiah stood there, his usual calm self, only now his features seemed harsher.  More calculating."Lunch is ready," he looked over to the screens and back to her, "but I guess you're not hungry anymore.""No," Ally shook her head, walking back to where she had stood and pointing towards the screens.  Isaiah saw the screens, looking around the room as though she weren't alone.  "Isaiah tell me you didn't do this."He watched the screens, watching as each screen skipped to another area of each home.  He looked back to the painting leaning against the wall before looking to Ally.  "What made you decide to take the painting off?""Because Eric bought that painting for me."Isaiah said nothing, his hand lifting to rest underneath his chin.  "How do you know this Ally?""It's the only thing I ever asked him to buy for me that he couldn't buy."  Ally walked over, sitting down on the purple sofa and resting her arm against the back, her head laying on her arm.  "He wanted to but they were out of prints.  I never mentioned the painting again and no one else knew about it Isaiah...including you."  She looked at him, their eyes locked on each other.  She could feel her heartbeat taking off, completely uncontrolled as she found the strength to speak.  "Have you been buying me the roses," she asked, her eyes meeting his.He didn't speak, his finger under his chin as he shook his head.  "Did you take the dog-tags," she asked.  "Isaiah I never take them off, until last night...and I know...I know where I put them."Again, he only shook his head."How accessible is this room Isaiah," she asked, her eyes going back to the screen that showed her bedroom in Pilot.Isaiah started shaking his head, pacing back and forth in the room.  He walked over to where she sat, her feet tucked underneath her.  "The two of us and Eric, but Ally, Eric's dead he can't sit around and watch you."She looked down at her hands, now intertwined on her lap.  "Isaiah he's alive and he's watching me."  She looked back over to the screens, Isaiah finally realizing her bedroom was one of the rooms with cameras."Unless you put the cameras in my bedroom," Ally asked.  "Because from where I'm sitting, I could easily watch someone getting dressed in my bedroom."It was just....wrong."Ally," Isaiah was completely dumbfounded.  "Tell me you didn't put cameras in my bedroom," Ally began, "please Isaiah.  I need to at least know you wouldn't do something like that.""No," Isaiah walked over sitting by her side.  "I have cameras on the main floor, but not in your bedrooms."Ally reached over, her hand laying lightly against his hand that now sat in a fist by his side.  "Tell me everything."Isaiah shook his head, running his hand through his hair and sitting back in the couch.  "Ally I can't.""The hell you can't."  Ally jumped to her feet, walking over and pointing to the screens.  "Look.  Isaiah seriously, LOOK."  She pointed to the screens.  "If you didn't put the cameras in my room, then someone did and they obviously had to have access to this room to watch me.""Ally," his voice was so calm.But he didn't understand the anger that was boiling in her at that moment."Ally please calm down." "Don't tell me to calm down when you aren't the one who's had a camera in your damn bedroom!"  She walked over to the shelving unit and staring at the rows upon rows of dehydrated food."Ally no one's been here," Isaiah continued.  "If they were I would know.""Eric was just as trained as you were with security," Ally said with a  huff.  "I get it, once a Delta always a Delta.  But this..."  She pointed towards the screens again.  "I want the cameras out of my bedroom Isaiah.""When we get back I'll find them and remove them."  He walked over to where she stood by the shelves along that back wall.  "Ally I'm sorry this is happening to you."She took a deep breath, her eyes closing as she tried to find some peace.  For once to not have to worry about something or someone.  She let out her breath, looking up to Isaiah.  "I'm not sorry it's happening.  I'm sorry that you won't tell me what he did.  I loved him and I think he's alive...whether you believe that or not.  So me not knowing is only putting me and everyone I love in more danger."  Everyone she loved...Her hand went to her mouth, her eyes closing and her heart breaking.  "If he's alive then he knows about Colton."  She looked over to Isaiah tears welling in her eyes.  "I finally moved on and now...""Ally..."She shook her head, her hand flying up when Isaiah walked over to her.  "He's watched me moving on with my life."  Ally ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the ends as she realized what was happening.  "He sent me the roses on days that only I would know were significant..."  Ally walked back to where the painting now sat against the wall, her eyes scanning the canvas."You deserve to be happy," Isaiah said, his hands going to rest on her shoulders.  "We don't know he's alive.""Yes...we do," she said, her tears falling and her fingers running along the bottom corner of the painting.The painting she had wanted he made sure Isaiah bought for her."What are you talking about Ally?""When did you bring the painting to this room Isaiah," she asked, her tears were worse and her fingers running along the message he had left for her.  Four simple words written in Eric's handwriting on the back of that painting.I'll never leave you...She looked up to Isaiah, the blood draining from face as he looked at the words on that painting."Before we left for Uganda," he whispered.She stopped, "He's been trying to tell me all along I just didn't want to believe it and now..."  She started shaking her head, "No matter what I do I'm going to hurt someone that I love."
I loved that part, I mean how many of us know about a panic rooms or security that involves cameras in your bedroom?  Seriously, Ally is a small town girl from Pilot Mountain.  Her day to day activities involve going to work and then home with a little Krav Maga in between so the real question I keep asking myself at this point is what really happened when her fiancè Eric died?
What do you think?
Help Me Move OnThe Southern Ties SeriesBook 1 Angie Hemmings 
Genre: Romance                 ISBN: 978-1502871800 
Number of pages: 248 Word Count: 81079 
Book Description: 
Ally Dunn is a small town girl with big dreams planning a wedding that would never happen. Ally’s life revolved around being Eric’s wife…until she watched his best friend Isaiah step off that plane, his arm in a sling and Eric's casket behind him. Her grief consumed her, their last conversation not one filled with love but an argument over her favorite flower. He knew her favorite flower, he was just busy…fighting for his country. Isaiah made a promise to Eric, he would keep Ally safe even if that meant saving her from herself. Isaiah takes Ally away when her grief becomes too much but their return brings about something she never expected.  
When Ally meets Colton Walker she knows her life will never be the same. She never planned to move on from Eric, the mere idea of moving on would send her into a panic. How do you move on from the man you loved, the man who shared your dreams, who made your heart feel whole? But Colton doesn’t push her, he doesn’t pressure her, he gives her everything she ever needed and he does it effortlessly.
Falling in love with Colton was like taking her next breath; she didn’t have to think about because it came naturally…only a cloud hangs over Ally. Isaiah trains her in Krav Maga, Eric trained her in gunfire. Colton sees all of this, asking the one question she can’t answer, why? Why would a woman who lives in such a small town need to know such aggressive self-defense? Isaiah vows to keep her safe, going so far as to track her every move…but why?  
Surviving Eric’s death almost killed Ally, the hole in her heart never truly healed until Colton. Falling in love with Colton was easy, fighting for her life when everything she thought she knew was wrong…that was a completely different story.

