Roxanne Rhoads's Blog, page 421

Guest Blog and Giveaway: Colors of Us by Sandra Bunino

Happy Read-An-eBook Day!
Today is the debut of International Read an eBook Day! Authors, publishers, libraries, e-retailers, and of course, readers, will join together in the largest digital reading event to celebrate the booming success of eBooks. Electronic books have never been more popular. With so many reading option how can it not be? You can read on your phone, computer, tablet and eReader. In fact, half of all American adults own an eReader or tablet. How cool is it to pull out the device of your choice and find a virtual bookstore right at your fingertips (or stylus).
Be sure to join the worldwide celebration on Facebook and Twitter using hashtag #eBookDay.  Also, my publisher, Evernight, is celebrating with a day-long Facebook party. I love a party, don’t you? I’m hosting with my friend and fellow author, Lila Shaw from 10 – 11 pm (EST). You can even attend in your PJs, I won’t tell!  
Here’s the link: https://www.facebook.com/events/1458740714407956/
So pour a cup of wine or make some cocoa and click over for a chat. You just may discover a new favorite book and author. I’ll share details from my new release, Colors of Us, and give away a bunch of brandy-new swag I can’t wait to show off!
While you’re on Facebook, check out my book group, Bunino’s Bookalicious Babes. It’s a no-promo zone where readers and authors chat about hot books, sexy heroes, yummy food, cool drinks and everything under the sun. I’d love to meet you!
Thanks again for having me on Fang-tastic Books! You’re a fang-tabulous host! xoxo




Colors of UsMcAvery BrothersBook OneSandra Bunino
Genre: Contemporary Romance/New Adult
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Number of pages: 240Word Count: 62,000

ISBN: 9781771309783

ASIN: B00MwFP98E

Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Book Description:
Everything she knew to be true fell apart. Then fell apart again…
Michelle Willis is running from her past. What better place to hide than in the anonymity of New York City. Finding refuge in a tiny SoHo art gallery, she rebuilds her life one painting at a time.
A wrong turn sends Hunter McAvery on a crash course with disaster. He fights his own demons by following his big brother’s lead - drinking and bed-hopping his way through Manhattan.
A glance at Michelle’s self-portrait triggers emotions Hunter can’t tamp down. Driven to meet the artist, he discovers a fiery chemistry as their lives collide. But when their past threatens to tear them apart, can their love survive?
Available at Amazon  Amazon UK  

Evernight Publishing   ARe  Smashwords
Music Playlist: https://play.spotify.com/user/12134886106/playlist/07orDaxcxJE4sfSZW59Loa

Excerpt: “I think pink is your color. It looks great against your dark hair.” Reaching past her shoulder, he curled a strand of her hair between his fingers and tugged gently before letting it fall onto her shoulder. Meeting his gaze, she smiled. “Thanks.” Michelle wasn’t used to compliments. It’d been her goal to fade into the crowd and not to call attention to herself. But her self-imposed rules seemed to float away around Hunter McAvery.   Returning her smile, he continued the lesson. “After you slide your hands into the opening, you’ll wind the long strap around your fingers and wrist like this.” Holding her fingers in his hand, he wound the dangling strap around her palm and over her knuckles. “You want to protect the part of your hand that meets the bag.” He stepped closer as he slipped the strap around the base of her thumb. When he brushed his fingertips against the sensitive area just below the fleshy part of her palm, a shiver shot up her arm and traveled to her belly. His warm breath ghosted her face as he circled the end of the strap around her wrist and secured the Velcro tab. Before she knew it, strong fingers captured her left hand and guided her arm to the warmth between their bodies. She itched to graze her fingers along his muscled chest, capturing his heat with her palm. Her gaze bounced to his neck and stubbled jaw, which clenched as he slid the other wrap over her hand. Slowly wrapping her other wrist, he secured the strap and held both of her gloved hands in his. “Make a fist,” he said huskily. Tightening her hands into a ball, she tucked her thumb around the outside of her fingers like he showed her at the gym.He squeezed her fists. “They look good. You’re a badass.”Michelle snorted. “A badass in pink.” “Let’s see what you got. Show me some upper cuts. Right here.” He tapped his abs.“You want me to hit you?” She giggled.“Sure. I can take it.”Turning her palms up, she made a fist and alternated soft punches to his belly. His rock-hard belly. Each strike made her aware of how alive he made her feel. The force of impact sent ripples up his tight shirt, awakening the planes of his muscular form. She gulped back the desire to open her fists and run her fingertips along the line of each thick muscle. His hands came to rest on her forearms, halting her movement. The pads of his thumbs stroked the sensitive skin near the inside of her elbow causing a delicious shiver up her arm. Michelle’s eyes met his. The fire brewing in his darkened gaze drew her in. Hunter stepped between her legs, nudging her back against the wall next to the mural. She closed her eyes and choked back a groan, wanting—no, needing—to grind her heat on his leg. Raising her arms above her, he pinned them against the wall on either side of her head. His scent flooded her senses as she lifted her chin to close the gap between them.“I’m trying like hell not to kiss you.” Hunter straightened his back but didn’t loosen his grip on her arms.Her skin prickled from the nearness of his body. She let her gaze drift to his lips. “Why?” she whispered.He blew a slow breath between his teeth. “Nothing good would come of it. I’m not capable of giving or feeling… or offering anything much to you.” He shook his head but he didn’t move from her body.“I don’t believe that.” Michelle wriggled her arms from his grasp. Her fingertips lingered on his corded forearms, which flexed under her touch. Easing a trail toward his shoulders, her fingers reminded her of a paintbrush’s first dab of color on a fresh canvas. She’d always believed each canvas had a personality of its own, and it was the symphony of the brush, artist, and canvas that created the work of art. She wanted to explore the blank canvas of Hunter McAvery.She studied his arms, still caging her in. Protecting her. Wanting her. Her eyes met his gaze. He stared at her, unmoving, but a spark burned in his eyes. She held her breath, afraid to break his trance. Her palms smoothed over his shoulders and down his chest, stopping at the center of his ribs. Pushing into the muscles of his chest, she felt the strong beat of his heart on her fingers. “Kiss me, Hunter.” Raising her eyebrows, she dared to look him in the eyes, almost afraid of what she’d see. “You don’t understand. You’re too… good.” He averted his gaze.“Maybe you should let me decide what’s good for me.” She moved closer, his breath burned hot on her face, and he squeezed his eyes closed. “Michelle….”Her hands traveled up his chest and rested on the bulk of his strong shoulders. Pulling him in, her breasts molded into his chest and, finally, he crashed his lips down on hers. She met every stroke of his tongue as her fingers raked through the ends of his hair. Moaning into his mouth, she straddled his muscular thigh as warmth flooded her sex. She’d never felt more alive. His hand grazed her cheek before taking her chin between his thumb and index finger and pulling away from their kiss. He tipped his forehead to hers, his raspy breath hot on her mouth. “Shit.”Michelle widened her eyes. “What?” she whispered.“You. Me. This just can’t happen. Not now. Not like this.”



About the Author:
Sandra Bunino is a romance author of several novellas including The Satin Rose Experience series. Her first full-length novel, Colors of Us from the McAvery Brothers series, released in August. She makes her parents proud by putting her MBA degree to good use dreaming up heroes who resemble David Gandy whenever possible. When not staying up past her bedtime torturing her oh-so-sexy heroes, she can be found shopping for shoes or saving turtles.

As a social media junkie in need of a ten-step program, you can also follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and her new addiction, Pinterest. Sandra loves to read and chat with other readers, so she formed the Bunino’s Bookalicious Babes group on Facebook where they currently share their love of Jamie Fraser from Outlanders…and David Gandy, of course.


Website: http://sandrabunino.com
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5406952.Sandra_Bunino
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SandraBunino
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SandraBuninoAuthor
Bookalicious Babes Facebook group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/597429020306289/
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/sandrabunino/
Bookalicious Babes mailing list: http://eepurl.com/LuwPL
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September 17 SpotlightLisa’s World of Bookswww.lisasworldofbooks.net
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September 30 Character InterviewEclipse Reviewswww.totaleclipsereviews.blogspot.com
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October 2 InterviewPembroke Sinclair pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com
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October 8 Guest post 
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Cover Reveal Dreams of a Wild Heart by Danube Adele

 


Fang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com 
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Dreams of a Wild HeartThe DreamwalkersBook ThreeDanube Adele
Book Description:
Dr. Cecilia—Ceci— Bradford at your service.
I dance, rock climb, and have mastered MMA, because just being a twenty-six-year-old doctor isn’t enough. It doesn’t keep me from remembering the terrifying night my life changed, the night my true love died. I was nearly seventeen. 
Life goes on, but the secret I keep is that I still talk to him in my dreams. That was getting me by until Tabron showed up—or, more specifically, until the six-foot-two brute of a Viking whisked me off to another planet because his leader is dying. And the joy didn’t end there. I’m being forced to choose a mate. The Brausa are facing extinction. 
Tabron has no need for a mate, himself, and he’s told me as much. Multiple times. What he does have are hands and wicked lips that stir feelings I thought lost forever. Choosing him (just to play along until I can find a way home) seems to irk him and I find this surprisingly fun. But surviving a hidden conspiracy and the dangers of this alien place might be more difficult than I could ever imagine…
Available at  Amazon  BN   Kobo  ebooks.com  
Fantastic Fiction  Amazon UK

