Roxanne Rhoads's Blog, page 411

Release Day Blitz Hellish Haven by L.K. Below

Rethinking the Future: Science and Ethics
When I was in high school, science was my least favorite subject. I didn’t object to the subject matter -- theoretical chemistry and physics were rather similar to algebraic math which I loved -- but I dreaded class. See, I completed all my science classes (and many others as well) a year ahead. So when it came time to pair up with your lab partner…I was that lonely, quiet kid no one really knew or cared to partner up with. I’ve always hated group projects, but that kind of synched the deal.
It may come as a surprise to you that, after high school, I took to science with a lot more fervor. I read scientific journals and try to keep up to date with progress in certain fields simply because it is amazing what we can do. What we are doing. Really, the possibilities are endless.
I’m sure it will come as no surprise that I often add in a bit of science to my stories.
My latest, Hellish Haven, takes place in the near future. It’s a dystopian book about a government take-over. I borrowed many of George Orwell’s themes for this book, but having written it over sixty-five years in the future, I have an advantage that he didn’t: I know what science can do.
So I can take those themes to the next level by utilising not-so-far-fetched ideas. Video surveillance in people’s homes becomes unobtrusive digital photo-frames. Propaganda can be delivered across a variety of systems simultaneously, not only through billboard ads or television, but also through radio, downloadable music, email and the internet -- even through speakers set in the chests of self-propelling combat robots sent into pockets of resistance.
Controlling a population in this way might take years to master, if done on its own. So I invented another tool to keep the citizens complacent little sheep. Hidden in medicine injections and vitamins, a serum heightens the target’s susceptibility to suggestion. Pair that with the suggestions you have blaring from every corner, and you’ve got a pretty complacent flock. And if one or two happen to not be as quiet as the others, you can always erase them. From the records, from the earth, and from people’s memories. Suggestion is a powerful thing, especially when the brain is in an off-balance state.
What is stopping this from really happening? Ethics boards, scientists who have more important areas to study, and hopefully no megalomaniacs aiming to take over the world.
Science fiction is a wonderful genre for experimentation. Sure, I could have made the world a utopia instead of a dystopia, highlighting the way I believe the world could be with a little encouragement. But it wouldn’t be the same book, of a brainwashed wife sent to spy on her husband in the resistance movement.
In an ideal world, there wouldn’t be enough conflict to sustain a book at all. I guess that’s why I took to the darker side and plied my pen, armed with an arsenal of science.   
Hellish HavenL.K. Below
Genre: Dystopian Romance
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.,Lyrical Press Imprint
Date of Publication: November 17, 2014
ISBN: 9781616506254
ASIN: B00NJ0VL6A
Number of pages: 72Word Count: 33,718
Cover Artist: Renee Rocco
Book Description:
Two lives. Two realities. But only one truth.
The Senator reigns all-powerful in a manifested picture-perfect world. No worries. No wars. Only the unspoken threat of oblivion if you step a toe out of line. On the other side of the divide, the rebels face a debilitating war against an invulnerable robotic army. Every day is a struggle to earn back their freedoms. Freedom to feel. Freedom of speech. Freedom of thought.
Sergeant Grant Baker is pivotal to the war effort. But ever since his wife’s abduction, he’s been walking around in as much of a daze as the Senator’s brainwashed citizens. Then Eva reappears—without memories of him or their son. And he’s willing to do anything to keep her. Even if it means jeopardizing the war.
Eva doesn’t know which side to believe. Her predictable life as a single nurse, or the man claiming to be her husband. All she knows is she needs to discover how to end the war, quickly. If she doesn’t choose sides soon, she may lose the man—and the life—she never knew she wanted.
Available at Kensington Books  BN  Kobo Amazon iTunes

ExcerptActing as vanguard for the injured squad, Grant turned a corner and froze. A hulky man carried a limp woman over his shoulder.Grant automatically reached for his gun. Even if they weren’t yet across the divide, he couldn’t stand idle as a man accosted a woman. Or worse. He aimed the rifle at the criminal. “Set her down nice and easy.”The man froze. He glanced over one meaty shoulder, his unshaven mouth set in a scowl.“Set her down, or I’ll shoot.”A gold tooth flashed as the criminal grinned. He hurled the small woman at Grant and dashed for the slim space between two buildings.Grant moved without thinking. His gun clattered to the ground as he lunged forward to catch the woman before she split her head open on the sidewalk. He grunted as he caught her with her weight against his bruised forearms. He shot a flickering glance her way. A riot of brown curls obscured her face. He set her gently on the ground.He dashed for the opening the shady figure had disappeared into, but saw no sight of the man. The delinquent was long gone.Ashland panted as he jogged to Grant’s side. “What happened?”If Grant never heard that question again, it would be too soon. He shook his head wearily. “Mugging, I guess.”“They still have those here? I thought the Senator brought an end to violence.” Ashland drew sarcastic quotes in the air as he spoke.Grant didn’t bother to answer. He turned to the woman and where his squad was now gathered. A horrified private glanced from the woman to Grant and back again. “What do you want us to do with her…sir?”If they left her, the Senator’s people might find her and stick her back in the pen with the rest of their brainwashed sheep. Then again, that same goon might double back to continue what he started. He crossed to the woman and crouched to lift her into his arms. Her tangled hair fell away from her face. He nearly dropped her. “Eva?”Frantically, he pressed his ear to her chest. Her breathing was shallow, but her heartbeat steady and strong. He clutched her tighter. He couldn’t believe it.He’d found his wife.

About the Author:
L.K. Below wrote Hellish Haven to bring her love of Orwell’s classic 1984 into the modern day…or near future, as it turns out.
She reads as obsessively as she writes and likes to Tweet about both at @LBelowtheauthor.
www.lbelow.net
http://twitter.com/LBelowtheauthor

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November 2014 Issue Bewitching Book Tours Magazine

Author Interviews, Excerpts, Recipes and so much more fill this month's issue of Bewitching Book Tours Magazine.

Kirsten Weiss tells us about her 5 Favorite Vampy Heroines, John Swan talks about his top ten favorite characters in fantasy fiction, Kay Dee Royal shares a little about Paranormal Worlds and Secret Societies, Lee Roland talks about Rules for Magical Worlds and Barbara Bretton discusses Post-World War II America: How We Lived and Loved.

Lots of advice for authors this month: Read the feature interview with Leonie Rogers and her article about Becoming A Published Author, Alex Manea discusses How Self-Publishing is Keeping Reading Alive and What You Can Do To Help, and Morgan Kelley touches on Why She's an Indie Author

The holiday season is almost underway, La Mamma Verde, Wenona Napolitano, explains how to have a waste free and green Christmas.

http://issuu.com/bewitchingbooktours/docs/magazine__29/1

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I Believe in Ghosts! Guest Blog and Giveaway: The Guardians by C. Evenfall

I Believe in Ghosts!

          I cannot remember a time when I did not believe in ghosts. I grew up in a small rural coastal community steeped in low country culture and superstition.  Although things were not discussed openly, there were many opportunities for a child to overhear something she was not intended to hear.
          My mother and I laugh today when we talk about some of the old stories that I was not supposed to hear. She tells me, that the secrecy was their attempt to protect us, because they did not want to frighten us.
          It is true. We were not included in these types of conversations until either we had reached a certain age or we had had our own personal experience. My right of passage came at the tender age of six, and it changed me forever.
          Like most people, I cannot remember much about my life before the age of six. I remember my bedroom, and the puppy we got when I was little. I have vague memories of a birthday party somewhere around age four but I cannot remember whether or not I believed in ghosts. I suppose I probably did since the adults in my life were believers, but I cannot say for sure.
          My first personal experience was not mine alone. My father witnessed it. His reaction and the fear in his eyes is what I remember most about it.  I still have dreams forty years later and still hear that voice in my head from time to time. I say it was my first experience because there were many others while we lived on Hill Lane. Remarkably, I was seldom alone when that eerie voice called me from the woods. Over the years, it occurred randomly and was witnessed by several people. It is a topic of discussion on occasion when we get together as a family. We all would like to know who or what it was and why it called to me.
          I was an adult the last time I heard it. In fact, my eldest child, who was only two at the time, heard it with me that day. I remember her turning her little head in the direction of the voice and giving me a quizzical look as if she was wondering, “Who’s calling you Mama?”
          I believe that my interest in the paranormal, my own unanswered questions is what inspired me to write paranormal fiction. Many of the accounts that I heard as a child have influenced the characters and events in The Wraith of Carter’s Mill series. I think that having had experiences myself makes me fit to write paranormal fiction. I do indeed believe in ghosts.

