Roxanne Rhoads's Blog, page 399

Guest Blog and Giveaway Drain Me by Lana Sky

Hello!  Lana Sky here and I am so excited to be here at Fang-tastic Books.
To start off, what comes to mind when you hear the term Gothic? Sprawling cathedrals, brimming with gargoyles and stained glass? Decrepit manors draped in shadow? Horror stories that blend reality and paranormal in an effortless web of suspense?

We’ve all heard of classic novels such as Frankenstein and Dracula, but what exactly is Gothic literature? Tons of stuffy articles will tell you one thing, but in my opinion one of the main themes that seems consistent throughout most Gothic novels is the resounding question of, who is the real monster?
In Dracula is the vampire himself the fiend, or the people who hunt him? Is Frankenstein the villain or the victim?

You could argue both questions either way—and that’s the whole point. The ambiguity of good and evil is what fascinates me most about the realm of Gothic literature and it’s a style that I try to infuse into my own writing. Think of it this way; in a Gothic novel, the real monsters tend to be hidden in plain sight. In fact, more often than not…the narrator themselves discover that they are in fact the ‘monster’ of their own dark fairytale.

When reading, or in my case writing, a Gothic novel, one of the most important things to keep in mind is: things aren’t always what they seem. Illusion seems to be at the heart of every Gothic tale. The reader’s point of view is often distorted or biased by the narrator and facts and events may be interpreted entirely different from reality. 
The most powerful tool of a Gothic novelist is the fragility of the human psyche. People hallucinate. They over-think. They get afraid.
They go insane.

Insanity is actually a pretty fun concept to work with from a writer’s perspective, because it can be so subjective. Was Dr. Frankenstein a genius or a mad man? What about the ‘heroes’ in Dracula?

Blending insanity and perception is the greatest hallmark of a Gothic novel and when crafted correctly can create one incredible story.

Drain MeEllie Gray ChroniclesBook 1Lana Sky
Genre:  Paranormal Romance
Date of Publication:  November 28th 2014
ISBN:  150275438XASIN: B00OW46BD0
Number of pages:  550Word Count: 38k
Cover Artist:  Imogenary Designs
Book Description: 
When diagnosed with a fatal illness at the age of twenty six, Eleanor Gray is resigned to her fate—at least until the enigmatic Dublin Helos appears and makes her an offer she knows she should refuse:
Life or Death?
With a decision as harmless as checking the wrong box on a mysterious questionnaire, Ellie is plunged into a dangerous world where souls are sold to the highest bidder and pleasure is fueled by pain.
The rules of this new life are simple: submit everything—mind, body and soul. But the further Ellie falls under Dublin’s control, the more she comes to realize that it’s not just her sanity at stake, but her heart and a whole lot of blood too.
Available at AmazonExcerpt:
The fact that he knew my name didn’t alarm me. My family owned half the city, including a good portion of this very hospital. Considering that my sister’s escapades were constant fodder for the tabloids, I would have been more insulted if he didn’t know who I was. But once again …it was that look in his eyes. It chilled me right down to the bone; I know you, Eleanor Gray, it said. Way more than just a face from the Society Pages. Before I could choke out a reply, he smiled—for real this time—and my poor brain struggled to find the right words to describe it. Dazzling. Magnificent ... The flash of pearly white teeth nearly knocked me senseless. I lost my grip on the handkerchief for a split second, sparking the taste of copper over my tongue.  “Word travels fast around here,” he said, voice traveling down my spine. I felt my nose wrinkle as I frowned. Apparently news of my terminal illness had spread before I’d even left the damn hospital. How long before my picture ended up splattered over the front of some tabloid beneath the headline, Heiress given weeks to live?I didn’t answer. Instead, I willed my nose to stop bleeding, though I had a feeling that I was quickly becoming in danger of needing transfusion number four. I felt so dizzy all of a sudden. As if, at any moment, I could pass out. Faint.  “What do you see?”“Huh?”The question threw me off and had me turning to face him before I could help it. Wordlessly, he inclined his head and my eyes automatically followed.The hall we were in opened onto a causeway, where patients and visitors alike wandered the pristine floor. The sight reminded me of a hotel—albeit minus the IV poles some people sported instead of suitcases. The air was the same: that busy, ‘places to go, people to see, get the hell out of my way’ vibe that made everyone seem closed off, further away. Without meaning to, I found my gaze settling over a young girl who had her head wrapped in a polka dot headscarf. Beside her, a man I guessed to be her father pushed an IV pole that rattled over the floor. She was almost as pale as I was, with dark, bruise-like circles underneath her eyes—but that wasn’t what stood out to me the most. She was smiling. Walking, talking and …smiling. Despite the obvious physical signs, if you went off that expression alone, you would have never guessed she was sick at all. My gaze remained glued to her, even as the mysterious doctor spoke up again.“Mortality,” he said grimly. “It’s the most precious commodity in the world, don’t you agree?”I nodded. I may have not been that invested in my own life, but I could read the fervent desire on all the other faces—from the new mother carrying her infant in a car seat, to the elderly man clutching a newspaper to his chest.The lust to live was always the same.“There are some who would do anything for another chance at life, for more time.” He spoke so matter-of-factly that it wasn’t until my mind processed what he was really saying that his morbid tone struck me like a blow.  “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I sounded like I was under water.  My nose was still dripping. Even the pressure of my hand wasn’t enough to staunch the blood flow.   “You wouldn’t,” Mr. Gray Eyes said with a shrug. “Immortality doesn’t interest you, does it, Eleanor?”Alarm raced down my spine—no longer was I convinced that this was just a random chat with a stranger. It was all in his tone. “I have to go.”  I clutched the now bloody handkerchief and tried to stand. My legs felt as flaccid as limp noodles. Sweat poured down the back of my neck, and the erratic beat of my heart quickened and then faltered. Thump, thump, th-ump. “You’re not afraid of death,” the man—though I was now seriously doubting that he was a doctor—continued. “You welcome it; or so you tell yourself. But, I’m here to offer you a choice—”“I think …I need a real doctor.” I was through humoring him. Without bothering to be polite, I attempted to stagger in the direction of the activity, grasping onto anything to steady me. My hands were slippery and my once-burgundy peacoat was now soaked scarlet.  Hemohemorrahgia kept haunting me in Doctor Wallis’ curt tones. 90% fatality!“Mortality can be a hindrance of sorts.”The man was still talking, only I had no idea just what he was getting at. More importantly, why hadn’t he gotten a doctor or flagged down a nurse? I clung to the wall and scanned the crowd of blurring faces, desperate to catch sight of another white lab coat. “I think I …need …help.” It took all my strength just to get the words out. And he only ignored me. “I’m here to offer you a choice, Eleanor: accept your impending death, or …something else.”What else? I struggled to ask but was only greeted with silence. It stretched on for a good five minutes before I realized that he had finally left. That strange vibe was gone at least, but so was any sensation or feeling in my limbs. Or sound. My vision was an inky shade of gray, nearly black, but …
When I finally gave into the darkness, I swore I could hear him whisper one last time, “It’s your decision, but if you’re smart, you will make the right one.” 
 About the Author:
Lana Sky is a reclusive writer in the United States who spends most of her time daydreaming about complex male characters and legless cats. She writes mostly paranormal romance, in between watching reruns of Ab Fab and drinking iced tea. Only iced tea.
Facebook:  www.facebook.com/lanasky101
Website:  www.lanaskybooks.com
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9824866.Lana_Sky

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Break Her Fall by JoAnna Grace

Meet the Blake Pride, a group of renegade feline shape shifters who are always on the run!
Vivian is the alpha female. The welfare of the Pride falls on her shoulders. She also has a husky singing voice that seduces her audience. But don’t let the sexy performance and sequins fool you, she earned her position by sinking her teeth into their last Alpha. A man might be able to pay for a lap dance, but touching brings out her tiger’s claws. Independence defines her and mating has never been an option—until now. Read her story in Pride Before the Fall .
Melissa is Vivian’s little sister and the only submissive of the group. She has the gift of keeping the four other dominant personalities steady. The shy, elegant snow leopard might submit to a dominant member of the Pride, but when she’s on stage she holds the power. She’s experienced the pull of her mate and wants her Pride members to find the same love.
Tyrone is a shadow, living in the darkness among his inner demons. As a ruthless assassin, the only thing keeping him from a life of blood and death is Melissa, his mate. For her, this black leopard would move heaven and earth. His quiet strength and unexplainable abilities make him a mystery that only his mate and his twin understand.
Amilynn, Tyrone’s sister, is the mouth of the group. The word tactfulhas never been a part of her vocabulary and her moral compass has never pointed due north. Part princess, part badass, she utilizes all her talents to earn extra cash and relieve Vivian of the financial burden she carries. This tawny leopard is the beta member of the Pride. Get to know Ami in Break Her Fall .
Conall is the odd man out. He’s the only non-related member of the Pride. Vivian has his undying loyalty and he’ll protect her with everything he has. His massive size and strength are evident in human and lion form. If it has an engine, he can fix it. He keeps the Pride’s wheels in shape in case they have to bolt. Book 3, The Harder They Fall , is expected mid 2015.
Music and friendship brought them together, blood and death sealed the bond, and together they can face anything.
Get to know each member of the Blake Pride, starting with Vivian in Pride Before the Fall , on sale now for .99!