Available at AmazonAbout the Author:
Angie Hemmings is a self-proclaimed romance addict.  Her love for romance began at an early age but after years of reading romance novels she found herself wanting more which led to her first novel.  She's originally from Mount Airy, a small town in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains and she loves the art behind creating a new story.  Getting lost in the romance, the struggle between her characters is what makes Angie Hemmings continue her work and writing is what she loves. 
www.angiehemmings.com  
@angiehemmings04
https://www.facebook.com/pages/angiehemmingscom
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7398893.Angie_Leonard_Hemmings

Soul Storm Series by Ann Gimpel

Dark ProphecySoul StormBook 1Ann Gimpel
Publisher: Dream Shadow Press
Release Date: 12/11/14
Genre: Urban Fantasy
When the dream world spills its murky contents, everyone’s worst nightmares run free.
Book Description:
Dr. Lara McInnis reads auras and flirts with an elusive ability to foretell the future. Ambivalent about the magic within her, she’s done a fine job ignoring other aspects of her power—until now. After several patients—and a student or two—describe the same cataclysmic dream, she uncovers ancient evil intent on draining her power. Lara knows next to nothing about her psychic side, but it will destroy her if she can’t come to terms with it.
Trevor Denoble has secrets, but he shields them well with a stunning body and a boatload of British charm. The airline he works for folds because there’s no fuel for the planes, and Lara’s changing into someone he barely recognizes. Though he doesn’t know it yet, the rest of his carefully crafted life is about to come crashing down too. 
Living in a world teetering on the edge of anarchy, Trevor and Lara are faced with a series of painful decisions. Is the love between them enough for Trevor to swallow his distrust of Lara’s burgeoning paranormal ability? Will their personal demons tear them apart in a world gone mad, as shortages of everything from electricity to food escalate?