About the Author:
Danube Adele wrote her first romance at the age of seven when she penned the story of her dogs falling in love and having puppies. She’s been dreaming up romantic tales ever since. A lifetime resident of southern California, she spends time playing at the beach, camping in Joshua Tree National Park, and hiking Mammoth Mountain.
Always a lover of adventure, she and her husband took their sons on a cross country road trip to Florida and back in an old VW Westfalia, that had no A/C, in the month of July, and still, it continues to be the best trip they ever took.
Extensive travel and trying new things has kept the creative spark alive. Danube lives in Claremont with her biggest fans, her loving husband, amazing and wonderful identical twin sons, and a teddy bear of a Rottweiler.
Her debut novel, Quicksilver Dreams, Book 1 of the Dreamwalker series, was released January 6, 2014, and Dreams of a Dark Summer, Book 2 of the Dreamwalker series, is set for release June 9, 2014. The  next book in the Dreamwalker series is set to come out in December, 2014.
www.facebook.com/Writer.D.Adelewww.danubeadele.wordpress.com
www.twitter.com/DanubeAdele
www.google.com/+DanubeAdele
www.goodreads.com/author/show/7340150.Danube_Adele

Guest blog with Marlene Wynn Author of Chandrea

Diary entry for Chandrea Averill:
Dear Diary:
I’ve been on my birth world, Itova, for several weeks now, and I think I’m finally getting used to it.  Being yanked from Earth so unexpectedly was, well, traumatizing, to say the least.  Definitely not what I was expecting on my 23rdbirthday!  I’m pretty sure my friends back home on Earth think I’m dead.  What else would they think?  It’s not like the spell that snatched me away left any physical traces that a CSI team could track!
Once I arrived on Itova, I discovered that I am this uber-powerful sorceress, and an avatar to boot.  Apparently, one of my ancestors was this super-strong sorceress, and I am the re-incarnated version of her, which is still…strange to me.  I’m me…not someone else.  Right? 
To top it all off, I’m still having a hard time controlling these newfound powers I suddenly have.  At first I thought that having magic might be kind of cool.  Now I think it’s more of a curse.  I’ve been told I’m “bleeding magic”, though I think that’s an understatement.   I’ve nearly incinerated a small forest trying to magically start a campfire, and  almost killed two of my friends while trying to move a stupid log! 
Maybe this is some weird cosmic joke at my expense.  One minute I’m graduating from a top Virginia university with a Bachelors Degree in Early Childhood Development, and the next I’m told I’m an avatar sorceress queen of a devastated kingdom on another world.  Are these people crazy?  I’m just Chandrea…someone who is trained to run daycare’s, not reunite governments and gather an army to overthrow the tyrant queen of Svara. 
Throw in giant moor cats and teratorns, Dark and Light Fae, talking dragons, shape shifters, and sadistic, perverted Svaran Scouts, and I feel like I’ve been dropped into the pages of some crazy fantasy novel!

I just want to go home, but everyone keeps telling me this is my home.
Chandrea:The Return of the Avatar QueenMarlene Wynn
Book Description:
Chandrea Averill thinks she’s just like any other normal young woman.  But, on the day of her 23rd birthday, her life changes forever.  Surrounded by magical creatures, dangerous sorcery, and insidious political intrigue,
Chandrea desperately wants to return to Earth and the only life she’s ever known.  But, the longer she stays, the more she realizes that she may be the only one with the power – both magical and political – to save the people of Lyrunia. 
Will she find the courage to remain and fight for her home world?
Book trailer http://youtu.be/lzJpY3nai34
Available at  BN  Smashwords  Amazon  Kobo  iTunes
Add it to your Goodreads Shelf

~ CHAPTER ONE ~
Learning magic sucked.Tears of frustration streamed down Chandrea’s face as she ran into her bedroom at the inn and slammed the door, shutting out the world. Since re-arriving in Ri Miora five days previously, she’d been working closely with Adelaide and her three sorceress friends, trying to learn how to control her newly-acquired powers. Though she’d been born on Itova, on the day of her birth, her home and kingdom had been attacked by Svaran forces, and her parents assassinated.  To save her life, Adelaide had magically sent Chandrea to live secretly on Earth. There, Chandrea had lived as a normal person, utterly unaware that she was of royal blood and the crown princess of a wasted kingdom.  Her growing powers had been masked during her years on Earth by Adelaide’s spells, so she’d been unaware that she was also likely the most powerful sorceress alive.  On her twenty third birthday, Adelaide’s spell had reversed itself, and Chandrea suddenly found herself back on her birth world.  Luckily, when she’d sent Chandrea away, Adelaide had had the foresight to place spells upon her that allowed her to communicate with those she encountered once back on Itova. Well, everyone except Leilah, that is.She leaned against the cool, smooth wood and pictured the past few days of sheer misery. First thing in the morning she would travel with Adelaide and her new teachers outside the city.  For her protection, Ayden had hired a number of men to travel with them and protect them from attack.  The men worked in shifts, so she always had at least fifteen surrounding her at all times. Thinking of Ayden made Chandrea smile.  Though he was only distantly related to her, she didn’t care.  For the first time in her life, she had real, blood family.  For her, it was a gift beyond measure.For most of his life, the world had known Ayden as the crown prince of Svara.  He had been raised to believe that Chandrea was his mortal enemy, and had made it his life’s work to find the missing Averill queen and kill her.Then in a moment of stunning truth, he had discovered that Leilah was not his true birth mother, and worse, that in an act of revenge, she had stolen him from his real mother, Reyna, on the day he was born, and raised him as her own.  His entire life had been one enormous lie.  Upon discovering this heinous act of treachery, Ayden had rescued Reyna, and abandoned all claim to the throne and Leilah’s affections. Unfortunately, neither he nor Chandrea could fully deny a blood relation to the Svaran queen.  Though Ayden was only distantly related to Leilah, Chandrea was not so lucky.  The woman who was bent on killing her was her aunt.In fact, Leilah was the entire reason she was here in Ri Miora, which brought her right back to her original problem.  From sun up to sun down they’d drilled with her, trying one spell after another. To no avail.  Everything they’d asked her to do had gone horribly wrong.When asked to create a breeze, she’d conjured a howling tornado.  As everyone ran screaming for cover, it ripped apart the wagon they’d traveled in.  The horses, which had been unhitched and left to graze, had spooked and ran away in terrified fright.  The group had been forced to walk the eight miles back to the inn.When they’d tried to teach her how to turn a bucket of water into ice, she’d caused it to hail.  Softball-sized balls of ice had rained down from the heavens.  Everyone squeezed under the wagon… and listened to the poor horses being bludgeoned to death by the massive, lethal orbs.  And, once again, they’d been forced to walk back to the inn.They took her out to a far away, deserted beach to work on fire.  She’d created a fireball so massive that it melted the surrounding sand into a shining sheet of glass for a mile out. They’d tried to get her to replicate the spell she’d used to create her viewing mirror.  Instead, she’d managed to open some sort of wormhole that began to suck everything into it.  It took some quick thinking and powerful counter spells by her sorceress teachers to close it back up again. Chandrea banged her head gently on the door and groaned out her irritation.  No matter how hard she tried, she just managed to create havoc and destruction.  And death, if one counted the poor horses.  How was she ever going to learn to control her magic?  The only time it seemed to work was when she was in danger and it came out instinctively.   But even then it was just as unpredictable.  She’d ended up transporting herself hundreds of miles away from her companions once while trying to escape from a spell that had been cast upon them. Unable to see much in the gloom of the evening, she shuffled through the chamber until she reached the double doors and, opening them, she stepped outside onto the large balcony.  Able to see a bit better in the near twilight, she made her way over to the railing and gratefully leaned against it. She closed her eyes and let the sounds of Ri Miora surround and soothe her.  Voices of people talking, laughing.  Horses clip-clopping by.  A baby crying.  A dog barking.  All such normal sounds.  Made by normal people.  Normal people who didn’t have the weight of the world resting on their shoulders.She raised her face and let the cool breezes caress her flushed skin.  Breathing deeply, she could smell the hint of fall in the air.  She wondered for a moment what autumn would look like in this world.  Would the leaves flare into vibrant colors and drop to the ground as they did back home on Earth?  Or would they remain green and stay on the trees all year?  For all she knew, they might just turn a different color, like pink or turquoise.  She snorted softly, amused by the image that conjured.  What would winter be like?  Would they have snow, or would it stay too warm?  Having grown up in Virginia, she’d only experienced snow a handful of times as it was too warm there for the white stuff to come very often.She gave a forlorn sigh, then reached into her pocket and pulled out her viewing mirror.  She unwrapped it and peered at it in the dim light.  This was one of the few things her magic had done that was right.  She had intentionally tried a spell and not only had it worked, but it had worked well.  This little oval piece of glass would let her see anyone or anything she wanted.  Even if they weren’t from this world.  So, if she could do magic successfully before, why couldn’t she do it again?She closed her eyes and pictured her friend, Ashlyn, from Earth.  Ashlyn was her dearest and closest friend, and Chandrea missed her desperately.  Ashlyn was the sister of her heart, and it hurt Chandrea terribly to know that Ashlyn thought something fatal had happened to her.  When Adelaide’s magic had taken Chandrea from Earth, no one had been there to witness it.  And, as the magic had left no traces or clues, no one knew where she’d gone. The first time Chandrea had viewed Ashlyn through the mirror, Ashlyn had been at the Norfolk Police Department trying to convince them to continue looking for Chandrea.  But without any clues, Chandrea was sure the police had stopped looking for her long ago and moved on to other cases.The need to see her friend again burned painfully through Chandrea.  She pictured Ashlyn in her mind, all the varied nuances of her.  Her voice quiet and intent, she murmured, “Show her to me.”The little oval shimmered and sparkled to life with a soft blue light, and there within its depths, was Ashlyn.  She sat at a table near a young man Chandrea had never seen before.  Dressed in a pretty little mint green sundress, her friend laughed as she ate.  Seated by a window, the late afternoon sun caused her honey blonde hair to glimmer with gold highlights.  The young man reached out and took her hand in his, rubbing her skin gently with his thumb.  Clearly on a date, Ashlyn looked happy and content. It was a bittersweet moment for Chandrea.  Though she truly wanted her friend to be happy, a tiny, selfish part of her was unsettled. Had her friend forgotten about her so easily?Torn between joy at seeing her friend, and fear that Ashlyn had moved on already, Chandrea stopped the flow of power to the mirror.  Disturbed not only by what she had seen, but also by what she had felt, she changed her mind and searched again.Closing her eyes, she pictured her new boyfriend and traveling companion, Shawn, in her mind.  Gathering her power inside her, she released it toward the mirror and whispered, “Show him to me.”The blue light illuminated her face and hands as she peered intently into the glass.  Soon, she was rewarded with the sight of a Hafaba dragon swooping and cavorting in the evening sky.  Smiling, she shook her head at Shawn’s antics.  Born a shapeshifter, Shawn could transform into any living thing, and dearly loved becoming a Hafaba.  Covered mostly with scarlet and deep indigo feathers, its body narrowed down into a snake-like torso.  Flash and drama combined with speed and power to make, in his eyes, the perfect dragon. Plus, he needed to be far, far away from any negative emotions, and frolicking as a dragon was a great way to do this.  The Shadow Leaf he’d placed on his chest still exerted powerful, dark cravings in him, and he avoided anything at all that could allow the Leaf to take control of him again – including her practice sessions.  Though Chandrea had urged him to try to find the Light Fae in an attempt to remove it, he resolutely refused.  His place, he said, was by her side until this mess was over.  If she ran across some Light Fae in the process, great.  He’d take advantage of the situation.  Until then, he was on his own, and he’d manage things as best he could.She released her power on the mirror with a deep sigh. The image of Shawn and the blue light slowly faded away until she was left looking at a simple piece of glass once more.  Pursing her lips in frustrated resignation, she wrapped the mirror back up and placed it back into her pocket. She turned away from the railing and moved to sit on one of the chairs on the balcony, intent on spending some quiet time alone with her thoughts.  Exhausted, she flopped into the chair and put her feet on the small, nearby table.  Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes and let her mind wander.Some small instinct warned her that she wasn’t alone anymore.  The hair on her arms and neck rose up.  Fear washed over her, and she felt her magic begin to swell inside of her in response.  Unsure as to how someone could have come out onto the balcony without her hearing it, she nonetheless knew someone – or something – was now there.  She dearly hoped that, whoever it was, it was human.  As a third degree black belt in Tae Kwan Do, she was confident in her ability to protect herself physically.  It was the magical aspect she was afraid of. Swiftly opening her eyes, preparing to spring off the chair and defend herself, she instead stopped short with a gasp.  Amazement and fear battled for dominance within her at the sight that greeted her. 