Continue the journey with Break Her Fall , now available in ebook.]  Break Her FallBlake Pride SeriesBook 2JoAnna Grace
Genre: Urban Fantasy/ Paranormal romance
Publisher: Winged J Press
Date of Publication: Jan 20th 2015
ISBN: 978-1-94-460-15-4ASIN:B00RKOSPXS
Number of pages: 300+
Word Count: 91K
Cover Artist: Jleeann.com
Book Description:
As beta female of the Blake Pride, Amilynn does whatever it takes to get the job done and guard her family—even if it might not be morally sound. Now that the Pride has moved in with the Blackburn Pack, she faces a threat she never saw coming…a mate. The sexy and persistent wolf wants to claim the leopardess, but she’s not going down without a fight.
Ezekiel is used to getting what he wants and his eyes are set on his seductive target. Yet predicting Amilynn’s next move is fruitless. He’s caught between admiring her strength and resenting it. Does he dominate or submit? Can he prove to Amilynn she really is worth the fight?
When a ghost from Amilynn’s past stalks their family, Ezekiel will learn her true strength. Amilynn isn’t a docile house cat and, by the time she’s done, everyone will know it.
Available at Amazon

Excerpt:AMILYNN SNUGGLED INTO the warm arms that were around her. God, Ezekiel smelled like heaven. The sweet honey of his mating scent filled her mind and made her inner leopard purr with desire. It was so easy to sleep when his strong arms held her close and kept her safe. He was there for her in her time of distress, waiting to see if her best friend would pull through the night. He’d given his own blood to save Vivian’s life. Amilynn never thought she could find peace in the middle of a hospital, in the midst of a catastrophe like this, and yet Ezekiel gave it to her.Her cat had never been more satisfied, even if he was a wolf.While Ezekiel kept her safe, Ami could focus on the crisis at hand. Vivian had to live. She had to make it. If there was no hope for Vivian to live a full life of love and happiness, then what chance did Amilynn have? Vivian was wilder, more feral in her independence than Ami and, somehow, she’d found a mate in Kasey Blackburn who was worthy of her devotion. The wolf alpha had shown his love for Vivian time and time again, gaining the trust of the rest of her Pride. But look where it got them. The songs were bullshit. Love is not all you need.Vivian fought for her life in that hospital because members of Kasey’s Pack didn’t want the Pride coming in. The feline shifters didn’t belong there, so they said. The Pack might be a mixture of wolves and bear, but adding felines to the mix was more than some of them could handle. The rebellious group had done a fine job of letting Amilynn and her family know they weren’t welcome.Amilynn, in particular, had been warned off the males of the Pack. Here she sat in Ezekiel’s arms, the arms of a future alpha. Wouldn’t that cause another rebellion? The hookers and hounds, what a mess.Her cat came to attention when a rumbling in Ezekiel’s chest woke her up. The low growl was aggressive and full of warning. Her eyes popped open, ready to defend her family at any cost.“Easy, fool,” Tyrone, her brother, warned Ezekiel in gravelly bass.Ezekiel, who had also been awakened with a start, gripped Ty’s hand. It took a couple of seconds for all of them to realize there was no threat.“V’s awake.” Ty yanked from Ezekiel’s grasp.Amilynn didn’t hesitate to uncurl from Ezekiel’s lap and follow Ty. She didn’t look back, couldn’t. Once she was in her right mind, she would explain to Ezekiel that there was no way they were going to be together. They were too different.Ami took her first easy breath when she saw Vivian’s eyes open. They were half crossed, but they were open. Relief and love bubbled over her, creating a wave of deep emotion she didn’t know how to process. She could cry, but who had time for hormonal drama? When Vivian smiled at her, she had to blink back the tears. Damn. This was not cool.“Well,” Ami said, needing to escape with her dignity. “Since Kasey is stuck up your ass, and you’re in good hands, I’m going to jet.” She sniffed and made sure not to look Vivian in the eyes again. “Glad you’re awake.” Without another word, she left the hospital room. Her chest constricted so tightly, she could’ve passed out.“Here.” Ty tossed her a set of keys. Of course her brother would know she didn’t want anyone to see her lose her shit. She gave him a nod and bolted from the hospital. Go figure; they were to Ezekiel’s motorcycle. At least if she cried while she was on the bike, she could blame it on the wind in her eyes. Sometimes being a girl sucked.
About the Author:
JoAnna Grace lives in a world of alpha males and strong females where true love conquers all—at least in her mind!
From the time she started holding a crayon she began to create magical worlds. Her first book was a series of pictures about a puppy princess. The story changed each time she told it, but there was always a happy ending! Her first written story was about girls who changed into tigers.
Now those stories have become a bit more complex!
JoAnna’s tales are spun at her home in East Texas where she lives with her husband, three kids, and a couple dogs. When not hiding behind the computer screen you can find her camping, boating, and shopping.
Sign up for her newsletter to receive information about new releases, events, and giveaways! www.authorjoannagrace.com
JoAnna loves to hear from readers and fans!
You can find her at the following places:
Authorjoannagrace.com
Twitter: @JoAnnaGrace4ya
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JoAnnaGraceAuthor


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Guest blog and Giveaway The Devil’s Liege by Danielle DeVor

To Wing or Not to Wing by Danielle DeVor
With so many vampire books and films these days, it takes a little maneuvering to be unique. You can’t just rely on the old Dracula tropes anymore. Well, you can, but most people seem to want more. Don’t get me wrong, I love Dracula, but there is much more to vampires than that.
So, when I started writing Tail of the Devil, and its sequel, The Devil’s Liege, I kept all of that in mind. There were so many questions. One that came up was, did I want my vampires to be able to hover with no perceptible body changes, or did I want them to be able to really fly?
Well, since I always thought it would be cool to fly, it was a natural progression to have my vampires fly and have wings. Then, I had to think about what the wings did when they weren’t in use. 
Cumbersome was the word that came to mind. So, then I decided that my vampires would have retractable wings just like many vampires had retractable fangs.
Problem solved.
But, vampires having wings wasn’t a new idea by any stretch. It has basis in folklore from around the world. I think the first instance was ancient Sumeria. But, keep in mind that there are as many types of vampires are there are flowers. So, just because one type of vampire has wings, that doesn’t mean that every type of vampire has to or should.

Read folklore. Find the things that aren’t used as often in literature, and use them well. And, if you decide to give your vampires wings, make sure you fully think things through… like clothes. LOL

The Devil’s LiegeThe Mathias SagaBook 2Danielle DeVor
Genre: YA Fantasy
Publisher: Eirelander Publishing
Date of Publication: September 25, 2014
ASIN: B00NYB4CZG
Number of pages: 162Word Count: 52, 534
Cover Artist: Buffi BeCraft
Book Description:
Being a vampire isn't all it's cracked up to be- in fact, it kind of sucks.
After surviving his duel with Lilith, Mathias thought that he could relax. That is until he discovers that, Nossy, the new king, has been kidnapped.
When the investigating vampires seem to have no clue how to rescue Nosferatu, Mathias must step in. Everything is peachy until Mathias is named the next new king in order to stop the man behind Nossy’s kidnapping from taking over the throne.
Suddenly, his life is not his own again, and Mathias must make a choice: risk his life to find his friend, or sit back and watch disaster unfold.

Available at Amazon and BN

Excerpt:
“Thias.”The voice was near to his ear and seemed breathy. Sleep was his friend. He hunkered down further into his pillow. The darkness was a comfort to him. Safe.“Thias.” It was closer this time—right next to his ear. He didn’t want for this to be real, prayed that it wouldn’t be.Snick. Snick.Mathias jerked awake. His heart hammered in his chest. He looked around the room. Everything was where it was supposed to be. It was still too fancy for Mathias with the polished wood, the gold brocade curtains and the velvet chair next to the window with his stack of books beside it. Nothing was wrong. There was no insane woman about to cut him with a pair of rusty shears. With his eyes the way they were now, with his vampire’s ability to see in the dark, he didn’t need to reach over and turn on the light. He could see everything perfectly. It must have been a dream. At least, Mathias hoped that’s what it was.There was no one was in his room but himself. “Fuck.”He closed his eyes for a minute and sighed. Ever since he’d killed Nic, the sorcerer who had caused him to become a vampire, Mathias had been dreaming about her and the past. It honestly was something he wished he could forget.Lilith, the former Queen, had tried to kill him just so he couldn’t tell the vampire world about the horrible things she’d done to him in a past life. She’d cultivated this kind and generous persona that wasn’t really like her at all. It wasn’t Mathias’ fault that Vlad had chosen to cross him over into a vampire. Being a vampire hadn’t been his choice. Hell, he would have rather had his parents back, but he guessed fate was just one of those things.He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his hand. Along with the dreams, he’d been breaking out in cold clammy sweats. Why the dreams were happening now, he didn’t know. It would have made more sense for them to happen after Nossy had killed Lilith, his mother, but maybe his brain was still being stupid. It wouldn’t surprise him.He got up, walked across the room to the window, and pushed the plush red brocade curtain out of the way. Staying with Vlad again was weird. The room was just too fancy. He preferred Nossy’s clutter. It felt more homey somehow. But, with Nossy being king, it was easier for Mathias to stay with Vlad. He understood that. He just wished things were less complicated.Outside, the frost on the ground was so thick that it made the grass look almost white. That was Siberia.  Winter came early here. Snow had been hitting the ground in intervals since October, with it now being November, well, the frost was a little bit of an improvement. That meant it wasn’t as cold today.He wrapped his wings around himself and sat down in the chair next to the window. It was still weird to have wings. They were longer than he was in order to support him in the air. They weren’t unlike the wings of a fruit bat, sort of. The glass reflected what Mathias still viewed as his new face. His brown hair was still long, his blue eyes were still jaded, but he was big now. Part of him still expected to see that fifteen-year-old kid in the mirror. Needless to say, the last year had been one hell of an experience. He looked at the bookcase opposite his chair, but nothing sparked his interest enough. Still, no sense in trying to go back to sleep now. The dreams would just start again. Mathias just wanted to rest, but his mind had other ideas.He leaned over the side of the chair and picked up the book he’d left on the floor. It wasn’t a fun read, but necessary. It was an old tome about ancient fighting techniques. Mathias thought that if he could learn about how the old techniques were taught, then maybe, he could rectify everything he remembered from the past with that things were like now. He sighed. His plan wasn’t working very well if his dreams were any indication. He didn’t want to remember more of her. It was getting to the point that when he saw a woman with long black hair, he’d have to suppress a shudder. Not normal at all.He let the book fall into his lap and stared out the window again. The frigid scenery was something better to focus on.
I’m tired of being alive. About the Author:
Named one of the Examiner's 2014 Women in Horror: 93 Horror Authors You Need to Read Right Now, Danielle DeVor has been spinning the spider webs, or rather, the keyboard for more frights and oddities. She spent her early years fantasizing about vampires and watching "Salem's Lot" way too many times. When not writing and reading about weird things, you will find her hanging out at the nearest coffee shop, enjoying a mocha frappuccino.
Visit her at www.danielledevor.wordpress.com
Site: http://www.danielledevor.com
Review Blog: http://ddevor.weebly.com
Twitter: @sammyig
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/danielledevorauthor
Booklikes: http://danielledevor.booklikes.com/

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Guest Blog and Giveaway with Emma Weylin

Thank you for giving me a spot today.  Tiberius Petrov is a Fang-tastic Siberian were-tiger from my new novel Going Under. I’m not going to lie. The vamps are making him a little nervous.  They are usually up to no good in Dark Forest.
Today I’d like to talk a little bit about how I write my books. I am what’s called a “pantser”.  I don’t write with an outline. The method involves coming up with a “What if?” statement and running with it. My what if for Tiberius and Kenzie was: What if a shifter with a predestined mate and a human woman were friends before they become lovers?
I started this book five times before settling on an opening scene I liked. Tiberius fiddled and played with it for a while, until he was happy with it, and then the rest of the book flew onto the page.  The plot twisted. The characters changed themselves a few times to fit with what the story was becoming. There is nothing more magical than sitting back and watching this little thing you created take on a life of its own. Before I knew it, I had the novel completed and ready for the self-editing stage.
Editing is where the story magic happens for all writers no matter what their drafting style is.  Tiberius and Kenzie gave a ton of information to work with. I had to go back in and leave little details to keep certain plot twists from being a total surprise.  While I know this sounds odd, I think the best stories have the characters involved at all stages of a book’s creation. Characters are the life of the story, and I even let them have a say about what is or is not done to the book, even when working with my publisher.