Book Trailer http://youtu.be/H2mtTvxkrT4
Available at Amazon


Excerpt Dark Prophecy:
…Hours later, Lara let herself out of her office, reached back in to activate the alarm, and then locked the door behind her. Arabel had gone home at six. Normally her receptionist left a note if there was something she needed to communicate. Tonight there hadn’t been any notes because there weren’t any patients she needed to call. But there had been a few zucchinis from Arabel’s lovingly-tended garden. Lara was grateful, both for the organic produce and for the lack of patient-related affairs to attend to. She was tired and hoped nobody had a crisis that evening.She double-checked the pager that lived clipped to her belt. As she moved away from the front door of her building, she stumbled. The outside light was out—when had that happened?—and it was very dark in the shadows of the cavernous front porch. She made a grab for the railing to steady herself and took a tentative step toward the street.“Stop right there,” a familiar harsh voice boomed from behind her.“Mr. Beauchamp. That is you, isn’t it?” Alarm ricocheted through her, but she knew intuitively it was important to hide her fear. “What do you want?” Though she aimed for nonchalance, her voice sounded thin and shaky. Is it Ken? Aw, Jesus, who else could it be? She closed her eyes, gathering data from an unseen realm she knew well. Once her energies were focused, she discerned his twisted energy field throbbing against the darkness. Better the devil you know flashed through her mind. Not necessarily came close on its heels, as she realized, with a sinking feeling, that Ken Beauchamp really was dangerous. She’d known it the first time he walked into her office, but drawn in by his wife’s soft helplessness, she’d ignored her concerns, compassion overriding common sense.“I want to talk. No, don’t turn around.” The man’s voice held menace as it sliced into her tumbling thoughts.“What do you want to talk about, Mr. Beauchamp?” With effort, she kept her voice steady. “Surely whatever it is can wait until tomorrow. You really do need to call my office and make an appointment.” There, that seems like about the right amount of bravado.“What did you tell my wife today? When you were in the bathroom. You’d better tell me the truth.”“Are you threatening me? Because if you are, I’ll call the cops and have you thrown off my property.” Anger was rapidly displacing her fear—or at least coexisting with it. She reached a hand into her bag in search of her phone.“That wouldn’t be smart, Doc, not very smart at all. Take your hand out of that purse.”Ken Beauchamp’s voice was mild, but an ominous undertone chilled her. Sweat gathered in her armpits and dripped down her sides. Think! she commanded herself. There’s got to be a way out of this.“Well, Doctor?” Ken’s voice oozed sarcasm, with undercurrents of something darker and far more primal. “I asked you a simple question. Answer it and we can both go home.”What was he doing? Lara dug deeper with her hyper-honed senses. His breathing seemed…uneven. Was he getting off by intimidating her? Something clicked ominously. The snick of a gun’s safety mechanism? What else could that cold metallic snapping sound possibly be? Fighting fear that threatened to paralyze her, Lara asked, “How’s Bethany, Mr. Beauchamp? She’s all right isn’t she?” Despite her concerns for herself, Lara was suddenly frantic about Bethany.“That’s none of your business anymore. We won’t be back. I just want to know what you told her today.”“Why is that important to you?”“I ask the questions around here.” Yes, Lara thought as she listened intently, he was practically panting. Oh shit, this guy’s a pervert on top of all his other less-than-stellar attributes. She flirted with flying down the porch steps and trying to outrun him, except she had dress shoes on and her heavy shoulder bag. What if he really did have a gun? She hadn’t heard the metal click again.A car pulled to the curb in front of her building and she started, heart beating like a mad thing. Christ, is it one of his henchmen come to help out? Practically moaning aloud, she wondered what Ken Beauchamp had in mind for her…