About the Author: 
Marlene Wynn is a Utah native - fondly referred to as "Utonian" by a friend.  She transplanted herself in 1992 from the majestic Rocky Mountains to the beachy shores of sunny Virginia Beach, Virginia and has been there ever since.  Though she has worked in the benefits field for several years, she finally worked up the courage to chase her dream as an author.
Website:  https://www.marlenewynn.com
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/MarleneWynn.Author
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8343236.Marlene_Wynn
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/MarleneWynn

Spotlight on Tim on Broadway: The Complete First Season by Rick Bettencourt

Tim on Broadway: Season OneThe Complete First SeasonBooks 1-5Rick Bettencourt
Genres: New adult, gay fiction, LGBT,humor, paranormal,show business,personal growth,M/M Romance
Publisher: Bettencourt Conceptsand Beaten Track Publishing
ISBN: 978 1 909192 86 7ASIN: B00M4N1L9K
Number of pages: 268Word Count: 75,000
Book Description:
Carolyn Sohier, the Greta Garbo of divas, is giving a once in a lifetime concert that Tim can’t afford to attend. Tim—an overweight, twenty-something virgin—regrets lending the hunky bag boy at the grocery store money that could have bought him a ticket. Tim needs to call in his debts, but money isn’t the only thing holding him back.
The first time Tim met Javier, he was blown away by the attention. He didn't often—actually ever—get a guy, let alone a hot one, pay attention to him. The problem, Javier is straight; yet he gives Tim mixed messages. Tim can’t get Javier off his mind, unless he is pursuing his love for theater—or talking with his best friend, Julia, about the “unattainable” crushes they share on some of the guys back home.
With the Carolyn Sohier concert fasting approaching, Tim struggles to get tickets. If he hadn't lent Javier the money to, well, have his way with him in the beer cooler at the store they worked at together, maybe Tim wouldn't have lost his job, and would be able to see Carolyn perform. But Tim’s learned his lesson from all this…or so he thinks.
Available at Amazon   Smashwords   iTunes   Kobo   Scribd   BN  Inktera

The entire first episode (over 70 pages) is available for free at Amazon


Excerpt:Chapter 1: America’s Got Divas
I put down my doughnut, picked up my iced coffee and took a sip. The extra-extra cream and extra-extra sugar gave me a nice little rush. It wasn’t quite as good as Starbucks’ but being unemployed I had to make the best of my homebrewed pot.I had my cell phone cradled in the crook of my shoulder, talking to my best friend Julia. “With my Kindle,” I said, “I can read them without people staring at me on the subway.”“I still can’t believe you like girly romance books,” Julia said. I could hear her slurping her own coffee, probably an iced Double Mocha Grande, being that she was at our old Starbucks in Salem. “You’re the only guy I know who has every Chippendale Publishing book ever released.”I didn’t really but I didn’t want to quibble over details. “Oh my God,” I said, as a bit of powdered sugar sprayed from my mouth and landed on the blanket I had covered over me. I was getting ready to watch TV. “I almost forgot to tell you.”She slurped some more of her coffee. “What?”“Guess who’s doing a comeback concert?” I brushed the sugar dust off the blanket.“Who, Cher?”“No,” I said, raising my voice.“I don’t know. You got me,” she said, and from her muffled speech, I could tell she was eating, probably a slice of carrot cake or a blueberry scone. I know what Julia likes. When she eats desserts, she usually goes for something that has a vegetable in it or some antioxidant fruit, because, of course, they’re healthier than my powdered doughnuts.I pulled the blanket closer to me. “Carolyn Sohier,” I said. “She’s finally coming out of seclusion and doing a concert.”“Carolyn, who?” I heard the clinking of the fork against the plate. Carrot cake, I bet.“Carolyn Sohier― you know, the singer who was in Witches of Salem, that movie we saw the night I slipped on the ice in Danvers? And she was also on Broadway in―”“Oh, her. That movie was terrible.” I could practically hear her nose wrinkle in disgust. Julia was brutally honest.Well, I liked it,” I said. “She’s an amazing singer.”“She didn’t even sing in that movie,” she said, with her voice trailing off at the end.“Well, it wasn’t a musical. But she did sing the theme song. Remember, we saw her on last year’s America’s Got Divas. She was the guest judge.”“I suppose you’ll want me to go with you,” she said.I clicked the remote control. “We’ll see. Tickets are expensive. She’s decided to come out of seclusion, out from her Greta Garbo cocoon. It’s a one-night only performance up in Bar Harbor.”“Maine? Who the fuck gives a comeback performance in Maine? Bar Harbor, nonetheless. What, is she going to come out on stage riding a moose?” She laughed.My neck was beginning to ache. I rubbed it. “I guess that’s where she lives. It’s a benefit of sorts.”“So are you going to take the train or bus your ass up here to see her?”By here Julia was referring to New England, where we had both grown up.“You wanna go?” I asked.“You mean will I go?” Julia wasn’t a huge fan of divas like I was, but she knew I had no one else to go with and wouldn’t travel alone.“C’mon, you like her,” I said. “You even said her rendition of that Barry Manilow song was better than his.”“Is that the song she sang when she shit herself on stage?”“Whatever,” I said and tossed the remote onto the seat cushion next to me. Julia was referring, of course, to Carolyn’s fairly well-publicized stage fright. Carolyn had suffered a particularly bad spell several years back and, well, embarrassed herself on live television. It was pretty sad. Julia thought it was funny.I turned as an ambulance’s siren rang out from the street below, followed by a blare from its horn. I hated the sound of ambulances. I got up to shut the window as it took a turn down Charleston Place.“Five floors up and it sounds like the cops are right next door,” she said. “I don’t know how you can stand living in New York City.”“It was an ambulance and I’m in Brooklyn.”“Whatever.”I looked at the wall clock, a gift I bought myself. It had logos from nearly all the big Broadway shows over the past two years. “Shit. It’s almost time for America’s Got Divas and I haven’t even set the DVR.”“Alright, I’ll let you go. Besides, I should check the dryer.” She was at our old Starbucks across from the Laundromat. “Oh and how are you going to come up with the money to buy tickets for this reclusive diva? Didn’t you just get done telling me you’ve already spent this week’s and next week’s unemployment check?”I didn’t want to get into it. “Javier,” I said. “This week, he’s finally going to pay me the money he owes me.”“Oh, God. Not Javier.” I knew her well enough to know that she was probably rolling her eyes as she said it.“Shut up,” I said, with no real force behind it. Julia could be such a bitch. She was always reminding me of the things I did wrong, which were plenty, and the things I should be doing to better myself, which, quite honestly, were spilling out of my inbox.I didn’t want to be reminded of the humiliating experience I had had with Javier, the bagger at the Good Barn, my former place of employment. In short, he got me fired. “He’s getting money from his student loan,” I said. “He is going to pay me back on Wednesday.”“We’ll see about that. Didn’t I tell you not to give him that money? Didn’t I tell you you’d probably never see it again? But no,” she said, holding onto the vowel a bit longer than necessary. “You still went off and gave it to him after giving him a BJ in the beer cooler behind Produce. He’s going to ruin your wholesome, good-natured reputation.”