I hope everyone enjoys latest Secret Blood novel Going Under.  I love these characters and I am sure you will, too.

Going UnderSecret BloodBook 3Emma Weylin
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
Date of Publication: December 1, 2014
ISBN: 978-1-62210-169-6ASIN: B00P6SGAVE
Number of pages: 257Word Count: 64,000
Book Description:
Kenzie Butler is in love with the man who saved her life eight years ago. Her problem? He’s a Siberian were-tiger with the ability to scent his mate, and she wasn’t it. For years they lived across the hall from each other, helping one another with the aftermath from being tortured in a science experiment gone wrong. With each passing day, she falls more in love with him, even while knowing that one day Tiberius will find his true mate.
Tiberius Petrov leads a shadowed life. Kenzie is the only thing standing between him and the gruesome fate awaiting any shifter who goes rogue. For eight years the sound of her voice, the sweet intoxication of her scent, and the soft feel of her skin have kept him from turning down darker paths. But he’d always believed she could never be his. His nose was supposed to tell him who his perfect mate is, but it lied. He didn’t know if it was possible to develop a mate scent. All he knew was one day Kenzie didn’t smell like his mate, and the next day she did. Even after her scent changed, she kept insisting they were perfect as just friends.
After Kenzie survives a mysterious were-bear attack in her place of work, Tiberius learns the scientists altered more than his state of mind. Just when he thought he could take Kenzie as his mate he discovers he could be the biggest threat to her life.

Available at Amazon



Excerpt: He got off the creaking chair. He found his pants first, and tugged those on, and then started the search for his shirt. “Kenzie, I lost control with you, goddamn it. You need to go, no, stay here. I’ll send Chad over.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Where is my fucking shirt?”
She was standing in front of him in the next moment. Her soft breasts brushing against his chest. “Look at me.”
He growled. “Kenzie, I know when I am losing it, and I am losing it.”
She captured his face between her hands and pulled him down so they were at eye level. “It’s completely normal to fantasize about what you want to do while having sex.” She kissed his nose. “You fantasized about me and you being mated. It’s okay.”
He wasn’t safe for her, but here she was, trying to make it right for him. Hellcats! She was…she was supposed to be safe with him, and in one second of giving in to the fantasy of her, he’d have done the worst, most unforgivable thing a shifter could do. “I’m not safe for you, Kenz. Please, don’t make this harder than it is.”
“Ty, don’t do this. You need to calm down and think about this rationally.” “I need my shirt.” He pulled away from her and got down on his hands and knees to check under the bed.
Kenzie got down on the floor next to him. “It’s in your apartment.”
He darted back. “Put some clothes on. I’ll have Chad come here.” “Tiberius.”
He retreated to the door. “Tiberius Petrov, you did not just make love to me so you could walk out on me.”

That was exactly what he was going to do. He should be her safe place, he should be the one thing in the whole world that would never hurt her, and he wasn’t sure until after the fact that he hadn’t hurt her. “I’m sorry, Kenz. I love you too much to stay.” Then he did the hardest thing he’d ever done. He walked away from her.
About the Author:
Emma Weylin fell in love with the written word as a child. She loves to create her own worlds full of magic and wonder. One of her favorite things is populating those worlds with interesting and true-to-life characters who experience everything from epic love and heartrending battles to seriously silly or embarrassing “duh” moments. She believes love can and does conquer all things. When she’s not writing, she enjoys her family and has a copious yarn addiction.
https://twitter.com/EmmaWeylin
https://www.facebook.com/EmmaWeylinAuthor
http://emmaweylin.com/



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January 19 Spotlight and reviewImagine a Worldhttp://www.thegoldenruleof666.blogspot.com
January 19 ReviewBooks That Hook http://booksthathook.com
January 20 SpotlightRomantic Reads and Suchhttp://romanticreadsandsuch.wordpress.com
January 21 interviewAll I Want and More https://alliwantandmorebooks.wordpress.com/
January 21 SpotlightShare My Destinyhttp://sharemydestiny.blogspot.com
January 21 reviewShe Hearts Bookshttp://sheheartsbooks7.blogspot.com/
January 22 Guest blogDiane’s Book Blog http://dianes-book.blogspot.com
January 23 SpotlightAngel’s Guilty Pleasureshttp://angelsguiltypleasures.com
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January 26 InterviewEden Ashewww.edenashe.com
January 26 Guest blogFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com 

Interview and Giveaway: Blood and Spirits by Dennis Sharpe

Can you tell readers a little bit about yourself and what inspired to write in this particular genre?
Let’s see… about me? Well, I’m a Pisces. I like warm weather, late nights, and coffee. I enjoy long walks on the beach and… wait. About me, or my writing?

I’m going to start again. I’m a thirty something single dad to three wonderful kids, who writes fantasy, science fiction, and paranormal fiction stories (and novels). I draw inspiration from the world around me, and the people who are in my life – both as big parts of it and those I encounter randomly. I live in the middle of nowhere, which means that I have plenty of time to write… as there is little else to do that doesn’t have drastic consequences.

I write in the genres I prefer to read, watch, or listen to. I do my best to tell the kinds of stories that I’d want to have told to me. I am not exclusive to those genres (as I go where the characters take me, and sometimes those stories are very different) but I find that a vast majority of my work takes me away from most would consider reality and into one of the many realms of fantasy.

Ultimately, I just make things up, and hope other people enjoy those things.
What is it about the paranormal, in particular vampires, that fascinates you so much?
It could be the immortality of it all, but I doubt it. I’ve been into the idea of almost human monsters, actual human monsters, cautionary tales, and anti-heroes since I really understood how stories were told. I like unlikely heroes, and unlikely villains. It just seems like a good fit. I really wish Stephen Moffett and Neil Gaiman wrote more vampire stories.

Does that make sense? It’s really quite early as I write this, and I’m actually quite concerned that I may not be making sense to anyone but myself.
What inspired you to write this book?
Twilight by Stephenie Meyer, Tap,Tap by David Martin, Vampire: the Masquerade by White Wolf Publishing, a bet, and a lot of spite.

If I’m honest, the story had been kicking around in my head – or at least the characters had been – since the late 1990s. The overall plot for this book, and the two that follow it, was a story that I’d wanted to tell for some time as well, and the plot and characters just fell into place at the right time in my head (after reading the first twilight book, and becoming very upset with “the state of” modern popular supernatural fiction).
I was an arrogant elitist at the time, or so I’m told, and really the only good thing to come out of that self-righteous phase in my life was this series of books.
Please tell us about your latest release.
I believe you’re asking about Blood & Spirits. It’s a story about vampires, ghosts, zombies, cops, hitmen, call girls, love, loss, all with a corrupt society… or two… setting up dominoes to come crashing down.
The who story was told to me by Veronica, the main character, who is a bloodsucker in a small town just trying to run her brothel and make ends meet. Her mentor is a ghost named Lucy who was a lady of the evening back in the 1880s who was murdered why plying her trade. Lucy sends Veronica the ghost of a little girl named Rachel who Veronica immediately takes to and adopts as her own… and things begin to spiral out of control from there.
Do you have a special formula for creating characters' names? Do you try to match a name with a certain meaning to attributes of the character or do you search for names popular in certain time periods or regions?
My characters either come to me fully formed and tell me their names and their stories; and try as I might, I cannot change those names. Those are usually the main characters in the stories. Other characters, the ones who are not main driving forces, but are still people who share the world with the main characters often require more thought… more work. They end up with backstories as well, and from that I usually pick a name that suits their story… or I steal one that I like from someone on Facebook, Twitter, or Goodreads.
Was one of your characters more challenging to write than another?
Some of my characters are certainly more of a joy to write than others, Frank, Sunny, Wednesday… some of my characters are just more fun than others overall.
I worry a lot more, and agonize, over writing certain characters as opposed to others. I always worry when writing a female character if I’m going to be called out by women for not being true to the gender… as I am not a woman. (I worry that about characters in certain professions, certain ethnicities, ages, heights, and so on, as well… but I worry most about women, as there are a lot more of them in the world who might be offended by me or my words.)
Is there a character that you enjoyed writing more than any of the others?
Yes.
Wait. In this book? Yes.

Sunny, was my favorite to write in this book. (V and Frank are close seconds)
Do you have a formula for developing characters? Like do you create a character sketch or list of attributes before you start writing or do you just let the character develop as you write?
If only I could. I get the characters in an “as is” state in my head. I can try to convince them to act differently, or have other traits… but then they call me a liar the whole time I’m writing them. I can sometimes, through the course of a story, develop something in a character that I want there… that wasn’t there before. But, short answer, No. I don’t develop them. They just are who they are and I write around that.
What is your favorite scene from the book? Could you share a little bit of it, without spoilers of course?
The bulk of Chapter 23 (which I can't get that much into for spoiler reasons) is my favorite. I'll give you some of it here:
__
The calm night air outside the Sikes Funeral Home starts to turn breezy. Only a few small gusts at first, then stronger ones. It builds in mere moments, more and more violently, whipping and howling around the façade. Windows rattle, and the building groans against the sudden gale. There’s a brief flash of lightning followed by the deep low growl of thunder; like some massive creature dragging itself across the landscape. The wooden double doors tremble then shake slightly. Once, then twice. A final vicious shudder and they are simply gone, replaced by a shower of glass, metal, and wood debris.The delicate twelve-year old form of a girl in a plaid skirt and tied up white shirt comes into focus in the hole where the entrance had been. Her dark red-black pigtails bounce slightly as her oversized tanker boots crunch into the clutter.She walks down the hall and stops in front of the door to the main parlor. She looks back and gets a nod from her team that stands ready just outside the gaping hole in the front of the building.She raises her hand and smiles wickedly as another door shatters in front of her, blowing pieces of wood and metal everywhere.__
Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? How do you deal with it?
I usually have between four and eight projects going at once. If I hit a wall with one --- writer's block, need for research, whatever --- then I just switch over to another project until I'm ready to go back to it.
Do you have any weird writing quirks or rituals?
Preferably, I write at the Waffle Hut (a local 24 hour greasy spoon) with a bottomless cup of coffee between the hours of midnight and five in the morning. That's the most productive way I've found to work. I usually have my headphones in and a playlist of MP3s that work best for the project/scene I'm working on.
Is that odd?
Do you write in different genres?
Often.
Do you find it difficult to write in multiple genres?
Not at all. Sometimes that means doing more homework… just to make sure I’m not butchering things, but I go where the story is… the place, the genre… I just want to get the story told, and in the best way I can – with my limited talent and vocabulary. Writing isn’t difficult. Finding people to read what you write? That’s not easy.
When did you consider yourself a writer?
Since I was a very small child.