Dark PursuitSoul StormBook 2Ann Gimpel
Dream Shadow Press
Release Date: 12/30/14Genre: Urban Fantasy
Old blood and ancient power pit themselves against evil so dark, deep, and menacing it changes everyone who comes into contact with it. And not for the better.
Book Description:
Widespread rioting, plus shortages of fuel, food, and electricity lure demons across the veil to invade Earth. Drawn by anarchy, they’re out of control, drunk on their own power, and growing stronger by the day.
With her life crumbling around her, Dr. Lara McInnis is reluctantly roped into channeling her unpredictable psychic talents to help a detective who saved her from a psychopathic killer. Problem is, she’s still quite the neophyte in terms of either summoning her magic, or bending it to do much of anything. Her lack of skill strands her in the murky underbelly of a world inhabited by dark forces.
Trevor Denoble may not be psychic, but his old blood gives him gifts as well. After years of uncertainty, Lara is really and truly finally his. He’s determined to keep her by his side, but she refuses to cooperate. The detective’s daughter is trapped in darkness, and Lara insists on going after her—to a place barred to Trevor. Not to be denied, he latches onto his Celtic blood and uncovers latent power. No stranger to violence, more blood on his hands is a small price to pay to keep the woman he loves safe.
Available at Amazon
Excerpt Dark Pursuit:
…Fingers hesitant on the keypad—the last thing she needed was another snag in a life that already felt way too complicated—Lara entered the number. Seconds later, Detective Brad Archer’s familiar voice answered, “Archer here. That you, Lara?”“Yes,” she replied. Normally, she’d have asked what he needed, but a part of her didn’t want to know. Detective Archer had shot and wounded Ken Beauchamp, setting a string of events into play that led to the man’s eventual capture. Since Beauchamp was dead, Lara assumed Archer must want something from her—and pretty badly to call at such an ungodly hour.There was a pause, typical of what law enforcement officers did when they thought they might have a reluctant recruit on the other end of the phone. Lara’s stomach tightened, and she relaxed her grip on the phone because her hand was cramping. “I—I’m calling to ask a favor, Dr. McInnis,” he began formally.She girded herself for whatever the request might be. Trev and I owe him big time. If it’s a favor, I’ll have to at least try to help, even though I’m so overwhelmed with everything else I’m drowning.“It’s my daughter, Adriana,” Brad choked out, anguish blasting through the phone lines. “Lara—she’s missing.”“That’s terrible! What happened?” Shocked by his revelation, she sat up straighter in bed. More than that, though, she was confused why he was calling her. “Don’t you have an entire fleet of officers who hunt for missing persons?”“Yes, we do. Even a couple psychics. That’s the problem, Doctor, uh, Lara. Even with all that, they’ve been hunting for her for almost a week and haven’t found a single lead.”“How old is she?” Lara asked. Warnings rained from her psychic side, but she ignored them.“Seventeen.” Archer’s voice was about an octave too high and strained.“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” Lara suggested gently. “After all, teenagers are notorious for this sort of thing. Are you certain she didn’t run off with some boy? Or that she’s not holed up with a girlfriend? Did you or your wife have a fight with her?”“No fights, but I’m not sure about either of the other two,” Brad admitted. “Look, Lara, I know you’re busy, but I could really use your, ah, special abilities to help me.” He sighed heavily, and his breath whistled from between what sounded like clenched teeth. “There’s not even a fucking clue, Doctor. Not one. My men have worked this thing to within an inch of its life.” Tormented words tore out of him. “Her car’s disappeared, which isn’t all that unusual in kidnapping cases, but so have her motor vehicle and school records. Whatever happened to her, it wiped her off the face of the Earth. Christ, her hospital birth records don’t even exist anymore. And my wife…” He stopped, obviously struggling for control. “She’s been sedated for the past three days. When she wakes up, she starts screaming. Adriana was…is our only child.”Lara closed her eyes. The amulet hanging around her neck pricked unpleasantly. So there’s magic involved here.“Doctor?”“Yes, I’m still here. I’m thinking.”“Please.” The single word held all the angst of a man caught in an ever-tightening web.“Okay, I’ll meet you wherever you want around noon.”“I’ll come to you,” he said quickly. “Your office?”“Yes,” she replied. “If you brought lunch, we could eat while we work.”
“No problem,” Archer replied. “Thanks, Lara.” Before he rang off, she heard him crying, sobbing actually, in great, gulping gasps. More than anything, that gave her pause. He was tough, a twenty year veteran of the police force. Her fears about what she’d just agreed to skyrocketed when the amulet—with its uncanny sensitivity to psychic events—radiated disapproval by sending waves of bitter cold against her skin… Dark PromiseSoul StormBook 3Ann Gimpel
Dream Shadow Press
108K words
Release Date: 1/29/15
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Some choices can never be undone.
Book Description:
Lara and Trevor flee Seattle in the wake of rising chaos. Like raptors drawn to road kill, demons converge on what’s left of civilization, urging it to implode even faster.
In this final book of the Soul Storm series, Lara and Trevor’s relationship undergoes stresses that threaten to annihilate them. Constantly hungry, besieged by dark forces, they need every resource they’ve developed as a couple to keep from ripping each other apart.  With her mentors snared in a chokehold by Goblins, Lara has only her half-baked magic standing between survival and certain death for herself, her love, and their unborn child.
The remote location that was supposed to solve all their problems has done anything but. Though she works diligently, Lara’s crash course in magic proves woefully inadequate. Trevor’s determined to protect his family, but he’s developed a decidedly haunted edge from all the carnage.
When he’s captured by demons, Lara curses their decision to leave Seattle, risks everything to go after him, and falls headlong into a cunningly crafted trap.
Available at Amazon