          

The GuardiansThe Wraith of Carter’s MillBook TwoC.Evenfall 
Genre: Paranormal Fiction
Publisher: Book Authors and Artists
ASIN: B00N73QCFY
Number of pages:80Word Count: 25,000
Cover Artist:Sherry Thoman
Book Description:
The Guardians is the second novella in the series titled; The Wraith of Carter's Mill. The series will include three novellas published in Kindle format. A paperback compilation will include a fourth story, which will only be available in the paperback edition, and will be available late 2014.
Shyanne learned in her teens that like the living, the dead would stop talking to you if you ignore them long enough. After the death of her parents, that is precisely what she did. What good was a gift that allowed the dead to speak with her if her own parents could not? For a year after the accident, she waited, waited for one of them to come to her like the others did, longing for just one more chance to tell them that she loved them. They never came.
By high school graduation she had given up all hope of seeing them again and in the place of that missing hope, resentment filled the void. Every time she saw a spirit or heard a voice, she shut it off, refusing it entry like any unwelcome visitor. By the time she finished her first year of college, spirit siting’s were rare, and if she did see one, it usually lurked at a distance, watching her warily until it evaporated. Shyanne was determined to keep it that way.An incident during her second year at college reveals her secret to an onlooker. Years later, someone who has witnessed her ability to see and speak to the dead, seeks Shyanne out. She must decide whether to use her gifts to help a haunted family. Shyanne must rely upon spectral Guardians to lead her in the right direction, or risk opening the door to a dark entity that has plagued her family for a century.
Available at Amazon

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/vSOU_sYlq-I

PART I - SUMMER, 1985

Shyanne Martin stared back at her reflection. The maroon and gold cap and gown she wore looked foreign to her. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine her mother fussing with her hair on the biggest day of her life. Shyanne had no trouble conjuring up the image of her mother’s face, but she could not make her appear nor could she hear the words her mother would have been sure to say.
Shyanne’s mother would have said she looked beautiful. Her father would have said that he was proud of her, but Shyanne had not heard from either of them since the accident.
Uncle Jack tried mightily to fill the void and had been making a big fuss over her high school graduation all week. Miss Ethel, by then wheelchair bound, had organized a huge commencement dinner for her entire graduating class, but Shyanne had found it difficult to celebrate without her parents. She had gone through all the motions, had been careful to show her gratitude and appreciation, and wore a bright, brave smile, but it had not changed the fact that she was sad and missed her family.