I really don’t remember a time when I didn’t think of myself as both a writer and a storyteller, though I didn’t always connect the two.
What was the last amazing book you read?

I've tweeted, and posted, and shared with everyone I could since I read Paper Souls, Allie Burke's 2014 release. It totally blew me away. I read it three times in a row. I am not exaggerating when I say that you are doing yourself a disservice if you don't read that book.
Where can readers find you on the web?
I’m likely too connected with the online world.
If you’d like the list, I’ll give it to you, but it’s easier to point to my website: dennis-sharpe.com and then to say that on that site there is a list (in a couple of different places) to my Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest, etc.
Would you like to leave readers with a little teaser or excerpt from the book?
I rather like the one that I gave up above, but I suppose I can do another one, a small one…

A little something from Chapter 10:

__
Inching into the room, it’s clear something is wrong here. There’s a tingling sensation up my legs and back before I can even really focus on the parlor’s details. There are silhouettes of people, but I can see through them. It’s like shadows were cast and left behind to do as they please. Lost in the surreal sight of them for a moment, I inch further into the room without noticing that some were now moving behind me. There is no warning. I’m suddenly in the air, and moving backward rapidly toward the wall. It’s almost a full second before my body registers the actual pain of the blow my stomach just took.  Being hit by a car doesn’t even compare to this, and I didn’t even see it coming. “For a shadow, you hit like a sledgehammer!” The words barely escape before something else slams into the base of my skull, imbedding most of my upper body in the wall and all but removing my head. These things are like Lucy; the disembodied dead who haven’t moved on. I’ve never met others that can actually touch things physically; they must be fairly potent. I pull my face out of the hole it had been planted in, letting plaster dust fall, coating my chest and legs like snow. Looking around quickly I try to gauge my surroundings. I can’t see them, but I know they’re there. Is one easy night without a huge dry-cleaning bill too much to ask for these days?I only have time to dwell on it a moment before my head is bouncing off the hardwood floor; once, twice, and then a third time in quick succession. Now ‘pick splinters out of my forehead’ can be added to my Saturday night to-do list.  Damn it, this is not going as planned.



Blood and SpiritsThe Coming StormBook OneDennis Sharpe
Genre: Paranormal Thriller
Publisher: Booktrope Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-62015-595-0
Number of pages: 220
Cover Artist: Shari Ryan
Book Description:
Small-town life can be hard for a dead girl…
For Veronica Fischer the night to night life of a bloodsucking madam in Middle America is tough enough before she adopts Rachel Gregory, an eight year old ghost.
After her house is set on fire and Rachel disappears, all signs point to foul play. When she finds herself with a hit out on her unlife and warrants for her arrest, it becomes clear she’s going to need help.
Now she has to contend with horny zombies, violent spirits, and murderous grave robbers if she’s ever going to find Rachel and discover the awful truth of the coming storm.
A raucous ride through the dangerous lives of the lecherous undead.