About the Author:
Rick Bettencourt is the author of Tim on Broadway, Painting with Wine and Not Sure Boys. He lives with his husband and their little dog, Bandit, in the Sarasota area of Florida. Rick originally hails from Boston’s North Shore where he learned to speak without pronouncing the letter “r”— and say things like “tonic” when he wanted a Coke, or “bubbler” when getting a drink from the park’s water fountain.
A few years ago, Rick was adopted by a Cairn Terrier named Bandit. Recently, Bandit moved Rick, and his husband of several years, to Florida to escape the New England winters and avoid being engulfed by snow drifts when going about their business.
When Rick is not being walked around the block by Bandit, he might be found working on a story about an underdog character triumphing over adversity. Or you might catch Rick watching The Walking Dead or Once Upon a Time, reading something like Running with Scissors or some personal development book, or writing to a group of folks on his mailing list.
In addition, Rick enjoys theater, art, old postcards, and amusement parks. He also loves to hear from his readers.
You can follow Rick on Twitter @rbettenc or subscribe to his mailing list at www.rickbettencourt.com
Media kit: http://rickbettencourt.com/media-kit/
Mailing List: http://rickbettencourt.com/signup/
Twitter: @rbettenc

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/RickBettencourtWriter

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Cover Reveal Tainted Blood by Karen Greco

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Tainted BloodHell's Belle SeriesBook 2Karen Greco
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Date of Publication: Oct. 20, 2014
ISBN: ISBN-13:978-1500844448ISBN-10:1500844446ASIN: TBD
Number of pages: 582Word Count: 95,704
Cover Artist: Robin Ludwig Design Inc.
Book Description:
After surviving a vampire assassin (not to mention an awkward affair with a hot FBI agent that ended worse than she could have imagined), witch/vampire hybrid Nina Martinez is reunited with the full Blood Ops team in Providence, Rhode Island. Her Aunt Babe is tutoring her in all things witchcraft, and her vampire partner Frankie is enjoying the benefits of daywalking, courtesy of a demon spell.
When a segment of the Rhode Island vampire population is marked for death by a tainted blood supply, Nina and her team race to find Patient Zero before the local vampire population is wiped out. But when a demon infestation threatens to take control of the city, Nina must join forces with newly elected mayor—and closet demon— Ami Bertrand before the city falls into ruin.
Filled with fast-paced, edge-of-your-seat action, Nina and her group of supernatural misfits battle a surprising new enemy that threatens their very existence.
No wonder she still can’t get a date.
From Amazon.com best-selling author Karen Greco, Tainted Blood is the second book in the critically acclaimed Hell’s Belle urban fantasy series.


Download this Hell's Belle Prequel for Free at Smashwords and BN

River Vamp
A Hell’s Belle PrequelShort StoryKaren Greco

Book Description:
Frankie and Nina head to New York City for an early Blood Ops mission.
Guess what they fish out of the Gowanus Canal?

Free at Smashwords and BN
About the Author:
Karen Greco has spent close to twenty years in New York City, working in publicity and marketing for the entertainment industry. Originally from Rhode Island (she loves hot wieners from New York System, but can't stand coffee milk), she studied playwriting in college (and won an award or two).
After not writing plays for a long time, a life-long obsession with exorcists and Dracula drew her to urban fantasy, where she can decapitate characters with impunity.
Her first novel, Hell's Belle, was released in 2013. Tainted Blood is the second book in the best-selling Hell's Belle urban fantasy series.

http://www.karengrecoauthor.com/
http://karengreco.blogspot.com/
https://twitter.com/karenThegreco
https://www.facebook.com/hellsbellebykarengreco
https://www.goodreads.com/karengreco

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Turning on the Blender: The Hybrid Paranormal Character: Guest Blog and Giveaway with Marie Michelle Coleman

Turning on the Blender:  The Hybrid Paranormal Character
I’ve always loved a good paranormal tale. Vampires are high on my list of interesting characters but I’m up for ghosts, shifters, and assorted supernatural creatures of all kinds. I’ve also found stories about angelic encounters fascinating. The beautiful images of angels in paintings, sunlit stained glass, and sculpture capture my imagination. In Bespoken , I blend my love of vampires and angels to write a paranormal romance with a vampiric angel named Gabriel at its center. He’s no ordinary angel, no ordinary vampire. He’s a nightangel and his arrival is quite a surprise for Casey Sloane, a driven young attorney who is all business aside from her penchant for a little daydreaming.
The daydream world that Casey falls into is lush and magical in contrast to the stressful realities an up-and-coming associate attorney must navigate each day. Casey’s daydreams give a hybrid paranormal being such as Gabriel two unique landscapes to operate within. This duality of worlds that Casey slips between allows us to see what the nightangel brings to, and holds back from, each environment. We learn how Casey, his quite practical daydreamer, deals with her nightangel in two such diametrically opposed settings. It might draw you to wonder what you would do if faced with Casey’s dilemma. How would you react if an exquisite and dangerous nightangel strayed out of your secret daydreams (where you couldn’t get enough of him) to turn up on your doorstep (where the entire equation suddenly switches up)? Would you be delighted or terrified? Would you let him stay or would you insist he go? How his hybrid nature unfolds in the daydreams versus the world is sure to lead to some interesting twists and turns. The dual setting surrounds Gabriel with some extra mystery and presents Casey Sloane with some extra slippery slopes to maneuver. 
Writing a blended paranormal character is any setting is fun because its hybrid nature opens so many doors for the character’s traits, powers, and worldview. I did a lot of research on angels and vampires but research is just a jumping off point with a paranormal creature. A vampiric angel is more than a vampire with wings, more than an angel with a sharp set of teeth. What it is, may be part up to the writer but it’s also partially dictated by the character as it takes on a life of its own in your writing. Every character is going to grow and change as they move through the story. 
The beauty of the paranormal character – especially the hybrid paranormal character – is that it can grow and morph in so many wonderful and unexpected ways. Gabriel is a nightangel. 
What his nature encompasses intrigues me as a writer because it holds the potential to harbor so many conflicting qualities. Is the nightangel good, bad, or something in between? 
Will his power and beauty make it difficult for Casey to perceive the real answer? It’s going to be interesting to see what surprises the nightangel Gabriel has in store for us and for Casey Sloane.  

I hope you’ll read Bespoken and meet the nightangel Gabriel for yourself.
BespokenA Nightangel and Daydreamer NovelBook OneMarie Michelle Coleman
Genre:  paranormal romance/urban fantasy
Publisher:  Suburban Island Publishing
ISBN:  978-0991146628ASIN:  B00IXA9UKK
395 pages on Kindle368 pages in paperbackWord Count:  92,000
Cover Artist:  Doug Pecht
Book Description: 
Nobody ever told Casey how dangerous a little daydreaming could be.
Casey Sloane appreciates the power of a good daydream. It’s the perfect antidote to the pressures of her hectic life as an associate attorney at a high-powered Washington, D.C. law firm. When the nightangel Gabriel takes up residence in those dreams, Casey is more delighted than surprised. Gabriel is the perfect mixture of danger, otherworldly beauty, and out-and-out temptation required to throw her daydreams into a state of perpetual overdrive.
But when the nightangel sheds his wings and arrives in the real world for a real-time relationship with Casey, she gets a quick education on the unforeseen consequences of secret daydreams.
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/4YeTJQqJy_g   
Available at Amazon  BN  Smashwords  ARe  Txtr  iTunes