PART II - HALLOWEEN 1987
Shyanne struggled to tune out the sounds of revelry coming from the hallway outside her dorm room and concentrate on the article she was reading. ...
When Sara burst through the door, Shyanne sighed. Giving up, she closed her books. “Shyanne! You’re not even close to ready to go!” chided Sara.
Sara was indeed ready to go. Shyanne could not help but smile at the fairy costume her friend wore. It was the perfect choice for Sara’s willowy frame and flowing blonde hair.
Shyanne glanced guiltily at her own costume, lying on the bed where Sara had placed it neatly. A black cat had been Sara’s choice for her, certainly not her own. She had never really enjoyed Halloween, and college Halloween festivities had done little to improve her taste for it. Sara, however, loved the holiday and insisted on celebrating it each year.
“I know, sweetie. I just really don’t want to go!” Shyanne said regretfully.
Sara darted to the arm of the chair where Shyanne sat and squatted down to plead her case.
“Oh please, please come, Shy! It’ll be so much fun, you’ll see! We don’t have to stay very late, I promise. Jason is going to be there and you know I can’t even talk when I’m around him. I can’t face him alone; he’ll think I’m a total moron. Please, please get ready and come with me,” pleaded Sara.
“Do you even know where this place is? And what about this Drake Monroe guy, do you know anything about him?” reasoned Shyanne.
Sara stood up quickly, and then sat on the edge of the bed, preparing to make her case again. 
“His family has an old tobacco plantation on the outskirts of Greenville. Jenny says it’s only a few minutes’ drive and she already gave me the directions. Apparently, he throws a big party there every year. Jenny is the one that got us the invite. Come on, Shy…it’ll be so much fun!”
Shyanne sighed heavily. She knew that Sara would not go without her, no matter how badly she wanted to go. “Alright! We’ll go but you have to promise me that when it’s time to leave, you won’t give me a hard time.”
Sara squeaked happily and clapped her hands. “I promise, now come on, let’s get you ready.”. . .
Once they were loaded up inside Shyanne’s Volkswagen Beetle, a gift from Uncle Jack after freshman year, Sara fished a tiny slip of paper from her purse and began reading the directions aloud. “Just give me one step at a time, Sara, there’s no way I’ll remember all of that,” Shyanne interrupted.
The few minutes’ drive that Sara described in their dorm room turned out to be more like a forty-minute drive by the time they arrived. . . .
Sara was bubbling over with excitement. The three-story mansion that loomed ahead was more than just a farmhouse. . . .
“Look at that!” Sara said in wonder. “I bet that house is over two hundred years old!”Shyanne was impressed as well. The towering white columns and sprawling verandas were an architectural wonder, very old south she guessed. . . .
An older gentleman was greeting guests at the door and directing them passed the glorious staircase into a ballroom where  a  disc jockey was playing Michael Jackson’s Thriller. The strobe lights mechanized the movements of the people who were dancing in the center of the room, delighting Sara and dizzying Shyanne.. . .
Although Shyanne was sure that the room contained people they both knew, the costumes made it difficult to recognize anyone. Sara was thinking the same thing.. . .
The girls walked around for a while and made their way toward the bar. Shyanne had no  intention of drinking but  thought  their chances of running into a familiar face more likely near the ballroom. A tall, dark haired she-devil wearing a long, sequined blood red dress leaned casually against the bar as she whispered into the ear of a southern gentleman. Shyanne guessed him to be Rhett Butler, but she was not sure. Sara seemed to recognize the red beauty right off and exclaimed, “Jenny? Is that you?”
Jenny turned, pulled up her red satin mask, and squealed with delight. “Sara! I am so glad you made it.” The two girls hugged. Shyanne shuffled nervously. They just saw each other a few hours ago.
Remembering her manners, Sara said, “Jenny, you’ve met Shyanne right?”. . .
“Jenny, are you going to introduce me to my lovely guests?” Rhett finally asked lazily.
The red of her costume prevented the flush that crept up Jenny’s cheeks from being to noticeable, but Shyanne caught it. Sara was oblivious to it, still scanning the crowd for a glimpse of Jason Goodson.
“Sorry, Drake, I forgot myself for a moment. This is Miss Sara Page and her cousin and best friend, Shyanne Martin. Ladies, this is our esteemed host, Drake Monroe, heir to Monroe Plantation,” purred Jenny Caswell.
Hmmm, I thought I was playing the cat. “It’s very nice to meet you, and we thank you for having us. You have a lovely home,” Shyanne stated matter of factly.
Drake stood up straight, politely. Shyanne sensed that the arrogance she had detected only moments ago was simply him playing his character. “Thank you, Shyanne; it’s not really my home. I mean, I don’t live here; nobody does actually―well, except for the caretakers. It serves as a vacation getaway for the family these days. We all use it from time to time but it’s a bit ostentatious if you ask me. It is, however, the perfect setting for a masquerade ball, which is a tradition for the old place.”
Shyanne sensed sincerity in his manner, and felt herself warming to him. It did not hurt that the sultry Jenny was virtually fuming jealousy.
The spell was broken when Jason Goodson approached them. Sara was beaming. Shyanne had always liked Jason. He was shy like Sara but was obviously as taken with her as she was with him. Shyanne found it endearing that neither of them seemed to realize how much the other liked them.
Jason invited Sara onto the dance floor and when the couple departed, Drake extended his arm to Shyanne. “Would you like a tour of the house?” he asked.
The red of her dress did little to camouflage the flush of anger that dappled Jenny’s cheeks that time.
Shyanne smiled brightly and taking Drake’s arm said, “I would love to.”
Shyanne was enchanted. She had never seen a house with so many rooms, or anything nearly so ornately decorated. Drake seemed to know the history behind every antique and every piece of art in the place. He recounted stories about his ancestors as they walked long hallways and even showed her a hidden tunnel behind a bookcase in the study. He explained that the rear portion of the house was called the new addition, even though it was over a hundred years old. Apparently, part of it had burned during the “Potter’s Raid” in 1863.. . .
Drake explained that his summers in the old house had sparked his interest in history, particularly the Civil War and inspired him to seek a degree in history. Coming from a family of businessmen, his declaration at eighteen that he wished to be a historian, possibly a professor of American history, had caused quite a shock for his ailing grandfather. As they approached the staircase once again, Shyanne was surprised to find that they were going down instead of up. She found herself extremely curious about the third floor. “What’s upstairs?” she asked.
“Oh, there’s not much of interest up there,” answered Drake. “The rooms are empty and never used. . . . They think it’s haunted.”
Drake watched Shyanne’s face when he made the last statement. Shyanne had no doubt that the claim was probably true. There certainly seemed to be a significant number of spirits dwelling on the second floor, but Shyanne understood as well that the presence of spirits and a haunting were two entirely different things. Still, she hoped that her face did not reveal her interest.. . .
Upon returning to the ballroom, she looked around for Sara but did not see her. Jenny greeted her and Drake almost immediately. Who is this woman?
“Jenny, have you seen Sara?” She asked.
Jenny, who had apparently enjoyed several more glasses of wine after she and Drake left on the tour, waved her arms with a flourish toward the windows on the opposite wall. “Oh, I think she and Jason have gone out to the bon fire with the rest of the moon worshippers. It’s full tonight you know?”“Why aren’t you out there, Jenny?” Drake asked coolly.
Jenny assumed a look of pure indignation, “Are you kidding me? In these shoes? There is no way I am traipsing across that field.
Besides, I rather like the atmosphere in here.” Jenny leaned in and placed her hand on Drake’s chest intimately.
Drake drew back slightly but continued to smile politely. He turned to Shyanne, whose arm was still linked through his own. “What about you, Shyanne? Do you think your shoes can make the trip?”
Shyanne did not miss the mischief in his eyes, nor the sincere smile that lingered there. “Sure, I’ll walk out there with you,” she answered.
The two turned their backs on a seething red devil woman.
The air outside was cool but not overly so. Shyanne was sure it would be more comfortable by the fire. As they approached, she saw that the large group had broken into several smaller ones. Blankets had materialized from somewhere and clusters of people gathered upon them like tiny islands.
Someone called to her from one such island. Shyanne located Sara and Jason, occupying a blanket alone. As she and Drake approached, Shyanne felt a pang of guilt for interrupting the two of them. They were obviously getting along well. Sara was blushing prettily and Jason was wearing what looked to be a permanent smile. Sara had had a crush on Jason since freshman year. Here it was junior year and the two of them were finally getting somewhere. Shyanne noticed that Sara was wearing a man’s coat, obviously, Jason had given her his.
“Can we sit with you guys?” asked Shyanne.
“Of course you can silly,” answered Sara as she scooted over to make room. “Where did you two slip off to anyway?”
“I gave Shyanne a tour of the house and I’m afraid I probably bored her to death,” answered Drake.
“No, no you didn’t. I found the house fascinating, really,” protested Shyanne.
“What time is it getting to be, Shy?” Sara asked fearfully, afraid that Shyanne might be ready to call it a night.
Shyanne squinted to read her watch by the light of the bon-fire. “It’s getting close to midnight Sara; we should probably be heading back soon. It’s a long drive.”
Sara tried to hide her regret, determined to keep her promise from earlier.
Jason was the next to speak. “Hey Drake, are we still on for that thing later?”
Drake looked at the girls nervously, “I don’t know man, Clay didn’t make it…car trouble, and Jenny…well, Jenny is being Jenny.”
“I know, we kind of came out here to escape her,” Jason responded.
Shyanne was curious about what thing they were talking about. Sara seemed to be too but neither wanted to ask. Shyanne decided it might be best to get going so these two could get on with whatever their plan was. “Come on, Sara, let’s head that way. Drake, it was great to meet you, I had a wonderful time. Jason, it was good to see you again.”
Sara stood reluctantly and gave Jason an apologetic smile. Jason, not ready to see Sara leave, blurted out to Drake. “Hey man, why can’t the girls help us with that? We only need four people.”. . .
“Shyanne, how would you like to be a part of a séance tonight?” Drake asked.
Everything inside Shyanne screamed NO! She had never participated in anything like that before. Old Isaiah had warned her against such things. “Why are you holding a séance?”
Drake took a deep breath. “Jason and I have been trying to gather evidence in the house, solid evidence of a haunting. If you don’t want to, I’ll understand.” All pretense of Rhett Butler had left him, and Drake was just a regular guy, looking sheepish and slightly embarrassed that his friend had put him on the spot.
Shyanne too felt as if she had been put on the spot. She was not sure how to respond. If she declined at that point, she would have to explain why, or at least she would feel she had to. If she participated, there was no telling what might happen. At least she had the answer to the last question she had asked Drake, apparently, he did believe in ghosts, or at least he wanted to believe.. . .
Shyanne said the only thing that came to mind to say. “Well, I’ll be honest. I was brought up in a very religious family and we just didn’t believe in séances and things like that. I’m not sure how I feel about it.”
Drake nodded. “Me either, Shyanne, my grandmother would turn in her grave if she knew. We’re just trying to get solid evidence. We’re not trying to  disturb the  dead or  conjure  anything up. It  is not witchcraft or devil worship, I consider it fact finding…that’s all. If you become uncomfortable in any way, we’ll stop, I promise.”
Committed and not certain how she became that way, Shyanne started the walk back to the house with Drake. “So, how many séances have you held here?” she asked
Drake let out a long breath, “Well, we’ve only actually done it one other time, but we didn’t have any recording equipment. Some things happened, but we have no way of proving it or even proving that the sounds we heard were paranormal. Honestly, there could have been any number of explanations for them, but what made it odd or interesting was that there was so much of it going on at once! That’s why Jason brought a recorder this time. The plan is to review the tapes and attempt to debunk each noise or event. I hope that we can isolate the unexplainable from the coincidental. ”
Shyanne’s curiosity piqued, “So, you’re not trying to get information from these spirits? You’re just trying to prove that they exist. Is that what you’re saying?”
Drake nodded. “Yes, that’s all we’re really trying to do. I mean, it would be interesting to know who they are and why they’re here and if we can find that out, that’s just a bonus, but the main objective is to simply prove that they are here.”
“But why would you have a séance while a party is going on down here? What about your guests?” Shyanne asked.
Drake smiled. “The last time we did this, the house was empty. We killed all the lights downstairs and locked all the doors. The house was silent. We got a few responses…enough to convince us that it could be haunted but not anywhere near as much activity as the Mills have told me about. When I was a kid and spent the summers here, it would sound like somebody was moving furniture around up there…sounded like people walking around. My grandfather said it was raccoons coming and going, my grandmother didn’t want to talk about it. She would tell me to hush if I asked her about it. My Dad and Uncles confessed that they had heard things up there but when I pressed with questions, they would tell me to leave it be. Naturally, that just peaked my curiosity even more. They kept the doors to the third floor padlocked. They said they didn’t want us kids up there messing around, afraid we might get hurt or something. It wasn’t until last year that I even had access to that floor. When the Mills started telling me about the strange goings on, I felt compelled to investigate it. Jason and I have been friends since we were kids, so he always knew what I knew.”
“He has a fascination for the paranormal, he’s a true believer. I, however, am a skeptic…I believe in the possibility but I just haven’t seen enough to convince me.” Drake chuckled but Shyanne sensed that he was not very amused. There was more to his story, she was sure of that. She certainly had the ability to solve his mystery. There were indeed spirits present in the old house, but to what degree they were attached to it, she did not know. None had attempted to communicate with her, not that she would have acknowledged them anyway.
About the Author:
C. Evenfall grew up in a small fishing village in Eastern North Carolina. The area was rich with history, ghost stories and unexplained phenomenon; all fodder for the vivid imaginings of a young girl. She began “collecting” stories at a young age.At aged six, C. Evenfall experienced the paranormal firsthand and has been seeking answers ever since. Her fascination with the unexplainable and her love for old family ghost stories inspired her to write a collection of novellas. Each inspired by the experiences passed down through her family for generations.
C. Evenfall resides on the Carolina Coast with her husband, a self-proclaimed skeptic. She loves him anyway and the two complement each other perfectly.

