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Touched by Love A Bundle of 12 Mind-blowing Paranormal Romance Tales

Touched by Love 12 Mind-blowing Paranormal Romance Tales
A new multi-author Young Adult Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy bundle
Available for just .99

Touched by Love: 12 unforgettable tales by some of today’s best young adult paranormal authors, including New York Times Bestseller Shelly Crane.Over 1500 pages of fantasy and love to keep you breathless, sleepless and wanting more.These books have collectively received more than 28,000 5-Star ratings & reviews, and they are currently available for just $.99.(Stay tuned at the bottom of this page to win free signed print copies of each book in the bundle) Kiss of Fire (Rebecca Ethington)Some people say love is perfect. But, I know the truth. Love is dangerous, and sometimes love can change your life, or end it.Joclyn Despain has been marred by a brand on her skin. She doesn’t know why the mark appeared on her neck, but she doesn’t want anyone to see it, including her best friend Ryland, who knows everything else about her. The scar is the reason she hides herself behind baggy clothes, and won’t let the idea of kissing Ryland enter her mind, no matter how much she wants to.
The scar is the reason she is being hunted.If only she knew that she was.If only she had known that the cursed stone her estranged father sent for her 16th birthday would trigger a change in her. Now, she is being stalked by a tall blonde man, and is miraculously throwing her high school bully ten feet in the air.Joclyn attempts to find some answers and the courage to follow her heart. When Ryland finds her scar; only he knows what it means, and who will kill her because of it. Relentless (Karen Lynch) Sara Grey’s world shattered ten years ago when her father was brutally murdered. Now at seventeen, she is still haunted by memories of that day and driven by the need to understand why it happened. She lives a life full of secrets and her family and friends have no idea of the supernatural world she is immersed in or of Sara’s own very powerful gift.In her quest for answers about her father’s death, Sara takes risks that expose her and her friends to danger and puts herself into the sights of a sadistic vampire. On the same fateful night she meets Nikolas, a warrior who turns Sara’s world upside down and is determined to protect her even if it’s the last thing she wants.Sara’s life starts to spin out of control as she is hunted by an obsessed vampire, learns that her friends have secrets of their own and reels from the truth about her own ancestry. Sara has always been fiercely independent but in order to survive now she must open herself to others, to reveal her deepest secrets. And she must learn to trust the one person capable of breaking down the walls around her. Hope(less) (Melissa Haag)Our world is being judged, and we remain unaware.In a world filled with people, Gabby is uniquely alone. The tiny glowing sparks that fill her mind and represent the people around her, confirm it.Clueless regarding the reason behind her sight, Gabby struggles to find an explanation. A chance encounter leads her closer to the answers she has struggled to find and into a hidden society where fur is optional. There she meets Clay, the intense werewolf delusional enough to think he has a chance with her.Gabby escapes back into her old life, but not quite alone. Clay follows her and silently makes a place for himself in her world. As if that isn’t enough to deal with, problems compound when other werewolves, ones with abnormally colored sparks, begin to stalk her.Instead of gaining answers, her list of questions is growing. What do the other uniquely colored sparks mean? Is she not as alone as she thought?Judgement has begun… Broken (Dean Murray)Adri Paige is too busy dealing with the emotional fallout from losing half of her family to deal with boys. At least she thought so until the two most intriguing guys in her new school take an interest in her.Both boys are gorgeous and blessed with obscene amounts of money. They should have the emotional depth of note cards, but instead display undercurrents she doesn’t fully understand. Rumors the pair destroys peoples’ livelihoods seem ludicrous until she gets caught in the crossfire and her family almost loses their home. She’s increasingly unsure either boy is really human, and their rivalry is rapidly turning deadly. Runes (Ednah Walters)Seventeen-year-old Raine Cooper has enough on her plate dealing with her father’s disappearance, her mother’s erratic behavior and the possibility of her boyfriend relocating. The last thing she needs is Torin St. James—a mysterious new neighbor with a wicked smile and uncanny way of reading her.Raine is drawn to Torin’s dark sexiness against her better judgment, until he saves her life with weird marks and she realizes he is different. But by healing her, Torin changes something inside Raine. Now she can’t stop thinking about him. Half the time, she’s not sure whether to fall into his arms or run.Scared, she sets out to find out what Torin is. But the closer she gets to the truth the more she uncovers something sinister about him. What Torin is goes back to an ancient mythology and Raine is somehow part of it. Not only is she and her friends in danger, she must choose a side, but the wrong choice will cost Raine her life.Entangled (Nikki Jefford)Magic, Murder, & Romance – A Resurrection Spell Gone WrongTwo months after dying, seventeen-year-old witch Graylee Perez wakes up in her twin sister Charlene’s body. Until Gray finds a way back inside her own body, she’s stuck being Charlene every twenty-hour hours. Her sister has left precise instructions on how Gray should dress and behave. Looking like a prep isn’t half as bad as hanging out with Charlene’s snotty friends and gropey boyfriend.The “normals” of McKinley High might be quick to write her behavior off as post-traumatic stress, but warlock Raj McKenna is the only person who suspects Gray has returned from the dead.Now Gray has to solve the mystery of her death while working out a way to disentangle herself from Charlene’s body before she disappears for good. Kindred (Erica Stevens)What do you do when the one you love is also you worst enemy? Trapped in a destiny she does not want, Cassie finds herself lost and adrift, until he walks into her life, turning it upside down and awakening her in ways that she never dreamed possible.Cassie is stunned and devastated to learn that she belongs to a long line of vampire slayers known as The Hunters. A murderous rampage by a group of elder vampires has left the Hunter line decimated and the remaining Hunters scattered around the world. With her friends Chris and Melissa’s aid, Cassie struggles to rid the world of the monsters that murdered her parents. Though Cassie knows it is her fate, she chafes against her heritage, and is resentful of the shortened lifespan that has been placed upon her by the circumstances of birth. Struggling to get through every day, Cassie finds herself simply going through the motions of living. That is, until Devon arrives. Tall, dark, and mysterious his arrival turns the school, and Cassie’s life, upside down. Fighting against her fierce attraction to him, and the chaos he represents in her carefully ordered days, she is irresistibly drawn to him. Though worried that what she truly is will place Devon in danger, she is unable to fight her feelings for him. He is the one light, and the only source of hope she has in a world that revolves around death and fear. What she does not know is that Devon has some dark secrets of his own, secrets even more frightening and dangerous than hers. Secrets that threaten to tear them apart forever.Ignited (Desni Dantone)Seventeen year old Kris Young is on the run from a throng of superhuman golden-eyed freaks hell-bent on seeing her dead, and she doesn’t know why. Good thing she has her guardian angel to protect her…sort of.Kris is aided by Nathan, the mysterious man that ends up being anything but angelic when he rescues her for the fourth time in fourteen years. Even if the handsome hero illusion is shattered by his harsh treatment of her, he knows how to fight this strange enemy and is determined to keep her safe at all costs.
As the body count rises in their wake, Nathan introduces Kris to a world in which not everyone is human and the battle lines between good and evil are clearly drawn. Kris’s piece in the puzzle is something neither is aware of and, as they uncover the truth, neither is prepared for what they find. Overcoming twists and revelations that shatter both of their lives, they discover that nothing is as it seems and nothing, least of all their hearts, are safe. Significance (Shelly Crane)Maggie is a seventeen year old girl who’s had a bad year. Her mom left, her dad is depressed, she’s graduating, barely, and her boyfriend of almost three years dumped her for a college football scholarship. Lately she thinks life is all about hanging on by a thread and is gripping tight with everything she has.Then she meets Caleb.She saves his life and instantly knows there’s something about him that’s intriguing but she is supposed to be on her way to a date with his cousin. But things change when they touch, sparks ignite. Literally. They imprint with each other and she sees their future life together flash before her eyes. She learns that not only is she his soul mate, and can feel his heartbeat in her chest, but there is a whole other world of people with gifts and abilities that she never knew existed. She herself is experiencing supernatural changes unlike anything she’s ever felt before and she needs the touch of his skin to survive. Now, not only has her dad come out of his depression to be a father again, and a pain as well, but Caleb’s enemies know he’s imprinted and are after Maggie to stop them both from gaining their abilities and take her from him. Can Caleb save her or will they be forced to live without each other after just finding one another?Bound by Prophecy (Melissa Wright)Aern’s only job is to protect the chosen. The trouble is, she’s the key to a prophecy and everyone wants her. Hiding a girl in the center of a secret war is tricky business, but when her sister shows up to take Aern hostage, all bets are off.A slim brunette in borrowed jeans should be the least of his problems, but there’s something about Emily he just can’t put to rights. And it’s not her penchant for using hand tools as weapons or the fact that she seems immune to his sway.Everything about her screams run. But when he discovers she’s working toward her own prophecy, he’s got no choice but to keep her safe. It might have been easy, if she didn’t think she was the chosen’s protector. When the opposition descends, their only hope is to stick together, but the truth unravels, and together might prove the biggest complication of them all. Deadly Crush (Ashley Stoyanoff)Dog Mountain is just like any other small town — peaceful and uneventful. Well, that is if peaceful means wolves howling all night, and uneventful means it’s overrun by pesky werewolves, then yes, Dog Mountain is just your average small town.Jade Shaw has spent the last two years avoiding the pack. But when Aidan Collins moves to town, avoiding the dogs doesn’t seem possible. The pack wants him just as much as she does.Determined to keep him out of the pack’s grasp, Jade does everything she can to gain his attention. Little does she know, Aidan is in deeper with the pack than she could have imagined, and competing for his attention is a deadly game, one she may not want to win. Deep Blue Secret (Christie Anderson)A sweet, mysterious teen romance with a refreshing fantasy twist.California teen Sadie James thinks her life couldn’t get any better. She has great friends, an energetic mother she adores, and the beach practically in her own backyard. But her carefree life is turned upside down when she’s rescued by a mysterious and strangely familiar boy who won’t even tell her his name. Each time the boy appears, Sadie’s unexplainable attraction to him deepens along with her need to unravel his secrets. The boy is there to protect her, but as wonderful and exciting as it might be to have an irresistible boy with crystal green eyes protecting her every move, every minute of the day…why does Sadie need one? As Sadie finds answers, she realizes her life isn’t as perfect as she thought. Not only is she caught in a world of dangerous secret agents she never knew existed, but it turns out her true identity may be the greatest secret of all.Purchase the Touched by Love Bundle just $.99 from:AmazonApple iBooksBarnes & NobleKoboSmashwordsThe Touched by Love Drawing:In association with the launch of Touched by Love, the authors behind the bundle will be hosting a combination mailing list & Rafflecopter drawing. Once the entry period is over we’ll manually combine the Rafflecopter entries with the mailing list signups and pick a random winner.If the winner is in the United States they will win signed paperback copies of each book in the bundle. If the winner lives outside the United States they will win free digital copies of the second book in each of the Touched by Love series and a $30 Amazon gift card.Signing up for the Touched by Love Mailing List represents an agreement to have your name added to the mailing lists of each of the authors from the Touched by Love bundle. Your contact information will not be shared or sold with anyone other than these authors and they likewise promise to keep your information confidential.a Rafflecopter giveaway

Guest Blog and Giveaway: Sceadu by Prashant Pinge

5 interesting facts about Sceadu

Here are 5 interesting facts about Sceadu, the YA fantasy novel by Prashant Pinge:

1)      Sceadu takes place inside the human shadow.