EXCERPT THREE:
His eyes shone like the sun through the treetops on a summer day. Casey thought that was kind of crazy considering he was a nightangel and preferred the darkness. All that light raining down on her was banging against her heart like it was a tin roof in a summer thunderstorm. The curve of his lips told her she would be swimming in the fiery glow of his attention if he had his way.She couldn’t help but admire him. She gazed up at the nightangel, the way an artist studies her own handiwork with proprietary pleasure. He was handsome, more than handsome; he was the definition of masculine in her personal dictionary. His nature was undiluted by modern convention. Everything about him was unequivocally male—strong, purposeful, and confident. He had a little bit of the knight in shining armor thing going but he played by his own rules. And he was smart as hell. Gabriel was perfect. He was everything she had ever wanted in a man and was afraid to get.A fan of soothing light stretched behind him and Casey realized it was the radiance of the nightangel’s wings spread out at his back. Yes, he was perfect and it didn’t hurt that he had a Class A set of wings sprouting out of his back either. He was some dream. He beamed down at her. The world tipped on its axis.
The dreamangel was looking more irresistible than she had ever remembered him being—and that was saying something because vampires with the wings of fierce angels had a certain natural tendency to hold a mortal in thrall by virtue of their very presence. She tried to shake herself free of the spell he was casting over her. Doing this was difficult. She could not get enough of her angel. Maybe she was a kind of angel-holic. She shouldn’t like nightangels so much. They tended to take advantage of it.
About the Author: 
Marie Michelle Coleman is a paranormal romance and urban fantasy author whose book, Bespoken, is the first in the Nightangel and Daydreamer series. She's been in love with the written word since she was old enough to turn the pages of her first book. She's always had a fascination with vampires and angels. Sitting down at the keyboard and turning on the paranormal blender was a natural next step.
Marie lives in the Washington D.C. area. She believes in the power of a compelling dream, the therapeutic merits of loud music, and the benefits of always being in the middle of reading a great book. Marie has a soft spot for a good romance and likes to laugh. Jane Austen is her favorite author. She'll probably always be a little in love with Mr. Darcy.
She grows roses in her garden but no matter how hard she tries, they don't look anything like the ones in Casey Sloane's daydreams.
Website:  http://www.mariemichellecoleman.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Marie-Michelle-Coleman/440406802760179
Twitter:  https://twitter.com/M_M_Coleman
Pinterest:  http://www.pinterest.com/MarieMColeman/
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/mmichellecoleman

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Spotlight on Blood Diva VM Gautier

Blood DivaVM Gautier
Genre: Urban Fantasy
ISBN: 9781620154663
Number of pages: approx 450.Word Count: 120,000
Book Description:
The 19th century's most infamous party-girl is undead and on the loose in the Big Apple.
When 23 year-old Parisian courtesan, Marie Duplessis succumbed to consumption in 1847, Charles Dickens showed up for the funeral and reported the city mourned as though Joan of Arc had fallen. Marie was not only a celebrity in in her own right, but her list of lovers included Franz Liszt – the first international music superstar, and Alexandre Dumas fils, son of the creator of The Three Musketeers. Dumas fils wrote the novel The Lady of the Camellias based on their time together. The book became a play, and the play became the opera La Traviata. Later came the film versions, and the legend never died.
But what if when offered the chance for eternal life and youth, Marie grabbed it, even when the price was the regular death of mortals at her lovely hand?
In 2014, Marie wonders if perhaps nearly two centuries of murder, mayhem, and debauchery is enough, especially when she falls hard for a rising star she believes may be the reincarnation of the only man she ever truly loved. But is it too late for her to change? Can a soul be redeemed like a diamond necklace in hock? And even if it can, have men evolved since the 1800′s? Or does a girl’s past still mark her?
Blood Diva is a sometimes humorous, often dark and erotic look at sex, celebrity, love, death, destiny, and the arts of both self-invention and seduction. It’s a story that asks a simple question – Can a one hundred ninety year-old demimondaine find happiness in 21st century Brooklyn without regular infusions of fresh blood?