Wordpress: http://cevenfall.wordpress.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CEvenfall
Website: http://booksauthorsandartists.com/authors/c-evenfall/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8508982.C_Evenfall
Publisher’s Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/BooksAuthorsAndArtists

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5 Favorite Vampy Heroines with Kirsten Weiss

Vivacious, vampy, vixens. I think one of the reasons I love reading (and writing) paranormals are the awesome paranormal heroines. Combining magic with their wits (and occasional superpowers), these women can kick some serious butt, especially when they’re fighting (or becoming) vampires. Here are five of my favorites. 
1) Buffy. Even through her fraught high school years, there was something about this vampire-slaying heroine that made me want to cheer. Funny, brash, her emotional fragility warring with her inherent inner strength, Buffy was a true heroine of her time.
2) Sookie Stackhouse. She may not have brawn, but Sookie’s got brains. And she needs them while threading her way through the world of vampire politics. (And I like her way better in the books than in the TV series).
3) Betsy Taylor, the vampire queen. (Undead and Unwed, by Mary Janice Davidson). Waking up in the morgue would be a shock for anyone, but Betsy Taylor takes it and the vampire world in stride, making her way to the top of the undead food chain in style.
4) Samantha Moon, from JR Rain’s Vampire for Hire series. Another ass-kicking vampire chick, Samantha Moon juggles being a mother and a P.I. while dealing with her jerk ex-husband who just wants his new vampire wife to go away.
5) Milagro de los Santos, of Marta Acosta’s Casa Dracula series. Twenty-something Milagro has issues. She dates all the wrong men, makes all the wrong choices. But we can’t really blame her when she gets turned into a vampire. Or is she something more?
Who are your favorite vampy heroines? Share them in the comments below!
The Hoodoo DetectiveRiga Hayworth Paranormal MysteriesBook 6Kirsten Weiss
Genre: Urban fantasy/Paranormal mystery
Publisher: Misterio PressDate of Publication:  October 31, 2014
ISBN: 978-0-9908864-1-9ASIN:
Number of pages: 291Word Count: 75,000
Cover Artist: Becky Scheel
Book Description:
Hoodoo, haunts, and horror.
Riga Hayworth just wants to wrap up her supernatural TV series exploring the magic of New Orleans. But when she stumbles across a corpse, she becomes a police consultant on a series of occult murders, murders that quickly become all too personal.
Book six in the Riga Hayworth series of paranormal mysteries.