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/95oy3Sxf370

Excerpt: Chapter 1
I’m told it’s an oddity that I still sleep.  It only comes in short bursts, no more  than forty-five minutes at a time. Most others with my condition, and I have only known a handful, tell me they don’t sleep anymore. Some of them haven’t in more than five decades. I can’t imagine the hell that must be. Even in my brief moments of rest, I still dream and in that I find relief. Even if the dreams aren’t what I like, they are still an escape.The soft thickness of my comforter envelops me as I relax back into bed. Before I’m completely awake, my mind begins to unfold, opening to the world around me. In the distance, the fog is rolling in off the river, dense and blanketing, its vaporous fingers right there on the edges of my consciousness. The night is cool, and the last lights of the dying day dance across my ceiling, reflected from the crystals hanging in my window. The light tinkle as they sway into each other is a reassuring sound; the beautiful prisms they cast, a blessing. Not one night comes that I don’t wake to thank Jules for having the windows in this house ‘treated’. I can actually see the sun, even if I can’t be out in it.
I am now completely aware for miles around me. I’m awake, and not even grudgingly so. Not tonight. He’ll be here soon. I look forward to it and fear it all at once, but I ask myself ‘why dwell on what we can’t change?’A soft breeze blows across me as I slip out of my bed, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand out. My mind recognizes the sensation as a chill, even if my dead flesh can’t feel as it once did.Rubbing a hand down from the base of my skull, in a futile attempt to warm myself, I open the lid to the old steamer trunk Julie brought up from the basement today. She aired out everything in it while I slept, and the interior smells as though she even put some of my perfume on a few of the choice garments. I breathe in deeply and can the corner of my mouth turns up slightly. Time may have dulled Jules’ scent, but it’s still unmistakable, mingled in with the fragrance in the clothing.Clothes have always held memories for me. The crimson silk of a dress drops down over me and it’s as though his eyes were on me again. The mirror reveals the garment to be no more out of place, for its slinky cut or lack of length, than it did when I first wore it a  lifetime ago, when I could still remember being a girl. I first put it on in front of him and twirled around to raise the hem, hoping to entice and astonish with my feminine wiles, foolish enough back then to believe that because I loved him, a creature like him was even still capable of love.
I’ve learned from his example and years of my own mistakes – emotion is a weakness to be managed.Yet, here I am, slipping into this dress that I haven’t worn since he left, simply because I know he’ll remember it.Stepping out into the thick evening air, the raw power of the river hits me with the force of a freight train. Even from this distance, the power is unmistakable. Tonight, though, it has an odd feeling, as though it were restrained.Standing still with my eyes closed, I concentrate and listen to the pulse of the water rolling heavily over the rocky bed, feel the lapping, almost angry waves against the shoreline. I don’t know why closing my eyes helps me bond to my surroundings, it just always has. It must be another facet of my insanity.I’ve never met someone with my affliction that was as sane as they had been when they were alive. I wasn’t ever all that sane, either, but I’ve grown more detached as time has gone by. Too often these days, I feel like a spectator. Maybe that’s just my ‘coping mechanism’. My therapist would love to know about this fabulous train of thought. Prick.As I enter the garage, it occurs to me that I’ve only got two cars at this house. Frank was to take Julie back to town with the Charger this afternoon to keep up the appearance that everything was normal. I’m certainly not taking my old Volkswagen Beetle to go bar hunting, so the flat black Eclipse will get a work out tonight. I hate this car, but she’s been fast enough to outrun a lot of demons I didn’t feel like facing.Pulling out of the driveway, I already wish I’d stayed at the other house today. The drive into town is only thirty minutes, but I’m tense enough tonight and don’t need the wait. Telling myself that I needed to be here, for safety’s sake, only makes me feel more upset at my fear and lack of control.Six months ago, I’d have talked to Lucy; she’d have taken the edge off. If she were here, though, I’d have had no need to contact Jules. Now I get to feel like a failure and look like one, too.The tires scream as I kick the car almost sideways, narrowly avoiding a deer. My lack of focus is getting worse. As much as the idea repulses me, tonight I’m actually going to have to go look for food instead of letting it come to me. I haven’t had to do that in years. On one hand, it’s a fitting start to the night, but on the other, I had really thought I’d outgrown eating out.I always forget how much sensory input I lose when I spend time around all the steel and pavement. The dark moonless drive down rural roads is a blessing, putting me more in tune with the land, at once one with the leaves on the trees, the bats overhead, and the rocks around the base of the roadside.The sound of the insects in the high grass is comforting. Their flittering finds my ears even over the engine noise. They are mine as much as everything else here; as much as I am a part of them. It took more than twenty years to reach this level of awareness, and I’m still not foolish enough to believe I’ve mastered it.I used to be able to spend time expanding my mind. I used to do a lot of things I haven’t been able to do lately. Everything has devolved so fast and I’m  still reeling.The past year I’ve been so caught up in the life of a dead girl, I’ve dealt with little else.Rachel died eighteen months ago at the ripe old age of eight; I met her after that. She was hanging around the Jefferson House, where my girls work. If she hadn’t picked that place to haunt, I doubt I’d be in the mess I’m in now.The town springs up slowly. Houses begin to sit closer together, then nearer to the road. Side  streets appear, and businesses start to intersperse among the spider web of tight residential development, obviously undertaken with no real planning or forethought. Then, at last, the glow of the streetlights tells me I’m back where I’m in control. This is the town I run, inside and out. Or I did.Passing the street that leads to the Jefferson House, it takes will not to turn. I want to check up on things, but personal priorities come first and I  have to trust Julie has everything well in hand.
The dulcet tones of a southern rock cover band blare from six blocks away tingling my eardrums. The music is louder than usual. It should be a fun night, or at least a packed house. Either way, I’m content.The transmission voices its complaint as I downshift onto the access road. I’ll never really like this car, but she does get from A to B more quickly than most. I still wish I’d driven something nicer tonight, something with a top I could put down. But, in the end, the car I’m in is the least of my concerns right now.The lot isn’t full yet, leaving plenty of  good spaces, but rock star parking wasn’t really a concern of mine to begin with. This just means that after I eat and pick him up, I should be able to get back here to a manageable crowd.If I’m lucky, he’ll want to be social tonight. If not, then I’ll be too busy to make it back here at all. I really want to show him that the biggest part of my life is still under control, so he won’t only see the little girl that has to call him in as her savior. Again.Why do I need so badly for him to be proud of me?As I cross the parking lot,  the lingering scents of sweat, cheap beer, and longing hang heavy in the air already. This might be a little too easy. Though catching a fresh meal has never been really what I’d call difficult. That’s why the small town, Midwestern life suits me; I usually get what I want and rarely have to work that hard to have it. Hopefully, years of having my food delivered hasn’t left me too out of practice.Someone sees me coming and opens the door and holds it for me. That’s the thing about being a regular in a small town rural bar – you are a known commodity, more or less. This helps and hurts when you have to hunt for food where you also gather socially. Like a balancing act. Some are good at it; some are not. Those who have been less than good at it around here, I’ve had to deal with. No one pisses in my pool even once and gets to do it again.There’s a big cowboy at the end of the bar, a couple bikers near the pool tables, and a few burly construction workers at a table. After only the briefest pause, my route is clear in my mind. The first taker is my next victim. I really love playing this game. Maybe I’m not so rusty, after all.I don’t get the chance to make it very far. As I pass the bar, in my peripheral vision, the dark brown of the cowboy hat moves in my direction.“Now this is why I came out tonight. A good looking girl in tight fitting dress!”The booming words come projected from the stout bear of a man standing at the end of the bar undressing me through his beer goggles.The cowboy it is; he’ll make a full meal.I do my best to fake a blush, while acting interested  and  offended  all  at  once.   Pretending  to care what men think is an art. It takes moments to learn, but lifetimes to master.  I’d like to believe I’m an expert.I walk over to him smiling but with my eyes downcast. “My name’s Veronica. Who are you, handsome?”He puffs up in his detail-stitched denim shirt, pushing out his barrel chest in a vain attempt to hide his well-tended gut. He’d be fairly good looking if he didn’t obviously take such pride in how good looking he thinks he is.“They call me Buck, and if I could I’d like to do a lot more than buy you a drink.” he slurs slightly at me.He motions to the bartender for another round and I do my best to blush again, this time giving a halfhearted laugh at his insipid comment.“Here ya go, darlin’.” He hands me a Jägerbomb and tries to force it to my lips “Bottoms up, baby!”He reminds me why I live in a small town; this corn-fed hick really thinks he’s irresistible. Well, who am I to disappoint? I down the drink like a good girl going bad, exhale deeply, and lean over into him, letting my neckline plunge as it was designed to do. As old and tired as this dance is, I really do love his eyes on me.  Some things never change.“Now, that was worth it, wasn’t it?” he asks me proudly. “Buck won’t steer ya wrong.”“We can go somewhere more private if you’d like…Buck,”  I  whisper  softly  in  his  ear,  pulling back almost as slowly as the wicked grin spreads  across my face. His perverse smile hides nothing. I have him now – hook, line, and zipper.Money changes hands as we exit the bar. I laugh a little out loud while remembering the lack of faith I’d had in my abilities. I try to lead him to my car, but he’s intent on going to the alley behind the building. I try to convince him, sliding my hand slowly down over the large oval belt buckle with his name on it. But he’s convinced the alley is what excites him, and I don’t want to take the time to change his mind so I follow along.It begins subtle and playful, but it’s clear that’s not what he’s in the mood for. He pushes me down onto my knees in a matter of seconds, quickly wrapping a hand in my hair and beginning to jerk my head back and forth violently.He couldn’t hurt me if he tried so I let his game continue on his terms. Using my mouth like a cheap sex toy is a bit insulting, I guess, but I don’t need to breathe so I’m not gagging or choking. As always, I’m here to get what I need, and so I’ve gotten used to allowing them what they need. I look at it like my public service, or my good deed.I could just take what I want and be done, but that generally leads to more problems than I want to deal with. I’ve even grown bored with the games of superiority and subservience. I let them feel dominant, and powerful. It’s the least I can do, really.  Besides, the heightened state of arousal makes them taste better, even if most of them could use a lesson in hygiene.It’s been so long since I did this in public. It might even be a little exciting if I weren’t so anxious, or if Buck were more attractive.I’m only vaguely aware of the fact that he’s calling me a dirty whore. A little laugh flitters inside that he would call me dirty; the irony is lost on him but not me. I’ve almost completely tuned him out, focused on the job I’m here to do.And then he makes a mistake; he hits my face, hard. If I were still alive, it would have done some damage, broken bone, maybe even knocked me out.This isn’t playful anymore – this bastard actually likes to hurt women – now, I’m done playing.I pull back slowly from him, looking at his fist wrapped around what looks like a roll of quarters. He’s using every ounce of strength and leverage he has to try to hold me on my knees. He has no more effect holding me down than the weight of my clothes. His eyes begin to widen and he lets go of my hair as I rise slowly and determined. His fist is still drawn back, but we both know he’s not going to swing. I’m going over all  the painful ways I can drive home the point that he doesn’t get to hurt the girls he plays with, all the while considering  how much I love this dress and don’t want to ruin it.Standing in front of him I wipe his liquid from the corner of my mouth and stare deeply. I can see the panic in his eyes. I can smell his fear, deep, rich and growing, and for the first time tonight, I’m actually aroused.“Now, Buck, what could possibly have made you think that was a good idea?” I ask in a cool and controlled voice.“Get back on your knees whore! I ain’t paying you to fucking talk!” He spews the words out loudly, in a vain attempt to regain control as he tries to force me back down with one hand, while still menacing with his fist. He only succeeds in ripping my dress.Not this dress, not tonight. He’s decided it for me; tonight is the end of his story.“I’m used to the rough stuff, Buck.”In an instant, I have his throat in my hand and his back against the wall. He’s beginning to shake as he draws back to swing.“I was just going to let you off with a little pain and a warning about hurting working girls, and look what you’ve done.”The fear pours off of him in waves as I disregard his raised fist and calmly show him my torn dress. It’s enough to make even my body react involuntarily to the stimulation. “You want a pretty girl to throatfuck, you pay for it. We’re all good. You like it a little rough, that’s fine. But slapping a girl around hard enough to actually hurt them? We just don’t do that,  Buck.  You’re incredibly lucky I don’t bruise easy.” I flash him a smile and for just a moment I can see he thinks it’s all going to be okay.“We had a perfectly good deal worked out, and now you’ve ensured that I’m the last thing you’re gonna see, and given me the extra work of dealing with your corpse.”He shudders and wets himself.It really is dirty how hot this has gotten me. I’ll blame it on my state of mind, certainly not wanting to give this bastard any credit.I peer deeply into his eyes, and his mind unfolds to me. I see all that he had planned for me; I know all that is ‘Buck’. The last restraint I had left is gone. He’s from out of town, no one here knows him, and only his trucking company will miss him.I apply just a touch more pressure, and  with a flick of my wrist, he goes limp. I let go and he crumples to the ground in a heap. Quick and painless is better than he deserves, but I’m pressed for time.I drink from him what I need and leave him piled up behind the dumpster. At least he’s served his purpose, even if he was more trouble than I’d planned on.Why this dress? Any other dress he could have ripped and he’d still be breathing. Clearly, I’m too stressed out.I dial my cell and wait, more than a little irritated when  I  get voicemail. “Frank, you  really  need  to call me back. I have a pick up for you and it’s time sensitive. Remind me again why I keep you on payroll?”I walk back up to the end of the alley and wait for my phone to ring. The straps on the left shoulder of the dress are ripped completely out of the back and there are two deep tears where they had been attached. This is what happens when you have to rush. Things don’t go as planned, and then shit gets broken.“Can I help you with that?”His voice is steady, soft, and scares me almost out of my skin. This is why I pay him so well.I turn to face him and am a bit taken aback to see him dressed in jeans and a wife-beater. He’s never this down-dressed, even when I tell him to be.“Not with my dress, but you can wrap that up,” I fume, nodding my head back down the alley to what remains of Buck. “And make it disappear.”Frank O’Leary looks like what a Greek god should look like. Chiseled out of stone; an example of everything that makes a man attractive. His mane of auburn hair, always perfectly messy, hangs down between his shoulder blades. Like all men who look this good, Frank has no interest in women. He also has very few morals, a deviously creative mind, and an unequaled love for money. That serves to make him an irreplaceable asset. I keep telling myself I can never trust him completely, but he’s too smart to bite the hand that pays for his lifestyle.
Also, despite my attempts to keep him at arm’s length, I’ve grown attached to him over the years.He stares, one eyebrow raised, at the boots jutting visibly out from behind the dumpster and nods. “Any particulars on how he disappears or just ‘out of sight  out of mind?’”“Just make it fucking happen, Frank! I don’t have time for bullshit tonight!” As soon as the words escape me, I’m aware they’re harsher than he deserved.The look on his face says it all. He understands. He’s not happy about it, but he knows why I’m stressed and he’ll accept it for now and hope that things will get better.“He is coming in tonight, then?”“Should be here in about an hour.”I really have to get back to the old me, and soon. I know better than to kill this close to where I go to relax. I know he knows that, too. It felt good to destroy that piece of shit, and save generations of women from having to deal with him, but I still know better.Frank looks down the alley again, then back to me and holds out a set of keys with a silver skull keychain. He knows me too well. I take the keys to the Charger and hand him back the ones to the little flat black speedster.“How much gas does she have?” he asks, still looking down the alley, sizing up the job.
“You need to get some.” I call back at him, already walking toward the emerald-green muscle machine. “You’re on fumes.”He’s muttering under his breath as I get in, but his voice is less than a whisper and it gets lost under the deafening roar of the engine coming to life. I put the top down and back her out slowly while checking my watch. Not much time left.I leave the lot and the mess behind me, able to count on Frank. I have to get to the airport, and make sure everything is secure before his plane lands.



About the Author:
Born and raised in the middle of the American Midwest, Dennis Sharpe has been a writer as long as he can remember. His mother has told many people about the fantasy and science fiction stories he'd write on scraps of paper, and staple together as his 'books', before he'd attended his first day of formal education.
He has spent many late nights at diners and dives, drinking coffee with a tattered notebook to put a voice to his feelings of himself and the world around him, and other worlds that can exist only in fiction. The voices in his head don't ever stop talking to him, and so sooner or later he has to get out onto a page all that they've filled him up with.
Inspired by Neil Gaiman, Kurt Vonnegut, Frank Miller, Chrissie Pappas, Charles Bukowski, Stephen King, Issac Asimov, and countless classic literary influences, Dennis continues with the ability to write what at a glance might seem absurd, but quickly begins to resonate with our own thoughts and emotions. He writes people we know, love we've known and lost (and found again), and places we've been in our lives and in our heads. Even his fictional characters and worlds carry enough of the grey areas we experience in day-to-day life, to let us find the truth in his words, no matter how fantastic.
These days he can be found still writing, drinking coffee with friends, or spending time with his children (the true joys of his life), in Western Kentucky.
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/dennispsharpe
Twitter: @witlesslackey
Website: http://dennis-sharpe.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/Witlesslackey