A verse from a century old book transports four children inside their shadows without a way back.

2)      The plot for Sceadu has a strong basis in psychology.
The land inside the shadow is validated through psychology, providing a rational explanation to its existence.

3)      Sceadu references a very popular myth.
A myth which appears across several cultures has been expertly woven into the narrative to add to the thrills.

4)      Sceadu has creatures that will surprise.
While the land is replete with a variety of creatures, their treatment is vastly different from other fantasies.

5)      Sceadu was written over three months.
The author worked upon Sceadu during an inspiring but blazingly hot summer in Glendale, Arizona.


SceaduPrashant Pinge
Genre: YA fantasy fiction
Date of Publication: Nov 10, 2014
ASIN: B00NVCV0I0
Number of pages: 246Word Count: About 70,000
Cover Artist: Reptile FX
Book Description:
All this while, Matilda’s shadow had been growing larger and larger. Suddenly, it lunged out of the ground and swallowed her, like a python does its unsuspecting prey.
Nine year old Matilda ends up with a century old book through a series of strange coincidences. And disappears. Her brother and cousins are forced to suspend their hostilities and pursue her to Sceadu, a land inside the human shadow. Once there, the reluctant visitors find themselves chased by the vicious Hefigans, creatures of Sceadu. However, everything changes with the revelation of an ancient prophecy that foretells the doom of the world they left behind.
With the stakes suddenly raised, the children must now navigate the dangerous terrain, overcome grave challenges, and unlock the secrets of the shadow. But can they do it in time to thwart the plans of the treacherous Hefigans? Or will they succumb to the guile of a ruthless enemy who is equally determined to destroy mankind?
Sceadu is a fast-paced adventure which blurs the boundary between the physical and the psychological, the real and the mythical.
Available at Amazon


Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/BIQHTbekS8Y

Excerpt:
Matilda sat at her old wooden desk, staring into the thick yellowed pages of a book under a dull moth ridden beam cast by the night lamp. But every time she blinked, it seemed as if the words had played a round of musical chairs. And the moths, fluttering through the words at times and hovering over them at others, did not make things any easier.
Matilda was about to turn the page when there was a tug at her feet. It was a very gentle one, almost imperceptible. Surprised, she glanced down, but there was nothing. Perhaps it’s just my imagination, she thought. She was about to shake her thick dark brown curls out of her face when she felt it again.
Matilda pushed her head down and looked into the dark void with furrowed brow. Her skinny legs stared back. But before she could decide on whether she had actually felt anything, there was another tug, an unmistakable one this time. And another one. The truth suddenly dawned upon Matilda. It was her shadow, trying to drag her into itself.
Matilda jerked back the chair, kicking hard at her shadow. But it snapped back, pulling at her even more viciously. She stomped upon it repeatedly. But the dark grey shape began jabbing at her feet and ankles. Matilda pushed herself up and made a frantic attempt to run. But her legs refused to move, and she almost toppled forward.
All this while, Matilda’s shadow had been growing larger and larger. Suddenly, it lunged out of the ground and swallowed her, like a python does its unsuspecting prey.


About the Author:
Prashant Pinge was born and brought up in the picturesque neighbourhood of Shivaji Park in the bustling city of Mumbai in India.
A quiet and diligent student throughout his schooling and college years, Prashant proceeded to pursue electrical engineering at Purdue University in the United States. Over the next decade, he accumulated three more degrees, a master of science in management from Lancaster University, a post graduate program in management from Indian School of Business, and a post MBA master in international management from Thunderbird School of Global Management.
Apart from enjoying the company of books, Prashant had always had an imaginative bent of mind. But writing only happened in the fall of 2003, when a remarkably intriguing dream interrupted an uncharacteristically deep spell of slumber, compelling him to stagger to his desk and pen down the idea. That book is still a few years away from being written. Prashant, however, continues to work from his cauldron of creativity and churn out critically acclaimed works of fiction.
In addition to his literary pursuits, Prashant is Managing Partner in his marketing and branding firm, Media Panther. In his spare time, Prashant enjoys collecting old coins, reading fiction, travelling to exotic destinations, watching movies, and listening to music. He recently wrote and produced a short film titled Freedom of Expression. Prashant is also keenly interested in the subjects of psychology, mythology and ancient history.
Prashant lives with his wife and son in Mumbai.
Author website - http://prashantpinge.com
Blog - http://prashantpinge.com/blog
Author Facebook page - http://facebook.com/PrashantPingeAuthor
Sceadu Facebook page - http://facebook.com/SceaduTheBook
Twitter page - http://twitter.com/prashantpinge
LinkedIn page - http://in.linkedin.com/in/prashantpinge
Google+ page - http://plus.google.com/+PrashantPinge
Goodreads page - https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8393378.Prashant_Pinge

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Guest Blog: Casual Curses and Meticulous Magic by Lee Roland

Rules for Magical WorldsLee Roland
The curious mind of a creative writer determines the rules when he or she builds a magical world, and sets the stage for larger than life characters to act out their stories.  The most exciting and enchanting things happen, though, when someone breaks the rules.   What if a witch grew sharp teeth and started sucking blood?  Or a furry and fanged werewolf dressed in a suit and went shopping at the mall?  What if a demon started cuddling, feeding and adopting stray kittens? In some instances, the rules for a magic world are clearly stated.  Take Melian Devlin, witch-heroine in Casual Curses and Meticulous Magic.  She’s trying to explain magic to her soon to be lover Titus Moran.  Titus has no idea of the wild enchanting world she’s about to dump on him.  “First and biggest rule, don’t use magic to hurt non-witches. Regular people like you and your mom have no defense against it.” Mel lowered her eyes. “Magic can kill.  We can only use it for self-defense or survival. “Second rule? We’re not supposed to use magic to gain personal wealth. That draws too much attention. We live secret lives—for good reason.  History will tell you that. Witches have always been on the ‘somebody get a rope’ or ‘let’s build a nice big fire’ list.” Melian’s problem?  The bad guys keep breaking those rules and circumstances force her to take radical action. Melian offers other rules that are a bit more oblique. “I know. You’re going to have a bumpy ride at first. Everything is connected in magic, Tiger. Everything. Only thing that changes is the distance and angle.”Everything is connected in magic.  That’s often a big one.  It’s the “figuring out” the connections drives the protagonists toward a goal.  Too often, magical rules are determined by television and movies. One person, after reading a scene in a book said, “Vampire bodies?  But that’s not right.  Vampires turn to dust when they’re staked.”  The reader closed the book because it didn’t follow his version of the rules.  One question asked of magical novels, “Is it urban fantasy or paranormal romance?”  More rules to deal with. It seems as if the focus of romance is the love story and saving the world is an afterthought. Urban fantasy saves the world first, and sometimes people fall in love.  Both genres are great, but some readers feel the need to slap a specific label on a novel and put it in its place.    If a reader approaches each novel with an open mind and allows the writer to develop their world and guide the protagonists through the maze, that book can reward the reader with all the creative energy the writer can offer.  That’s what it’s all about.  The reward.  Forget the rules and enjoy the story.


Casual Curses and Meticulous MagicThe Gramarye SeriesBook ILee Roland
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Highland Press                 Date of Publication:  September 24, 2014
ISBN: 978-0-9916439-2-9ASIN:  B00NOZCUB0.
Number of pages: 292Word Count:  92,000
Cover Artist:  Iris Hunter
Book Description:
What happens when a dysfunctional witch and a tough PI work together to save an aging apartment house filled with ghosts, dragons and one oversexed house plant?Spirits, spells and mayhem…Magic rises in the Gramarye
Melian Devlin is a witch who often resorts to exotic and slightly illegal methods of acquiring money to maintain the 300-year-old Gramarye, the stone apartment house that’s her heart and home. Her life is a series of skirmishes that occasionally end with her behind bars. 
Titus Moran is a no-nonsense PI who makes big bucks busting insurance fraud schemes.  So how did he wind up in a tortuous battle to keep Melian out of jail?  Did the delightful young witch with her gray eyes and magic at her fingertips enchant him—or does the Gramarye hold greater mysteries.  
Titus will enter a new exciting world when he joins Melian in her quest to save the Gramarye.  Melian will fumble along in her usual impulsive way, leaving a trail of disasters behind her.   If they’re lucky, they might survive.