Excerpt Dark Promise:
…Trevor let himself out the kitchen door, Brad’s Heckler and Koch tucked under his arm. In a distant corner of his brain, he thought he must be mad to march off to face Christ-only-knew-what with a weapon he’d never fired before. Feels like it did the night I snuck out into the dark to see who had the night vision lamp. This gun didn’t do shit when Brad fired it that night. Not against Goblins. With memories swamping him, Trevor felt ill. He tightened his grip on the gun’s stock, and his breath came way too fast as he scanned the yard for movement.The only reason he’d survived that other night was because a goddess had intervened. He didn’t figure he’d be that lucky twice. Besides, the supernatural creatures seemed to have other things on their minds. He’d cornered Elidora a couple days before to ask what was wrong. The Carlisle witch-woman mumbled something cryptic in Celtic Gaelic. Trying to decipher it after she left, he wondered if the Dreaming might not be under Demon attack.Standing on the bottom step, with the comforting bulk of the house behind him, Trevor tried reaching out with all his senses. At first, the frantic beat of his heart drumming in his ears overwhelmed everything else. He forced himself to take some steadying breaths. Somewhere between them, he caught a sense of something not quite right, and the fine hairs on the nape of his neck quivered. He peered anxiously around the familiar yard, illuminated by strands of sunlight peeking through fluffy clouds. Nothing moved. In an effort to be methodical, he shifted his gaze from left to right, then back again. Still nothing.Is something hiding in the trees? That’s what they did last time. A vision of the Goblin that had jumped Brad rose unbidden, and Trevor bit hard on his lower lip. “No Goblins,” he mumbled. “They haven’t been here since that night. No reason they should come back.”Bolstered somewhat by the sound of his own voice, he straightened his back, seeking courage to move away from the house. None of the animals were making any unusual noises like they would if they were frightened. Whatever had stirred up the goats before must have left. He checked the safety—clicking it off with fingers that weren’t as steady as he might have liked—and patted his pocket for the spare magazines Brad had shoved into his hand, the last of the ammunition for the automatic rifle.“Best get moving,” he muttered, striding purposefully across the yard. He glanced from side to side to reassure himself no one else was there. Deciding to check the barn first, since it was closest to the house, he altered course. When he got there, he unlatched the door and pushed it open.“Mary, mother of God,” he gasped and fell back a step, as he took in a scene out of the nine levels of Dante’s Inferno. Something—or someone—had slaughtered the goats. Blood was everywhere. The floor was slick with it, and it blotched the walls. Nausea roiled through him. Trevor struggled not to vomit. A muted bleat came from somewhere. As he sought its source, a kid crept from under one of the corpses mewling piteously. “Poor thing.” Trevor reached down to stroke the small creature. It shook as it nuzzled his hand. He wondered how it had escaped, then realized its mother must have thrown herself atop her child. The reality of what the carnage meant hit home. He tasted fear, bitter and acrid. A metallic taste filled his mouth, burning its way deep into his soul. Goblins. There are Goblins here. There must be. No animal could have done this and latched the door behind him.Trevor’s head snapped up. He felt sure he heard something, its feet slogging through the mud. Lurching to the still-open barn door, he opened fire, swinging the weapon in a broad swath, while trying to avoid firing directly at the house. He still didn’t see anything, but he knew in his guts he wasn’t alone. Hadn’t been since he set foot in the yard. That was why he felt so odd. He fired another burst, hoping against hope to hit something.A shriek, and then another, assailed him. It sounded like someone was being murdered five feet away. He twisted wildly from side to side, but didn’t see a thing. His mind rebelled at the contradiction. He lunged to pick up the kid and make a run for the house, but something closed about him from behind. Panting hot and fast, he swung the gun barrel sideways to hit whatever was there, but didn’t have enough reach. Laughter brayed. The same damned, maniacal laughter he’d heard the last time Goblins showed up. A cloying miasma, reminiscent of road kill lying in the sun too long, clogged his nostrils.Even though he still couldn’t see what had him, steel bands wrapped around his chest. Breathing became difficult. He considered yelling for Brad, but didn’t want either the crippled detective or, God forbid, Lara, anywhere near what was happening to him. Fear clawed at his belly. The edges of his vision grayed as his oxygen supply diminished. “For bloody fuck’s sake, I’m going to die here,” he growled, just before the darkness swirling ever closer dragged him downward…



About the Author:
Ann Gimpel is a national bestselling author. She’s also a clinical psychologist, with a Jungian bent.  Avocations include mountaineering, skiing, wilderness photography and, of course, writing.  A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. She’s published over 20 books to date, with several more contracted for 2014 and beyond.
A husband, grown children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out her family.
www.anngimpel.com
http://anngimpel.blogspot.com
http://www.amazon.com/author/anngimpel
http://www.facebook.com/anngimpel.author
@AnnGimpel
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Release Day Blitz The Curse Servant by J.P. Sloan