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Why Steampunk Turns My Crank
When I think of steampunk, I think of gorgeous costumes, nifty props, tough heroines, and romance. Why romance? Just browse through Google images on the topic. If that's not a flight of romantic fancy I don't know what is.
But steampunk is also about science. Oftentimes improbable science that's really a lot more like magic, but you can't define steampunk without talking about science. Here is the shortest definition of steampunk I've ever seen, from The Ministry of Peculiar OccurrencesSteampunk is modern technology—iPads, computers, robotics, air travel—powered by steam and set in the 1800s.
Steampunk is earthy and weighed down by Newtonian physics. Even those balloony dirigibles look like they’re about to drop out of the sky. So why do we find the aesthetics so appealing? Possibly because our modern world has been overtaken by sleek, sophisticated, and cold tech that makes us both more and less efficient.  
A few years ago, the Aether Emporium wiki posted a collection of steampunk definitions I see it as a reaction to the utter soullessness and disposability of modern tech. There are only so many garish space-eggs and tech. bubbles you can look at before you just stop appreciating them. Steampunk harkens back to a time when technology was still novel and romantic, when the world was still marvelling at its own cleverness with childlike pride and wonder, looking hopefully toward a strange and wonderful future.
I’m on the pep squad for science. Despite hailing from a family of engineers, my math was never strong enough to go into a scientific field myself. But I’ve always loved science and science fiction (I’m a total geek over quantum physics). I’m also a romantic at heart, and I love how steampunk combines that pioneering, inventive spirit with an aesthetic beauty that manages to feel both inspiring and grounding. (There’s nothing more Newtonian than gravityA HEART FOR COPPER was my first steampunk story, though I’ve been admiring the genre from afar for years. I love that it’s a Pick Your Path story, inviting you to examine its parts and understand how it all fits together. To work it like a puzzle, in a sense, unlocking the path to an eventual HEA. And COPPER’s hero, William, is an inventor who married an interest in aesthetic beauty with his love of mechanical tinkering to create an actual being — a being he hopes will understand him more than the “real” people in his life do.   COPPER also features an archetypal character called Hephaesta, named for the Greek god Hephaestus, an inventor and blacksmith who created automatons to assist him in his workshop. Hephaesta is part alchemist and part philosopher, but she too is a tinkerer at heart. She considers herself “a woman of science,” and she can rock a steampunk gown:
That she was old I did not doubt, but I could not have said how old. Her silvery hair was pinned neatly atop her head and crowned with a tall black top hat. Her black corset showed her figure was still quite neat, and yards of satiny, patchwork skirt flowed around her hips and legs. Her eyes glinted through a pair of wire spectacles that rested on her dainty, curved nose.
So what is it about steampunk that turns your crank?
Image By Eugene ivanov (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/b...)], via Wikimedia Commons
A Heart for CopperSharon Lynn Fisher
Genre: Steampunk romance
Publisher: SilkWords
Date of Publication: May 9, 2014
ASIN: B00LDYFKQ6
Number of pages: 67 pagesWord Count: 14K
Cover Artist: Indie Designz
Book Description: 
An automaton created by an inventor's son, Copper has finally been given a heart by her young master. Her choice of whether to keep the key or give it to him will determine what happens next in this "pick your path" steampunk fairy tale.
Will she join his family in their English country manor, where she'll be forced to consider the question of whether she's really human? Or will she search out the quirky alchemist responsible for giving her life?
Will her master hold onto her heart, or will she be tempted by the charms of an automaton man?

Excerpt:
I have a heart-shaped hole. Like an empty bird's nest, it rests among marigold-hued ruffles above the topmost hook of my corset.
The hole was not left by something removed, but for something anticipated.
I am an automaton. I have never moved of my own volition — never lifted so much as a finger, save by the power of the windup mechanism at my back. Never felt a chill-bump, or the orange yarn rising on the back of my chicken-wire neck. My amethyst eyes follow my young master without motion. The dead, glass eyes of a doll. My face no more than a bone-colored mask with faint pink smudges where my cheekbones would be.
If I were alive.
My brain is sacking stuffed with cotton, my torso salvaged from a discarded mannequin. My limbs are dark, spindly things, like they belong on crows. But my master has wrapped them in ivory silk, and in the dim light of his workshop, I can pretend they are arms like his.
I am not a living thing, but the work of man's hands. Man does not give life. Not since The Regression. The Digital Age machines are all dead. My master was born into the Neoclassical Age, named not for cultural or artistic reasons, but for the laws of science to which all citizens are required to conform. Post-classical physics are banned. Reserved for the gods, the only ones fit to wield them.
How does a stuffed-head, cobbled-together, life-sized doll know all this? Know anything at all? Because my master talks to me. Reads to me. From the time he was a schoolboy, he has shared every lesson with me, from The Odyssey to odious French (his descriptor, not mine). I was his schoolmate. Watched him grow to manhood while I remained the same, unless he himself wrought change — replacing dingy fabric with fresh, tinkering with moving parts, shifting my head so I could watch him work.
I spend many lonely hours in my master's workshop, when he is away at school or in the city with his family. In those hours I feel empty and soulless, and I have often prayed that when he loses interest in me — which he inevitably shall —he will also unmake me, rather than leave me collecting dust in my chair.
For my master is the only light in my life, though I am no more to him than the toy ships he played with as a boy. Less than the pup who licked his heels, followed his footsteps, and finally sank into a straw-stuffed bed near the fire, from which, occasionally, I still hear the thump, thump, thump of tail against floorboards.
***
"Hullo, Dutch. Hullo, Copper."
Thump, thump, thump.
If I could have wagged, I would have. Master William entered the workshop, light beaming from his every feature. I knew the expression well. He'd been out in The World. He'd encountered something — or someone — interesting. Something he wished to share with me. You'd think he'd tire of my colossal implacability.
"I have something for you," he said, sinking onto the stool in front of me.
At moments like these I almost imagined that the hole in my chest had been filled. I could feel an ache there — an ache that should not have been. His eyes were green as the ribbons of my corset. His hair black as the coal in the bin. His lips were soft and expressive, like the women of the house — his mother, his elder sister, the chambermaids. Master William was everything lovely, everything beloved, in my dust, dark world.
He slipped a bronze chain from his pocket. A necklace, with a heart-shaped pendant — the shape of the symbol, not the visceral, beating thing itself.
The shape of the hole in my chest.
Tiny metal gears and copper springs were encased behind a small glass window embedded in the crimson resin. It was beautiful, a work of art. As I watched, he slid open a small compartment in the back of the pendant and produced a key. He held out the pendant in the palm of his hand.
"Happy birthday, Copper," he whispered.
The echo of my nonexistent heartbeat sounded in my cottony brain, behind my porcelain mask.
If my lips had breath, his proximity would have stopped it as he moved to slip the chain around my neck, letting the heart fall into its readymade grave. Pinching the key between his fingers, he inserted it into a tiny keyhole in the tapered bottom of the heart.
Bolts sprang from the sides of the pendant, penetrating the stuffing in my chest, locking the heart in place. I felt it as if I were flesh and bone.
A loud, dry, sucking sound came from my throat as I took my first breath.
Master William's eyes widened — with shock? with horror? — as the change took me over. The pain was excruciating.
"The old woman was right," he murmured, aghast.
I could barely hear him from behind the wall of pain — or over the very real pounding in my chest. His face blurred, and I was sure I felt moisture seeping from the holes in my mask. What was happening to me?
"You must choose, Copper," he continued. "Hephaesta said if you want to be like me, you must give me the key. If you want to be like you, you must keep it."
I glanced down at the tiny thing of brass still lodged in the base of my heart. 
What did it mean? A riddle, perhaps? What was I to do?
"Quickly," he said, worry dimming his brightness. "The heart will stop beating without the choice."
Pain spiked up my arm as I raised it from my side. My wooden, wire-jointed fingers wiggled to life. I grasped the key and removed it. 
1. I've waited all my non-life for this. I give him the key. 2. I want to find out who I am. I keep the key.






About the Author:
An RWA RITA Award finalist and a three-time RWA Golden Heart Award finalist, Sharon Lynn Fisher writes stories for the geeky at heart — meaty mash-ups of sci-fi, suspense, and romance, with no apology for the latter. She lives where it rains nine months of the year. And she has a strange obsession with gingers (down to her freaky orange cat). 

Sharon has written three science fiction romance novels for Tor Books — Ghost Planet (2012), The Ophelia Prophecy (2014), and Echo 8(2015) — and she's indie publishing her erotica series Fantasies in Color. 

She’s also the editorial director for (and a partner in) SilkWords! 
Visit her at www.sharonlynnfisher.com
http://www.fantasiesincolor.com/
https://twitter.com/sharonfisher
https://www.facebook.com/sharonlynnfisher
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5820827.Sharon_Lynn_Fisher
http://sharonfisher.blogspot.com/
http://www.pinterest.com/sharonlynfisher/






SilkWords is the go-to source for interactive romance and erotic fiction.
With gorgeous custom covers and a clean, sophisticated design, the SilkWords site offers a secure, upscale reading environment. In addition to content on their web site, they offer stories for purchase in the standard e-book formats.
SilkWords is owned and operated by a full-time mom with a background in genetics and an RWA RITA-nominated, multi-published sci-fi romance author.
Their technology guy and site designer was the founder of Microsoft Xbox Live.
SilkWords features two formats that allow readers to choose how the stories will proceed.
Pick Your Path:
Will she or won't she? With which man (or woman) in which location? With Pick Your Path romance, you decide. Romance and branched fiction are made for each other, like picking your favorite flavor of ice cream...positions, partners, and paraphernalia, oh my!
Reader Vote:
Readers vote at choice points and decide how the story will continue. These stories are a great way for readers and authors to connect. It’s exciting to be part of a developing story!
https://www.silkwords.com/

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Spotlight and Giveaway Viking King by Sky Purington

    


Viking KingThe MacLomain SeriesViking AncestorsBook 1Sky Purington     
Genre:  Time-travel fantasy romance
Date of Publication:   January 16, 2015
ASIN:  B00Q8TK1W4
Number of pages:  240Word Count:  82,000
Cover Artist:  Tamra Westberry
Book Description:
Determined to take a break from her past, Megan cozies down in her million dollar Winter Harbor Maine home and focuses less on money and more on dreams. Building boats was a childhood desire she’s determined to pursue. With a love for Viking shipwright skills, she constructs a small scale longship. What she doesn’t anticipate is an unexpected call from the past.
Of dragon blood, Viking King, Naðr Véurr Sigdir ‘the bold’ knew that the bargain he struck with the seers would likely lead to an unpredictable outcome. What he didn’t foresee is a beautiful, headstrong woman from the future washing up on his shores.
Caught between twenty-first century America and ninth century Scandinavia, two souls connect. Both determined and willful, their battle soon becomes not one made of the eras separating them but all the unexpected moments that drive them closer together.
Anger. Need. Distrust. Hope. Never-ending desire. All merge, warring and passionate, when a modern day woman and a Viking king surge forward together to conquer not only their enemies but what lies within their hearts.