Available at Amazon   BN  Smashwords   Books A Million
Chapter 1
Melian Devlin considered her arrest late Friday evening an ill omen, a portent of dire thingsto come. At the very least, it would ruin her weekend. Her bad luck had continued after her arrest when she’d found herself standing before Judge Franklin P.O. Merkle. Merkle’s exact words were, “You again?”
He’d set her bail at an obscene five thousand dollars.
Psychic readings weren’t illegal in the City of Ashburn, Florida, but selling magic potions  skirted the legal line of medicine, hence her arrest. And then there was the sticky issue of not having a business license—again. Minor infractions. So why did Merkle have such a burr up his ass? Maybe because he was working late on Friday? The malicious cop with an aversion to psychics hadn’t helped either.Standing behind bars at ten o’clock that night, listening to her Great Uncle Will royally chew her butt, confirmed Mel’s dismal assessment of the situation.“Psychic?” Will’s deep voice rumbled the word. His tired eyes watched her from a weather worn face. “Mel, honey, you ain’t no psychic. You’re a witch. You’re supposed to use magic.”He shook his head. “I understand why you can’t get a regular job, but can’t you find something irregular you’re good at? Or at least something legal?” He glanced over his shoulder and pitched his voice lower. “You should’ve marked a cop soon as he walked in the door, then spelled him out of making an arrest. You’re allowed basic self-defense. I taught you that.”Mel winced at Uncle Will’s words. He had taught her. She was simply incredibly incompetent at casting spells and making potions, and utterly terrified of making a mistake. What if she hurt someone? Pretending to be a psychic and selling a few harmless herbal elixirs was easier—and safer.They’d put her in a simple holding cell inside the precinct station after she’d seen the judge. The arrangement gave detainees a chance to post bail before they moved them to the main jail downtown, something Mel had hoped to avoid. Prospects didn’t look good.
The sparse cell had a single bench bolted to the floor and air filled with the odor of acrid, nose-searing bleach. Her cellmates, two tough prostitutes, sat on the bench staring straight at the wall. Imperfect witch she might be, but she could still deal with the bullying they tried when she first came in.“Will, please,” Mel begged. “Go talk to Milo for me. Give him an IOU. I’ll get the money some way.” Milo the Bail Bondsman, her father’s second cousin, usually handled her bail. Milo hadn’t returned any of her numerous calls.“Yeah. Sure.” Will laughed, but it didn’t sound funny. “Gettin’ money some way is what landed you here. I can hear Milo now. Cousin Melian? She told my Granny Panopoulos to put all her money on a horse named Show-Too in the third race and—”“I told her thirty dollars to show on the number three horse, not… Oh, hell.” She wrapped her hands around the bars to steady herself.Granny Panopoulos had cried to Mel about not being able to pay her mortgage and buy food in the same month. She figured Granny could lose thirty dollars and learn an excellent lesson about the futility of gambling. How was Mel to know the woman had fifty thousand dollars tucked in her mattress and a persistent bookie looking over her shoulder? Oh, right, she was supposed to be a psychic.“Okay, girl, here’s the deal.” Will shoved his hands in his pockets like he always did when he had to deliver bad news. “I’ll get you out on Monday—” “Monday?”“Yep. I’m not going to call Milo on a Friday evening or ruin his weekend. And I don’t trust anyone else.” Will’s head bobbed. His sorrowful expression tore at her. His eyes remained bright and his mind-dagger sharp, but time had worn his aging body. He loved her, and she shouldn’t have troubled him.“Ya’ know Mel...” He sighed. “Honey, you’re twenty-seven years old. Couple of days and nights in jail won’t hurt. ‘Bout time you learned a lesson. Past time, in fact. While you’re there, think about having to stay longer, what might happen then.” He turned and shuffled out of the room.Mel leaned her forehead against the cold hard bars. What a stinking mess. She wasn’t a true psychic, but the power, the magic she lived by, occasionally gave her glimpses into the situations surrounding people. A haphazard thing she couldn’t control, but between it and the potions, she made a little money—as long as some cop with an attitude didn’t arrest her.
Mel had paid little attention when the nervous young man with dark, curly hair entered her low-rent storefront room four hours ago. He had a sweet, shy smile and almost pretty face. Not a hint of a cop in him. He paid her forty dollars for a reading and asked her if he would ever find true love. His precise words. “True love.” That alone should have tipped her off. She felt sorry for him and tried to sell him a magic potion. Only a twenty-dollar mixture of Vitamin B and Ginseng, but with the power of suggestion, it might be enough to adjust his outlook on life. He was far too good-natured and attractive to be alone. Then his partner had charged in and gleefully busted her. It didn’t take much to make some cops happy.
About the Author:
Lee Roland is a full time writer who lives in North Central Florida. She loves the peaceful rural area where she shares a home with three small dogs who think they are pit bulls and an evil cat with sharp claws.Lee writes stories of urban fantasy and paranormal romance where strong men and women battle the wickedness hiding under the surface of the modern world.  Her characters are passionate in life and love and are formidable enemies to the malevolent criminals in their worlds.
Her first series, the Earth Witches, was published beginning in 2011 by NAL.  Her website, www.leeroland.com offers samples of the Earth Witches books and information on their world. There are short stories and news of any upcoming books and events.
www.leeroland.com
https://twitter.com/LeeRolandM
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lee-Roland/161582487246208
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/321863.Lee_Roland
Subscribe to mailing list: http://www.leeroland.com/about/

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Spotlight Stranger In Paradise by Barbara Bretton

Stranger In ParadiseHome FrontBook TwoBarbara Bretton
Genre: Post -World War 2 Romance
Publisher: Free Spirit Press
Date of Publication: October 15, 2014
ISBN: 9781940665085ASIN: B00MTC0RBY
Number of pages: 347Word Count: approx. 70,000
Cover Artist: Tammy Seidick
Blurb/Book Description:
Before they became The Greatest Generation, they were young men and women in love . . .
The year is 1953 and London is throwing the party of the century. Even though the ravages of World War II are still visible throughout the kingdom, the world is gathering on the Mall to celebrate the coronation of England's beautiful young queen.
For almost ten years, journalist Mac Weaver has been far from his New York home. America has changed since the war ended and he wonders if there's still a place for him in the land of backyard barbecues and a new Ford in every driveway.
However a chance encounter with beautiful English reporter Jane Townsend is about to change his life forever. As the new monarch waves from the window of her fairy-tale glass coach, a homesick Yank and a lonely Brit fall in love.
One week later, Mr. and Mrs. Mac Weaver board the Queen Mary for New York and a guaranteed happily ever after future in the land where dreams come true.
But there are dark shadows on the horizon that threaten Mac and Jane's happiness and family scandals that just might tear them apart . . .
"This generation of Americans has a rendezvous with destiny."--Franklin Delano Roosevelt
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Chapter 1

Mac Weaver hadn't seen a crowd like this since V-E Day eight years ago. He'd led off yesterday's story with that statement and he could lead off today's story with it as well. Hundreds of thousands of jubilant British subjects crowded the narrow streets, all vying for a glimpse of their brand new queen. They were a good-natured group, even those who believed the monarchy should go the way of the dinosaur, a group banded together by centuries of tradition, generations of civility, and years of war. A far cry from the chaos he'd experienced in Korea just three short months ago.

"Shove over, yank," said a wiry reporter in a Harris Tweed jacket. "Can't expect me to see over a skyscraper."

"Sure thing." Mac stepped back and let the English reporter move in front of him.

"Grow them tall in the States," the reporter said over his shoulder. "Texas?"

"New York."

"Same thing, isn't it, yank?"

"Yeah," said Mac with a rueful laugh. "In a way it is."

When you were three thousand miles away from home, it really didn't matter what state you were from. As it was, Mac stood out like a 6'3" sore thumb as he waited in front of Westminster Abbey for the procession to arrive. An All-American sore thumb.

He thought like an American, he moved like an American, he talked and joked and worked like an American. Hard to believe he hadn't been back home in over seven and a half years. He patted the ticket in the inside pocket of his battered trench coat. Well, that was about to change. Last night he'd managed to pull some strings and book passage on the Queen Mary. In less than a week he'd be back in New York where he belonged.

That was, if he belonged anywhere at all.

One of the drawbacks to being a foreign correspondent was the fact that you spent a lot of time in hotels with room service dinners and tattered guidebooks for company. Not that he didn't enjoy the life of a rolling stone. He'd never given a hell of a lot of thought to things like families and permanence. His folks had enough permanence for the entire Weaver clan. Les and Edna had been in the house in Forest Hills for almost forty years and, God willing, he knew they'd be there another forty more. And if his kid brother had lived, Mac had no doubt Doug would have followed suit.

Someone in the Weaver family had to blaze new trails and see the world and that someone was Mac. His first job had been as a cub reporter for the New York Daily News and his coverage of a major garment district fire had attracted notice. One thing led to another and before he was twenty-five, he was working in the Paris office of the New York Times. Then the war came and duty called. His reputation as a journalist had cushioned Mac from the worst of it. He'd been in danger--but not too much danger. He'd smelled the gunfire--but not up close. He'd covered the war but he'd never really been part of it.

When his brother died, Mac wondered why in hell the Almighty had chosen to take Doug's life and spare his own. But, of course, there were no answers to that question--at least none he could come up with. So Mac drank a lot and swore a lot and wrote some of the best war stories of his career while he was drinking and swearing.

Those stories had made his name and now, eight years after the Allies' victory, he was still riding high on them. He could probably parlay his credits into another few years on the foreign beat but he knew when it was time to hang up his passport and move on. Of course, that wasn't the entire truth. His bureau chief had made it patently clear that Mac's presence was getting to be a bit of a problem.

"It's not that we don't respect your work, Weaver," the old boy had said during their last meeting. "It's just that the higher-ups think it's time for a change, what with the problem in Korea almost over and all that."

The problem in Korea. That said it in a nutshell, didn't it? You couldn't go around telling everybody that the Emperor had no clothes before they finally asked you to look the other way.

Besides, the strangest thing had happened: he was homesick. He was tired of fighting, tired of running, tired of seeing young men die. All the lessons we should have learned during the last war seemed to have been put aside like yesterday's news. The players may have changed, but the script was still the same: the perennial struggle to see who is king of the mountain.

America's isolationist days had disappeared with the first bomb dropped on Pearl Harbor. There was no turning back to the days of smug security, sure in the knowledge that we were inviolate. With power came responsibility. With prosperity came ambition.

We overstepped our bounds. We made mistakes. Mac wrote about them. The McCarthyites read about them and made a note of his name. And that was why it was time to move on.

This time moving on meant moving back to where it had all begun: New York City. His hometown. For weeks now he'd had the feeling he was on the verge of something big. Something exciting. Something different from anything he'd ever done before. An adventure. He didn't know what it was exactly, but he knew it was right around the corner, if he only knew where to look.

He'd seen everything and done everything there was to do. Two wars. A broken engagement to a lovely Frenchwoman who wanted more out of life than a well-used passport. He knew the inside of every bar from London to Beirut and back again. There was nothing left to explore--nothing, that was, except the country he'd left behind. London, however, was a demanding mistress. If you looked closely enough, you could still see the scars of war on the magnificent old city but those scars only added to her lustre and brilliance. He'd done his best work there in London, written his best stories, seen the best that mankind had to offer. His admiration for the British people was boundless. Their bravery was the stuff of which legends were made. Not that Mac had committed any acts of bravery himself. Bravery required a certain involvement and Mac had danced through most of his life avoiding exactly that.

It hadn't taken Amy Sterling, his home town girlfriend, long after V-E Day to figure that out for herself. I need someone who's there for me, Mac, Amy's letter had said. Someone who'll be there when I need him, not running all over the globe...

Well, Amy had gotten her wish. She had a husband and a house and three kids. Rumor had it she went to PTA meetings and drove a Ford station wagon and made the best apple pie in Richmond Hill. And if she ever thought about Mac it was probably with a touch of pity that he was all alone.

You'd think he'd have learned, wouldn't you, by the time he found Suzette. But, no. Same mistakes. Different continent. Suzette and her husband Bernard lived with their children in a chateau in the Loire Valley.

Even his rowdiest friends had all settled down into marriage and their own personal baby booms while Mac covered everything from murders to movie stars to coronations. "You've got the life, pal," they'd said when he'd gone home for a visit in 1946, all hail-the-conquering-hero. "No mortgages for you. No dirty diapers and two a.m. feedings for our Mac." Mac Weaver shoveling snow in the driveway? Not on your life. Punching a time clock in some dreary office? You've got to be kidding.

Mac Weaver with someone who cared about him?

Sorry. Can't help you there, Mac.

Maybe it was the thought of going home that was getting to him. For thirty-five years being alone hadn't bothered him. Lately, however, he'd begun to feel the pinch of time as he watched colleagues go home to wife and kids while he spent his nights in pub after pub, bemoaning the state of the world.

