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Guest Blog and Giveaway Wolf’s Bane: Demimonde Book 3 by Ash Krafton

Accidental Swinger: How a Vamp Chick Fell For the WolfmanBy Ash Krafton
I’ve always had a thing for vampires.
Long ago, I knew the allure of these creatures of the night. When I was a kid, it was Dracula. Vampires were for horror stories, but there was still that lure of power and endless possibilities. When Anne Rice gave us Louis and Lestat, I was done for. She did what no one had done for me before: gave me an emotional connection to the characters.
Vampires were becoming more than alluring. They were seductive. Some were downright sexy.
I’ve always been intrigued by new twists in vampire lore—even that weird stuff HBO’s True Blood put out last season. (Truthfully, I would have put up with A LOT of weird stuff for the sake of Eric Northman. Can I get an amen?)
I suppose my hunger for new vamps is what led me to write the Demimonde series. I can get all the vamp action I want, as twisty as I want it—which I happily did when I created my demivampires with mythologic Egyptian origins.
When I wrote Bleeding Hearts, my focus was on the race of demivamps. Actual vampires were soulless and bad. There was no confusion as to whose side I was on.
There were werewolves, too. Werewolves were lawless and yucky. Again, I’m Team DV. I never really got into werewolves—most of the films I’d seen had hairy, grotesque, misshapen drooling mutts. Not sexy. Not seductive. Just—I don’t know, squishy. Even Buffy’s pal Oz was a kid hunched over in bad makeup. Tiny bit lame.
The only werewolf that did anything to keep me interested was Michael Sheen’s character in Underworld. All credit goes to his awesome self for giving lycans a fighting chance in my whole vamp vs. were grudge war.
As I continued the series, Sheen’s lycan character reminded me that werewolves were creatures, too—they had their quirks, their powers, and just as many possibilities as vampires. If I could twist vampires to give me the exact character I wanted, why couldn’t I mess with the laws of were-nature and make the kind of wolves I wanted?
Thus, Toby came along, the Big Bad Wolfboy that becomes Sophie’s next stray. Blood Rush give a little insight to Were nature from a decidedly Toby perspective. While my characters slowly warmed up to the fuzzy guy, I personally wasn’t having any of it. I was straight for the vamp side. Vampire hetero. Were phobic. Whatever you want to call it. I was a die-hard vamp chick. And, as a Were, Toby did squeamish Were things. Hey, that’s the way the ball bounces.
And then…
The third book began to brew. If you haven’t guessed by now, there’s a lot of Were action in this one.
Even as I wrote and edited the first two books, I planned on having a central Were conflict. Every book needs conflict, a struggle, a choice—so a Were character seemed like perfect fodder. It wasn’t until I really got submerged in writing that I realized that the conflict wasn’t coming out black-and-white, good versus evil, the way I’d pictured it.
And it wasn’t until I was near completion that I realized the conflict was so much more complex than that. If we knew definitely what was right and what was wrong, we’d have no trouble making our choices. The conflict became complex because the author was experiencing conflicts of her own.
My feelings towards Weres had changed. How it pains me to write this.
Wolf’s Bane lacked matted fur and werewolf glue. The Were were beautiful creatures who followed their nature, and they were led by a man who wanted them to strive toward civility, not beastial baseness. Sophie was forced to re-evaluate Werekind and to face her prejudice and her fears.
In writing it, I was forced to face my own, as well.
It certainly helps that Dierk is the man he is—the rockstar, the leader, the gentleman suitor. Whatever Sophie came to feel for him during the course of the story, it’s a pretty fair thing to say it’s because I felt the same thing.
Never figured I’d turn out to be a swinger. I’m definitely a one-guy, one-species kind of gal. But if I were a character in the Books of the Demimonde, maybe…just maybe.
Wolf’s BaneDemimondeBook 3Ash Krafton
Genre: urban fantasy
Book Description:
Since becoming oracle to the demivampire two years ago, advice columnist Sophie has battled werewolves and survived a vampire attack (or two). However, not only was she powerless to save her lover Marek when he slipped to the brink of evolution, she also witnessed his transformation into a falcon, the symbol of Horus United.
Sophie’s quest to save Marek is further complicated when rock star Dierk Adeluf – who also happens to be the king of the Werekind – invites her backstage after a concert. Just when it seems she will find respite from heartache, Sophie is bitten by a werewolf and Dierk decides she is destined to be his queen.
Sophie is caught between the demivamps she loves and the Were who commands her to love him. Throw in his jealous wanna-be girlfriend—a true bitch if ever there was one—and an ambush by witches, and there you have the big mess that Sophie calls her life. And, hello? Her soul mate is still a bird.
She’s supposed to be the girl with all the answers, but Sophie needs more than a little advice–she needs divine intervention.
Excerpt


The man sitting across from me absolutely hated himself.
I didn’t need to unzip my barriers to make that assessment. The way his shoulders crept up his neck, the curve of his back that left his face parallel to his thighs, the way he avoided looking at me or anyone else—body language said it all. And when he did finally raise his too-heavy head to look at me, his eyes were stony and hollow, too dead to even care what anyone saw in them.
He wore his self-loathing the way I wished I wore Jimmy Choos—right out there for the whole world to see. Difference was, he didn’t care who looked.
I glanced at the demivamp who hovered behind him like a first-year teacher. She toyed with the end of her braid and looked ready to throw herself onto him if need be. Maybe he was a flight risk. Maybe he was a danger to himself.
Maybe he was a danger to me. In that case, the other DV wasn’t necessary. I didn’t worry so much about myself anymore. I’d learned a thing or two about staying alive.
Not to mention, I had an entire courtroom full of DV that perched on the semi-circles of benches, elbow to elbow, each waiting their turn with the Sophia. I knew full well every single one of them would fling themselves between me and whatever peril might arise here.I was well-guarded. Perks of being a national treasure.
I flicked my gaze up to the DV who stood behind my client, dismissing her. Once she took her place in the audience, I sank into my Sophia sight. Finding my center and called up my barriers, peeling away the outermost layer and expanding it until it encompassed us both in an invisible but completely sound-proof bubble.