Hex-Peddling in the Age of the Entitlement, an Interview with Dorian Lake
Hi… J.P. Sloan, here. I've had a bit of experience with charms and hexes in my time, but to really put a finger on the pulse of modern esoteric practice, I thought I'd go right to the source… So join me as I trade a few lobs back and forth with Baltimore's preeminent hex-crafter, Dorian Lake.~ ~ ~D.L.: Did you just call me preeminent?
J.P.: I… yes. Yes, I did.
D.L.: I knew I liked you. I'm an outstanding judge of character.
J.P.: Dorian, let me begin by defining some terms for the readers at home. Let's start with charms and hexes. What the hell's the difference?
D.L.: A fine question, and one that most of my clients completely lark up on our first consultation. Hexes and charms are both forms of what some in my circles refer to as Affinity Magic. That's metaphysical phenomena that ties to, triggers from, or otherwise exploits commonality.
J.P.: I think you've already gone over my head.
D.L.: Deal with it. Charms and hexes both elicit a change in the natural order. That's not to say they're unnatural, but that Nature as we typically see it is subverted. I prefer to think of my practice as tapping into laws of Nature that have been hidden. Hence why I refer to it as "esoteric practice."
J.P.: So, what's the difference between a charm and a hex?
D.L.: A charm is a single change in one's cosmic disposition. It could be damn near anything… your appearance (we call those kinds of charms "glammers", by the way), your memories, your luck. It's a tiny advantage, like a cheat code for existence. The downside to charms is that their effects are usually pretty limited and hard to spot unless you know what you're looking for.
Hexes, on the other hand, have more to do with cause and effect. It's like engineered karma… When you cast a hex on someone, you're creating an arbitrary effect to a cause of your choosing. An example: if you want your boyfriend to stop playing Minotaur Age: the Burning Sensation until the wee hours, then you can hex him such that his computer freezes up every time he spends more than, say, half an hour. And that's the trick to hexes… they have to have limits, durations, and they must end when the subject fulfills a requirement. 
Otherwise you're just cursing someone, and that's just fifty shades of Bad Idea.
J.P.: You mentioned karma… I know you make a big deal about karma in your workings.
D.L.: Damn skippy. See, all magic requires a source, same way electronics require power. Some sources are trustworthy and reliable, others not so much. Hermetic practitioners prefer steady, easy-to-predict sources of energy. This is as opposed to, say, witches or other naturalists who tie their workings to Nature. That's kind of a crap shoot.
J.P.: And your source is karma?
D.L.: It's super-safe. My old mentor, Emil, wanted me to steer clear of… shall we say, infernal sources? His advice was karma. It's the Cosmic ledger for the disposition of a person's soul. If you have it coming to you… I can coax it out ahead of schedule. Kind of like a payday loan, but with way less interest. If you don't have it coming to you, well… then it ain't gonna happen. This is important, because sometimes hexes can get a touch ugly. Karma goes both ways, after all.
J.P.: Most people in the world these days don't believe in magic… or karma, for that matter. Doesn't that make it more difficult for someone like you to make a living?
D.L.: Not really. I frankly don't need my clients to believe in what I'm doing. I mean, you may not believe in flu shots… doesn't mean you won't catch the damn flu when you don't get one.  If anything, people these days make my job easier. Everyone feels like they have something coming to them, whether they deserve it or not. Dangle the prospect of expedited entitlement, and you have to broom them away. Which I do. Often.
I'll tell you what makes it difficult… magical regulation. I've done my "due diligence" to make sure I'm not dipping into Netherwork, but that doesn't stop the Presidium from taking my temperature every now and then. The hard way. And by taking my temperature the hard way, I mean--
J.P.: I get the picture.
D.L.: If I'm going to be honest, the Presidium helps me maintain my monopoly over Baltimore hex-crafting. I'm the only jerk crazy enough to practice so close to D.C. I just keep my head down and try not to be a nuisance.
J.P.: Do you have any advice for prospective clients?
D.L.: Get your house in order before you talk to someone like me. You have to recognize that this isn't a free service. And I'm not talking about my fee. I mean the Cosmos is a zero-sum game. If you push the Cosmos too hard, it'll push back. I can't tell you how many clients have secured my services, knowing full well that I'm calling everyone's karmic balances out into the open. It's usually jilted lovers that end up with karmic blowback… and it's usually men, as an aside. They tend to think they're blameless, and when the hex blows up in their face, they're the ones wading hip-deep through their own consequences.
J.P.: So be sure you're not in the wrong.
D.L.: As sure as anyone can be, at least. Just do some soul searching before you take out a hex.
J.P.: Thanks for your time, Dorian. Do you have any contact information you'd like to pass along to the readers?
D.L.: Frankly, no. I work on referrals only, and I'm pretty selective. If you have trouble with someone, I'd recommend getting a good massage, drinking some tea, and trying to move on with life. Tends to work out better for everyone in the end.
J.P.: Well, there you have it, folks. Don't bother with charms or hexes unless you already know who to talk to, and are pretty sure you don't need them in the first place.

D.L.: I couldn't have put it better myself!
The Curse ServantThe Dark ChoirBook 2J.P. Sloan
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Curiosity Quills Press
Date of Publication:  February 26, 2015
ISBN (eBook): 9781620078228ISBN (Paperback): 9781620078235ISBN (Hardcover): 9781620078242ISBN (Smashwords): 9781620078259ASIN:  B00QEQN1XC
Number of pages:  346Word Count:  99,400
Cover Artist:  Conzpiracy Digital Arts
Book Description: 
The one person standing between Hell… and an innocent girl… is a man without a soul.
A regular life isn’t in the cards for Dorian Lake, but with his charm-crafting business invigorated, and the prospect of a serious relationship within his grasp, life is closer to normal than Dorian could ever expect. In the heat of the Baltimore mayoral campaign, Dorian has managed to balance his arrangements with Deputy Mayor Julian Bright with his search to find his lost soul. Dorian soon learns of a Netherworker, the head of a dangerous West Coast cabal, who might be able to find and return his soul. The price? Just one curse.
Sounds easy… but nothing ever is for Dorian. A dark presence arrives in the city, hell-bent on finding Dorian’s soul first. Innocents are caught in the crossfire, and Dorian finds it harder to keep his commitments to Bright. When the fight gets personal, and the entity hits too close to home, Dorian must rely on those he trusts the least to save the ones he loves. As he tests the limits of his hermetic skills to defeat this new enemy, will Dorian lose his one chance to avoid damnation?