Or maybe he'd seen one war too many. Sure as hell nobody had been ready to go to battle again so soon after the end of World War II. It had been hard to tackle the issue of Korea. First of all there was the question of nomenclature. Washington balked at the word "war." "Police action" had a certain arrogant cachet while "conflict" implied a battle of words not weapons. The carnage he'd seen had been anything but a war of semantics.

Once again a generation of young men were laying down their lives and this time it was difficult to figure out what they were fighting for. Europe was still struggling to recover from the ravages of World War II--and starting to wonder if they should watch their eastern borders as the USSR gathered strength and purpose.

Panmunjom. The Yalu River. Inchon. Places that had been unknown three years ago were on every tongue today. The fledgling United Nations was stretching its wings with this conflict and Mac didn't have a hell of a lot of confidence that the outcome would be what everyone hoped for.

He liked his battles clearly defined, with good guys and bad guys, and an ending like one in a Hollywood B-movie. When you can't even call a war, a war, you're in big trouble. He'd made reference to those feelings in a column three months ago and, before he knew what hit him, he found himself transferred back to the European beat.

At least with a coronation, there was no doubt about who the good guy was, not when she wore a frilly white dress and a crown of diamonds and emeralds and rubies. Leave it to the Brits: they bitched and moaned about the obsolescence of royalty in the nuclear age, but give them an occasion to break out the glass coach and the high-stepping horses, and they came out in number to cheer their monarch on.

All you had to do was look around at the faces in the crowd and you'd see he was absolutely right. The wiry reporter in front of him was probably from a working class family in Birmingham. That gent over by the bobby had Oxford written all over his aristocratic face and a blood line bluer than the Danube. Charwomen mingled with society grande dames--at least the grande dames who hadn't received an invitation from the Queen. Rich man, poor man, beggarman, thief. They were all represented in the throng. School kids, young mothers, beautiful women with glossy black hair tumbling over their shoulders--

Wait a minute. His gaze returned to the vision jockeying for a front row position in the dense knot of people near the bobby. . . . she'd smell like rose petals in the spring . . . her voice would be gentler than a summer rain . . . Small, delicate features in a fine-boned cameo of a face framed by a silken cascade of lustrous waves. If she topped five feet two, she was lucky. . . . candlelight and soft music . . . she'd step into his arms, her head resting against his chest as they danced . . . It was a wonder she hadn't been trampled by the mob. In New York, she would have been flattened in a minute.

But this wasn't New York. This was London. Girls with porcelain skin like that didn't live in Queens or Brooklyn. Her eyes are blue, he thought, ignoring the roar of the crowd and the clip-clop of horses' hooves approaching. Cornflower blue . . .

"Hey, yank! Where you off to? The queen's about to arrive." Mac no longer cared. He pushed his way into the crowd to meet the woman of his dreams.

Continue Reading This Sneak Peek at http://www.barbarabretton.com/sip.shtml

About the Author:
A full-fledged Baby Boomer, Barbara Bretton grew up in New York City during the Post-World War II 1950s with the music of the Big Bands as the soundtrack to her childhood. Her father and grandfather served in the navy during the war. Her uncles served in the army. None of them shared their stories.
But her mother, who had enjoyed a brief stint as Rosie the Riveter, brought the era to life with tales of the Home Front that were better than any fairy tale. It wasn’t until much later that Barbara learned the rest of the story about the fiancé who had been lost in the war, sending her mother down a different path that ultimately led to a second chance at love . . . and to the daughter who would one day tell a little part of that story.
There is always one book that’s very special to an author, one book or series that lives deep inside her heart.  SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY and STRANGER IN PARADISE, books 1 and 2 of the Home Front series, are Barbara’s. She hopes they’ll find a place in your heart too.
www.barbarabretton.com
www.barbarabretton.net
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorbarbarabretton
Twitter: www.twitter.com/barbarabretton
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/Barbara_Bretton

Ode to a Cat Guest Blog and Giveaway Remnants by Betty Bolté

Ode to a Cat
Felines have been part of my life since I was a baby. Currently, I am owned by a tortoise shell cat, Calliope. I say that as though she is all about me, but I’m not her favorite human. Nope. That would be my hubby. Whenever he sits down she comes from wherever she’s been holed up to sit on his lap, for as long as she permits him to hold her, of course. But when it’s just her and me, then she likes me well enough to do the occasional scritch or have her on my lap so I can reach her chest easily. She likes to lay nearby while I write, too. Then she’s off for a nap or a snack, perhaps watching out the sliding glass door at the birds perched on the feeder. Or more fun, even, chasing away from the back door our medium-sized Chow-cross dog!
Cats and their independence counterpoised with their dependence intrigues me. Think about how they only come when they want to. I have “trained” Calli to come when I call, but it doesn’t always work. You know what I mean? One thing that will summon her is opening the sliding glass door. She has to know who is entering or leaving her domain, after all! But she is dependent on us to provide her food, clean her cat box, etc. And believe me, she’s not shy about reminding us it’s time to eat! I did train her to stop when I snap my fingers, a handy way to interrupt her doing something she’s not allowed to do, like jumping on my triple dresser to watch the birds out the window.
The cat featured in Remnants (Book 2 in the Ghosts of Roseville series), as well as in the first book Traces, is my way of paying homage to my dear departed mother-in-law and her calico cat of the same name. Our love of cats was one of the many loves I shared with her (her son being the main one…). In fact, when she decided to adopt a kitty, I went with her. Now my father-in-law will always “blame” me (he’s joking; I think) for permitting her to bring home two cats – Grizabella and a silver tabby named Tabitha – instead of one. But she’d fallen in love with both and I simply couldn’t talk her out of them.
Grizabella had very unique coloring for a calico. She was mainly a dark gray with orange and white patches. Her personality was quixotic to say the least and don’t even try to hold her. However, she’d occasionally allow herself to sit on a person’s lap for a few minutes. But only a few minutes! She was lithe and fast and skittish. Although the Grizabella in Traces is not an exact replica of my mother-in-law’s cat, I still feel that Griz lives on in the pages of my books.
Have you ever been owned by a cat? Have you ever managed to train a cat? If so, what did you teach it to do?
RemnantsGhosts of RosevilleBook 2Betty Bolté
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Liquid Silver Books
Date of Publication: October 27, 2014
Ebook: 978-1-62210-159-7Paperback: 978-1-50248-107-8ASIN:             
Number of pages:       331Word Count: 70,800
Cover Artist: Lyn Taylor
Book Description:
Paulette O’Connell is focused on building her costume and home decorating business in order to ensure a stable home for her unborn child. When she accidentally summons her grandfather’s ghost, he demands she needed him and must learn the reason before he’ll reveal how to banish him. Meanwhile, a sexy chemist desires her attention despite her refusal to act upon her heart’s desires. After all, following her heart only lands her in trouble.
Zak Markel journeys to Roseville in the desperate hunt for the missing ingredient for the Elixir of Life he hopes will save his brother’s eyesight and career. But he discovers more than he bargained for when his search turns up the gorgeous woman of his dreams, distracting him from his focus at the worst possible time, even though she staunchly refuses to allow him past her defenses.
Can he convince Paulette to open her mind to possibilities and follow her heart to true happiness before it’s too late?
Excerpt: Paulette’s attention fixed upon a black, flat-topped trunk with silver hinges and hasp. It hunkered in front of the mannequin as though daring her to approach. She straightened her back, one hand automatically shielding her unborn baby, and made her way across the room until she stopped before the ebony container. She shook off her reluctance to touch it, since she needed to move it to reach the dummy. Grasping the handles, she pulled, but it didn’t budge. She tugged again but barely succeeded in shifting it an inch. What weighed so much in such a small trunk? Leaning down, she slowly raised the hasp and then the lid until the meager illumination in the room enabled her to peek inside.She lifted a packet of newspapers tied together with a satin ribbon. Peering closer, she determined they dated from the 1940s. Not ancient, after all. Not like the letters and journals from the mid-1800s found in other trunks. Still, old enough. Beneath the papers, a large maroon leather book nestled among men’s suits and trousers. She spotted an aged white cravat and matching formal shirt, fingering the silky material with delight. Silks and satins speared delight through her soul. Their textures and sounds blended into a symphony of pleasure. She grabbed the heavy book and hauled it from its nesting place, intent on reaching the luxurious fabrics.The leather warmed in her hands as she focused on the decadent silk cravat. Searching for a safe place to deposit the book among the dusty boxes and trunks, her fingers tingled then began to burn as though touching a flame. Ouch. She jerked her hands apart then tried to catch the book before it dropped from her hands. When it collided with the hardwood floor, it fell open, its pages fluttering before settling on an illuminated text. The ornate drawing of a great horned owl poised to strike, beak open, talons ready to snare its prey, curled around fancy script words. She peered at the sheet, reluctant to touch the page after the previous singeing of her fingers, but curious as to the mysterious message. She read the poem silently, and then sounded it out loud, pondering the meaning.“Before the father came the father.“Return the one gone before.“Restore the bygone to the present.“This I ask and nothing more.”“How strange.” She gingerly reached to retrieve the book and restore it to its proper place.With a roar of wind, the door banged shut behind her, startling a gasp from her compressed lips. The pages fluttered and whipped. The packet of newspapers soared into the air, its ribbon untying in the chaos, allowing the sheets to fly around like crazed paper airplanes. Her jaw dropped open, a gasp followed by a woman keening in fear. Her voice. Stop it. Get a grip. She swallowed the growing terror. She whirled around, practically spinning like a ceiling fan on high as she tried to determine what caused the wind careening about the room. An eerie whine preceded what sounded like a wolf howling to the moon. She gulped, alarm sizzling down her spine. Grizabella arched her back, and hissed at the commotion, ears flat, tail pointed to the ceiling. Paulette exhaled, her breath visible in the chilled room. She crossed her arms both to warm them and to protect her child.Quiet fell along with the papers settling like oversized snowflakes. She blinked three times, trying to erase the sight before her. But blinking didn’t work. She gaped at the tall, gray-bearded man in his impeccable suit and angled fedora. Gray highlighted his close-cropped black hair and matched his friendly eyes. He seemed vaguely familiar, yet she had never met him. Of that, she was certain. She’d remember him.“What a surprise.” He reached toward her, palms up. “How can I help you, my dear?”“Stay there.” She held out a hand, palm facing him, and backed up until her legs bumped against the open trunk.Trapped, she had no escape but to move past the man. Or apparition. Or whatever. She swallowed the fear threatening to make itself known. Perhaps she should yell for Meredith. She would know what to do with this specter. So much for the ghosts of Twin Oaks resting peacefully. If only she’d never realized she could interact with spirits.“Paulette, my precious, you needn’t fear your own grandfather.” He moved toward her, reaching for her.“No.” Shaking her head, she held up both hands indicating for him to stay back. Then motioned for him to leave, shooing him as if he could fly away. Or dissolve into thin air. Which, of course, he probably could. “Whoever you are, you don’t belong here. Go away.”Grizabella growled and hissed from her spot near the wall. Hairs along her spine stood straight, revealing the depth of her dislike of the man’s presence.“I was content where I was.”“Then why did you come here? Wh-what do you want?” Paulette shivered and wrapped her arms about her waist to still their trembling. The move left her feeling more vulnerable by removing the sense of a barrier between her and the apparition.He tilted his head and smiled, dropping one hand to his side. “More to the point, what do you want? You summoned me.”“If I did, it was an accident.” He must understand she had not meant to bring him from wherever he’d come from. Why did crap like this happen to her? Nothing in her life ever transpired as she intended. “Please, you must leave. You don’t belong here.”“Now, that’s not true. I belong here more than you do, even. So let’s get acquainted, shall we? Then you can tell me why you called for me.”When he started toward her, she screamed, her hands shielding her baby.