A nifty little trick I’d learned since Dorcas removed the last remaining obstacles between me and my power. She hadn’t been much of a dresser and had a weird thing for vampires, not to mention acting like the scariest damned thing I’d ever seen, but I had to hand it to her. She’d done me a solid.
When the barrier went up around us, there was a little ear-pop of sensation. He seemed to notice me then. His eyes took up a pale light, gleaming like the teeth he hid behind the disdainful curl of his lips. His power seethed out like the odor of a hot dumpster—the feel of it decayed and ugly and absolutely desperate.
I smiled, grim and hard. This guy might be the farthest gone DV I’d ever met. He was going to be a challenge.
Good.
I decided to start the same way I always did, knowing this one might not end the same way. “What’s your name?”
He stared me down for several moments. “You want my current name or the one that’s waiting for me?”
Obviously, he was referring to the name change that happened when a DV Fell. Vampires never kept their DV names. All part of the whole born-again (dead-again?) persona of a newly-minted vamp.
“You have one name,” I said, my voice like tungsten. “And you’re going to keep it.”
“Like you can stop me.”
I smiled again, glad I had chosen to wear lip gloss because my mouth was so dry, my lips would have split without it. “I can. And I will.”
“Look, lady.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The pale light in his dark eyes looked like an early hard frost on a green lawn. Untimely end of a sweet season. “I know who you are, and I know what you do. Sometimes, you just gotta let nature take its course.”
“This isn’t nature. This is self-punishment.”
He smiled, open-mouthed to show all his teeth. Sharp, elongated, a mouth full of knives. A vamp’s mouth. “And I earned every single minute of it.”
Okay. Tough guy. Proud of the shitty things he’s done. That was part of the thrill of being so close to Falling. Kind of like passing over the event horizon into a black hole, when one part of you accelerates faster than the rest. His soul was a ragged plastic bag caught on a tree branch, waiting for the last big wind to come along.
His heart had already flown loose. In his heart, he was a vampire.
Well, his body was still here, and his soul was still here, and I was still here. He was in for a surprise.
I surveyed his power, using Sophia-sight to visualize it. It was dark, like cooling lava, black and cracked and sullen red showing through the seams. The black crust was his resignation. He’d stopped fighting. Well, maybe he just needed the right sparring partner.
How did you get rid of hard, black cooling lava? Why, you heat it up, of course. Nothing got a man hotter than his temper.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There were other things, but that wasn’t my brand of therapy.
I pushed through his brittle ugly shell into the lava beneath, then through the lava to his inner core. It was tiny, but it was cool, and green, and still had the essence of who he used to be. His feelings were still packed away inside and I latched onto it, expanded it, examined it. Family. He had kids. A job. He’d been a lawyer, and a good one. He was proud of what he’d done—in the beginning.
Ah. That’s where it started to turn. I sifted along the line of those memories and found the point when he started fighting for the bad guys.
“A dirty lawyer?” I snorted and rolled my eyes. “There’s a shock. Your parents must be so proud.”
He growled and dug his fingers into his thighs. “Shut up.”
“No wonder you turned into this.” I waved my fingers at him as if I were calling out a Coach bag knock-off at a street vendor. “I thought you were going to say you ate babies or something but a corrupt lawyer? That’s sick.”
Rage filled him like a burning warehouse, the fury consuming his power. If it weren’t for my personal shields, I’d have been incinerated. The fire of his anger melted the hard shell of his former apathy and he’d become a miniature sun of murderous intent.
He wanted to end me, wanted nothing more than to get his hands on me.
I beat him to it.
Like the flick of a mental finger, I opened the door in my mind where all the bad stuff went. It was like a vacuum in there and once it was open, it just sucked at his power, the ugly, the hate and the agony he’d surrounded himself with and I pulled.
It hurt. It hurt me, it was like sandpaper on the eyes and it hurt him. He howled as I ripped away all the fury of his self-loathing and hate.
Normally, I did this in steps, gently, kind of a leeching away. Not this guy. I had to over-power him because at this stage, he could just grow it all back. Vampires were infinite wells of hate and evil and this guy was so damned close.
His howl became a roar and he made a lunge for me. I slid a ramrod of my shields at him and held him at a mental arm’s length. He struggled to reach me, his clawed hands inches from my eyes and if he got to me, if he reached me, he’d tear my throat out.
No, he wouldn’t. I was stronger than that. I bit down on my lips and tasted the tang of blood and continued to strip his agony away.
This little man wasn’t big enough to break me. I continued to pull away the damage of his soul, and sent a simultaneous stream of the Sophia into him, a cool mist against the acrid hate. His soul had been dried and withered and it soaked up the Sophia’s healing rain, swelling and anchoring itself once more.
The fight was going out of him. He dropped his hands, fighting to breathe. Part of my brain screamed to stop, this was too much, too fast. But a part of my heart was intent on pushing the limits, almost wishing to break because maybe then—just maybe—I’d break past whatever unknown obstacle had been holding me back. Desperation drove me just as surely as it had driven him.
So I was relentless. I continued the pull and the push and I found myself standing over his slumped body. He’d slid down in his chair, head dropped against the back of the cushion, his eyes darkening into a deep green, like spring grass. And I didn’t stop.
I didn’t stop until he’d fallen to his knees before me, forehead pressed to my feet, crying and repeating words I couldn’t hear because the Sophia was too much in control. My ears didn’t work right when she was filling my head. I kind of got used to it.
When it was all gone, all the damage and the negativity and the self-hate, the Sophia pulled itself back, sealing the drain. Sound returned, and I could hear his labored breathing, his murmured chanting. My insides still felt raw. That would take a day or two to settle down.I was aware the outer barrier was still up and I dispelled it. Another ear-pop and we were both submerged in a cacophony of applause and happy shouting. Several people rushed forward to embrace him, hugs for him, awkward hugs for me. I backed away from the jostling and let his family and friends bear him back to the seats. He beamed at me, incredulous joy and gratitude on his face.
And it didn’t touch me at all.
I only had two thoughts. The first was: I had just gotten inside him, battled his demons, saved his soul, but I never learned his name. Maybe it was better that way. There were so many DV. I couldn’t remember all their names and keep my sanity.