Available at   Amazon    iTunes   Kobo   BN

Excerpt: When a roar came from the ship, a louder roar echoed all around her. Excitement crackled in the air as three men left the boat and started down the dock. Megan narrowed her eyes as they drew closer. Tall, muscled, all were too damned good looking no matter the century. But only one gave her an acute case of tunnel vision. The one in the middle. A black fur cloak stretched over his broad shoulders. With a black, leather jerkin and long leather encased legs that led down to heavy boots, he had a confident, easy swagger. A searing burn broke over every inch of her skin and she dug her nails into her palms as he drew closer. Wind-blown, shoulder-length black hair brushed the nape of his strong neck and a light beard did nothing to hide his well-sculpted face. Her body started to tremble when he was only halfway down the dock. Clenching her teeth, Megan breathed deeply through her nose, her need to smell his skin so strong she put her hand on Guardian’s head to ground herself.When had she ever wanted to smell a man? Valan pulled Megan aside as several women were allowed to pass. There was never a more torturous moment than watching the young, beautiful women swarm around him. Like any ‘normal’ red-blooded pirate, sailor, or Viking, who had been out to sea for days would do, all three men linked arms with the women so that they each had one on either side. Megan barely comprehended that the low growl she heard was coming from her own throat until Valan looked at her and shook his head. Megan cleared her throat and continued to stare at the man approaching. To look away was impossible.Suddenly, he stopped. When he did the girls on either arm purred and leaned closer. But it didn’t much matter. It almost seemed that he caught a scent on the wind because he leaned his head back slowly, closed his eyes and inhaled. All went silent.Megan watched, enthralled by the display. How did one man make so many people go silent in a moment? But somehow she knew deep down inside. A simple man couldn’t.But a king could.It almost felt like the shock wave she’d felt eighty feet beneath the Atlantic once more hit her when his eyes turned her way. Megan dug her hands further into Guardian’s pelt as he untangled from his women and approached. His eyes flickered to Valan then back to her before he stopped.Holy mother of any god listening was he gorgeous.Skin darkened by the sun, his face was a masterpiece up close. A little over a foot taller than her, his lips curved so well they’d make a woman stare forever. His jaw line was a fraction off from being square and his eyebrows arched slashes. But none of that compared to his eyes.They were his everything.A light but bright cobalt blue framed by a bizarre circle of dark blue with flecks of silver, they were so unusual that it almost seemed a mirror was behind them. In fact, one nearly got the impression they were looking back at themselves when they looked into this man’s eyes. Megan was tempted to look away from his unusual gaze but knew she couldn’t…that she never would. He’d captained that Viking longship. Desire pounded through her blood so harshly it took years of dealing with powerful men to keep her body tremble-free and eyes locked. Because there could be no doubt… He was her Viking king.“Naðr Véurr,” she whispered.And she knew she was right.Of course he wasn’t fazed by his name on a stranger’s lips. He’d likely dealt with it before. And unlike most men, he wasn’t put off by her unnatural eye color in the least. Rather, he seemed to spend an overly long moment holding her gaze, so much so that she had to work at keeping a neutral face. No easy task. One thing was for sure, she’d never had such a strong sexual reaction to a man. He smelled of sea and storms, of dark nights and even darker pleasures.Thump. Thump. Thump.Hell, was her heart going to beat out of her chest?
Megan worked at breathing evenly and never let go of his gaze. For a split second, she thought he sensed her nervousness. And it seemed she might be right.
About the Author:
Sky Purington is the best-selling author of fourteen novels and several novellas. A New Englander born and bred, Sky was raised hearing stories of folklore, myth and legend. When combined with a love for nature, romance and time-travel, elements from the stories of her youth found release in her books.
Purington loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at Sky@SkyPurington.com.
Interested in keeping up with Sky's latest news and releases?
Visit Sky's website, http://www.skypurington.com to download her free App on iTunes and Android or sign up for her quarterly newsletter.
Love social networking? Find Sky on Facebook and Twitter.
Website:   www.skypurington.com
Blog:   www.skypurington.blogspot.com
Twitter:   www.twitter.com/skypurington
Facebook:   https://www.facebook.com/pages/Sky-Purington/260484263999780
Pinterest:   www.pinterest.com/skypurington

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Spotlight and Giveaway Grave Vengeance by Lori Sjoberg

Grave VengeanceThe Grave SeriesBook ThreeLori Sjoberg
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Kensington BooksDate of Publication: January 19, 2015
ISBN: 9781601832696ASIN: B00M01756O
Number of pages: Approx. 284Word Count: Approx. 93,000
Cover Artist: Kensington Books
Book Description:
The past doesn’t like to play dead…
Handsome and haunted, he’s a reaper who prefers to work alone. But Fate has other plans for him and the sassy secret agent who shot him in another life—if their pasts don’t catch up with them first.
Dmitri Stavitsky has never played well with others—a Soviet KGB spy in life turned reaper after death, his work of bringing souls to the other side is best done alone. But orders from the top soon place him alongside fellow reaper Gwen Peterson, the American counterintelligence agent who took his life so many years ago. Now, as a ghost from Gwen’s past resurfaces with the power to steal reapers’ souls, the two have no choice but to set aside their differences and apprehend the rogue together. But their cross-country mission soon ignites feelings Dmitri thought he was no longer capable of—for the woman who helped destroy him.
With an ancient force and a small army against them, he’ll have to let go of old grudges or risk his future with Gwen…as Fate hangs dangerously in the balance.
Available at Amazon   BN   iTunes   Kobo   Google Books

Excerpt: Some men were nice to look at. Others, you couldn’t look away from. And then there was Dmitri Stavitsky.He was taller than her, around six foot four, and had the powerful build of a gymnast. The shirt he wore did nothing to conceal his thick, corded arms or the broad expanse of his chest. His thighs strained against the confines of his jeans. He carried himself with an air of confidence that most men found intimidating and most women found irresistible. And even though Gwen despised him as much as he despised her, she had to admit he wore it well.Gwen could feel his eyes moving over her while she drove, and she resisted the urge to squirm in her seat. “What?”The passing streetlights played over the planes of his face. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two, and his jaw was shadowed with stubble. It made him look almost as dangerous as he was.Almost.Back in the day, he’d been one of the KGB’s top agents. For nearly a decade, he worked within the borders of the United States, stealing some of the country’s most valuable secrets. What he couldn’t steal he usually destroyed with calculated and ruthless efficiency. He killed defectors before they could spill their secrets as well as killing anyone else deemed an enemy of the Soviet Union. The full extent of his treachery was never determined; he’d taken those secrets to the grave.“You cut your hair.” During the Cold War, he spoke with a flawless American accent to mask his true identity. The habit died when the Iron Curtain fell, and now his rich, deep voice contained a blend of both Russian and American, with the former growing more pronounced whenever he got pissed off.Like now.“So nice of you to notice.”One corner of his mouth twitched. “It makes you look like a boy.”Bastard. Her grip tightened around the steering wheel. “Like I give a damn what you think.”He laughed under his breath. “I think you do.” The smirk on his face vanished when she ground the gears. Careful! It took me two days to rebuild the transmission. “Sorry.” Not really. She totally meant to do that. “Third’s a little sticky.” She held back a smile as she hooked a right onto Alafaya Boulevard.Dmitri raked his hands through his short, dark hair. He was a few weeks past the time for a cut, and the ends curled around the nape of his neck. “Why are you here, Gwen?” Her name sounded like poison on his tongue.Good question. Her current base of operations was on the opposite side of the country, along the American side of the border with Mexico. Samuel had been vague on the details when he contacted her late last night with orders to fly to Orlando for a special assignment. She hated the idea of working with Dmitri, but knew better than to refuse an order. After all, the Big Kahuna wasn’t known for his gentle demeanor. The quicker they got the job finished, the quicker they could return to their normal routines and forget the other existed.“Samuel sent me,” she replied with a shrug, knowing he’d understand the way the boss operated.He nodded, his expression grim. “And why did you steal my car?”“Because I could.” And because she knew it would piss him off. It was the way things had always worked between them. They’d lost their humanity and become reapers together, and had been at each other’s throats ever since. Two Cold War relics, passing through the modern age. “You really need to install a better anti-theft system. Anybody with a screwdriver can hot-wire this thing in less than five minutes.” She’d done it in three.She could have sworn he growled.An uneasy silence fell between them. She darted a quick glance in his direction and saw the unwashed hostility darkening the blues of his eyes. The muscles along his jaw clenched and unclenched, his full lips pressed into a thin white line.The light ahead switched from green to yellow. After checking for cops, she punched the gas to make it through the intersection before the yellow turned to red. “You know, I’m not happy about this either. The sooner we do whatever Samuel wants, the sooner we can go our separate ways.”With a huff of annoyance, Dmitri rolled down the passenger side window and propped his arm on the sill. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”For once, they were in perfect agreement.




About the Author:
Growing up the youngest of three girls, Lori never had control of the remote. (Not that she's bitter about that. Really. Okay, maybe a little, but it's not like she's scarred for life or anything.) That meant a steady diet of science fiction and fantasy. Star Trek, Star Wars, Twilight Zone, Outer Limits - you name it, she watched it. It fed her imagination, and that came in handy when the hormones kicked in and she needed a creative excuse for being out past curfew.
After completing her first novel, she joined the Romance Writers of America and Central Florida Romance Writers. Now she exercises the analytical half of her brain at her day job, and the creative half writing sensual paranormal romance. Grim reapers are her specialty, but she loves to write about all creatures of the night.
Web: www.lorisjoberg.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLoriSjoberg
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6574214.Lori_Sjoberg
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Lori_Sjoberg

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Free on Amazon: One is Come by C.H. MacLean