About the Author:
Betty Bolté writes both historical and contemporary stories featuring strong, loving women and brave, compassionate men. No matter whether the stories are set in the past or the present, she loves to include a touch of the paranormal. In addition to her romantic fiction, she’s the author of several nonfiction books and earned a Master’s in English in 2008. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Historical Novel Society, the Women’s Fiction Writers Association, and the Authors Guild.
Get to know her at www.bettybolte.com
Blog: www.bettybolte.com/blog.htm
Newsletter: www.bettybolte.com/newsletter.htm
Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorBettyBolte
Twitter: @BettyBolte
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/bettybolte
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/bettybolte9
Amazon: www.amazon.com/author/bettybolte




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Spotlight and Giveaway Holly Gets Darkly by Kay Dee Royal

Holly Gets Darkly Wild Darkness Calls Kay Dee Royal
Genre: Paranormal Erotic Romance
Publisher: Muse It HOT! Publishing 
Date of Publication: November 4, 2014
ISBN: 978-1-77127-614-6ASIN:
Number of pages:  38Word Count:  10,000
Cover Artist:  Shirley Burnett
Tag: Holly discovers a whole new erotic world when confronted by the elusive cougar.
Book Description: 
Holly Preston, freelance nature photographer, gets lost in the dark and stranded in the forest on a mission to locate the elusive cougar for the shot of a lifetime.
Keyt Darkly, Forest Ranger, tracks her with more in mind than rescue.She discovers cougars are nothing compared to what awaits her in a cabin hidden deep in the darkness…
Warning: Sizzling Hot, M/F, F/F, M/M, M/F/M, multiple partners, anal play, and ultra-arousing sex
Excerpt Rated PG 420 words
A snarled warning from something ahead startled me. I stopped and raised the flashlight in the direction of the sound. My hand shook and the light jiggled. A large cat sprang at the wavering beam of light, like a domestic cat playing with a laser beam. Only this creature moved with the speed and stealth of a ninja, powerful muscles rippling along its haunches as it pounced only a few feet in front of me. I held my scream, but dropped the flashlight. It rolled down the hill, leaving me standing in darkness in front of…a cougar. Holy cougar-bait, now what do I do? I couldn’t stop shaking while my knees turned to jelly and threatened to crumple under me. Crap. Okay, I had sticks…in my hand. I used one to balance and keep me from falling down. Then the cat ripped past me, tearing in the direction of the flashlight. It knocked me down, sticks and all. I lay there frozen, listening as the flashlight skidded here and there, until it finally went out. The cat snarled, whether in anger or play, I really didn’t know and didn’t want to hang around to find out. I crawled, afraid to stand, feeling my way in the opposite direction of where the cat originated. Attempting to be soundless in the dark over dead leaves was for the birds…they could fly, while I made lots of noise.Another something snapped as my knee took the hit. Then I sensed the giant cat was near. Folding my knees under me and covering my head with my arms, I lay face down on the ground. It wasn’t for ferocious cats that a person was supposed to act dead around, but at this point I had no choice. I certainly wasn’t going to run. It would only toy with me until it killed me, like it killed my flashlight.Its warm, moist breath moved the hair that had fallen over my arms as air puffed in and out of its mouth. I knew they smelled with their mouths open and thanked the universe it was too dark to see its sharp fangs. It pawed my arm, back, side, sole of my foot, and then my butt. I wanted to shout, “Private place!” But as soon as the thought hit my brain, the beast’s claws shredded the back of my jeans. I jerked at the sound of tearing fabric, every part of me screaming to run, and yet the sharp nails never connected with my skin.


About the Author:
Kay Dee Royal writes paranormal, fantasy, and contemporary erotic romance—maybe because they’re also her favorite genres to read! She pens tales with wild, rugged heroes and strong, intelligent heroines. She'll give them both a few shadowy secrets, making her stories intriguing and fun.
She resides in Southern Michigan with her family (her dog, her cats, her caged husband... you get the idea).
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/kaydee.royal
Twitter: http://twitter.com/kaydeeroyal
GoodReads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/5227617-kay-dee-royal   
Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Kay-Dee-Royal/e/B004T8WGEW
Muse It HOT Publishing Author Page:
https://museituppublishing.com/eroticab/index.php/our-authors/68-our-authors/authors-r/265-kay-dee-royal
Blog: http://www.kaydeeroyal.blogspot.com

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Spotlight and Giveaway: Circle Eight: Tobias by Emma Lang

Circle Eight: TobiasCircle EightVolume 6Emma Lang
Genre: Historical Western
Date of Publication: September 30, 2014
ISBN: 9780988566675ASIN: B00NHXMZKA
Number of pages: 215Word Count: 65,000
Cover Artist: Kim Killion
Book Description:
A broken man. A woman who needs a hero. A love that should never have been.Rebecca Graham always knew she was to marry a hero and leave home in blissful happiness. She chose that man when she was seventeen. Unfortunately, her family hated him. In a fury over being swindled by someone else, Tobias burned down the Circle Eight, her family's ranch. He spent four months rebuilding alongside her family in penance. When he accepts her help to nurse his grandfather, she has hopes he will become the hero she envisioned. She was wrong.
Tobias Gibson never expected happiness for himself. His brothers, adopted by their patriarch Pops, were all that matters. After Pops dies while under Rebecca Graham's care, he cannot forgive her failure to save his grandfather. He ignores his attraction to Rebecca. There is too much bad blood between them.
Life never rolls forward as expected however. Five years after he'd last seen her, Rebecca Graham reenters his life. Together they face the storm that sweeps across their lives. They have to rely on each other and ignore the growing love setting their souls and hearts on fire.
Ebook formats available atKindle    Nook   Kobo    ARe    Smashwords
Print formats available atAmazon  BN  Books a Million  Indie BoundPowells   Createspace
April 1849
The fist that crashed into Rebecca Graham’s jaw was small but hard and full of fury. Her neck snapped back and stars danced in front of her eyes but she held on to her temper and the arm in her hands.“Sarah, you have to let me do this. I know it hurts but I need to set your arm.” Rebecca tried again and a second punch slammed into her cheek.“Jehosophat, girl, don’t go punching Miss Rebecca. She’s trying to help you.” The old woman stood behind them, wringing her hands and pacing. Her granddaughter Sarah had broken her arm falling out of a tree. As the nearest person who could reset a bone, Rebecca had been summoned.Then subsequently punched for her efforts. Sometimes her need to be a healer and an herbalist seemed like a mistake. A big joke by God to punish her for being the ugliest Graham sister, the unmarried spinster, the one holding out for a non-existent prince.“If you don’t sit still, I won’t be able to set the bone and your arm will be crooked for the rest of your life.” Rebecca had two younger siblings and a passel of nieces and nephews. She knew how to handle unruly children. “Is that what you what?”Sarah, a redhead with a riot of freckles on her nose, pooched out her lower lip and shook her head. The rough and tumble girl reminded Rebecca of her younger sister, Catherine, full of piss and vinegar and ready to take on the world one fist at a time.“Then let me do this. You can tell all the boys how you bit through a piece of leather rather than cry.” Rebecca reached into her tapestry bag and pulled out an old leather strop that had belonged to her oldest brother, Matt. It had grown too thin for a razor, but folded in half, it would work for an eight-year-old to bite down on. Rebecca ignored the throbbing in her cheek and put the leather in the girl’s mouth.Sarah scowled, her red brows furrowed, but she bit down on the leather. As Rebecca took hold of the girl’s arm again, she paled, making the freckles pop out like cinnamon spots.“Close your eyes and imagine you’re in your favorite place.” Rebecca nodded to Mrs. McGinty, who stood behind her granddaughter this time, ready to intercede in case a little fist flew again.Rebecca stared at the misshapen arm, seeing beneath the skin and muscle to the fracture. She had set bones before, with success, but every time was new and different. Challenging and intimidating. She took a deep breath and allowed a calm to settle over her. It happened each time she had to use her healing skills and she welcomed it, like an old and trusted friend.She positioned her hands on the girl’s arm and pulled, moving the bones into place as though completing a puzzle. Within a minute, she was done. Sarah had pressed her face into her grandmother’s belly and quietly wept. “Good girl.” Rebecca smiled and resisted the urge to wipe the sweat off her own brow. “Now let’s put a splint on your arm and then I’ll give you something for the pain.”“Thanks, Doc.” Mrs. McGinty had tears in her eyes. “She’s all I have left of my son.”Rebecca understood all about family and holding onto them with all your might. Her family was all she had as well, and although there was a lot more than one, she treasured every member. Eight siblings, all on their own path in life but tied together by their family ranch, the Circle Eight.“I’m glad I could help.” Rebecca set to work and did what needed to be done. An hour later, she packed up her supplies, noting she would need to replenish her herbs soon. There had been too many people to heal as of late and not enough time to gather the much needed supplies.“I can’t pay you much.” Mrs. McGinty held out a few coins. Rebecca took the money with something that tasted like guilt. She knew they didn’t have much but if she didn’t accept payment, people would expect her to work for free and that would devalue her hard work. She tucked the coins into her reticule and nodded to the older woman.“She should keep the splint dry and on her arm for at least four weeks. I will come by next week to check on her. Please send word if you need me before then.”  Rebecca left the McGinty’s farm with her steps dragging. The sun had started to set and with it the cool spring night. Winter had held on with a ferocity not seen for decades. Spring had finally arrived mere weeks ago. No wonder Sarah had been climbing a tree. She likely hadn’t wanted to spend another moment indoors. If Rebecca had been a young girl, she’d have been running wild with her brothers and sisters on a beautiful day like this too.Rebecca’s horse was where she left him. Well, almost. The gelding had stretched his reins all the way over to a patch of sweet grass by the nearby garden. He was happily munching away. She shook her head at his antics. Matt had given her the horse when he was barely a colt, one of the first Matt had bred from their own stock. She’d been thirteen and so excited to have a grown-up horse.She’d named him Ocho for the Circle Eight, her family’s ranch. Ocho had proved to have a unique personality amongst the horses. The saddle horse had incredible stamina and an easy gait that made him perfect for long rides. He also had a tendency to nip at her behind when she failed to rub him down fast enough. “Ocho, we are headed home, boy.” After untying his reins, she secured the tapestry bag to the saddle horn and swung up into the saddle. Her split skirt allowed her to ride astride, unlike Catherine, who wore britches and rode as though she had fire on her ass at all times. By the time she reached the Circle Eight, Rebecca’s exhaustion had sharpened to the point she was afraid she was going to fall asleep sitting up. She managed to put Ocho in his stall, rub him down and make sure there was feed and water. She couldn’t manage another thing.Matt would lecture her if he saw her in her current exhausted state. Particularly given she likely had a black eye, which was no doubt swollen too. She avoided the house in favor of the well pump in the back yard. She set her bag down and knelt in the grass. Fortunately, her brother Benjy had oiled the pump a few weeks earlier and it moved easily in the darkness. Cool water spilled into her waiting palms.She splashed her face until she felt more awake. The requests for her services had become much more frequent as her reputation had grown. There were few physicians within a hundred-mile radius and even fewer who were readily available. Folks had started calling her Doc, which was foolish since women couldn’t be doctors, but no matter how much she corrected them, the nickname persisted. Doctor Radicy was her mentor, the man she had looked to as a savior of the local folk. He’d taught her a great deal, but she had taught herself even more.The number of patients had tripled in the last month alone. It seemed as though every day someone came by the ranch looking for Doc. Rebecca didn’t know if she would continue to practice healing or if she would go back to being an herbalist. Truthfully she enjoyed both but that left no time for herself. Certainly no man had wanted to be with her, which suited her just fine. Being the plain sister had its advantages.She allowed herself, in the cover of darkness, to remember what it felt like to have her first kiss. The sweet surrender to the man she had already decided was to be her husband. Too bad he had seen her as a child, someone to pat on the head and send home. It hadn’t felt that way when he’d kissed her though, nor after when they rode home in the darkness. The night had hidden what they’d done. Her entire world had shifted, leaving her changed forever.It had been five years, yet she could still taste him, feel the roughness of his whiskers, the warm gust of his breath. Rebecca had imagined being in his arms forever. Instead, she was left with an empty heart and unfulfilled dreams.She patted her face dry with a cloth from her bag and headed for the house. Supper would be welcome, but the explanation for the black eye wouldn’t. Matt would yell at her, or at least admonish her for letting patients get the better of her. No matter. She loved what she did and nothing would change her mind on what she wanted to do with her life.Rebecca was a healer in her heart and soul.