The second was: it hadn’t been enough. He was, by far, the worst I’d encountered and it still wasn’t enough. There had been no revelation, clue, no hint how to fix the one problem I needed to fix.
I’d come no closer to solving Marek’s problem.
A terrible panic tried to grip me but I squashed it down. I swallowed hard and pinched myself and turned to the crowd. The entire group fell silent, hanging on my words.
“Another,” I called. “Please. I need another.”
And I continued to heal, and I continued to need, and I continued to fight the growing fear that in the end, I might save a million DV and still stand to lose the one I truly loved.
Another stepped forward, and after him another, and it was pushing dawn before I realized none of it had given me what I needed to save Marek.
I stared bleakly at the sea of hopeful faces. So many saves, so many solutions, all of it dwarfed in the shadow of my heart’s crushing failure. All my exhaustion, all my despair, all of the raw edges inside me, seething with the scalds of so much negative energy, and all I could think was that I had to do this all again for the next envoy in three days’ time.
Einstein’s Definition of Insanity Sophie, that’s me.

About the Author:
Ash Krafton writes from the heart…of the Pennsylvania coal region, that is.
She is the author of the Books of the Demimonde (Pink Narcissus Press).
BLEEDING HEARTS (Demimonde #1) is a six-time RWA finalist and was voted "Reviewer Top Pick" by Gravetells.com. Ash continues the story of Sophie and her Demivampires in her latest release BLOOD RUSH (Demimonde #2). She's hard at work (when she isn't watching Doctor Who) writing the third book, WOLF'S BANE.
Ash Krafton's poetry and short fiction has appeared in several journals, including Niteblade, Bete Noire, Abandoned Towers, and Silver Blade. She's a member of Pennwriters, RWA, and Maryland Writers Association. She lurks near her blog and contributes to the QueryTracker blog.
Ash lives with her family and their German Shepherd dog deep in the Pennsylvania wilds, awaiting the day the TARDIS appears in the driveway (the dog most likely keeps the Doctor away. What a beast.)
Until then, she writes.
Find Ash at:
The Demimonde blog     Facebook     Twitter       Goodreads


June 16 InterviewDiane’s Book Blog http://dianelynchbookreviews.blogspot.com/
June 17 Guest blogButterfly-o-Meter Bookshttp://butterfly-o-meter.com/
June 17 reviewParanormal Romance and Authors That Rockwww.pratr.wordpress.com
June 18 SpotlightD'eBook Sharing Book Reviews http://debooksharing.wordpress.com/
June 19 SpotlightSoaring Eagle Publicitywww.soaringeaglepublicity.com
June 20 Spotlight and reviewCrazy Four Bookshttp://crazyfourbooks.blogspot.com
June 20 SpotlightMelissa Stevenshttp://melissastevens.us
June 23 SpotlightBooks Directhttp://booksdirectonline.blogspot.com.au/
June 24 SpotlightBooklover Sue http://bookloversue.blogspot.com/
June 25 Guest blogParanormal Romance Fans for Lifewww.paranormalromancefanforlife.blogspot.com
June 26 SpotlightShare My Destinyhttp://sharemydestiny.blogspot.com
June 27 Character InterviewCBY Book Clubhttp://cbybookclub.blogspot.co.uk/
June 27 reviewSapphyria's Book Reviews http://saphsbookblog.blogspot.com/
June 30 SpotlightCassandra M's Place http://www.cassandramsplace.com
July 1 Guest blogPreternatura http://www.suzannejohnsonauthor.com
July 2 Guest blogQueen of All She Reads http://queenofallshereads.blogspot.com/
July 3 InterviewPembroke Sinclair.  www.pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com
July 4 Spotlight and reviewPenny For Them...http://pennyforthemuk.com/search/label
July 7 Spotlight and reviewThe Bookie Monster http://bookie-monster.com/
July 8 SpotlightThe Creatively Green Write at Home Momwww.creativelygreen.blogspot.com
July 9 Guest blogScience Fiction and Suchhttp://sciencefictionandsuch.com/
July 10 SpotlightLisa’s World of Bookswww.lisasworldofbooks.net
July 11 SpotlightRoxanne’s Realmwww.roxannesrealm.blogspot.com
July 14 Guest blogFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com 





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Interview with Weston Kincade

Can you tell readers a little bit about yourself and what inspired to write in this particular genre?
A: I’ve always been interested in the paranormal, everything from ghosts to vampires, zombies, and the different realms and creatures in between. My wife and I enjoy venturing through graveyards, looking at the old tombstones and researching the histories of the people entombed there. My interests may be a bit dark… but so sue me.

What inspired you to write this book?
A: One time while watching a show about psychics, I asked myself, “How do they cope with these things when they first encounter the ability?” From there my imagination took off, both in the abilities and plot. Then one particular scene from the book I would later write came to mind. “What would happen if a teen developing the ability to relive people’s murders walked into a Civil War battlefield where every object is imbued with memories?” After that there was no turning back. I had to write Alex’s story. I drew from my experiences as a teacher and the stories I’ve helped kids work through.
Please tell us about your latest release.
A: The latest release is The Golden Bulls, book 2 in the A Life of Death series. I was a little afraid of how people would respond since it takes place while Alex Drummond is an adult, a homicide detective in fact. He is no longer telling the story of his childhood when he first developed the ability. He’s struggling to track down a serial killer who uses an Anubis mask and is operating closer to home than Alex realizes. However, the response from readers has been quite good. In it, we get to know a few blasts from the past better, including Alex’s son.

Is there a character that you enjoyed writing more than any of the others?
A: I must say that I feel closer to Alex than any other. There’s a bit of me in him, but as I continue writing the series, his son is quickly overshadowing him as my favorite. Jamie’s an overzealous teenager with a sense of humor, an ankh branded into his forehead, and more prolific abilities than his father. What could be better?
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?
A: I normally write the scene with the character’s introduction before I ever start outlining the story. To me, characters are the heart of the book. Without believable characters, you don’t care enough to read on. Once I’ve introduced them, they’re fleshed out enough that I can expand on the details and history a bit more in the character outline. However, that isn’t to say that they don’t change and evolve later.