One is ComeFive in Circle SeriesBook 1C. H. MacLean
Genre: Fantasy, YA
Publisher: CNH Publishing
Date of Publication: February 23, 2014
ASIN: B00IMF6APE
Number of pages: 251
Cover Artist: Heidi Sutherlin
Book Description:
One is Come is the first installment in a YA fantasy saga full of hidden plot twists and turns. The centuries-old prophesy of the One is being fulfilled, and the ancient dragon clans are coming out of hiding to remake the world. The king of the magic users will stop at nothing to be sure the prophecy is fulfilled the right way--with his oppressive government ruling. As they struggle for power, Haylwen (14) and her brother Cadarn (16) just happen to be caught dead center.
In this first book, meet fourteen-year-old Haylwen Rightad. She doesn’t think “crazy” runs in her family, but she might be wrong. Fish seem to listen when she talks. She finds herself wearing jewelry she can’t remember putting on. And then there was the explosion at school…and her ex-principal trying to kidnap her…and her brother? Don’t even ask. All she wants is to be an ordinary teenager. Live a normal life. Go to school, make friends, and not have to move a zillion times. Oh, and getting the bullies off her back? That’d be nice, too.
What Haylwen doesn’t know is why all this crazy stuff is happening to her. But she’s about to find out. The bad news? Things aren’t going to be “normal” any time soon!
With a mysterious prophecy, magical secrets and more than a few dragons, ONE IS COME is the first book in the adventures of siblings Haylwen and Cadarn as they come to discover they have powers they never dreamt of — and a destiny only they can fulfill.
Available at AmazonFree January 22-26
Excerpt: Haylwen ran. Her knees hurt, her thighs chafed, her belly and boobs jiggled out of control. Stupid bras were either hideous or didn’t do anything, she thought. She hated running, and still she ran faster. The pain in her knees and thighs distracted her from thinking about how sad she felt. Moving again! I wouldn't even get to tell Kim goodbye! So she ran, and didn’t care how she looked holding her chest.She ran from her stupid parents telling her they were going to move again, knowing it was all her fault this time. She ran from the fear she would never have any friends. She ran away from her creepy doll, and the fact that it didn’t matter that Cadarn’s present was confiscated, it was still so much better. She couldn’t even really see where she was going, but still she ran. She left the road and took to a hiking trail.Maybe I’d never go back. Maybe I'd get so lost that I couldn’t go back. That would teach them. Stupid brother would probably be happier without me there. She finally slowed to a walk when she realized she really had no idea where she was. She looked back, and around. Where did the hiking trail go? Surrounded by trees, she heard water trickling nearby. This must be the woods on the other side of the old train tracks. She didn’t remember crossing train tracks. She went a bit further, then stopped where the little creek came out of a small lake. Looking back, it wasn’t really a trail, just happened to be where there were fewer bushes and ferns, where the tree leaves had collected randomly. She could be the first one who had ever been here. Struck by a feeling of loneliness that overwhelmed the last of her anger, she fell to her knees and cried. Something in the lake came up to investigate. As it got closer, it took the form of a giant catfish. It swam closer to where Haylwen’s tears were falling on the creek bank. It hesitated for a second, its long antennae slowly waving. Then it swam up to Haylwen and poked its head up out of the water.Haylwen heard the soft sound of the big fish’s head coming out of the water and sat up, her tears suddenly stopping. “Crap!” she blurted, startled. The fish didn’t move, just slowly waved its long antennae.Haylwen choked out a laugh of a sort. “Or, carp?” The fish just floated there. Somehow its wide mouth and whiskers made it look solemn.Haylwen looked back. “Um, hello?”Nothing. But it didn’t swim away. That’s weird, she thought. Or maybe I’ve gone crazy.“Sorry if I am disturbing you, Mr. Fish,” she said. Oh, for sure, she was crazy, talking to a fish. Not that she cared, at this point. Apparently, she was desperate enough for a friend that even a fish would do, never mind if it wasn’t a very attentive fish. So, she started talking. Softly, starting with how she was going to have to move and that it was her fault, somehow. Soon, she was crying, telling about all the times she had lost friends… well… kids who could have been friends if she stayed anywhere long enough. About how lonely it felt to have no friends, and how maybe it would be better if she just didn’t exist. She had never really said that out loud, never really even thought it out loud before. She just sat there and sobbed, the tears pouring down her face. Her sobs slowed, then stopped. She looked up, and was somehow not surprised to see the fish was still there, antennae waving calmly. She wiped the tears from her face, shaking them off her hands with a flick. She saw the tears hit the fish right between the eyes, heard the soft splat.The fish blinked in surprise. “Oh, sorry, Mr. Fish,” she said. “But it's water, right?”The fish seemed to smile. I am crazy, Haylwen thought. Fish don’t smile. They can’t. They can’t blink, either, she thought. Well, I don’t think they can blink. I saw it blink, didn't I? The fish turned and swam underwater, disappearing. Haylwen looked for it for a moment, and was rewarded with a rapidly growing spot coming toward her in the water. The catfish poked its head up, then spun around. With a quick flip of its big tail, so quickly Haylwen could do nothing other than gasp, the fish splashed water directly on her face. A lot of cold water. Stunned, she felt it slide down over her chin and seem to settle at the hollow of her neck. She sat up, and tried to wipe her face off somewhat, and looked at the fish in shock. She may be crazy, but that was not her imagination.The fish smiled, or whatever it was, again. It tucked its antennae back against its head, giving it a pleased expression.Haylwen sat there for another moment, then laughed. “It’s only water, right?” She couldn’t help herself. She laughed again, laughed some more, laughed until she was crying again. She purposely flicked those laugh-tears at the fish, but missed every time. The whole situation was so ridiculous, her emotions were so out of control that she could do nothing but laugh.When she finally stopped laughing, the fish started swimming in circles, slowly heading back to the center of the pond. At the point nearest Haylwen, it poked its head up.She got up and brushed herself off. “Yeah, I guess I should get home too.”The fish winked and slipped away under the water.Haylwen shook her head. Even if she had friends, they would think she was crazy if she told them. She touched that spot on her neck that was still cool and promised herself she would get her mother to go bra shopping when she got home. Whenever that was. And look up if fish can wink. She got up and started walking back, not even feeling a gentle touch on her mind.By the time she got home, she was exhausted and starving. She went to the bathroom, then into the kitchen to get a snack. Her father was there, making a cup of tea. “Hey, Hayl.”Haylwen attempted to ignore her father. She didn't expect him to let her get away with it, and he didn't.As she stood there with the door to the fridge open, he stepped in front of her. “I said, Hey, Hayl. And you say...” He had a small smile on his face, but his eyes were searching hers.Haylwen closed the door, trying to squish her father into the fridge. “Excuse me,” she said.Abrennin stepped out of the fridge and looked at her again. “Where did you get that necklace?” he asked quietly.“Necklace?” Haylwen said, touching her neck. The spot that had stayed cool, the spot where the water had collected now held something there. Had it always been there? She could feel a cool metal necklace around her neck, with a small round ball dangling in the hollow of her throat. Part of her would have sworn it had not been there two seconds ago. But somehow it felt like it had been there since she could remember…



About the Author:
To young C. H. MacLean, books were everything: mind-food, friends, and fun. They gave the shy middle child’s life color and energy. Amazingly, not everyone saw them that way. Seeing a laundry hamper full of books approach her, the librarian scolded C. H. for trying to check them all out. “You’ll never read that many before they expire!” C. H. was surprised, having shown great restraint only by keeping a list of books to check out next time. Thoroughly abashed, C. H. waited three whole days after finishing that lot before going back for more.
With an internal world more vivid than the real one, C. H. was chastised for reading in the library instead of going to class. “Neurotic, needs medical help,” the teacher diagnosed. C. H.’s father, a psychologist, just laughed when he heard. “She’s just upset because those books are more challenging than her class.” C. H. realized making up stories was just as fun as reading, and harder to get caught doing. So for a while, C. H. crafted stories and characters out of wisps and trinkets, with every toy growing an elaborate personality.
But toys were not mature, and stories weren’t respectable for a family of doctors. So C. H. grew up and learned to read serious books and study hard, shelving foolish fantasies for serious work.
Years passed in a black and white blur. Then, unpredictably falling in love all the way to a magical marriage rattled C. H.’s orderly world. A crazy idea slipped in a resulting crack and wouldn’t leave. “Write the book you want to read,” it said. “Write? As in, a fantasy novel? But I’m not creative,” C. H. protested. The idea, and C. H.’s spouse, rolled their eyes.
So one day, C. H. started writing. Just to try it, not that it would go anywhere. Big mistake. Decades of pent-up passion started pouring out, making a mess of an orderly life. It only got worse. Soon, stories popped up everywhere- in dreams, while exercising, or out of spite, in the middle of a work meeting. “But it’s not important work,” C. H. pleaded weakly. “They are not food, or friends, or…” But it was too late. C. H. had re-discovered that, like books, life should be fun too. Now, writing is a compulsion, and a calling.
C. H. lives in a Pacific Northwest forest with five cats, two kids, one spouse, and absolutely no dragons or elves, faeries, or demons… that are willing to be named, at least.
www.chmaclean.com
https://twitter.com/CHMacLean
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCHMaclean
https://www.goodreads.com/CH_Maclean

Spotlight and Giveaway with Jewel Quinlan

Man CandyThe Cougar JournalsBook 1Jewel Quinlan
Genre: Contemporary
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Date of Publication: January 9, 2015
Word Count: 13692
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Book Trailer: N/A
Book Description:
Commercial real estate agent, Ava Baldassari, is done with being a good girl. Recently having revamped her self-image, home and wardrobe she finds there is one thing left that needs updating; her sex life.
She runs into her friend and running partner, Cole, one night when she is out with a friend. A bit drunk she flirts with him and is surprised by the enthusiastic response he gives back.
Things reach a point where she has to make a decision whether or not to cross a line she never has before.
Ava is forty and Cole is twenty-five, is she really ready to become a cougar?
Excerpt:“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he whispered in my ear, still pressed against me as he unzipped my dress.Me too, I wanted to say. But I didn’t. I was adrift in the onslaught of sensation as he slid the fabric from me, trailing kisses down my back as it went. Making me aware as I never had been of how sensitive the skin there could be. When he reached the small of my back, he lingered, kneading my skin with his tongue and teeth. His hands ran down my legs and then back up to my breasts, and I savored the feel of his fingers. My breaths came heavier. I had been needing this for too long.He rose and turned me toward him, towering over me. His cap was gone and his dark hair was askew, as though he had run his fingers through it, giving him that sexy just-woke-up look. I slid my fingers from the waist of his jeans, underneath his shirt, to his muscled back. The ridges of strength there were too tempting beneath my fingertips. How did he find the time to work out that much? I had to see with my own eyes. Fisting the hem of his shirt in my hands, I pulled his t-shirt up to remove it. Why should I be the only one standing here naked? With a chuckle, he complied, lifting the shirt over his head and flinging it away in the casual manner of an underwear model on TV.Sure, I had imagined what he looked like with his shirt off, but the reality was ten times better. He had a runner build, but that was filled out with muscle. The planes of his chest were topped by strong shoulders and arms, which seemed to blossom over the lean ridges of his abdominals, creating a definite contrast. I couldn’t help reaching out and touching him. I ran my hands over his skin, tracing my way upward to the light coating of black hair on his pectorals. He leaned his pelvis into me, forehead on mine, his erection pressing into me, making me shiver with anticipation.We were on the brink of something oh-so-good, and I was dying to plunge ahead. Yet, I hesitated. Questions burned in my mind. I tried to hold them back, knowing serious talk would ruin the moment. That lasted about two seconds before I gave in.“Um…” I said.He lifted his head from mine and looked at me.I cocked my head at him. “Did you just say you’ve been wanting to do this for a while?” Had he been scoping me out all this time, as I had him?He nodded. “Who wouldn’t? Look at you. You’re gorgeous.”I glanced down at myself. My ample buxom looked perfect in the black, lace push-up bra I wore, and the matching thong sat just right, low on my hips. I still had on my red heels, which added a lady-killer effect.Then I glanced at him. The smoldering look he gave me trumped anything I observed on the physical plane. The messages coming from him on a subliminal level promised pleasure that made me squirm with heat.
“You know it’s going to be good between us, Ava,” Cole said.
About the Author:
Jewel Quinlan had an abundant imagination and a strong desire to write novels from a young age. She particularly enjoys writing paranormal and fantasy romance but also writes contemporary as well.
An avid traveler, she has visited fifteen countries so far (which she enjoys using as settings in her novels) and has plans to see more of the world. She has a particular fondness for Bavaria and studies the German language as one of her hobbies.
During the day, she works as a pharmaceutical sales representative and, at night, she writes romance. She currently lives in Orange County, California with her dog Penny.
For more information about Jewel Quinlan
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Jewel will be attending RomCon in Denver CO September 25-27.
Readers can get tickets to sit with her at the luncheon event, 
she would love to meet you!
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