Tobias Gibson stared at the knotty roof inside the cabin. The scent of whiskey pushed through his pores; his body reeked of it. Hell, he was completely sour and stale in more ways than one. Everything he tried to do fell to shit so he stopped trying. Life had become a monotonous routine, which he dulled with liquor. It was an existence, but not a life.Tobias was alone. Very, very alone. He spent his days prospecting in the dirt and shit, his nights at the bottom of a bottle. Pitiful and stupid. That should be his new name. He tried to make a living many ways but nothing felt right. All that was left were the few acres surrounding the cabin. A tiny piece of nothing.The sun peeked through the grimy windows, reminding him it was daytime. He needed to get up and do something besides fart, sleep and feel sorry for himself. He rolled over and looked over at the corner. Inevitably his mind drifted back to that night five years earlier. To her. She had stood there, wide-eyed and appealing, tempting him to forget all his responsibilities.As much as he wanted to forget Rebecca Graham, she crept into his thoughts often. Too often for his liking. She was likely married with a passel of young’uns by now. He had to stop remembering how she tasted, how she smelled, how she trembled in his arms. It was torture, self-flagellation he put himself through on a nightly basis. The liquor helped but not enough. Tobias knew he was meant to be alone. He was too ornery for any woman to love him and too much of a son of a bitch, literally, to have a friend. Even his adopted brothers had given up on him. Foolish people thought they could change him. He was still the same person who had burned down the Circle Eight ranch to retrieve his grandfather’s deed and money. He was still the same person who caused the inadvertent death of the Graham’s grandmother in that same fire.There wasn’t much he had touched that didn’t become ash in his hands. They were black with it. Tobias knew from a young age he was poison on two legs. His mother had known it, beat it into him. Took others a bit longer to figure it out. Now everyone had, leaving him truly alone. He lived his days wandering between the minutes, wondering if the world would ever give him anything but darkness.“Fuck.” He threw himself out of bed and staggered sideways, landing hard on the old chair beside the bed. It cracked beneath his weight and splintered. His ass slammed onto the floor, jarring his spine hard enough to make his teeth slam together.He stared at the jagged pieces and his throat closed. Pops had made the chair long ago when Tobias had come to live with his grandfather. It was how they had formed a bond, building a few pieces of furniture, but this chair had been the first. To a lonely, wild child, it was something solid, something stable. Now Tobias had broken another memory of the man who had shaped his life.He didn’t know how long he sat there feeling sorry for himself, but it was long enough for the sun to rise high in the sky. He finally got to his feet, slowly this time, and went outside to piss.The ground tilted this way and that, but he held onto the side of the house, splinters digging into his fingers that he’d have to be sober enough to pull out later. It was April, or at least he thought it was. The days blurred together, although winter had been long enough to make it hard to get to town for more whiskey. Tobias pissed behind a tree since the outhouse was literally full of shit and needed to be closed over and new hole dug. Another task he hadn’t gotten around to doing. So he pissed on a tree and shit in the bushes. No one was around to care.He knew he was a pitiful mess. A ridiculous, pitiful mess. He made his way back to the house and his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten in quite some time. After some scrounging he found a bit of jerky and a biscuit that might have been made a decade earlier. It was food and his body needed it. He resisted the urge to chase the food down with his favorite drink. Instead he went back outside to the well and used every ounce of energy he had to pump the handle until he got some cool water. It tasted good, surprising him. He splashed some on his face and hair, waking himself up a bit more.Tobias wandered over to the gravestone that sat beneath the big tree outside the house. Pops had loved to watch the sunset from that spot. Now he could see it every day from his final resting place. “Ah, Pops, I miss you.” Tobias sat down with a thump and rested his arms on his knees. “I’ve failed at just about everything.”The wind rustled the branches above him, the leaf buds emerging after the cold winter. Somewhere in the distance, birds chirruped at each other and a hawk squawked in the morning air. It was peaceful outside, but he would never discover the same within his soul. It was as black as the ashes that coated his heart.“I wish you were still here. Selfish, I know, but if’n you were here I wouldn’t be alone.”Not entirely true, of course. Tobias had run everyone else off in one way or another. He was alone because of his own stubborn foolishness. He’d gotten fired from his last job a month ago. No, it had been three months. Three months.Where had three months gone?Into a bottle, he thought sourly. With very little money left, he had to do something besides drink himself into the ground beneath Pops. Not that anyone would notice if it happened. Hell, he could lay there stiff as a dead opossum for months until someone found him. Likely never even get buried. Such was the life of a man who didn’t give a shit.“What can I do?” He shook his head. “I’m lost, Pops. I can’t find my path.”Tobias looked south as though he could see the start of his fall from humanity. It had been five years ago when they had fallen for that con man, Vaughn Montgomery, or O’Connor, as they knew him. Losing the deed and money had been the first step to hell. Now Tobias was trapped there with no way back up.He needed a miracle.

About the Author:
Beth Williamson, who also writes as Emma Lang, is an award-winning, bestselling author of both historical and contemporary romances. Her books range from sensual to scorching hot. She is a Career Achievement Award Nominee in Erotic Romance by Romantic Times Magazine, in both 2009 and 2010, and a semi-finalist in the 2014 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award Contest.
Beth has always been a dreamer, never able to escape her imagination. It led her to the craft of writing romance novels. She’s passionate about purple, books, and her family. She has a weakness for shoes and purses, as well as bookstores. Her path in life has taken several right turns, but she’s been with the man of her dreams for more than 20 years.
Beth works full-time and writes romance novels evening, weekends, early mornings and whenever there is a break in the madness. She is compassionate, funny, a bit reserved at times, tenacious and a little quirky. Her cowboys and western romances speak of a bygone era, bringing her readers to an age where men were honest, hard and packing heat. For a change of pace, she also dives into some smokin’ hot contemporaries, bringing you heat, romance and snappy dialogue.
Life might be chaotic, as life usually is, but Beth always keeps a smile on her face, a song in her heart, and a cowboy on her mind. ;)

Website: http://www.bethwilliamson.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/bethwilliamson
Twitter: http://twitter.com/authorbethw
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Four Fatal Flaws of a Romantic Hero by Jassy De Jong

My first introduction to romance novels were the piles of old Mills & Boons which could be found in every bookshelf in our house (I have three older sisters). This was in the early 1980s, when romantic heroes were very different from what they are today. As an impressionable pre-teen, my role models were the flashing-eyed, self-obsessed, controlling and jealous archetypes that populated those pages. No wonder I started off dating all the wrong guys… it took me decades to overcome this conditioning.So, in the spirit of public service, here are four “don’ts” to avoid in a romantic hero, whether real life or fictional. I’ve included made-up 80s excerpts to illustrate. Jealous 80s excerpt: Roger’s eyes blazed. “Don’t let me see you speaking to that man again… ever!” he exclaimed. “You are mine… all mine and only mine. I’ll have no stranger devouring you with his lustful gaze!”“B-but Roger,” I stammered, “that man is my brother Tom!”Jealousy… definitely one of the least likeable and most destructive traits a romantic hero can possess. A heroine who ends up with a jealous man can expect to be alienated from her friends, estranged from her family, and have her choices criticised and controlled. Which brings me to the second flaw… Controlling 80s excerpt: “What will it be, Monsieur?” the waitron asked, as I admired the sumptuous decor of this three-Michelin-starred restaurant.Roger’s powerful jaw tightened decisively. “We’ll have a bottle of the Chianti, the caviar starters, and the lobster mains, Luigi.”By all means choose Mr Controlling as your romantic hero if it’s the last choice you ever want to make. He’ll decide everything for his heroine, from what she wears to what she eats and where she travels. She’ll never get another look at a wine list, and if she’s on a diet and he fancies dessert – well, let her eat cake. Violent 80s excerpt: “We’re leaving now!” Eyes flashing, Roger grasped my arm in his own powerful, muscular grip, holding me so tightly with his sculpted fingers that I cried out in pain.If the alarm bells aren’t ringing so loudly for this romantic heroine they sound like a fire truck, she must be deaf. The only time your hero should grasp your arm tightly enough to cause pain is when he’s pulling you out of the path of a runaway train, or a charging elephant.
Patronizing 80s excerpt: “What’s that” I asked, looking at the small clockwork gadget with interest.“Oh, it’s an invention I put together in between writing my PhD and winning my Olympic gold fencing medal,” Roger told me dismissively, adjusting the collar of his starched Armani shirt. “I’d explain how it works, but it’s rather complicated and you wouldn’t understand.”The subtext here, of course, is that you need to be the owner of a penis to understand this. Really, why would a romantic heroine want to trouble her frail, feminine mind with its workings… or with any knowledge at all beyond how to remove her lacy underwear on command? In future, she must do the sensible thing and leave these weighty issues to the menfolk… or, of course, she could make the really smart choice, and look for a different hero!###Jassy de Jong was inspired to write her first novel,  Random Violence , after getting hijacked at gunpoint in her own driveway.  She has written several other thrillers including  Stolen Lives  and  The Place for Fallen Horses,  and edits a hair and beauty magazine.  She lives in the northern suburbs of Johannesburg with her partner Dion, two horses and two cats. Her new novel,Drowning, is an exotic romance set in South Africa. Drowning , by Jassy de Jong now available in print and ebook
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1043HszBarnes & Noble: http://bit.ly/1xwZLPm
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1sKZWid