What is your favorite scene from the book? Could you share a little bit of it, without spoilers of course?
A: My favorite scene from book 1 is still the one that started it all, Alex and Paige taking a trip to the Civil War battlefield museum for a research paper. When someone like Alex can relive people’s vicious murders at just a touch, there are so many ways to take the story that I had difficulty keeping the scene from becoming all-encompassing.  However, it’s still a pivotal point in the story.
The scenes I enjoyed writing the most in book 2 are when Alex winds up going back thousands of years to Ancient Egypt to help a few archeologists at George Washington University. The things you endure during a murder investigation…
Can these books be read as stand alones?
A: In reviews, readers have expressed the same things I feel when it comes to this question. While the A Life of Death series can be read as standalones and enjoyed perfectly, really the entire experience will be more entertaining starting with book 1 and so on.

Do you have any weird writing quirks or rituals?
A: Well… I enjoy writing naked while barking at the ghosts screaming into my head, if you can call that weird—just kidding.
No, I don’t really have any writing quirks. I can normally keep the personalities jumping around in my head confined there… mostly. However, I have a basic process or ritual. I normally listen to a little soft rock on Pandora while writing. Thisis the station I put together. It’s pretty eclectic, but works great for me. After writing the initial character introduction chapters, I start planning out the story and outlining it. Then I go back to the initial chapters and continue writing, bolding the sections in the outline as I finish them in the manuscript itself.
Do you write in different genres?
A: Yes. I write the stories that choose me… if I can. There are still a few running around in my head that I haven’t quite caught, but once I get them figured out, they’ll go down on paper too. I can’t confine myself to one specific genre, although most of my stories have supernatural aspects. Whether that’s vampires, ghosts, different planes, or creatures from the abyss of my own mind, the elements in my stories normally test the boundaries of “known” science.


Other than writing, what are some of your interests, hobbies or passions in life?
A: Well, I love teaching middle and high school. Helping and entertaining the kids simultaneously can be a struggle sometimes, but it’s well worth it when you see what they do with their lives. That same interest extends to my editing company, WAKE Editing, where I help authors fine tune both their manuscripts and their writing in general.
In my spare time, I enjoy movies, video games (I’m trying out the new Cities of Tomorrow expansion to SimCity currently), roleplaying games like D&D and Pathfinder, and fishing. There’s not much that can beat a good day out on the water with friends, rods in hand and a large fish on the hook.
What was the last amazing book you read?
A: I recently did a book signing at Duckon, a convention in Wheeling, Illinois that caters to most subjects. I had the pleasure of meeting John Everson, Brian Pinkerton, and quite a few more great authors. After hearing Brian read an excerpt from his witty zombie novel, How I Started the Apocalypse in a panel, I was hooked. I read it in two sittings. It was quick, funny, and entertaining. I highly recommend it.
Where is your favorite place to read? Do you have a cozy corner or special reading spot?
A: I enjoy reading in a comfy chair in my living room, my feet propped up on the ottoman and a cup of coffee near at hand on the end table. 
What can readers expect next from you?
A: I’m currently working on Book 3 in the A Life of Death collection and hope to have it published through Books of the Dead Press later this year. I also have a few more projects in the works, including a YA fantasy story that started with a Shakespearian reference to Queen Mab, a short story I should be shopping around to publishers shortly, and a post-apocalyptic roleplaying game I’m co-writing based on the D20 system.

A: I’m pretty easy to find. Here are the easiest ways to find out about upcoming books or get in touch with me directly:
Author Page - http://kincadefiction.blogspot.com
Twitter - @WestonKincade
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/WAKincade
Editing Site – http://www.wakeediting.com
Would you like to leave readers with a little teaser or excerpt from the book?
A: Sure. Since I’ve mentioned it a couple times, why don’t I include the scene where Alex and Paige head over to the Civil War battlefield museum. Enjoy this snippet from Alex’s tale!A Life of Death, Book 1 Excerpt:
I turned and confronted the Tinen Valley Museum as though it were an odd stranger from my past. The last time I’d been here was in better times. I stared at the building straddling the hilltop and ran my sweaty hands along my jeans. It was the only thing for miles, outside of monuments and ancient cannons that had seen better days. As I discovered renewed sweat on my hands, it felt like I had something in common with the war remnants. The dirt and perspiration just wouldn’t stay away. The rest of the land around us was rolling hills. It was a comfort to feel Paige’s hand again slip into mine, intertwining our fingers. She didn’t comment about my palms. With a deep breath, I nodded toward the building and the glass wall surrounding the second floor that overlooked the battlefield. It was one of the few characteristics not limited by the antique design.“Shall we?”Paige stood tensed, but whether it was due to the mystery of what lay beyond the museum doors or in anticipation of spending the day with me, I’ll never know. “Yes,” she mumbled, but added with more gusto, “It should be fun.”She matched my step as we meandered up the sidewalk and past the corroded green plaques. I remembered the story they told. They detailed the events leading up to the conflict in the order they occurred. As we stepped up to the building, Paige guided me off the path and up to a large plaque adorning the cedar sided wall. It outlined the outcome of the battle and how it benefited the Union army. But at what cost? I’d experienced violent deaths first hand over the last week and could only imagine what it must have been like fighting and dying in the war. 2,500 men died where we were standing, or so it said. As I read on, a tingling spread up my foot and into my leg. I dug the ball of my foot into the ground to rid it of the pinpricks. The odd feeling persisted. I stomped my heel and the feeling dissipated, but returned a moment later. I repeated the motion and got the same result. Paige peered up at me with a quizzical look and a peculiar slant to her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”“Nothing, foot’s just asleep.”When she finished reading, we turned and entered the building. The annoying sensation faded away. In the entryway stood a large, rifled cannon, the earliest of its kind. It stood out from the others with its original paint and markings. It had fared far better than those outside, which were subjected to the elements each day and night. The spokes of its wheels were anchored to the floor with large chains, as though someone might consider loading it into an oversized pickup truck. I chuckled as the image of a lone man attempting to steal the cannon came to mind. The weight alone would deter any normal person from the idea. I was in awe at the might of something so large and formidable. I’d seen it before, but at that time I thought only a giant could control such a thing. To a four-foot-tall child, it was monstrous. “Wow,” Paige gasped, “It must be a replica to be in such good shape. It says it’s a Galena Blakely, one of the few ever purchased by the Confederacy.”I nodded in silent agreement as my eyes scanned every inch of it. The long, chilled barrel was pitted and chipped, as though the museum staff had attempted to make it look more realistic. The large gun felt familiar. It was something from a past long lost to me. Although we’d only met once, it felt like it knew me. I set my hand atop its great barrel and all thoughts of Paige and my unwelcome home left. The dense metal reminded me of what life was like, once upon a time. I caressed the barrel like a cowboy would his steed. The antique aroma wafted up from the cold metal. Oh no, I thought as I was jolted from the museum. It’s happening again.