Available at AmazonExcerpt:
I knew this wasn't going to be the typical meeting with Julian Bright when, instead of the usual political organ-grinders at the campaign headquarters, I found a soccer mom duct taped to a chair, foaming at the mouth. Her grunting and growling echoed off the bare sheetrock walls of Julian's office, vacant except for the three of us.I peeked through the blinds covering the locked storefront to make sure none of volunteers were back from the morning rounds. Satisfied we were alone, I turned to Julian.He waved his arm at the woman in a lazy circle. "So, this is why I called.""Who is she?""Her name is Amy Mancuso. You know her?"I shook my head."She's a volunteer. Her team was working Cold Spring by Loyola when she started swearing and spitting at the residents. By the time her team captain called me, she'd kicked someone's dog. Terrier, I think. Or one of those purse dogs."I winced. "Remind me not to hand out yard signs for you. Jesus.""It's not like we do background checks on volunteers. I figured she probably missed some meds or something.""But you called me instead of the paramedics.""Right.""Why?" I asked as I took a step toward her.Amy's grunting halted as she straightened in her chair. Her head swiveled slowly in my direction, and her eyes sent the creeping chills up my neck.With a nerve-rattling tone she growled, "Is that Dorian Lake I smell?"I'd never enjoyed the sound of my own name less.Julian turned a shoulder to me and whispered, "That's why.""Gotcha."I slowly approached Amy, pulling my pendulum from my jacket pocket in a slow, non-threatening motion. Last thing I needed at that moment was to send a crazy person into a panic. I assumed she was crazy. My pendulum would determine whether she was unnaturally energized or the usual cat-shaving flavor of lunatic.Her eyes were dilated; her mouth twisted into the most unsettling smile one could imagine on the face of an otherwise average woman."Have we met?""Poor little Dorian lost his soul."Okay, this was probably a legitimate problem.I dangled the pendulum in front of Amy. The little nugget of copper spun from the end of its chain in a perfectly Newtonian fashion. Nothing pulled it contrary to the laws of Nature. I couldn't even feel a tug on the chain.She continued, "Lost his soul, he lost his soul. Dropped it down a rabbit hole.""I suppose you think you're being clever?""Is he doomed or is he dead? Will he damn your soul instead?"This conversation had lost all of its charm."Who am I talking to?"She sucked in a huge gulp of air and craned her neck at a painful angle toward the ceiling. A sick squealing noise leaked from her lips as her arms trembled. When she finally released her breath and sank back down into her chair, she simply chuckled."We're going to find it, you know. And when we do, we're going to eat it."I leaned in as close as I dared and whispered, "If you think I'm afraid of you, then you need to know something. I'm not impressed.""It won't be long now.""Did someone send you, or is this just a courtesy call?"She smirked. "We're going to enjoy this."
I was knitting together a clever response when a loud rip of tape crackled through the room. Her hand slammed up underneath my jaw, fingers clamping around my throat. My head filled with blood, and I tried to cough through the gag reflex. The harder I beat on her hand to let go, the wider that creepy smile got.

About the Author:
J.P. Sloan is a speculative fiction author ... primarily of urban fantasy, horror and several shades between. His writing explores the strangeness in that which is familiar, at times stretching the limits of the human experience, or only hinting at the monsters lurking under your bed.
A Louisiana native, Sloan relocated to the vineyards and cow pastures of Central Maryland after Hurricane Katrina, where he lives with his wife and son. During the day he commutes to the city of Baltimore, a setting which inspires much of his writing.
In his spare time, Sloan enjoys wine-making and homebrewing, and is a certified beer judge.
Web page: www.jp-sloan.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JPSloanAuthor
Twitter: @J_P_Sloan
Tumblr: http://jpsloan.tumblr.com/
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6569197.J_P_Sloan

Giveaway Soulbound by Kristen Callihan

About SOULBOUND

Once two souls are joined . . .

When Adam's soul mate rejected him, there was more at stake than his heart. After seven hundred years of searching, his true match would have ended the curse that keeps his spirit in chains. But beautiful, stubborn Eliza May fled-and now Adam is doomed to an eternity of anguish, his only hope for salvation gone… Their hearts will beat together forever

No matter how devilishly irresistible Adam was, Eliza couldn't stand the thought of relinquishing her freedom forever. So she escaped. But she soon discovers she is being hunted-by someone far more dangerous. The only man who can help is the one man she vowed never to see again. Now Adam's kindness is an unexpected refuge, and Eliza finds that some vows are made to be broken…