Available at Amazon  BN  Kobo



Excerpt Chapter 1“What we need is more conflict.” Sam frowned, his sandy hair stirring in the breeze from a nearby fan. Riga Hayworth caught a waiter's eye, pointed to her empty cocktail glass, and raised a digit. Nodding, the waiter bustled off, abandoning her to the crew of the reality TV show. Tourists and black-aproned wait staff swirled about their courtyard table, in that New Orleans mix of soupy heat and raw excitement.  But all Riga felt was irritation. Irritation that so far the Haunted New Orleans episode of Supernatural Encounters had been a bust. Irritation that she’d felt obliged to do the reality show. Irritation that she didn’t really need the money from the series, her husband had plenty for them both. And that left her awkwardly trying to demonstrate some relevance, keeping her hand in as an income earner. And why did she feel the need to prove herself in their marriage? At the thought of her husband, her annoyance vanished, replaced by longing. What was Donovan doing now?“We need tension,” her field producer went on. “It doesn’t have to be a fight per se. Tension can mean two people who want different things.” He was dressed for an L.L. Bean safari, but judging from his darkening freckles and ruddy face, he wasn’t any cooler than the rest of them. Summer in New Orleans. Why?Riga glanced across the table at her slim, tousle-haired niece, Pen. One bare foot was propped on the edge of her chair, straining the knees of her cargo pants. Today's t-shirt read: KEEP CALM AND GET OFF MY LAWN, an image of a shotgun bracketing top and bottom. At least with Pen on the Supernatural Encounters camera team, they had a chance for some quality time. The opportunity to do magical research was an added bonus. One of their interviewees, a local hoodoo queen, had joined them for lunch, and Riga had been picking her brain about gris-gris charms.Riga angled her head back, meditating on a puffy white cloud. If Donovan had been able to get away from his casino in Macau, New Orleans would have been different. Her lips parted. Fun. She pulled her auburn hair off the back of her neck, enjoying the play of the fan on her damp skin. Discreetly, she unstuck her white silk tank from her back, leaned forward in the wrought iron chair.“Story is conflict,” Sam, rattled on.Pen fiddled with a video camera. Her chair was slightly back from the table, angled toward her boyfriend and fellow camera tech John Wolfe. Her other foot rested, hidden, in Wolfe's lap, being massaged. Angus, their sound man, turned a deeper shade of pink and looked away from the couple.“I mean, you're gorgeous,” Sam continued. “A Rita Hayworth clone whose name is actually Riga Hayworth. The heart-shaped face, the hair. Your eyes are more of a browny-purple, which is stunning, but the point is...”Ignoring the producer, Riga narrowed her gaze at Wolfe, still massaging her niece’s bare foot. With his long sideburns and wavy, dark hair, his looks fit his name. Seven years older than Pen, he was a grown man, challenging, virile, sexy. And though Riga liked him, his relationship with her niece made her uneasy. Pen wasn't even old enough to drink yet.Catching her eye, his face paled, and he laid his broad hands on the table. Riga was unsure what her role of chaperone entailed and had decided to err on the side of militancy.“You're ignoring me again,” the field producer said.Riga looked up, studying the spot between his pale blue eyes. “I'm not ignoring you,” she lied. “Just waiting for you to elaborate.”“As am I, chère.” Beside her, Hannah the Hoodoo Queen propped her head in her hands and fluttered her lashes. Tall, with the sculpted cheekbones of a supermodel and the muscular frame of a pro tennis player, Hannah’s dark skin shimmered in the heat. Dreadlocks streamed from beneath her gold-colored turban. Sam waved his manicured hands in the air. “Conflict. Stories are built on conflict. Our pilot show had it in spades—”Riga's mouth turned down. “In the pilot we crossed paths with a serial killer. Do you really want that again?”“No, no. Of course not,” he said. “Just... conflict.”“We've got some great footage of Riga rolling her eyes and smirking.” Pen shook her loose, chestnut-colored hair, smothering a smirk of her own. “It's a start,” Sam said. “But we need more.”“How much more?” Riga asked.“We need conflict between people.”“It's too hot to argue,” Riga said. “Whose bright idea was it to come to New Orleans in June?”He sighed, glancing at Hannah. “Can't you two at least disagree a little? Magical practitioner to magical practitioner?”“Why would I disagree with Hannah on anything that has to do with hoodoo?” Riga asked. “She's the specialist, not me.”“I like this girl,” Hannah said.He put his hands on his hips. “Work with me here.”“So you're asking us to fake an argument,” Riga said. “For reality TV.”“It's television,” Sam said. “You should know by now there's no such thing as reality TV.”Hannah rose. “Sorry, Mr. Producer. I don't do catfights. And now if y'all would excuse me, I've got to meet a client in desperate need of a love potion.” “Bye,” Riga said.Hannah winked and sauntered through the restaurant, winding past the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Pausing beside a table sheltered by ferns, she nodded and disappeared through the garage-like entryway.Sam folded his lanky arms across his chest. “Riga... We spent the night in one of America's most haunted houses, and you didn't react.”“It's not that haunted.” Wolfe's hands were under the table again, and Pen smiled. Riga relaxed, slipped through the in-between. Wolfe's drink toppled, spilling ice and mint leaves and booze into his lap. He leapt up, sputtering, dabbing at his jeans with a cloth napkin. Pen's feet retracted onto her chair. Peeling a wet leaf from her foot, she glared at her aunt.Riga gave her a what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it grin. After a year of struggling, her magic had had a sudden breakthrough. Unfortunately, other parts of her magic were still wildly awry. But the possibilities both excited and terrified her. Enemies in the magical world were like gunfighters, looking to make names for themselves by knocking off tough opponents. The more adept her magic, the easier it was to defend herself, the more people came after her. She fidgeted, itching to return to her hotel room to study the thin file on the Old Man, the file she'd told Donovan she'd leave at home. Wolfe tossed the soaked napkin on the table. An awkwardly positioned stain spread over the front of his jeans. “I'll be right back.” He headed for the bathrooms, passing the bar. A youngish man in a Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts half-fell off his barstool, but managed to keep his tall, tropical drink upright. The drinking got started in New Orleans earlier than any other city Riga had visited.“Riga, this is important,” Sam said. “You need to react more. People need to see your emotion to connect with you – whether that emotion is positive or negative. For example, what are you feeling right now?”“Annoyed.”“Great! And what do you do when you're annoyed?”Riga's lips thinned. “As a mature adult, I express my annoyance in the appropriate time and manner. If you expect me to pitch a fit like some reality TV star—”“You are a reality TV star. Or you could be if we get this series off the ground. Look, we've got three more days. Just… give me more reaction, okay?”“Got it. More emotion. No problem.”Glass splintered, and they turned toward the sound. Hawaiian shirt guy had navigated off the barstool and knocked a waitress to the ground. Clumsily, he brushed an orange from her knee. Her tray rolled along the moss-filled brickwork. A toddler in a highchair pointed at it, laughing with delight. Clutching a fistful of napkins, the bartender hurried to the fallen waitress.Riga's brow furrowed. Stupid drunks, that was her drink seeping into the patio floor. Waving a hand in apology at the waitress, Hawaiian Shirt staggered to the fountain, crashed into a chair and stumbled into their table. Angus stood quickly, and laid a chubby hand on the drunk's chest. In spite of Hawaiian Shirt's six-inch advantage, the stranger stumbled back. “Hey friend,” Angus said, his broad, freckled face serious, “the bar's that way.”“I'm not your friend. I'm a hit man. A hoodoo hit man.”“Well, Mr. Hit Man, you need to move along.” Angus oriented him in the other direction.The man nodded, turned, brushing past Riga. His lips pressed to her ear, his breath hot and sweet on her neck. “And you're worth a cool quarter mil.” He leaned into her, the gun hidden beneath his shirt digging into her shoulder. Something dropped to her lap.Pen's face twisted with disgust. “That's enough, buddy.” Yanking him away from the table, Angus shoved him gently in the opposite direction. The hoodoo hit man lurched into the dark corridor that led to the bathrooms and the rear exit.Riga looked down at the scrap of paper folded in her lap. Hands beneath the table, she opened it:Neither of us is alone.Follow me and only one of us gets hurt.At a nearby table, a father lifted his toddler off the ground, blew into the little boy's belly. The child shrieked with laughter. Riga swallowed. There were too many targets. The waitress, bringing her a fresh Hurricane. A well-dressed couple, engrossed in their smart phones. Pen, smiling vacuously at Wolfe and oblivious to the danger. Riga clenched her hands, a wave of dizziness surging through her body.Abruptly, she stood. “Now that's an emotion,” Sam said. “That's what I want to see on your face. What have we got? Anger? Anxiety? Stress?”“Indigestion.” Riga followed the hit man.Walking into the cool shadow of the wood-paneled corridor, she unclenched her fists, her heart slamming in her chest. In magic, fear and stress worked against her. Riga fought to relax, rolled her shoulders. It didn't help. Tension sputtered through her system.A humming fluorescent light illuminated the narrow hallway in flickering sepia tones. On her left, two bathroom doors, black and splashed with red paint. Further down, a cart stacked with dirty dishes. A sliver of light gleamed at the end of the hall. The rear door stood ajar.So he wanted her there, outside.Which meant he was probably in one of the restrooms. Centering herself, she pulled in energy from above and below – hot molten red from the earth, cool blue from the sky. Riga shoved open the door to the ladies room, checked the stalls. Empty.Riga sidled outside. She walked to the men's room, her sandaled feet clicking lightly on the tile floor. Flung the door open. Wolfe, braced before a urinal, whipped his head around. “Hey!”“Anyone in here with you?”“What are you... No!”“You sure?”“Of course I'm sure. Do you mind?”“Sorry.” She ducked out.So the hit man really was waiting for her in the alley, unless he could hide on the ceiling like a bat. Glancing up, she blew out her breath. No vampires or hit men crawled across the ceiling. Not that she really believed there would be.Riga paced down the corridor, energy rippling between her fingers. Heat drifted in from the cracked door. Licking her lips, she tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach and pressed her fingertips to the door. She extended her senses beyond it, a gentle push on the auric bubble that surrounded her, forcing the bubble outward. She felt no one before her, outside. Which meant…Riga spun, panting, palms extended outward, fingers curled like claws.The corridor was empty. Sounds of normalcy – the clatter of dishes, laughter, light jazz music – flowed down the corridor from the restaurant.She stared at the alley door. What. The. Hell. Extending her senses again, Riga probed more carefully. A flicker of life sparked on the edge of her awareness. But it was too small to be the hit man. A cat? The gorge rose in her throat at a familiar pull, sickly sweet.She pushed open the door. A wave of damp heat struck her, and the scent of copper and rotting garbage. A narrow brick alley. Tumbled cardboard boxes. A garbage can, tipped on its side. A hand, lying on the pavement, wet with... Gripping the door, Riga took another step into the alley. She stared, breathless. The hoodoo hit man lay on the ground, blood spreading from the gash in his neck in a ghastly smile. Blood soaked his Hawaiian shirt. Blood puddled, trickled, spattered. She stumbled back, dizzy, the warm door handle tethering her to reality, keeping her upright.Something prickled at the edges of her consciousness, hot and cold and electric. At the end of the alley, a tall figure wavered in the heat, its head strangely bulbous. It stretched, extended, darkening, pulling light inside it. “What's going on?” Wolfe asked.Riga jumped, gasping. She turned and looked into a camera lens. “Dammit, Wolfe!” Riga glanced down the alley. The figure had vanished.Wolfe smiled, one eye glued to the viewfinder. “I figured you were up to something when you busted into the men's room, so I went back for my camera.” Riga couldn't trust herself to speak. She longed to punch him, to wipe that infuriating grin from his mouth.“What...?” He turned the camera, panning down the alley. The camera dipped, swayed. “Oh.”Digging into the pocket of her skorts for her cell phone, she called 9-1-1, hands shaking.“At least the cops can't say you did it,” he said. “I saw you go into the alley. I've even got it on tape.”Riga grunted. “Small favors.” Forcing down the fear and shock, her mind registered the scene. The hit man had probably been attacked from behind. But the spatter would have been hard for the killer to completely avoid, and she shuddered in spite of the furnace-like heat rising from the macadam. It cooked the garbage, the blood, the body. There was something horribly intimate about a knife attack. It was close, personal.She'd rather face a gun.The hit man's shirt was ruched up, exposing his weapon, a Walther PPK. He'd never gotten a chance to draw it.

About the Author:
Kirsten Weiss is the author of the Riga Hayworth paranormal mystery series: The Metaphysical Detective, The Alchemical Detective, The Shamanic Detective, The Infernal Detective, and The Elemental Detective. She’s also the author of a steampunk novel, Steam and Sensibility.
Kirsten worked overseas for nearly fourteen years, in the fringes of the former USSR and deep in the Afghan war zone.  Her experiences abroad not only gave her glimpses into the darker side of human nature, but also sparked an interest in the effects of mysticism and mythology, and how both are woven into our daily lives.Now based in San Mateo, CA, she writes paranormal mysteries, blending her experiences and imagination to create a vivid world of magic and mayhem.Kirsten has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer reruns and drinking good wine. 
You can connect with Kirsten through the social media sites below
Web: http://kirstenweiss.com
Blog: http://parayournormal.wordpress.com
Twitter: @RigaHayworth
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/metaphysicaldetective
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5346143.Kirsten_Weiss

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Guest Blog and Giveaway: Heart of a Rocky by Kelsey Jordan

Heart of a Rocky follows along by two members of the Order of Rockys. But what does being a Rocky even mean?
The Rockys are a tightly knit group of Lycans, who come from any of the six Lycan forms to train under the revered--and feared--leadership of Mikko Wayne. 
Formed almost 300 years ago, the Order was among the first packs in North America. Since the presence of humans--and the Hunters by extension-- was more scarce, the founding members of the Order were mostly Talas, the wolf-form Lycans. As both humans and Hunters started to flood the shores of North America, the few Lycans banded together, training and becoming the lethal group Lycans known to decimate any who oppose them. 
One of the most important facts about the Order of Rockys is that a Rocky is never alone. Like much of the Gardinian universe, they are bound together through ceremony and the worship to the Gardinian gods. Unlike many of the other residents of Earth, their faith has never wavered. As a unit their faith is one of the strongest things about them, but with a blessing from the God of Gods, their faith is never in question.
Becoming a Rocky is a task that no one undertakes lightly. Failure to complete the Withstanding, the Rocky trials, will result in death of the Lycan, which is why the selection process is almost as strenuous as the Withstanding itself.
However, once  the Withstanding is complete, the successful Lycan joins a long tradition of powerful Lycans. He or she will recite the Rocky oath and join a family bound tighter than the one they were born into. 
"I am Legendary."--Order of Rockys