* * *
Morning fog filtered the sunlight streaming into my eyes, and I became aware of new sights and sounds. The air echoed as a barrage of large mosquitoes buzzed by. Ash and burning sulfur permeated the air. Looking down from the hilltop where Paige had clasped my hand moments before, a horde of men rushed up at me. They were clad in the somber gray uniforms of the Confederacy. As the sulfuric fog drifted across the rolling hilltops, other soldiers became visible atop an opposing knoll. A battery of cannons was at their fingertips, and they fired on my position. A dissonance of booming shots ricocheted across the sky, but the fog masked our location. The strategic thought was odd, something I shouldn’t have known. The hard metal of the great cannon lay beneath my hand, but it was no longer cold. In fact, its heat weaved through my thick glove as it blazed to life. It rocked back on its haunches and roared like thunder. I was nearly bowled over, ducking in time as it sprang to life. My ears rattled as the fuse sputtered and died, its mission accomplished. I dipped the long-handled sponge into the putrid bucket at my feet, waiting for the others to manhandle the weapon back into place and worm out the barrel. When they finished, I hefted the sponge-rammer up to the muzzle and stuffed the dripping end down the barrel of the gun. I swept large flakes and black powder out of the steaming opening as the cannoniers readied the gunpowder and a twelve-pounder. Stepping back, I tapped my foot while the first man inserted the powder. I spun the long-handled rammer like a staff and stuffed the powder into the chamber with the other end. Carl dropped the large shell down the gun’s gullet, and I rammed it home. I worked without thought, doing as I’d been trained. As I finished, I noticed my cuffs. They were like the uniformed soldiers’ around me, Union blue. At least I know what side I’m on. We dropped out of sight, and the corporal cleared the vent and lit the fuse. Carl yelled, “Play ‘em some chin music, Jack! Give ‘em hell.” “Old scratch is waitin’ for ‘em,” I shouted back with gusto, unsure of the meaning of my words. However, I got the gist.“Hell yeah, Able! That’s right,” hooted Corporal Jack as he stepped back from the cannon.The adrenaline coursing through Able’s body was contagious. The words felt right amidst the hail of bullets and gun smoke encircling the group. The boast had been all I could muster through the acrid fog. I wiped away the sweat on my brow with a blackened sleeve and put it to my lips to filter the ash from the air. It wasn’t much better.Bullets whizzed by as the Blakely roared, answering the cannons on the opposing hill. I ducked down beside its large wheel as it leapt back another foot, digging deep troughs into the mossy battlefield. It stopped once its claws found purchase. Peering through the large spokes, I watched as the gun’s mouth belched huge clouds of smoke. It collected over the summit, adding to an already dismal field. The cannonball soared through the clouds and fell amongst the roving group of Confederates below. It scattered a large cluster of men where it struck, bouncing through the ranks and flipping end over end, up the opposing slope. It left a bloody trail of bodies in its wake, dismembering everyone in its path. As the clouds gathered, they blocked the hillside from view. I could see little beyond my outstretched hand and the men around me. Time slowed to a crawl. How can these men stand tall, in full view of the oncoming army, without fear? They looked like a monument to the men of this land and what they fought for. The image etched itself into my mind. They were all perched in position, watching the devastation their weapon wrought on the defenseless men below. The cannon’s discharge spared only one man as it leapt over his head. The infantryman paused, expecting each second to be his last as his gaze followed the unpredictable shell in an arc over and past him. He turned in place, the shock and disbelief evident even at a distance as his comrades were torn to ribbons. The three of us grabbed the cannon’s frame and hoisted it back into place. We repeated the reloading process and ducked back in wait. I tried to still my hands as the fuse burnt down, but my nervousness could not be quelled. I scanned the long barrel, but was unable to read the words that had been stamped into it. Something had adorned it earlier in its life, a maker’s mark, but it must have been lost over the years. The Blakely spoke again, and I cheered the cannon on, leaping from my position to fulfill my duty. The others beat me to it, so I grabbed the wheel in my hands. Fighting the sweat and ash covering my gloves, I used every muscle to force the wheel back into its rut. Carl had the other in his hands and was doing the same. The effort of his exertions streamed down his face. Rivers of sweat waged their own war with his ash-coated cheeks. Once the cannon was level, I snatched my rammer from the ground and rose up, but a heavy weight slammed into my shoulder. I looked down in shock as my jacket was sullied. Pain flared in my shoulder, and a dark splotch spread from a small tear in the fabric. I gazed at the wound in silence, unable to give my emotions voice. Another projectile doubled me over and stole my breath. A stream of blood leaked onto the ground. I turned to the edge of the summit and watched as the first line of gray-coated infantry rose to meet us. Having weathered the storm and rushed over the hill, they had evidently sighted our position and charged. One paused atop the ridge and took aim. His rifle was leveled on my bent form when a surprising thought occurred to me. Is that Higgins? The familiarity of this soldier’s childhood friend flashed before my eyes––memories of them playing in the yard and at school.Before my train of thought could continue, the rifle hammer flashed. The bullet sent me flying into the mud, behind my comrades and the Blakely. My neck and chest erupted in invisible flames as my friends fought to maintain our position. Wheezing for breath, my eyes settled on someone lying next to me. He hadn’t shaved in a fortnight, and his coat lay open to the elements, its edge fluttering in the damp morning breeze. The emblem of my battalion was stitched across his shoulder, two crossed cannons on a yellow background. He didn’t speak or move, but I knew his name: Todd. He had gone down earlier that morning. His