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Excerpt III -- Heat Level:  Hot
(Author's Note: Most of the novel is set in contemporary times. This is from a small section that is set in the 1800s)
Paris, 1846-1847
She was too ill to work, and the money would soon be gone.
There were two possible outcomes. She would recover, and there would be more money, or she would die and then it wouldn’t matter. Clothilde, her maid, insisted she would get well. The doctors looked away when she asked, and said she must save her strength and not worry about what was in the hands of God.
She spent a good part of most days in her boudoir. It was late fall, but as cold and damp as winter. From her window, it looked as though the city had been drained of color. Sometimes when she was restless, but had a little strength, she would walk through her flat. It felt cavernous without the presence of others. She was haunted, not by ghosts, but by absence – the music that wasn’t being played, the passionate conversations not taking place, the love not being made.
She was determined to live till the end of January. She reasoned they could hold off the creditors till then. Besides, she wanted to see her twenty-third birthday.
One evening when she was feeling less awful, she had gone to the theater, accompanied by two nephews of Clothilde, who acting as escorts supported her as she walked from her carriage to her box. Early in the second act, she asked one to find her coachman. She’d been coughing, and didn’t want to distract the actors.
Traveling the familiar boulevard back to her flat, she spotted a few people she knew emerging from or entering restaurants and cafes. They either didn’t notice her carriage or looked away when they recognized it.
She saw the back of a man walking ahead. He was slim and tall. There was something about him that seemed familiar. She looked back as they passed him. She’d seen the face before, but wasn’t sure where, which bothered her – as it was a very handsome face, and she should have remembered.
He was well dressed, certainly a gentleman, with a fine hat, a walking stick, and a frock coat. He was not in the first blush of youth, but was far from old. There was a bit of grey in what she could see of his dark hair. She wondered why he wasn’t in a carriage, why he was alone, whom he was going to see.
She caught his eye. There was something disconcerting in the way he looked at her. She was used to the gaze of men. This was different. She was sure his mouth hadn’t moved, and if it had, she wouldn’t have heard him, yet there was a message received as if it had been whispered directly into her ear.
“I will come for you.”
The fevers sometimes played with her reason. Nevertheless, when she arrived at her building, she instructed the doorman to allow no visitors that evening.
She felt a bit better once she was settled in at home. She didn’t dine, but ate some leftover bread and jam Clothilde had saved for her. She attempted to read, but her attention strayed. She tried to practice the piano but found it frustrating. Why were her fingers so clumsy? 
She moved to her desk and read a letter. She started a reply, but couldn’t concentrate, and so retired to her bed though it was still early.
Lying in the darkened room, she remained awake. She felt death coming on almost as if it were a season, arriving little by little. Would it be eternal sleep or would her agitation follow her to the grave? A coughing fit started, and she reached for the basin. There was a bell she could ring that went to Clothilde’s alcove, but she didn’t wish to disturb her. After the spasm passed, she found the tin box and lit a match, then a lamp, which she carried into the parlor, planning to pull a book down from the shelf and pass the night reading.
In a corner, sitting on a chair, with her copy of Don Quixote opened in his lap, was the man she had seen earlier. Before she could say anything, she heard his voice. Again it was only in her mind, but this time he was saying, “Don’t scream,” and it became clear to her she would not have been able to.
He stood up, and she swooned. She felt his firm hand on the small of her back breaking her fall. He lifted her, carrying her in his arms. She felt terribly weak, but still aware as he took her back to her boudoir and placed her gently on her bed. He had the most pleasant and unusual scent.
He touched her cheek with refreshingly cool fingers. “You’re burning up,” he said softly. She was sure this time he’d really spoken. His lips moved. There was kindness in his voice.
She signaled for him to bring her the basin, then pointed to the freshly laundered handkerchiefs on top of her dresser. He brought one to her. She dabbed at her mouth and watched his eyes travel to the bloodstained cloth.
He started to stroke her hand, telling her to relax. The spasm stopped.
“I can end this for you,” he said aloud.
She understood immediately he was talking about killing her, and that if she died in his arms it would be without pain.
“I don’t want to die,” she told him. “I want to be well.”
“That too can be arranged.”
She looked at him unable to find words.
He continued, “Other lives would need to end for you to live.”
“Are you … Death?” She asked, suddenly remembering old tales she’d heard as a girl. “Have you come to bargain with me?”
“No,” he said. “I am not Death. I’ve come to offer you life, but I need you to accept knowing what it would mean.”
“Others? What others would die?”
“Innocents and the guilty alike. Many over time, and you would be … directly responsible, but you would never get old, never be sick, and I can promise you, you would most definitely, never be poor.”
She couldn’t help smiling at that. She decided she was dreaming. It was the only explanation for this absurd conversation.
“Would you be willing to trade the lives of others for immortality, Alphonsine?”
Alphonsine. No one called her that. She had been known as Marie for nearly five years. It was a simple name, but it had belonged to her mother, and therefore it was beautiful to her. Yet, when he called her the old name, it was as though he were speaking to her very soul.
“I suppose not,” she said softly. Even in a dream, taking the lives of others was not a choice she could make. “I’d rather die, but not tonight.”
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them next, it was mid-day. While she didn’t feel well, she felt stronger than she had in weeks. She was certain the night visitor had been nothing more or less than the figment of an overactive mind, an effect of her illness. Yet, this strange vision brought her peace. There were, after all, worse things to fear than death. 
Certainly, to become a creature that lived through the destruction of others would be one of them. She asked Clothilde to see if she could find the priest, Father Bernays, from the Church of the Magdalene across the street. They had had several talks recently. He had assured her it was not to late for her to confess her sins and repent.
Clothilde sent the porter’s son, and Father Bernays soon arrived. Alphonsine dressed and met him in the parlor. Coffee was served along with fresh pastries from the boulangerienearby. The priest, a sandy-haired, freckle-faced man, not much older than she was, spoke with the cadences of her native Normandy. Although she had worked hard to perfect a Parisian accent, five minutes in his presence and she sounded like a farmer’s wife.
She wanted his opinion of the strange dream she had had. Had she drawn the correct lesson?
She described her encounter, repeating for him to the best of her memory the odd conversation. She watched him place down his plate, discarding the half-eaten cake as though it had suddenly lost all its flavor. That was something she hadn’t seen before.
“So Father, please tell me, what am I to make of this?”
“You are correct my dear,” he said after a brief hesitation, “There are worse things than death.” He looked around at the paintings on the walls, and asked, “Have you no crucifixes?”She smiled. “Most of what you see were gifts. None of my patrons has ever thought to give me a crucifix.”
“So you have none in this house? Not even by your bed?”
Alphonsine laughed, and before she could answer, she noticed the priest was blushing. “I’m sorry, Father. It just struck me as …”
“You might place one there,” he suggested quietly. “It doesn’t need to be the finest silver. There’s a small shop that sells such items on the street behind the church. You could find one for only a few sous.”
“But whatever for?”
He hesitated a moment. “It will remind you of your repentance … should you face … temptation.” After another sip of coffee, he added, “It will protect your soul.”
***
The following week, she accepted a visit from Count Olympe Aguado. He was only eighteen, her youngest suitor, and lately the only one who called though they had no formal arrangement. His features formed themselves in a way that was not quite handsome, but he had dark curly hair and full Spanish lips, and reminded her of a portrait she’d seen of young Lord Byron. She was his first mistress, his first great love. She felt sad for him, knowing the intensity of his feelings and the grief they would bring him.
When she received him, she saw at once a look of horror on his face and understood immediately its cause. The previous afternoon, she had answered his request to call, writing she was feeling stronger. He had only just returned to Paris, had not seen her in more than a fortnight. Her gauntness and pallor must have shocked him.
“You look … beautiful,” he said after a moment.
“I am a terrible influence. You are learning to lie almost as well as I do.”
Her lover had not yet come into his majority and had little money to help with her debts, but as her illness progressed, he made no demands, and was sincerely concerned for her wellbeing. He provided for her as best he could. The noble thing, the right thing, she was sure, would have been to send him away. There was no point in his ruining himself. He was young and sheltered. Her death would devastate him. She didn’t love him. Couldn’t bring herself to. It was as though those feelings, those attachments to the world of the living were past her now. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to give him up.
They sat on chairs directly across from each other, their hands touching on the small rosewood table that separated them. She asked him about his visit to his aunt in Provence. 
He told her about riding, and walks with his cousin. She teased him about this “cousin” who was only sixteen, and reportedly quite pretty. Might he be proposing to her soon?
The poor boy stammered and swore he had been thinking only of her.
He wanted to take her out to dine, but she wasn’t up for it. They did, however, make it to the opera. From her box, she was sure she spotted the man who had come to her in her dream, but when she tried pointing him out to her companion, he was gone.
Olympe accompanied her home and offered to stay the night, if only to sit by her bed and attend to her needs, but she told him she was tired and preferred to be alone. There was no point in her coughing fits keeping both of them awake. The following afternoon, at Clothilde’s insistence, messages were sent to the doctors. There were three of them. She was no longer sure who was paying for which, but hoped Clothilde was not pawning the jewelry, as she wanted to be able to pass something along to her sister’s family besides debts and shame.
Dr. Leclair, the Breton, stopped by first. As was his habit, he examined her briefly, and asked if she was taking her enemas. Then he went into the parlor where he stayed – drinking coffee, eating pastries, and chatting with her neighbor, Clarice. Clarice, stout and middle-aged, whose circumstances were reduced after her waistline increased, came often in those days.
Dr. Elgin, the Englishman, arrived later. He also gave her a cursory examination, followed by a short lecture. His accent was so awful she was never sure what he was saying, but she nodded through his admonishments like an obedient child. Then he retreated to the parlor to consult with his colleague and any other vagabonds who had managed to gain admittance. The door of her room was slightly ajar. There was a hallway separating her boudoir from the parlor. She could recognize voices, but could not quite make out what they were saying.
By evening there was the sound of someone else at the door. She was sure from the heavy footsteps it was Dr. Hoffman, the Prussian. He was a large man with a booming voice. He had a kindly smile, and a white beard. She couldn’t look at him without remembering a jovial old priest who had once entertained the children of her parish dressed as Père Noël.
The other doctors thought he was a fraud. They denigrated his odoriferous elixirs and vibrantly colored tinctures. She was inclined to agree with their assessment of his medical skills, but she didn’t believe he knew himself to be a fake. He seemed absolutely sincere, and while he couldn’t save her, neither could they, so she saw no harm in having him around. He was at least entertaining, with no qualms regarding gossiping about other patients, particularly those of the highest social caste.
Usually, he would come straight in to check on her, but that evening she heard the voices getting louder, arguing. Finally they all came together, pushing each other through the door like something out of a farce. They began speaking at once.She raised her arm with some effort. “Gentleman, please. I must hear from you one at a time.”
There were a couple of false starts. Finally, she had to choose. “Hoffman, why don’t you tell me what is so important?”
The Prussian began and was almost immediately interrupted by his colleagues.
“Ssh,” she told them, waving a delicate hand. “Allow the man to speak. I’ll hear your objections later.”
“My dear girl,” Père Noël began, “I have met the most extraordinary gentleman.” He went on to tell her about a young doctor, a Russian, who could be credited with many complete cures throughout the continent – some of his successes had been in even worse condition than she.
“Worse condition? Really, doctor? Does he revive the dead then?” She asked.
The others insisted they’d never heard of the man, and would have, had there been any validity to the claims.
“Will your doctor entertain me?” She asked. “Does he sing? Or play the piano, perhaps? Is he good-looking? Charming? Witty? If he’s any of those things, you may tell him to drop by, but also let him know the magistrate has been pounding at the door, and I don’t have an extra sou to pay him.”
“He is right out front, mademoiselle la comptesse,” the Prussian said. Though she had been technicallymarried to a young man who would one-day inherit a title, and even now was likely standing outside catching his death in the rain, well aware she had no intention of ever seeing him again, very few indulged her by referring to her as a countess, and the Prussian was the only one who managed it with such conviction. It was another reason she was so fond of the sweet charlatan.
“Well, let him in then, before he drowns out there.”
Père Noël went to fetch him while his colleagues expressed more skepticism. When the so-called Russian doctor entered the room, there was complete silence.
Perhaps the other physicians were simply in awe of his beauty, because he was indeed one of the most astonishing creatures she had ever seen. Close to two meters tall. His thick dark hair was flecked with gray though his face was barely lined, and there was a boyishness about his features. His hazel eyes had a stare so piercing she could feel it burn. There was something about his mouth as well, a subtle expression, nothing so obvious as a smirk, but she sensed that like herself, he found the absurdities of the world très amusant. Alphonsine nearly gasped, as he was none other than the gentleman she had found in her parlor the night she’d gone in to read.
That it was he, and that she had not dreamed his previous appearance, was immediately clear. She instinctively turned to the small silver cross, which now hung on the wall beside the bed. His eyes followed hers to the object, and she saw the slightest smile part his sensuous lips.
“Good evening, mademoiselle. I am Dr. Anton Kerensky, at your service.” He clicked his heels, a tad dramatically. She understood he meant the gesture as a joke that only she would understand. She had met Russians before. Those well off enough to visit or stay in Paris usually spoke the language quite well, but he spoke it better than most Frenchmen.
“Good evening, monsieur le doctor,” she said putting out her hand. She didn’t know how he could have gotten into her flat the night she’d found him there, or what he was after then or in the present, but she didn’t believe he meant to harm her.
The doctor took her hand in his, and touched his lips to it. She felt a shiver of pleasure run through her body, to the point that she moaned involuntarily.
“Are you in pain?” The British doctor asked.
“No, no pain,” she said, and turning to the Russian added, “You look familiar. Have we met before?”
“Not formally. I did catch a glimpse of you at the opera last night. I came to France, to Paris, specifically to see you, having heard both of your beauty and your plight.”
He asked the others to leave the room so he might examine the patient privately.
All of them objected, but she sent them out. England harrumphed, while France spoke of impertinence, and Prussia simply shrugged.
He shut the door and locked it. Then he sat down in the chair by her bedside.
“Who are you?” She asked softly, aware there might be lingering ears nearby.
“I told you. I’m here to help.”
“And the other night?”
He took hold of both of her hands. “You aren’t shaking,” he said. “You aren’t afraid?”“Of you? What’s the worst you might do? End my suffering?”
His lips didn’t move, and not a sound came out of his mouth, but she heard the next question in her mind as clearly as she had ever heard anything. “Is that what you’ve decided?”
She answered him back with words, “I have no wish to hasten my death, nor to live on the terms you’ve offered.”
“I have no desire you make any decision with which you are not comfortable. I only hope to continue our negotiations. You might change your mind,” he said quietly.
Impulsively, she reached up, embraced him, and pressed her lips to his. It was not a calculated gesture on her part. The inside of his mouth tasted cool and clean, and as he wrapped his arms around her frail body, she felt both comfort and intense desire.
She reached out to undo his suspenders. Even in her weakened state, she was quite capable of taking down a pair of trousers with one hand. He gently pushed her arm away.
He lifted her peignoir, under which she wore nothing. First he began to massage her décolletage, working down to her breasts. She coughed a bit when he pressed on her chest, but felt the beginning of a release, a lightness. His strong smooth hands continued to travel down her body, reaching her abdomen and finally below. He placed his fingers inside of her, expertly moving them as he looked into her eyes. She started to moan softly and begged him to take her.
“You aren’t strong enough,” he whispered. “Just allow yourself to be pleased.”
He seemed capable of reaching places inside of her that no one had touched. With her eyes closed she imagined herself as a piano being played by a maestro.
“You’re quite the virtuoso,” she murmured. She thought she would lose her mind with happiness. Young Olympe was eager, but lacked these skills, and most of her lovers had never been particularly concerned with her pleasure.
“Some people believe,” he said in a voice that managed to be soft, but deep and masculine, “that there are certain … healing humors of the body that may be released by pleasure.”Her sighs she feared might be loud enough for someone listening by the door to overhear. She couldn’t help herself. With his free hand, he placed a finger on her mouth, gesturing for her silence, and when she could not control her murmurings, he muffled the sound with his hand.
Her climax was long and intense.
After she had had enough, he lifted the hand that had been working so diligently, and began first to lick his own fingers. Then he offered them to her to suckle, which she did as greedily as a grateful kitten.
She sat up in her bed. Her breath was short, and he brought the basin over to her in case she needed to cough.
“Thank you. It’s not so bad now.”
He touched her cheek. “There’s no need to suffer like this. You should never have to.”“Who areyou?” She asked him again. “What are you?”
“If you accept my offer, there will be time for you to learn everything. If you do not, it’s not worth wasting the time you have left to explain.”
“How could I see others destroyed so that I might live?”
“I can only tell you, you would feel no pangs of conscience. You would be so above these creatures it would be no different than slaughtering a pig for Christmas.”
“Creatures? Am I such a creature? You would take my life so easily?”
He caressed her, beginning at her forehead and lingering over her neck. With his hand hovering by her chest, her breath began to feel freer as though he were somehow lifting the blackness from her lungs.
“There is none like you. That’s why your death would be such a pity. Beauty such as yours is a gift to the world. I only wish to preserve it.”
“No, no monsieur. I cannot accept your terms.”
“I should like to visit you again, to attend you as a doctor. May I?”
She took his hand in hers and brought it to her lips, kissing each of his fingers. “I would love for you to attend me, though I doubt I’d have the strength to …”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I can comfort you even if you have little strength left. It would give me pleasure.”
“I’ve had men give me jewels, and great amounts of their fortunes, but I’ve met no man as generousas you.”
“Then might I suggest you’ve been with the wrong men?”
“I shan’t change my mind if that’s what you are hoping.”
“I won’t force you to,” he assured her.
“Will you stay a bit? I could send for some dinner?”
“Another time. There are matters to which I must attend.”
“When will I see you again?”
“Soon. A la prochaine, madame la comtesse,” he said, taking her hand again, and kissing it gently before taking his leave.