Heart of a RockyThe Gardinian World SeriesBook 2Kelsey Jordan
Genre:  Paranormal Romance           
Publisher:  Booktrope PublishingDate of Publication:  October 15, 2014
ISBN:  9781620154458ASIN:  B00OJQHRHA
Number of pages:  210
Cover Artist:  Greg Simanson
Book Description: 
The Takeover
Tor Omar James, King of the North African pride, needs one woman if he has any hope of keeping his sanity – Anise, his Soul’s Mate. There’s only one problem: she’s pregnant by Derrick, Tor of the United States pride. Anise is caught between the love that every Lycan covets and the motherly devotion to the son she would sacrifice so much for. Can Omar survive the takeover of the US pride and convince Anise that he is more man than lion?
The Defender
Asim Tyson, the Defender of the Hafiz, is fighting off the insanity of his longing after losing his Soul’s Mate in battle. Unfortunately, his self-centered existence results in the gross neglect of his people when they need him the most. When Harmony appears in his life, he is forced to make a choice. Should he resist the lure of Harmony’s caustic melody or embrace his weakness in order to keep her safe?
Available at Amazon  BN  iTunes
Excerpt 2 The Defender:
TYSON STARED DOWN THE HALL where his office was to the door of his bedroom. It had been more than half an hour, and Isis still hadn’t exited the room. He took two steps before he became aware that someone else was in his house. “You’re a dumbass.”
He turned to his left to see the last god he wanted occupying his personal space leaning against the bathroom door.
“Meaning?” he asked the God of Destruction. He didn’t really care about the answer, because Lykil would likely say something meant to piss him off. “Who the hell declines sex?”“Me.”“Admit it, you’re scared.”“What exactly am I scared of?”“Intimacy. Poor you. Lost your Soul’s Mate, and now you can’t deal. Boo-fucking-hoo. Life is terrible if you let it be.”
Tyson watched Lykil for a few moments before he simply nodded. He walked down the hallway to his living room where he relaxed on the sofa. He hoped by turning on his TV he’d find a distraction and discourage the god from hanging around. “Ignored by a mortal. Lykil, that’s a new one.”
Tyson turned to the sound of Ronan’s voice. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Forced compliance,” Ronan answered with a shrug. Tyson froze, hoping Ronan wasn’t implying they would soon be joined by more Rockys. Ronan—an observant fucker from growing up surrounded by females—didn’t miss his facial twitch. “Yeah, you’re readable as shit when you’re irritated,” Lykil said, obviously reading his thoughts. “And calm down. The Rockys aren’t here. They don’t really like you too much right now, remember? You have the benefit of Ronan and a contingent of the Blue Ridge fighters on call if the need arises. Omar also has some local Alesers from Zareb Joey’s pride ready when we say the word.” “Five Lycans showed up here looking for her. I killed them. I’m waiting until her Rut is over until I hunt down the ones who took her in the first place. Why in the hell would I need so many Lycans to help me do a one-person job?” Lykil sat next to Tyson on the sofa, making him uncomfortably aware how much space an eternal being could occupy. “I can make you more uncomfortable. We could cuddle and watch one of Ronan’s movies. There’s a lot of moaning and bodily fluids.” Ronan and Tyson answered in unison. “I don’t watch porn, asshole.”“I’ll pass.” Lykil shrugged. “Your loss. That goes for both of you. I can cuddle like no one else, and porn is amazing. The things people do to get off inspires the worst parts of me.” “There’s something worse than this conversation?” Tyson asked, shifting away from Lykil.




About the Author: 
Kelsey Jordan is the author of The Gardinian World novels. Though she has a preference for all things paranormal and romantic, Kelsey admits she just writes what her muse demands of her. It’s less painful that way. When she isn’t enjoying the momentary benefits of playing god to the many characters that live in her head, she can usually be found curled up with a book, killing something in a video game, or spending time with her family. At some point in the day she is probably drinking more than her recommended dose of coffee, but don’t tell her that. She doesn’t care about recommended servings.
As a Texas native and self-described Air Force brat, Kelsey now lives in Georgia with her husband and their tutu-wearing minion. 
http://kelseyjordangw.com/
https://twitter.com/KelseyJordan_GW
https://www.facebook.com/Kelseyjordangw
http://kelseyjordangw.tumblr.com/
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7302140.Kelsey_Jordan
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18808412-heart-of-a-rocky

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Mortal Gods by Alex Manea

Mortal Gods        Forgotten PantheonBook 1Alex Manea
Genre: Urban Fantasy
ISBN: 9781311240422ASIN: B00N0I2Z8O
Number of pages: 183Word Count: 45,400
Cover Artist: Ovidiu Stanciu
Book Description:
Heather, a young American girl, is visiting her college roommate, who now lives in Rome. While partying in a local nightclub, she's picked up by a man who looks like he was created in the image of a Greek god. Her initial impression is correct.
He’s one of the last surviving members of the Greek pantheon. After hooking up with him, Heather is forced to join the culmination of a two-millennium-long war between that pantheon and a clandestine sect of monks within the Catholic Church, itself led by perhaps the most infamous figure in Christian history.
Heather and Apollo embark on a world-spanning effort to collect what remains of the gods to engage in the final battle with the monks opposing them. But the fate of the battle is changed by the intervention of a mysterious military organization…
Available at  Amazon   BN   Kobo

Excerpt
Immediately after waking up, the body’s first reaction is to open its eyes, but this wasn't the case with Heather, at least not this time. She knew something bad had happened to her and keeping her eyes closed gave her a fake feeling of safety. When she came back to her senses, she didn't know if she had been out for ten minutes or ten hours or even whether she was in the same place. What woke her was a strange voice whispering close to her. Her last memory was of walking with Apollo to his car. Then he started acting really strange and pushed her.Was this his plan all along? Or did something else happen?Her dark thoughts were interrupted by the strange voice. Heather perked her ears. It wasn't Apollo, she concluded. She couldn’t understand what the voice was saying but she knew it wasn't English. Her ears finally caught something vaguely familiar.“In nomine Patris et Filli et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.”Latin. It's a prayer. Someone is saying a prayer. Maybe I'm in a church.The drop of water that hit her forehead startled her and brought back the memory of Martin, the sexual predator who’d kidnapped her when she was a child. She’d been rescued before he could molest her, but he’d woken her just like this, with drops of water to her forehead. Since then, having water dropped on her forehead was the thing she hated  and feared most in her life. Once she’d fallen asleep outside and a rain drop had fallen on her. Another time, a college friend had done it as a joke. Each time, Heather woke up screaming and crying, with images of Martin flashing through her mind. Heart racing, Heather quickly opened her eyes, only to see Martin standing over her.No it can’t be him. Martin is dead. He was executed a long time ago.She blinked and when she opened her eyes the second time, Martin was gone. Instead, a bald man appeared in front of her. He was chanting the same prayer over and over again. His left hand was right above her head, holding a small bottle, which looked just like the ones flight attendants serve. It was tilted slightly and with every “Amen” spoken, the man let a drop of liquid fall on Heather's forehead. As it hit her skin, the liquid mixed with the blood from the cut on her forehead, oozing over her nose and eyes. Heather wanted to move, to get up and run away, but the fear paralyzed her.The strange man had no reaction when she opened her eyes. He remained still and kept staring right at her, chanting, like he was hypnotized.“In nomine Patris et Filli et Spiritus Sancti, Amen,” he repeated.But he stopped before dropping the liquid on her forehead with the ‘Amen’.Then, she heard a muffled sound and blood started dripping from the man’s opened mouth right on Heather's face. He collapsed next to Heather, his head hitting the asphalt near her left ear. In the few seconds of perfect silence that followed, she couldn't hear him breathe. He was dead. Heather started screaming. The loud noise filled up the narrow dark alley. Out of the same darkness, a man’s silhouette appeared in front of her. Before she could realize who it was, he had his hand pressed tightly against her mouth.“Be quiet,” Apollo said as he looked beyond the dumpster like he was searching for something.A muzzled sound came from her mouth.“Are you okay?”Heather shook her head.“Listen to me very carefully,” he continued while his hand was still pressed against her mouth. “Your life is in danger. If you want to get out of here alive, you have to do what I say, when I say it. Do you understand?”She nodded.“I'm going to take my hand off your mouth, but you have to stop screaming.”She nodded again.Apollo removed his hand. Heather didn't make a sound. She looked left, at the dead man lying next to her. Just as she did, his hand twitched. Heather screamed again. This time, her own hand covered her mouth.“Here's what I want you to do,” Apollo said, his green eyes glinting in the faint light.“When I say 'now', run to the car, get into the passenger seat and put the key into the ignition. Stay as low as possible. I'll be right behind you.”“What if you don't make it?”“If I don't, neither do you,” he replied with a calm voice.He peeked over the dumpster.“You ready?”He handed her the car keychain and she nodded.“Now!”Apollo stepped out from behind the dumpster and started shooting in the direction they came from. Heather got up and started running straight to the car. She got in and, as instructed, placed the key into the ignition. She curled up on the seat and waited. The few seconds she waited seemed like minutes. Heather moved her head between the front seats to see what was happening behind her. Apollo was moving slowly toward the car, his back to it, shooting down the alley. When he emptied his clip, he ran and got into the driver’s seat. He reloaded his gun, dropping the empty clip on the floor of the car, and placed it in his lap.“Who was—?”Before Heather finished her sentence, a bullet came out of the darkness, shattering the rear window. The bullet missed Apollo's head by inches and exited the car through the windshield, cracking it. Heather screamed again, this time without bothering to cover her mouth.