Guest Blog and Giveaway War-N-Wit, Inc. by Gail Roughton

A writer’s done a good day’s work when the characters have gotten themselves into or out of some sort of convoluted situation, whether humorous, dangerous, nightmarish, or ridiculous. It’s what we do.
           We create worlds of action, adventure, and danger. We plop our characters squarely in the middle of it and watch them squirm their way out of situations we’d love or hate to get ourselves into and out of but never will. And why not? We’re safe at our little keyboards; there aren’t any repercussions for us. Or are there? Because our most valuable tool, the one essential thing modern writers can’t function without—could be our Judas. Our betrayer. Think about it. Over the past years, how many trials have featured the defendant’s computer as one of the star witnesses?
Unless you’re a computer whiz yourself, you don’t know how to wipe your computer’s memory, now do you? I don’t mean clear out the recent browsing history - occasionally even I remember to do that.  I mean clear the “innards” of your computer, where, the experts tell us, our entire online lifeis recorded. Forever. Unless you’ve got one of those wiping devices from the CIA, of course.  I don’t know about you, but I just don’t have a lot of those high tech luxuries on my shelf and I’m pretty sure they have folks who could backtrack it through the servers anyway.
What I do have is a browsing history guaranteed to send me away for life were I the suspect in an horrendous crime being prosecuted by any fairly competent District Attorney. And if somebody wanted to frame me—well, they’d just have a field day. In the course of building the backgrounds of my books, in creating that believability that grabs a reader and makes them believe the unbelievable, I’ve set myself up. Big-time. Especially if anything ever happens to my husband.
Even a cursory glance at my browser shows that I know how to obtain a marriage license 24/7 in Vegas, and where to go to use it. I know where prostitution’s legal in Nevada, and where it isn’t. And it isn’t legal in Las Vegas, who’d have thought?
I’ve got a general knowledge of Voodoo and its hierarchy of spirits, as well as Hoodoo (which isn’t the same thing, by the way). I’ve checked out the quality, weight, and street value of various controlled substances, and the styles and types of different handguns and the damages each can inflict.
I know the Temple of Isis at Pompeii (yes, Pompeii, not Egypt) was excavated in 1764. I know golems are creatures made of sand, from Jewish mythology, who carry out their makers’ bidding.
I mean, any prosecutor could convince a jury I offed my husband by means of a golem armed with a .357 Magnum and powered by astral projection, hid his body in a mausoleum, ran away to Vegas, opened a brothel, and founded a black magic coven.
Or maybe they’d say I ran away to Daytona Bike Week with an outlaw biker, and currently serve as second-in-command for a big sprawling drug cartel. Or—well, there’s just no end to it. If you’d like to see the results of all this web-crawling, hop on over to my web-blog, http://gailroughton.blogspot.com where you can view the final results of all this incriminating research. None of my books would have been possible without it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go make sure my husband took his vitamins. I do believe it might be in my best interests to keep him healthy.



Witch ResurrectedWar-N-Wit, Inc.Book 1Gail Roughton
Genre:  Paranormal Romantic Suspense
Publisher:  Books We  Love, Ltd.
Date of Publication:  September 21, 2014
ISBN: 978-1-77145-314-1ASIN: B00NSY9NZ8
Number of pages:192Word Count: 63,858
Cover Artist:  Michelle Lee
Book Description: 
Ariel Anson thinks she has her life in order. She’s young, smart, and beautiful, even if she doesn’t believe the beautiful part. She’s a paralegal with a great career and a fiancé who’s a CPA. You just can’t get any steadier than that. Then she meets private investigator, bounty hunter, process server Chad Garrett.
What does War-N-Wit, Inc. stand for anyway?
Warlock and Witch? For real? Oh, yes! For real.
Her life as she knows it is over! Instead of organizing corporate documents and pleadings, she’s chasing bail jumpers and taking down serial killers. And investigating secret societies. Like Resurrection.
Not everyone can join, just the elite few who remember their past lives. Only the Seer knows if those memories are truth or fabrication. There’s just one problem. The new Seer is missing in action. War-N-Wit’s new assignment is a blast from the past! But whose past?

Available at Amazon


Excerpt Witch Resurrected

I came abruptly out of total black but not into full light. Candlelight, that was it. And firelight. I was upright and could pass as a duct-tape dispenser, my arms secured at wrist and elbow bend to the arms of a chair. For good measure, another swatch of duct-tape ran on top of and across my fingers, rendering them immobile too. From the curve of the arms and what I could see, I was in a straight-backed chair of the Empire style. And just in case that didn’t hold me, another few turns of duct tape ran under my breasts and around the back. My ankles were crossed and looped with the damn stuff, too. Well, standing up and taking the chair with me was out. At least for now. Taped as they were, I couldn’t stand flat and didn’t think I could balance on the sides of my feet.
I looked around the room. I knew I was in the Bull Street house. The Empire style chair itself was a dead give-away and so was the room. It was wallpapered in dark red that seemed almost black in the muted candle-fire glow. It had been almost five o’clock when I’d seen the newspaper. It had to be full dark by now though the heavy velvet drapes, also dark red and trimmed with gold edging, wouldn’t have let much light in in any event.
It was a bedroom. Against the far wall stood a heavy canopied bed matching the décor of the last century that dominated the whole house. There was an antique washbasin, complete with a water pitcher in Wedgewood blue and white. The knick-knacks on the fireplace mantel looked like somebody’d robbed the British Museum. Not to mention the andirons holding the burning logs looked to be the original cast iron ones placed there when it was built.
But the kicker was the man sitting in a matching chair across from me. He was dressed in a three piece suit, complete with watch fob and chain. He wasn’t stuck to his chair with duct-tape. I didn’t think he needed to be. He was a lot more immobile than me. He stared straight ahead, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t seeing anything. I’d never seen anybody in a catatonic state. Until now, that is. “Hello, Mr. Hedgepath,” I said. “We haven’t met before, have we? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you haven’t left this room in a while, have you?”
No response. And no surprise.
The door opened. It creaked. Surprising, really, in a house this recently restored and so well-maintained.
I wasn’t surprised to see Oliver Hedgepath walking in. Or at least, the Oliver Hedgepath we’d been seeing.
“Well,” he said. “Ariel Garrett. The new Seer of the Tear of Isis. You’ve led me a merry chase.”I didn’t respond.
“Cat got your tongue? Oh, dear, where’s that caustic repartee I’ve come to know and hate? Can’t think of any new names to call me?”
“I know exactly what to call you. Dead man walkin’.” I deliberately spaced out my next sentence, punctuating each word. “My. Husband. Is. Going. To. Kill. You. You know that, don’t you? Whoever you are?”






Mean StreetsWar-N-Wit, Inc.Book 2Gail Roughton
Genre: Paranormal Romantic Suspense
Publisher:    Books We Love, Ltd.Date of Publication: October 17, 2014
ASIN: B00NT22DXI
Number of pages:194Word Count: 58,274
Cover Artist: Michelle Lee
Book Description:
Daytona Bike Week. Biker’s paradise. The perfect place for Chad and Ariel Garrett to take a few days off and relax with Chad’s buddy Spike and Ariel’s little sister Stacy.
But nothing ever goes as planned with that magical duo. Trouble just stalks them like a black cat. A missing agent riding with an outlaw biker gang, a call from Chad’s past, and War-N-Wit, Inc.’s riding again, with romance blooming in the midst of danger. From Daytona, the crew heads back to Vegas and another family wedding. Spike and Stacy are ready to say “I do!” In the Tunnel of Love Drive-Thru at the Little White Wedding Chapel in Vegas, of course. It’s become a family tradition.
But what’s supposed to happen in Vegas just refuses to stay in Vegas. And you’re not going to believe this side-trip!
Available at AmazonExcerpt for MeanStreets
I frowned as I settled into the front seat of the SUV. So far everything had run smooth as silk. We were flying into Vegas from Jacksonville, Mom and Dad would arrive about the same time from Atlanta. But something was wrong. Something was missing. I did a mental run-down of the checklist. All luggage loaded? Check. All pending War-N-Wit, Inc. jobs done? Check. Pine Whisper Plantation’s caretaker par excellence Buddy McAfee all set to look after all the animals while we’re gone? Check. And for us, that just wasn’t normal. What was missing? Oh, yeah! Ringtone signaling incoming trouble—magic world, Chad’s past law enforcement affiliations, whichever. Sometimes both, but gotta have at least one. And there it was, coming in loud and clear from the dash. Check. The nerve-pinging tingle from the theme for The Twilight Zone.
“Knew it was too good to be true,” Chad said. “Answer it.”
“Hello?”
“Yo, whut up?”
“You tell us, G.”
“You don’t have to sound so cautious, I don’t bite.”
“Much,” said Chad.
“I resent that. And besides, I was just calling to wish you a good trip. And send good wishes to your brother and sister. Glad Spike finally broke out of the closet. Been meaning to call and suggest you introduce him to us but I just haven’t had a chance. We can always use some more of the good ones, Spike and Stacy’d be welcome.”
“We’ll be sure to relay the message,” I said.
“Have a great time in Vegas, do the Strip right. Oh, and while you’re there—”
“I knew it.” Chad shook his head mournfully.
“Hey, it’s nothing! We just got wind one of the magic shows playing right now might be using some low-level magic to con some of the audience. Nothing big, just since you’re there anyway—”
“I hate magic shows. Remember?”
“That’s a hell of thing for the guy so many people call Magic Man to say.”
“G, you couldn’t payme enough to go near a magic show.”
“Uh, honey?”
“What?”
“Sorry to tell you this, but Mom loves magic shows. There’s three playing on the Strip right now. Stacy’s already told her about ‘em.”
“Should I groan now?”
“’Fraid so. She’s planning to hit every one of ‘em. Which one’s using the low-level magic con, G?”“Magician by the name of Damien. So you’ll keep an eye open for us?”