About the Author:
VM Gautier is a pseudonym. This is not VM's first book, but it is VM's first book with fangs. VM is no one you've heard of and is not trying to fool anyone. All will probably be revealed soon, but meantime VM is enjoying the masquerade. 

We are never more ourselves than when we wear a disguise.


Web: http://www.blooddiva.com
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22731729-blood-diva
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Blood-Diva/1478472872374508
Twitter:  https://twitter.com/VM_Gautier


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Guest Blog and Giveaway: Promise of Magic by Melinda VanLone

People often ask me where I come up with the names for my characters. To be honest, it often takes me a long time to name them because I have to get to know them first. It’s like naming a real baby…the need to pick that perfect title that tells who they are and hints at their story is quite daunting. Any major character in any story I write has a name that means something, both to me and to them in their story world. Among  the major players, Calliope is the only one who didn’t hide from me.  She named herself one day as I was doing a meet and greet for Stronger Than Magic. When she told me her name, it fit. She’s the embodiment of youth, mixed with wisdom. She’s a muse for Tarian, always providing that voice of logic and reason, while at the same time she’s also the joy and music of a carousel.  I believe her mother, Marielle, felt that way about her, which is why she chose the name. Calliope was the child Marielle wasn’t forced to have, and always had a special place because of that. Tarian was her duty, one she accepted whole heartedly, but Calliope was her passion. Speaking of Marielle, her name is based in French and means mistress or lady of the sea. It can also mean “bitter”, which doesn’t apply to Marielle at all but did apply to her mother. Some women in the Xannon line accepted their role as leader and heir provider quite gracefully. Marielle’s mother was not one of them, hence the name. She chose it because it had dual meaning, and only she knew the bitterness and resentment she held toward a world that forced her into motherhood far too young. Marielle, however, raced into it, eager and excited. She took the duty as a challenge and a privilege, and tried to instill that sentiment in her daughter. Tarian’s name took forever to figure out. She was incredibly secretive about it and for the longest time growled at me anytime I tried anything remotely modern. Her family is steeped in tradition and ancient lore, and her name needed to reflect that. It also needed to reflect her. Not just a name, it’s everything she is rolled up into vowels and consonants. Tarian is of Welsh origin, and means shield. When I landed on that name, I heard a satisfied sigh from Tarian and I knew I’d found the one name that embodied her. She believes herself to be the protector of her family and her people, and will shield them from any danger, with no thought to the consequences.  She’s fiercely loyal and protective, independent, stubborn and not likely to follow rules.In Promise of Magic, Tarian faces the daunting task of not only entering motherhood while being hunted by creatures determined to kill her unborn child, but if she’s successful she faces something even more difficult: naming her own child.

<<<<>>>> 
Promise of MagicHouse of XannonBook 3Melinda VanLone
Genre: urban fantasy
ISBN: 978-0-9887455-4-4ASIN: TBD
Word Count: 65k
Cover Artist: bookcovercorner.com
Book Description:
On instinct, Tarian bowed her head in return, shocked. “Dulra. Welcome.” She breathed the words, awed by the presence of creatures she’d only known through legends. What is the Balance Court doing here?
“Tarian A’marie Maitea Xannon, of the House of Xannon, Keeper of the Water Artifact, you are summoned to the Balance Court.”
 She’d been summoned, and every particle of her being cried out to answer it.Despite the advanced stage of her pregnancy, Tarian has some explaining to do. Fulfilling her Agreement with the Carraig was an issue of honor—but it led to complications. The Keeper of the House of Xannon is called to account, and Tarian must embark on a dangerous mission which could cost her the life of her unborn daughter, end in disaster for all planes of existence—or save the world.
Some promises are deadly to keep. Will the promise of magic be one of them?

About the Author:
Melinda VanLone writes fantasy and science fiction, freelances as a graphic designer, and dabbles in photography. She currently lives in Rockville, Maryland, with her husband and furbabies. When she's not playing with her imaginary friends you can find her playing World of Warcraft, wandering aimlessly through the streets taking photos, or nursing coffee in Starbucks.
http://melindavan.com
twitter: @melindavan
https://www.facebook.com/MelindaVanLone
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6691466.Melinda_VanLone
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Guest Blog and Giveaway Isis, Vampires and Ghosts – Oh My! By Janis Hill