About the Author:
Alex Manea is a Romanian journalist and writer, author of the Urban Fantasy novel Mortal Gods, the first book of the Forgotten Pantheon series. Alex is a big mythology buff, especially Greek, this being the source of inspiration behind the novel. Alex is currently working on the second novel of the series.
Web: http://forgottenpantheon.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Alex-Manea/712543075478967
Twitter: https://twitter.com/authormanea

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Guest Blog The Underminers by A.C. Thompson

The UnderminersA.C. Thompson
Genre: Young Adult Science Fiction
Publisher: Short on Time Books
Date of Publication: August 20, 2014 
ISBN: 1500822396ASIN: B00MWIQCVE
Number of pages: 202 pagesWord Count: 52,000
Cover Artist: Tony Bryson
Book Description:
In an alien galaxy, two dangerous criminals are sentenced to a remote prison planet known for its savage brutality and low life expectancy. The planet is Earth. Many years later, a mysterious substitute math teacher arrives at a suburban Southern California high school. A wave of inexplicable vandalism begins. High school senior, Tory, and her bullied brother, Jason, find themselves caught up in the conflict as the entire population of the school, student and staff alike, are affected by random acts of maliciousness. Although she hates him at first, Tory becomes increasingly drawn to her very handsome, but oddly vindictive math teacher who seems to be connected to what is going on.
Available at Amazon
Prologue
Inside the vermilion-hued walls of Court Number VXV on the gas giant planet of Kratora in the Core of the Gateway Galaxy, the verdict of a trial was about to be handed down. The court floated in the midst of giant banks of roiling clouds, its thick, crimson cellophane-like sides gleaming dimly with the constant flashes of lightning discharging all around it. Within, the silence hanging over the chamber belied the fury of the atmosphere raging outside. The interior of the court was vast and empty, with the exception of a large dais set in the center of the dark, gleaming floor. The far wall facing it consisted of a huge screen displaying the image of a sparkling whirlpool galaxy, its spiral arms streaked with swaths of deep pink, red and silvery blue, rotating slowly in deep space. At its heart pulsed a brilliant, blinding eye of light, hypnotic and irresistible. Two figures stood on the dais, sealed inside individual energy fields that hugged them like second skins. The fields held them completely immobile, unable to even turn their heads to look at one another. Powerless, helpless and frozen in their soundless environment, they waited for judgment.
A voice suddenly broke the stillness, bodiless and ethereal. It filled the empty space in an omniscient manner, seeming to issue forth from the walls, ceiling and floor, enveloping the two captives. “Subject B-25841. Subject N-79306. Direct your attention to the victim of your crimes.”
Mute and paralyzed, they gazed forward at the galaxy on the screen, their eyes held open wide by the invisible force surrounding them. “Is this not an example of the perfection of the Universe? Have our paltry thousands of years of knowledge yet to explain even a fraction of how such a miraculous creation operates and exists?”
On the left side of the dais, a tremor passed through Subject B-25841. The energy field around him shimmered in response.
The voice continued. “The work you have both done is renowned throughout the Gateway. Your discoveries have been remarkable and beneficial indeed. However, your arrogance has kept pace with your advances.”
The image of the galaxy in front of the prisoners began to fade away until the screen was totally black. Gradually another image took form, almost impossible to see at first, as the center of it contained an utterly blank void, gaping and huge. Dots and circles of light appeared at the edges of the space, revealing a massive black hole. Perfectly round, streams of light orbited around it, outlining a sharply defined border. Beyond it, stars near and far shimmered like crystals strewn across a black velvet cloth, providing a milky background for the ominous emptiness. “Your meddlesome and dangerous experimentation has put the entire Gateway at untold risk. A phenomena that has existed at the heart of the Core for millions of years in benign balance with the matter around it has suddenly grown exponentially in size and strength. The solar systems in closest proximity to it are now in immediate need of evacuation. In addition, we have not yet determined what the extent of this evolving disaster will be, or what measures will need to be taken to resolve it.”
The voice ceased, leaving the chamber bathed in tense, expectant silence. The bound prisoners scarcely seemed to breathe, waiting. Up on the screen, the black hole faded from view. As the quiet stretched to a nearly unbearable point, a final picture formed above. It was a planet, glittering in the reflected rays of its home star. Streaks of filmy white cloud cover drifted across the surface, and far below great expanses of blue water shone, broken by large masses of land at various intervals. The disembodied voice resumed to deliver final sentence.
“There is no doubt the Universe will correct the imbalance you have wrought. However, the cost to life in this galaxy is yet to be calculated. It is for that as yet unknown tragedy that you are sentenced to exile at the farthest edge of the Gateway Galaxy for the rest of your natural life cycle. The planet before you is your destination. It is a Level 8 Containment World in the Vector 285-346 Quadrant of the North Hyper-Extension. The indigenous life forms there call it Earth. Your sentence will commence immediately.”
Above the dais, the glossy red cellophane material of the ceiling began to shift into a colorless opaque color. With much pained effort, Subject N-79306 forced his gaze upward to stare at it, his eyes dilated with fear. The energy fields around the condemned pair sparked and rippled, tightening even further around their hosts. Subject N struggled against the constriction, working his mouth desperately to speak. A whisper pushed through his lips, hoarse and low.
“You…” he croaked. Subject B-25841 shook slightly, indicating that he had heard his companion. “I’m going to kill you,” he hissed. The ceiling became fully transparent, revealing the violent electrical storm that never ceased beyond the courtroom.
High above the structure, a funnel-shaped space emerged, pushing the billowing clouds of gas aside and blocking the jagged spears of lightning. The funnel descended until it reached into the chamber itself, hovering over the heads of the captives. Subject B-25841 closed his eyes with resignation as the fields around them levitated into the blackness and disappeared.

About the Author:
A.C. Thompson lives in Southern California with her husband, a pooka in the form of a white bunny rabbit, and two feline overlords. When she isn’t writing, she subtitles and captions movies and TV shows, putting her degree in English literature to some use.
The Underminers is her first novel.
Blog: http://acthomptales.blogspot.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/a.c.thompsontales
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ACTales

Cover Reveal Capturing You by Katana Collins

Capturing You
Maple GroveBook 1Katana Collins
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Date of Publication: 12/16/14
ISBN:ASIN:
Word Count: 72,000
Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde
Book Description:
After discovering she's infertile, Lydia Ryder has all but convinced herself that she doesn't need children or a family to be happy. All she needs is her camera, her passport, and a damn good manicure. And maybe, maybe a sexy male travel companion. But when her job as a magazine photographer lands her in the small town of Maple Grove, NH, a precocious ten year old and her single father barge into Lydia's life, turning what she thinks she wants onto its head. In this town full of happily ever afters, Lydia finds herself wishing for things she had sworn off long ago...
When Cameron Tripp's wife passed away from heart disease, he thought he'd never find love again. He certainly never would have expected a woman like Lydia Ryder to waltz into his life and awaken his dormant heart and libido. But despite his better judgment, Cam finds himself drawn to the vivacious and argumentative outsider. He quickly learns that, like him, she knows all about misplaced trust, heartbreak, and how quickly a family can fall apart if you let it.
As impassioned arguments morph into frenzied kisses, the two wonder if one weekend can ever be enough. Despite lacking a maternal side, can Lydia connect with his ten year old daughter? And when Cameron finally learns the true nature of Lydia's article, the trust he worked so hard to build crumbles once again. With such doubts filling their minds, is there any hope that Lydia and Cameron will be able to start a new life together?