sightless gaze was hollow, and his eyes had lost their luster, along with his hearty sense of humor. Just last night we huddled around the campfire telling stories of our families and sharing the new supply of brandy. Able’s memories streamed through my mind, enlightening me on his life. Now, Todd lay inert with grim determination cemented on his face, as though he would wear his boots into the afterlife. Other men fell around us in a haze of gray. Jack fought off the few remaining Confederates that made it over the hill while Carl and the rest of the dwindling gun crew pushed against the butt of the cannon, attempting to force it into place for one last shot at the charging soldiers. The lull in the oncoming forces was their final chance.Summoning the remainder of my strength, I hoisted myself from the muddy ground. Pain coursed through my body with the motion, but I was determined not to fall while there was an ounce of strength left in me. With a grunt, I stumbled over to the Blakely and helped shove it into the rut. It settled in place. Davy grasped the lever as Jack shouted orders. The cannon’s muzzle lowered to face the next wave of gray. I lifted my rammer from the ground and cleared the bore with my off hand, the only one willing to cooperate. Two more men shoved grapeshot down its throat and any metal they could scrounge from the bucket. Death breathed down our necks, and Jack pulled the firing pin. A dreadful whistle picked up overhead like a steam locomotive bearing down. There was a resounding crash as the Blakely fired an instant before the enemy’s iron sphere smashed into it. The carriage disintegrated under the force of the impact. The artillery and its mangled limber leapt at me in a jumbled mess of wood and iron. The shattered wheel spokes and carriage axle forced me to the ground. After a staggered breath, I let out a strangled scream as the cannon toppled, pinning me beneath. Under the weight of the great gun, I fought a losing battle for air. “Medic!” I tried to shout, but I felt like a trout gasping under a fisherman’s foot. I tried to force the heap of metal off me, but to no avail. As my pain and muffled gasps dwindled to nothing, the sounds of chaos were replaced with silence.
* * *
I blinked my eyes in the canned light of the museum and reality settled into place. The cannon’s cold barrel lay beneath my hand. I stared at the old gun in disbelief. Its restored condition was not at all what I’d seen. Having outgrown its usefulness, it stood as a testament to what Able had died for. I circled the large weapon and ran my hands along its pitted skin as though it were a long lost friend. Its wheel had been fixed, but still stood out from the one on the opposing side. The older wheel was dark and stained.“Wow, this was really used!” commented Paige.“I know,” I whispered, replaying Able’s death in my mind. I was transfixed by the sight. Tearing my gaze from the gleaming Blakely, I strode over to Paige and looked at the passage printed under the heading: The Last Stand of the Cherished Blakely. Printed at the bottom, under transparent plastic, were the names of the final cannoniers to man the great gun. Private Able Thomas was among them. Private Carl Asburger was the only one to live through the battle, or so the summary said. I slid my thumb over the familiar names and a tear slid down my face. “The Union soldiers recovered the gun and used it on the Confederates.” Paige caught sight of me and asked, “What is it? What happened?” I shook my head and turned away from the catalog of dead men I had come to know so briefly, yet so well. The list in my head was growing and I couldn’t bear to look Paige in the eye. I knew she would see through the crack in my armor. What I was feeling was more painful than the drunk’s awkward beatings could ever inflict. Seeing a host of pictures lining the walls opposite us, I stepped over and perused the black and white photos. I cast my eyes well above the plaques describing the pictures. I already knew too many of them, too well. What I’d seen could fill a book. It would be more than enough to fulfill Mr. Broaderick’s expectations. I scanned the pictures lining the wall and felt a tender hand slip into mine. Her concern was comforting. “See anything good?” “Nah, nothing much.”We meandered along the wall and into the museum. We passed the clear plastic donation box and continued into the dimly lit room. The walls were carpeted to match the floor and track lighting crisscrossed above us, spotlighting artifacts of interest. Others walked through the large room, inspecting each picture, weapon, uniform, and machine with a few muttered words. It was as though we had walked into a shrine. The need to pay homage to those that died began to rise within me. The museum was like a resting place for lost souls, too many to count. The air around us was thick. Goosebumps rose on my skin and with the remnants of the death I’d experienced fresh in my mind, the pull of the enshrined objects drew me forth. I stepped up to a Confederate uniform like those worn by the infantrymen assaulting the hill. I was careful not to get too close and Paige followed suit, her hand clenched in mine. Unlike those in my dream, this uniform was clean and frayed from age. The cuffs were unraveling, but the collar was yellow with wear. The hat lounged on its stand, sinking in upon itself. Its color had hardly faded over the years. Moving on, we stepped over to a row of small cannons. Each had rusted over time and a few suffered from corrosion. The tag advertised them as 12 pound Napoleons found on the battlefield.I stuffed my free hand into my pocket, and we drifted by. The rest of the museum was packed full of artifacts, weapons, and pictures of men who fought in the war. Toward the end of the room, we came across a large Plexiglas box. In it were hundreds of spent musket bullets and rifle shells. The bullets were clean, but deformed from when they had crumpled on impact. The label said, Souvenirs, Please take one. I looked nervously at Paige.“I doubt they’re real,” she answered with a shrug.I knew better, but a morbid curiosity tugged at me. Glancing back at the transparent box, I lifted my hand and poked through the spent shells. One odd bullet caught my eye. Impact had bent it into a horseshoe. I wondered what stories it held and slid two wary fingers over it. A touch was all it took for the smell to find me like a nostalgic dream.