“Sure,” I said. “No problem.”
About the Author:
Gail Roughton is a native of small town Georgia whose Deep South heritage features prominently in much of her work. She’s worked in a law office for close to forty years, during which time she’s raised three children and quite a few attorneys. She’s kept herself more or less sane by writing novels and tossing the completed manuscripts into her closet.
A cross-genre writer, she’s produced books ranging from humor to romance to thriller to horror and is never quite sure herself what to expect when she sits down at the keyboard. Now multi-published by Books We Love, Ltd., her credits include the War-N-Wit, Inc. series, The Color of Seven, Vanished, and Country Justice. Currently, she’s working on Black Turkey Walk, the second in the Country Justice series, as well as the Sisters of Prophecy series, co-written with Jude Pittman.
Another War-N-Wit plot always seems to be brewing on the back burner, too, whether she’s actually trying to brew one or not, and usually boils quicker when she’s trying not to brew one at all. 

Amazon Page: http://amzn.com/e/B007JVZCKQ
Facebook: www.Facebook.com/GailRoughton
Web-Blog: www.gailroughton.blogspot.com
Books We Love, Ltd. http://bookswelove.net/roughton.php
Twitter: @GailRoughton

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Interview: Blood's Shadow by Cecilia Dominic

Hello Cecilia, welcome to Fang-tastic Books.
1. Can you tell readers a little bit about yourself and what inspired to write in this particular genre?
Thank you so much for hosting me today!
I’ve always written fiction, and my mind is drawn to the weird and unusual. As a psychologist, I’m also interested in how people express different aspects of their personalities at different times and how they integrate them as they get older. The Lycanthropy Files series has allowed me to incorporate my fascination with strangeness with the psychology of personality and personality development.
2. What is it about the paranormal that fascinates you so much?
I always wanted the world to be more interesting than it really is. As a child, I daydreamed a lot and peopled my space with magical creatures. For example, one autumn morning, I looked out to see a leaf that looked like a little fairy perched on a tree branch being tossed in the wind. I imagined it was a magical creature having a good time hanging on for a wild ride. When I got older and discovered the genre of urban fantasy, where magical elements are part of ordinary life, I was hooked.
3. What inspired you to write this book?
Blood’s Shadow is the third in the Lycanthropy Files series, so I needed to finish out the series arc and have the characters strive to reach the goal of finding the cure for lycanthropy. Of course I had to put interesting barriers in the way, and what’s more interesting than a murder? Although the second book in the series Long Shadows was a fun suspense to write, I wanted to bring the series back to a murder mystery, so of course someone gets offed in the first chapter.
5. Was one of your characters more challenging to write than another?
The series is written in first person, and I felt Gabriel was the hardest because he’s the most different from me, being an eighty-year-old male Scottish werewolf, although he only looks thirty-something. And he’s really hot – I love my cover!
The best way to describe the experience of writing Gabriel is that it was like writing in a foreign language I’m fluent in but still not totally comfortable with. I’m fortunate to be a psychologist, so I’m in a job where I have lots of in-depth conversations with men of all ages, and I’m also a good eavesdropper. Writing this book gave me the excuse to purchase and read Norah Vincent’s Self-Made Man, in which she talks about going undercover as a guy in different situations. I’ve studied gender differences, but her book was particularly helpful because she really digs into male relationships, ways of thinking, and communication styles. Gabriel is fairly enlightened, having come of age in the sixties and being an observer of the world and how it changes, but sometimes I found being in his head exhausting because he tends to collapse past and present into his observations. Thankfully one of my critique group members is a guy, and two others are pilots who work with men most of the time, so they were able to say, “A guy would never think/do this.”
6. Is there a character that you enjoyed writing more than any of the others?
Lonna, the POV heroine of Long Shadows, the second book in the series, was my favorite. She’s got this confidence I wish I could pull off. She also says snarky things I could never get away with.
7. Do you have a formula for developing characters? Like do you create a character sketch or list of attributes before you start writing or do you just let the character develop as you write?
I’ll start writing the book and get maybe three to five chapters (7500-15,000 words) in to allow the characters to tell me a little about themselves and start revealing their conflicts. Then I’ll do character sketches from a template in the book First Draft in 30 Days by Karen Wiesner (www.karenwiesner.com). I’ll also sometimes take an online Myers-Briggs-type personality test as the character to get ideas for internal conflicts and tendencies.
8. Can you tell readers a little bit about the world building in the book/series? How does this world differ from our normal world?
I call the Lycanthropy Files a series of “werewolves with a scientific twist.” The world is very similar to ours including that a hot new behavioral disorder in kids is discovered every ten years or so. For the purposes of the LF world, it’s Chronic Lycanthropy Syndrome, or CLS. It partially expresses in some with just the behavioral symptoms, but in others who have recessive genes from lycanthropic ancestors, it turns into full-blown lycanthropy with physical change. Those who are just turned have difficulty managing the changes, and I modeled the experience after parasomnias like night terrors and sleepwalking, where people are partially aroused from sleep but don’t have much control over or recall of their actions.For Blood’s Shadow, since I was writing from the point of view of a genetic, or born, lycanthrope, I had to come up with a society, which of course includes government and bureaucracy. They also hide in plain sight, which the internet and explosion of paranormal/urban fantasy popularity helps.
9. With the book being part of a series, are there any character or story arcs, that readers jumping in somewhere other than the first book, need to be aware of? Can these books be read as stand alones?
Of course it’s best for readers to start at the beginning of the series, but I tried to write the books to be read on their own as well. Do be aware that there will be spoilers for the romantic subplots if you jump in the middle, but the main plots should still work.
10. Do you have any weird writing quirks or rituals?
I used to have a ritual of reading comics before writing, but I’ve gotten away from that. I usually like to have a window open to the outside if I’m writing during the day. Some writers love shutting out any possible distractions, but for me those come internally or from my inside surroundings. I do feel I need to have at least twenty minutes to get anything productive done.
11. Do you write in different genres?
Yes! I’ve just accepted a contract for a book in a genre I was calling meta romance, but which my publisher says is new adult contemporary with romantic elements. My current project, which I haven’t sold yet, is a four-book steampunk series. I also have a YA paranormal historical project I’m seeking a home for.
12. Do you find it difficult to write in multiple genres?
No, I actually find it more difficult to stick with just one. :-/ The theme is that I love to do research, which I guess is a strange holdover from my graduate school days. I don’t believe in “Write what you know. Instead, it works for me as, “Write what you want to know so you can know what you’re writing.” Often coming across an interesting fact or an area I want to know more about determines my next project.
13. Where can readers find you on the web?
I am at:Web page:  www.ceciliadominic.comFacebook:  http://www.facebook.com/CeciliaDominicAuthorTwitter: @RandomOenophilePinterest:  http://www.pinterest.com/ceciliadominic/
14. Would you like to leave readers with a little teaser or excerpt from the book?
Well, since I mentioned the murder, here’s the opening scene up to but not including a possible spoiler for the previous book…
I noticed the blood first. Earthy and metallic, its scent wove over and under the olfactory texture of the clinic, a red ribbon among the blues and greens of antiseptic and rubber glove. If it had been any other clinic, and I had been any other type of man, I might have dismissed it or processed it with only mild curiosity. But here among my fellow predators at the Institute for Lycanthropic Reversal, the spilling of blood in the quantities I sensed meant someone had made a deadly mistake.
As Lycanthropy Council Investigator, I was accustomed to fixing mistakes, and I thanked whatever gods may be watching that I had come on this official Council visit instead of one of the others.
“Mister McCord?” The woman’s voice startled me and brought my attention back to the human part of the brain, mostly ruled by the visual.
I was glad to be back in the realm of sight, and my impressions resolved into a lovely picture. The voice came with high cheekbones with a dusting of freckles, large gray-blue eyes, and long dark red hair pulled back in a ponytail. I could even forgive the flat American accent—which stood out to me no matter how often I heard it here in my home country— particularly as it came through pale pink lips pursed in inquiry.
“And you are?” I turned on all my Scottish charm, mindful that, as a former colleague had said, “American chicks dig the accent.”
“I am Doctor Selene Rial, one of the psychologists.” Her tongue rolled the r just enough to make me focus on her mouth and her full lips before she took my outstretched hand. She leaned in and again surprised me, this time by giving me the customary sniff of our kind’s greeting. On our facial cheeks, lest you think I’m being crude. Her scent brought to mind a vivid image of a waterfall in the humid twilight of the American Southeast in summer and a lithe red wolf watching its broken reflection in the ripples of the pool below. I wondered, as usual, what she caught from mine.
Whatever she saw, amusement and some concern flickered across her face when she stepped back. “It is an honor to have you here. We haven’t seen much of the Council since the Institute’s ground breaking ceremony.”
I inclined my head. “I am pleased to be here. But tell me, has there been an accident? I smell blood.”




Blood's ShadowLycanthropy FilesBook 3Cecilia Dominic
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Samhain PublishingDate of Publication:  11/25/2014
ISBN: 9781619223776ASIN: B00MO9WHFQ
Number of pages: 214Word Count:  84,000
Cover Artist: Kanaxa
Book Description:
Encountering werewolves can be deadly. Trying to cure them? Murder.
As the Investigator for the Lycanthrope Council, Gabriel McCord encountered his share of sticky situations in order to keep werewolf kind under the radar of discovery. Now, as the Council’s liaison to the Institute for Lycanthropic Reversal, he advocates for those who were turned werewolf against their will.
Everyone seems to be on board with the Institute’s controversial experimental process—until one of its geneticists is found lying on his desk in a pool of blood.
Gabriel races to single out a killer from a long list of suspects. Purists, who believe lycanthropy is a gift that shouldn’t be returned. Young Bloods, who want the cure for born lycanthropes as well as made. The Institute’s own very attractive psychologist, whose most precious possession has fallen into the hands of an ancient secret society bent on the destruction of werewolves.
Failure means he’ll lose his place on the Council and endanger the tenuous truce between wizard and lycanthrope. Even if he wins, he could lose his heart to a woman with deadly secrets of her own.

Available at Amazon  BN  Google Books

Also Available
The Mountain's Shadow, Lycanthropy Files Book One
Long Shadows, Lycanthropy Files Book Two
Happy Howloween Sale Oct 25 - Nov 25 The Mountain's Shadow on sale for  .99 Long Shadows on sale for  $1.99




About the Author:
Cecilia Dominic wrote her first story when she was two years old and has always had a much more interesting life inside her head than outside of it. She became a clinical psychologist because she’s fascinated by people and their stories, but she couldn’t stop writing fiction.
The first draft of her dissertation, while not fiction, was still criticized by her major professor for being written in too entertaining a style.
She made it through graduate school and got her PhD, started her own practice, and by day, she helps people cure their insomnia without using medication. By night, she blogs about wine and writes fiction she hopes will keep her readers turning the pages all night. Yes, she recognizes the conflict of interest between her two careers, so she writes and blogs under a pen name. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia with one husband and two cats, which, she’s been told, is a good number of each.
Web page: http://www.ceciliadominic.com  
Wine blog: http://www.randomoenophile.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/CeciliaDominicAuthor
Twitter: @RandomOenophile
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/ceciliadominic/