I do like vampires, honest.
In my latest book Isis, Vampires and Ghosts – Oh My! I have portrayed vampires in a less than pleasant light. I’ve taken them right back to the beginning when they were pure evil and just out for their own pleasure from other people’s pain. I even took a little artistic license by stating they were created as an after effect of people killing a demon. As that demon died, its own coiled Darkness and evilness was released and tainted the blood of its vanquishers, turning them into the vile vampires my protagonist is out to kill.
Some people have told me this shows I don’t like vampires nor appreciate their finer points. This isn’t true, there are some vampires I really do like. See Queen Betsy from MaryJanice Davidson’s Undead and… series. I love her. Yes she gets on my nerves at times, but she’s still a great vampire and a Queen of them too. She is vain, blonde, obsessed with shoes and a randy little minx… but still a gorgeous character and proof you can be a vampire and still be nice, mostly.
Then there are the vampires in Kim Harrison’s The Hollows series. Another perfect example of a well-rounded species. Either born with the vampire virus and therefore a living vampire, infected with enough of the virus to become a lesser, turned vampire. Then there are the top of the food chain – someone who was born a living vampire who has died and spent a lot of time being undead. Some are relatively good – despite their need to follow their vampiric urges -  and some are not so good. They are a well thought out species and done in such a way they are truly believable. Plus sultry, sexy and elegant without needing to sparkle.
Heck, movie wise, I’d even give the thumbs up to the Lost Boysvamps. I watched it as a teen, wasn’t obsessed with it like some I know, but found them an acceptable portrayal. What me, fussy?
Are there vampires I don’t like? Well, yes. There are the ones that seem to be trying to take over the world one virgin at a time. The teen heart-throb types that sparkle and would look more at home in Disneyland than Transylvania. Don’t get me wrong, these vampires obviously work as they do have their fans… but they are just not for me. The origin and soul of a vampire is in pure evil and darkness, and this doesn’t just mean smouldering good looks and a bad boy leather jacket. They can’t be changed and made better and I’m pretty sure they can’t be cured. Maybe I missed that memo?
But please, don’t take my judgement as the law. Vampires come in all shapes and sizes and you need to find the one you prefer. Hey, if the fang fits and all that!
Would I write about vampires again? Probably, but I would again push the boundaries and go against the current vampiric norm. In fact I already have written about a different type of vampire, a psychic one. Actually I started writing this story some decades ago and have since lost it. Isn’t that always the way when you move out of home, get a job, a life, have kids, etc? Still, one day I would like to find it… or simply start writing it all over again.
So what is a psychic vampire? I can’t say all psychic vampires are like mine, but here’s what I did. A young woman (early twenties) was raped outside a nightclub and was left mentally and physically traumatised. She then moves back to her home town to be with her parents and slowly rebuild herself and her faith in mankind, seeing her rapist was never found. Slowly she finds the moods of a crowd around her affected her in ways it never used to. She was almost able to feed off of it and soon found actual food no longer necessary. And despite her now dislike of crowds, due to her trauma, she finds herself drawn to them nightly to ‘feed’.
As the story progresses she starts to have physical flashbacks. As in, finds herself in parts of the past and how her home town used to look. Long story short she discovers she’s pregnant from the rape and the child conceived through evil is causing these changes in her. To give birth to it, what will it be and what will happen to her. And, yeah, that’s all I pretty much had figured out and had started writing. I do feel it would be a little different to write these days as I was eighteen when I started it. That’s *cough* twenty years ago now.
How would you create a vampire? Twinkly and new style or old and the spawn of hell? Will they feed off blood, emotions, virgins, strawberry smoothies? Do they need to be surrounded by gore and humping, writhing over-sexed bodies to be a good read? And are they the protagonist or the villain? Thisis why a vampire can be a fun thing to read or write as, quite frankly, there are just so many different types to choose from.
I would like to thank Fang-tastic Books for allowing me to do this blog post.

Janis Hill. XXOO Isis, Vampires and Ghosts – Oh My!Other World SeriesBook OneJanis Hill
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Hague Publishing
ISBN: 978-0-9872652-7-2
Word Count: 90,000
Cover Artist: Jade Zivanovic
Book Description:
Too late to save her sister’s life, Stephanie Anders must now try to save her soul from the vampire who has possessed her, Branwyre, eighteenth vampire Lord of the Aegean.
With only the aid of the ghost of a pissed-off Buddhist monk with a potty mouth and the modern day Priestess of Isis, Stephanie must take on demons and other denizens of a world she knows nothing about if she is to succeed in banishing Branwyre.
But even more difficult than that, she must learn how to forgive her sister Estella for what she did to her if she is to have even half a chance of saving her soul. Welcome to a world within our own – the Other World.
Book Trailer:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wl_GYTFkU1c  
Available at Hague Publishing




Extract from Isis, Vampires and Ghosts – Oh My! by Janis HillChapter 5
Estella had the grace and timing to wake up just after I’d hauled her dead weight, literally, into the chair and balanced it there long enough the grab the rope.“By the Light of Isis, what do you think you’re doing?” Her tone was nearly petulant enough to be the old Estella asking me, not the new peace-and-love one.“Following your High Priestess’ instructions.” I grunted while tying her hands behind her back as best I could, before continuing to wrap the rope around her and the chair.“But why are you tying me to a chair now?” she asked, aghast to realise just how tight I had done it. “Branwyre can’t take over until night time. We’ve got at least another hour.”Ignoring her question for a moment, I snatched her right foot and tied it to the corresponding chair leg. Then, ignoring the attempted kick, did the same to her left one.“Roxanna clearly states in her instructions here to gather the required items, purify them and set it all up, you included.” I waved the note at her before continuing to wrap her legs, backside and chair in the rope. Yeah, I’d gotten a decent amount. Who says two for one sales are a waste of time? “Nowhere in her instructions does it say we should stop for coffee and a chat. When I’ve got as much of it ready as I can before moonrise, I can actually have a rest. You know, something even we non-undead need to do from time to time.”She went to protest, I even paused to watch the show I felt she was about to perform, but other than gaping a few times like a stunned fish, she stayed quiet. Wow, this Light of Isis was amazing if it could prevent the Queen of Whinge from speaking.“Fine then,” she finally managed, a slight sulky tone to her voice. “But how am I meant to eat dinner?” I sighed; I hadn’t honestly thought of that, going along the lines that she was dead. Yes she was an animated corpse right now, but dead was dead. You shouldn’t have to provide meals for them.“Nowhere in my instructions does it say I have to feed you.” I muttered. Then feeling I should relent a little as she’d found it within herself to be nicer. “But how about I order pizza, and you eat it cold later. Surely even the Light of Isis can’t have cured you of your cold pizza habits.”She sighed, but said no more for a moment. Didn’t even pout, which surprised me even more than the silence.“I do wish you’d be more respectful of Isis and her purifying Light,” is all she eventually said as I was adding a few more knots to the back of the chair.“Uh-huh.” I was more interested in making sure I’d done a good job, than listen to a lecture on appropriate religious respect. Especially from someone who in the past hadn’t held any respect for anyone or anything.“And no dinner is fine; I don’t seem to have the need to eat that often anymore.” She continued, trying to watch me over her shoulder. “I won’t have you dissing cold pizza though.”“Sure!” I said, standing back and wiping sweat from my brow and then my hands on my dress. I remembered I was still in one of my best ‘sombre but not kinky’ little black dresses, not having had a chance to change. So Roxanna’s wodge of cash was buying me a few clothes tomorrow, too. Why not! If I wasn’t allowed to go home until this was all over, she owed me at least a pair of jeans and clean underwear. I checked the instructions again. Okay, so all items purified, sister roped tightly into chair. Salt time! Boy I hoped the motel’s maid service wouldn’t be too pissed at me, or at least wouldn’t notice until after we’d left.



About the Author:
Janis grew up in and around Darwin, Australia, and its rural surrounds. As a child, she spent a lot of time around 'science geeks' at the Darwin University, where her father was a lecturer for many years. It took her a long time to realise that not everyone got to grow up like that or could relate to all the Science Labs scenes in the old Dr Who.
Janis now lives in the Adelaide Hills with her husband and 3 children, lovingly referred to as the ‘Demonic Hordes’. She is a semi-retired ICT Support Officer who, when not writing, takes pride in her work as a Haus Frau while dabbling in the art of translating century old cookery books into modern recipes to experiment on her family with.
@Janis_Hill
https://www.facebook.com/JanisHillAuthor    
http://janishill.wordpress.com/   
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www.vampchix.blogspot.com
September 30 Interview and reviewhappy tails and tales http://magluvsya03.wordpress.com

Michigan Halloween Events I Am Attending This Year

Every weekend in October I have events. The one weekend I didn't have a Halloween event scheduled turned out to be my daughter's Homecoming. 
So I still have an event- I just don't need a costume for that one.
The rest require costumes, so I'm heading over to PureCostumes.com to see what I can find.
They have a great selection of costumes, masks and accessories for all ages.
First event in October is the Zombie Walk. That will mostly require makeup, fake blood and some old clothes. However...I'm out of white makeup which is the base for any Halloween makeup. Adding that to my to-buy list right now. 
Saturday October 4 Flint Zombie WalkTime: 11am-4pmThe Walk itself will happen sometime around 1pm
Flint Local 432124 W First St, Flint, Michigan 48503$10 per person
All ageshttps://www.facebook.com/events/281160138755176/

The Witches Ball....this year's theme is Into the Woods based on the musical of the same name. Disney is also doing their version and releasing a movie later this year. 
I am thinking about dressing up as red riding hood and my husband as the wolf. I have been digging through my closet trying to find something to wear. 
Pure Costumes has a sexy Dark Red Riding Hood costume I am considering. They also have some great wolf/werewolf costumes.


Saturday, October 18Midwest Witches Ball
7:00pm- 2am
Royalty House8201 E 13 Mile Rd Warren, Michigan 48093
21 and over onlyhttps://www.facebook.com/events/731927280213003/

Horror Con is family friendly and has costume contests for the adults and kids along with a petrifying pin up contest for the ladies. The costume possibilities are endless- anything scary, creepy, or horrifying. And if you opt to partake in the petrifying pinup- a little horror movie cosplay is always a good bet.
Pure Costumes has a lot to choose from in all of the above categories. My favorites? The Ghostbusters costumes- they even have Slimer and the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.
Saturday, October 25 Flint Horror Convention12:00pm - 9:00pm
Riverfront Banquet Center1 Riverfront Ctr W Flint, Michigan 48502
All Ageshttps://www.facebook.com/events/1416498415286268/


The Vampire Ball is my favorite local event, (hello blog name, Fang-tastic LOL) so finding a perfect vampire costume is always top priority. This year I think I am combining a hint of steampunk into my fanged fabulousness.
PureCostumes.com has some fun steampunk accessories including goggles, eye patches and an adorable Mini Steampunk Hat. 
Saturday, October 257:30pm-2amThe Vampire Ball - hosted by Vertigo TheatricsFeaturing Voltaire
755 S Saginaw St Flint, Michigan 48502
21 and over Only
https://www.facebook.com/events/661050470657858/

This is a paid post sponsored by PureCostumes.com