* * *
I slid into another uncontrollable dream that resembled hell more than anything I knew from real life. Leaves rustled in the trees overhead, but I didn’t stop to listen. I rushed out of the forest, bayonet extended. A line of Union soldiers appeared a few yards away, kneeling with muskets leveled. Another line of men stood behind them, reloading. The uniformed boy ahead stumbled onto them first. Even the soot covering his face couldn’t hide his youthful shock. “FIRE!” cried a voice from behind the infantry. The troops vanished in a gray fog as muskets answered the corporal’s shout. Two projectiles thumped into me while my comrades pushed forward. My hip exploded and spots dotted my vision. I stumbled, fell to my knees, then slumped to the ground with the butt of my musket propped in the muddy field. I tried to pull myself up, but a heavy boot slammed into my back, then another, and another. My fellow soldiers pushed forward, trying to overwhelm the Union line. It was too much. With the added weight, my face slammed into the tilled earth and the musket fell from my hand. “Good bye, my darlin’… Alice. Take care of William.” The words drifted through my clotted beard and disappeared in a roar of shouts and gunfire.
* * *
Blessed darkness soon drifted in, muting the battle around me. But instead of returning home to Paige and the museum, I was cast into a second dream and the thoughts of another man.
* * *
Out of sight from the earlier skirmish, I looked out upon a defensive line of Confederate soldiers. My blade stood perched in the air as charging cavalry sped toward us. I swept the blade down, shouting, “Fire!”The world erupted in a cacophony of musket blasts and acrid smoke. Through the roiling waves of currents, I watched horses and riders tumble to the ground, plowing the field with their bodies, yet more emerged through the clouds. “Reload!” I commanded. Their counterparts stood up over the spent line and unloaded their rounds into the approaching cavalry. At ten yards, their aim was perfect and more riders were cast to the ground. But momentum carried the horses on, closing the distance to our line.“Fix bayonets!” The words echoed off my lips, but I knew it was too late. The charge plunged horses and riders into my line of infantry and trampled the men under hoof. One in three had fixed his bayonet and thrust it at the Confederates with thoughts of survival and death gleaming in their eyes. The blades lunged for rider or horse, whichever was closest. Cavalry swords swept down from above, dismembering and decapitating my men with vigor. I watched the gruesome massacre, speechless and incapable of saving their lives. The death riders pushed through to the second rank, which leapt at the cavalry with blood on their hands. They overwhelmed the riders and pulled them to the ground, only to become pincushions themselves. Preoccupied by the sight, a second wave of cavalry had fallen on us unseen. They picked off the remaining soldiers in the first rank and broke the second line. The group of mounted soldiers pushed through the ranks and destroyed any chance of survival. I laid waste to the first man with my pistol, but others bore down on me. My sword jumped to meet the approaching horseman, and steel rang as our weapons met, but momentum carried him past. I ducked the next flailing sword, spun, and grabbed him from behind. My grip threw him to the ground. Without thought, I plunged my sword tip through his shoulder blades. His body tensed, then settled to the ground. I pulled the blade free and spun to face my next opponent, but was too late. His horse leapt over a huddled mass of men, and his blade grazed my shoulder, slicing through golden tassels like a knife through butter. He continued toward other targets and left me behind. Too close… too close. I huddled low, knees bent at the sight of two more raging cavalrymen. They approached in tandem. I fought the urge to flee and instead gripped my sword in two sweaty hands. I focused on the cold steel perched high at my side like a baseball bat and clutched it tighter, as though it were the only thing holding me there. The riders charged. I forced down the growing turmoil in the pit of my stomach and waited for them to come when a thunderous blow rang through my knee. It bent to the side. I ignored the pain and waited for the oncoming men. A second blow struck my lower back. On instinct, I sprung erect as the shot found its way deeper. The action was my last. The cavalry flew down on me. One sword swept past, gouging my back as the other crisscrossed and severed neck from shoulders. Unable to feel the subtlest of sensations, I watched as the world spun and settled on its side. The chaos of battle swept by. Pounding hoof beats jostled me on the ground, and dust flew into my eyes, but I could no more wipe it away than heft a mountain. Through this immovable sight, I watched my headless body slump to the ground a few feet away. My final minutes were consumed with the massacre of my squad. I knew the cost of my delayed orders, and the shame of it condemned me. Eventually, the glassy shadow of the reaper’s touch stilled my eyes.
* * *
My God! Will this ever stop? My thoughts echoed through the silence. It was becoming harder to distinguish who I was. My own short life was a distant memory to the scenes I was reliving. Other deaths passed by, too fleeting to remember, but their echoes remained. Failed romances and snippets of loved ones appeared unbidden and a longing infused my soul for what would never come again. Women whispered my name… his name… into my ears, and the lips that spoke flickered, altering with each woman until they finally settled on one.
* * *
“Stanley, I love you,” whispered the alluring beauty seated next to me on the park bench. The dusk light peeked over the remaining tree line, illuminating her golden curls in a faint halo. Her deep brown eyes were pools, beckoning me forward. I leaned in and kissed her tender lips, cradling her narrow chin between thumb and forefinger. While my stare lingered in her loving gaze, her pools ran over. Her cheeks drooped, following the stream of tears. Her olive skin mixed with the salty water like mottled paint, its colors swirling until her face became distorted and imperceptible. Other images flashed before me, but disappeared in the same indistinct fashion.Silvy, I’m sorry I won’t make it home. I had to do it, though. Take care of John and see that he learns to fish proper, like I would’ve shown him. He’s a strapping young lad, and I’m sure he’ll become the man we hoped. I’ll always love you. The thoughts slowed as my mind succumbed to death’s numbing touch, freezing each membrane in passing seconds.
* * *
Differentiating between the soldiers’ lives and my own became almost impossible, but a firm squeeze of my hand brought me home. Darkness enveloped me and left Stanley’s thoughts to drone into oblivion. I opened my eyes and watched my hand fall from the plastic box. Spent bullets scattered across the floor as I plummeted to the ground. The impact knocked me out, and all I saw was black. Vague wisps brushed against my skin and the slightest of touches caressed my back, as though trying to push me up. Ghostly voices carried as though on nonexistent winds. Men, women, and children whispered in a multitude of voices.“It’s not your time,” they murmured, “No, not your time,” “There is much to do,” “Carry on, don’t give up.” Then, a familiar Corporal’s voice added, “Ain’t your time. Ol’ Scratch ain’t ready for ya yet, boyo. Get up on them feet.” The voices disappeared as quickly as they’d come and were replaced by Paige’s concerned questions. A security guard knelt next to her, their hands pressed against my back. When my eyes fluttered to life, they sat me up on the floor.