Barnes and  Noble     Books-A-Million     IndieBound 
Amazon     iTunes    Kobo  Excerpt:
Eliza sat back on her heels, while Adam merely stared at her as though he had all the time in the world. “Fine,” she said. “Three weeks. I free you and you help me.” She gave him a warning look. “I’ll need your word that you will help me, that this” she waved her hand between them, “isn’t merely a way to trick me into freeing you.” “This business was your idea, woman,” he said with affront. “Nevertheless, I’ll need your word.” The demon’s nostrils flared with a sharp exhalation. “My word then.” Eliza did not look away from him, and he glared back in obvious exasperation. “What now?” “I’m merely considering if I ought to trust your word,” she said. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he bared his teeth. “I keep my word, whether I want to or not. My word is my bond. Honor, Miss May. Unlike you, I have it.” “How dare you—” “How dare you?” He craned forward, the muscles along his shoulders bunching. “Not so long ago you broke your promise of fealty. To me!” “Oh, yes, how quick you are to remind me.” Eliza leaned close, grinding her teeth to keep in a shout. “You enjoy being quick, don’t you?” His thick, dark brows furrowed. “What in the bloody blazes are you talking about?” “You gave me all of ten seconds to make a choice.” Eliza’s fists ached from clenching them. “And what a choice. I was dead, my body sliced open, my blood on the ground. I would have done anything, anything,” she thumped her fist to her chest, “to get back my life.” “So that makes it better?” he snapped back in outrage. “Desperation gives you leave to go back on your word?” “No. That is not what I meant.” “Then you agree that you bloody well have no honor—” “You never explained what was involved. You never said I’d be chained to you, like some animal, for the rest of my days,” Eliza shouted. “I was told I would be a GIM. I was ready to serve you in that manner. You knew full well that’s what I believed. If anything, you swindled me!” All at once, he sagged, though he still eyed her with resentment and distaste. Well, she had a healthy helping of those feelings for him too. “Tick, tock, Eliza,” she mimicked. “You rushed me because you didn’t want me to think things over.” When he broke eye contact, his hard jaw twitched. “I’m correct, aren’t I?” Ire and a red rage surged up within her. “And you have the brass to sit on your high horse and talk of honor. Well let me tell you something, demon. There is little honor in forcing a person’s hand. Or using your power to coerce those weaker than you.”A black scowl twisted the demon’s face as he glared at some distant point. “Fine. May I continue, or have you more complaints to heap upon my head?” “Please do continue,” Eliza granted. His golden gaze flicked back to her. “I want to kiss you.”“No.” The word burst out of her with force. “Absolutely not.” Unfazed, Adam shrugged. “Unless you have something to offer in exchange for your freedom, Mellan and Mab will, as you say, merely hunt us down, and you’ll be back to where you started.” “Then I shall find out what he wants.” Eliza straightened her back. She could do that. She must. Like hell was she going to kiss this demon. Adam simply gave her a slow, wicked half-smile. “Fortunately for you, lass, I already know what he wants. What they both want. More than controlling you. More than torturing me, even.” “Then why in blazes haven’t you used it to secure your own freedom?” Eliza blurted out.“I’m only alive because they cannot break me into revealing where this item might be.” The belligerence burning in his eyes was gone in a blink, replaced by a look of pure cunning. “However, I might be persuaded to help you use the knowledge. All I require is— ” “Fine,” she snapped, irritation getting the best of her. “I’ll kiss you.” Silence fell, and Adam stared at her with those eyes of his. Devil’s eyes. Eyes that made a woman forget herself. Heat rose up over her breasts and crawled along the back of her neck. Eliza grasped her skirts, her fingers twitching. She would kiss him. Kiss a man who had brought her nothing but irritation. Maybe she’d bite him to boot. His chest, gleaming with sweat, rose and fell in a soft pattern. A bead of perspiration broke free from the top of his shoulder and ran down along the firm rise of his pectoral muscles, straight toward the dark nub of his nipple. All this time arguing with him, she’d forgotten his state of undress. Not so now. She’d have to press up against those hard muscles, touch his skin. Eliza wrenched her gaze back to his face, and his sinful lips curled in a knowing smile. “You know,” he said casually, “I believe I shall pass for the moment. I’d rather it be when you aren’t wearing such a sour face. Kills a bloke’s ardor, you realize.”Eliza blinked. And then his meaning hit her. “Why you…rutting…cheap, trickster…” He laughed, a flash of even teeth. “Come now, Eliza, fret not.” He stopped then, that obnoxious smile growing and heating with promise. “I’ll take that kiss soon enough. ” She rose to her feet in a rustle of skirts. “And I’ll be sure to bite that wicked tongue when you do!” She marched out of the cell, slamming it behind her, as he began to laugh again. Bastard. She might just leave him here to rot after all. His laughing taunt echoed through the dark. “Now that I know tongues are involved, I’ll be sure to collect.”

About Kristen Callihan

Kristen Callihan is an author because there is nothing else she'd rather be. She is a three-time RITA nominee and winner of two RT Reviewers' Choice awards. Her novels have garnered starred reviews from Publishers Weekly and Library Journal, as well as being awarded top picks by many reviewers. Her debut book, Firelight, received RT Book Reviews' Seal of Excellence, was named a best book of the year by Library Journal, best book of Spring 2012 by Publisher's Weekly, and was named the best romance book of 2012 by ALA RUSA. When she is not writing, she is reading.

@Kris10Callihan
http://www.KristenCallihan.com
http://facebook.com/KristenCallihan
https://www.goodreads.com/Kristen_Callihan



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