About the Author:
Katana Collins Katana Collins splits her time evenly between photographing boudoir portraits and writing steam-your-glasses romances. Between navigating life as a small business owner, a first-time homeowner, and a newlywed, Kat is in a constant state of "OHMYGODINEEDCOFFEENOW."
She is the author of the Soul Stripper trilogy, Wicked Exposure, and the graphic novel, Cafe Racer, co-written with Sean Murphy.
She and her comic book artist husband commute back and forth as they please between Brooklyn, NY and Portland, ME with their ever-growing family of rescue animals (up to two dogs and a cat and still counting!). She can usually be found hunched over her laptop in a cafe, guzzling gallons of coffee, and wearing fabulous (albeit sometimes impractical) shoes.
Visit her on the web at www.katanacollins.com , on Twitter @katanacollins, or find her on Facebook www.facebook.com/KatanaCollins
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6577884.Katana_Collins
http://www.amazon.com/Katana-Collins/e/B00DQVU5ZA/
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Spotlight and Giveaway The Necromancer’s Betrayal by Mimi Sebastian

The Necromancer’s BetrayalThe Necromancer SeriesBook 2Mimi Sebastian
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance
Publisher: ImaJinn/Belle Books
ISBN: 978-1611945119ASIN:
Number of pages: 226
Cover Artist: Debra Dixon
Book Description:
Her powers have been hobbled. Her enemies are growing stronger.
Old loves challenge her. And her worst betrayer may be herself.
Necromancer Ruby Montagne is battling for her life in the realm of demons. Unfairly branded for the death of a fellow necromancer, she’s got to prove her innocence without the full use of her magic. And the real culprit is still on the loose.
While someone is stalking her friends among the witches, Ruby searches for answers inside the dark intrigues of both the demon and necromancer worlds. Ruby must confront this new, sinister threat while reconciling her feelings for her former lover, a demon warrior. Only it’s difficult . . . because a sexy vampire is making it clear that he’d like to be a lot more than just friends.
The competition for Ruby’s trust heats up as the enemy pushes her toward a dark side that could threaten the entire realm. Yet what can Ruby do when she’s not even sure what she is? With the fabric separating the realms at stake, she must decide whom to trust. But will the ultimate betrayal be her own?
Available at Amazon

Excerpt
A hand I knew all too well rested on my shoulder. “Come dance with me.”My first impulse was to huff, having watched him with Portia, but I smoothed my feathers and smothered the small fire that had been smoldering all night. If Ewan wasn’t going to bug me about Lysander, then I wasn’t going to disturb this quiet, soothing, if not a bit dangerous peace. It probably helped that I was just buzzed enough to agree, and maybe that had been his devious plan. I let him lead me to the floor and envelop me in his arms for the slow dance. His hesitation joined mine for a brief moment when our bodies connected, melting every nerve ending.I can’t do this to myself.I moved away from him, but, sensing my skittishness, he tightened his grip, pulling me against his chest. My breath caught and my body buzzed with longing and want. We danced for a few moments to let the popping world around us settle. I understood why it was so much easier to attack each other, find an irritation to mine, an axe to throw, because all of that was easier than enduring this crippling longing, feeling this gaping hole carved in my chest.When my heart finally stopped tripping over itself, I carefully settled my cheek on the soft silk of his shirt. He pressed his lips to my ear, and his breath, tinged with whiskey and his spicy demon scent, overwhelmed me and everything, everyone around us melted in a blur. He pressed his thumb against my side, grazing until he found the round swell of my breast. I felt his smile against my cheek when I suppressed a moan. My rebellious arms somehow found their way around his neck.“You’re insufferable,” I said.“Charming.” His breath puffed against my earlobe, causing my nipples to harden.“Smug.”“Confident.” He continued to rub and caught my nipple with one devious flick, eliciting a sharp gasp.“Arrogant.”“Gracious.”“Oh, hell.”“That, too.” He tightened his arms even more. “Do you know how much I want to throw you over my shoulder, take you to my place, and make love to you? I don’t think you’ll ever understand how much I want you.” His words, whispered into my ear, soft and husky, about undid me.“This conversation is not a good idea.” But my body screamed, throbbed to hear the rest of what he wanted to do.“Why? Don’t want Lysander to see me kiss you?” He glided his lips across my jawbone, leaving my skin zinging everywhere he touched. “He kissed you.” His words, tinged with a note of regret, sent a violent shiver through me.“No. Stop. What if Malthus sees?” I pushed away from him. He loosened his embrace, giving me an extra inch of space, without removing his arms from my waist.“Maybe I don’t give a damn.”“I had an interesting talk with Portia.” My words had the intended effect, throwing a bucket of freezing cold water over the conversation. I hated to extinguish the passion I so craved, but our talk had veered into the same morass that led to nowhere but despair.“That was mean,” he said, his eyes clouding with frustration.“What? Talking with her or bringing it up?”“What did you talk about?”I smirked. “Sharing.”He quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe I don’t want to know.”“Do you trust her?”“It’s wise not to trust anyone for the time being, but I’d be surprised if she was involved.”“You might try talking to her the next time you’re together.”“I haven’t been with anyone since you and I made love.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Guess I can’t say the same for you.”Ah, back to the pain. It almost felt better. At least we’d enjoyed most of the evening before igniting the white flag. I should have shot back at him with some retort, admonished him for judging me, but I was too buzzed and confused with guilt and readily accepted my role as dartboard for the night.“So tell me, are you and Lysander serious? Do you care for him?” he asked.“Yes, of course.”His arms stiffened.“He’s a friend,” I added.His eyebrows shot up in disbelief.“I’m not dating him. I’m not dating you either. Yes, we—” Frustration stifled my words. “What do you want me to do? Wait nine years? I don’t think our relationship can stand nine years of hurting each other.”His arms tightened, tightened, tightened and suffocated my thoughts. “He’s using the blood exchange to manipulate you.”“He’s not manipulating me. You know better than that.”“Lysander is a very old vampire, and I can assure you, he didn’t spend those hundreds of years in a monastery. He knows exactly what he’s doing.”“Just like you know exactly what you’re doing with Portia?”“That’s different.”He let me pull out of his embrace. “Sure it is,” I said, before turning away from him. The bar came into view and, needing a destination, I sprinted off before he could prevent my escape. I chanced a glance back and saw Portia had claimed him for the next dance. He whirled her onto the dance floor, but not before locking eyes with me for one last, hard stare.
About the Author:
Mimi Sebastian raised herself on books and the strange and unusual, and an unhealthy dose of comics and movies. When a career as a punk guitarist failed to materialize, she completed her degree in urban planning, spent two years in the Ivory Coast with the Peace Corps, and another three years in Brazil. By day, she debates the merits of transport oriented development, by night she writes about necromancers and pirates. She’s convinced she could live off coffee, ice cream, and comic books, but is sure only one of those is good for her health.
She's a member of Romance Writers of America and the Fantasy, Futuristic and Paranormal chapter of RWA. A transplant from the beaches of Florida, Mimi now wanders the desert in Phoenix, AZ, and attempts to balance writing with a day career, fantastic family, and household diva: her Amazon parrot.
www.mimisebastian.com
https://www.facebook.com/NecromancerSeriesMimiSebastianAuthor
https://twitter.com/SebastianMimi
http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/13508578-mimi-sebastian

November 7 Guest blog and reviewBook Blisshttp://lbookbliss.com
November 11 SpotlightFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com
November 18 Guest blogUrban Fantasy Investigationshttp://urbanfantasyinvestigations.blogspot.com/
November 24 SpotlightCassandra M's Place    www.cassandramsplace.com
November 28 SpotlightPembroke Sinclair  www.pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com
December 1 Guest blogARe CaféAReCafe.com
December 4 Guest blog and reviewReadaholic's Reviews http://www.readaholicsreviews.com
December 17 Spotlight and reviewCoffee Addicts Books http://www.selenityjadebooks.blogspot.com/
December 23 Guest blogRoxanne’s Realmwww.roxannerhoads.com

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