To read more about Alex’s efforts to both survive and help those long dead find justice, both books are currently on sale for .99 cents.
A Life of Death can be found on:
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The Golden Bulls, Book 2 in the collection, can be found here:
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Happy reading!

Guest Blog and Giveaway: The Loving Husband Trilogy by Meredith Allard

What is a vampire?
On the surface, it’s an unnecessary question since, with Twilight and True Blood all the rage, everyone seems to have a keen sense of the undead. Yet that’s one question writers of vampire stories must contend with, and it’s one question I had never considered.
I had never thought much about vampires. I was never into the paranormal genre, the main reason being I’m not a fan of horror. I’m not a fan of violence, real or pretend, and since vampires have traditionally represented violence, I didn’t care to know them. I won’t go into the story about how one of my students gave me Twilightto read here. Suffice it to say, I liked what I read enough to begin seeking out other vampire stories. I eventually found my way to Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and Anne Rice’s Interview With the Vampire, and Charlaine Harris’s Southern Vampiresseries. The more vampire books I read the more I realized that there was no one way to describe a vampire. The question of ‘What is a vampire?’ is answered differently according to what authors want or need from their preternatural characters. What a grand revelation as I embarked on my own vampire stories.
I had a decision to make. Would I go the more traditional route and keep my vamplings asleep during the day, unable to go out in the sun, or would I take the more modern route of sunbeams and sparkles? In the beginning, I had no idea. I hopped on the computer (God bless the Internet) and searched vampire folklore to see how the undead have been traditionally defined. I was fascinated by what I found. Turns out that vampire legends have abounded for as long as there have been people to tell them, long before vampire stories were ever published. Who knew? There are vampire legends from all over the world, and while there are cultural differences, there were more than a few commonalities, and this is what I focused on—the commonalities. 
So what is a vampire to me? How did I craft James’s vampire nature?
I tended to stay along more traditional lines in the Loving Husband Trilogy. One similarity between almost all vampire legends is that they’re nocturnal creatures. James is as well, sleeping during the day and living at night. He drinks blood. Now, how he choses to drink blood differs from other vampires, but let’s say that he does drink human blood. Their human bodies die as they are transformed (by the bite of another vampire) into a preternatural, immortal being. Again, pretty traditional. As to garlic and silver, well, I don’t know what to say about that. It’s true that traditionally (especially in the Slavic cultures) those are considered supreme weapons against the undead, but it seems to me that if you can live forever a little plant bulb or metal won’t harm you much. But that’s just me.
Part of the fun of writing in the paranormal genre is the ability to create your fantasy creatures however you want. If you want your vampire sitting on the sofa in broad daylight eating pizza (as Aidan does in the BBC series Being Human), then do it. There is no right way to create a vampire. As long as authors believe that the world they’re describing is true, then readers will follow. What is a vampire? The fun part is, as authors we get to decide for ourselves.
The Loving Husband TrilogyBox Set- All Three BooksMeredith Allard
Genre: paranormal romance
Publisher: Copperfield PressDate of Publication: 6/10/14
Number of pages: 782Word Count: 265,000
Cover Artist: LFD Designs
Book Description:
Meredith Allard’s beloved best selling paranormal/historical Loving Husband Trilogy is now available together for the first time, with bonus material about the series. The collection includes the full texts of Her Dear & Loving Husband, Her Loving Husband’s Curse, and Her Loving Husband’s Return, plus a Q&A with Meredith Allard, series inspirations, and discussion questions. The Loving Husband Trilogy Box Set will please the most devoted James and Sarah Wentworth fans as well as fans new to the series.
Book One: Her Dear & Loving Husband
James Wentworth has a secret. He lives quietly in Salem, Massachusetts, making few ties with anyone. One night his private world is turned upside down when he meets Sarah Alexander, a dead ringer for his wife, Elizabeth. Though it has been years since Elizabeth's death, James cannot move on. 
Sarah also has a secret. She is haunted by nightmares about the Salem Witch Trials, and every night she is awakened by visions of hangings, being arrested, and dying in jail. Despite the obstacles of their secrets, James and Sarah fall in love. As James comes to terms with his feelings for Sarah, he must dodge accusations from a reporter desperate to prove that James is not who, or what, he seems to be. Soon James and Sarah piece their stories together and discover a mystery that may bind them in ways they never imagined. Do vampires and witches live in Salem? Will James make the ultimate sacrifice to protect Sarah and prevent a new hunt from bringing hysteria to Salem again? 
Book Two: Her Loving Husband’s Curse
How far will you go to protect the one you love?
Finally, after many long and lonely years, vampire James Wentworth's life is falling into place. Together with his wife, Sarah, the only woman he has ever loved, he has found the meaning behind her nightmares about the Salem Witch Trials, and now they are rebuilding the life they began together so long ago.
But the past is never far behind for the Wentworths. While Sarah is haunted by new visions, now about the baby she carried over three hundred years before, James is confronted with painful memories from his time with the Cherokee on the Trail of Tears. Through it all, the persistent reporter Kenneth Hempel reappears, still determined to prove that the undead walk the earth. If Hempel succeeds in his quest, James and Sarah will suffer. Will the curse of the vampire prevent James and Sarah from living their happily ever after?
Book Three: Her Loving Husband’s Return
What would you do to return to the only one you have ever loved?
Vampire James Wentworth’s secret is no longer a secret, and now he and his beloved wife, Sarah, have been separated. While suffering his own internment, James is reminded of his time with Japanese-Americans in the Manzanar Relocation Camp during World War II, and he cannot allow the past to repeat itself. With the help of his friends—Chandresh, Jocelyn, Timothy, even the irreverent Geoffrey—James learns what it means to return, and he is determined to return to his Sarah no matter the challenges—or the consequences. In the end, it may be up to Olivia, the most powerful of witches, to grant James’s most fervent wish. Will James and Sarah be reunited once and for all despite the madness surrounding them?Excerpt from Book OnePROLOGUEI am looking lovingly into the eyes of a man, though I cannot see his face because it is featureless, like a blank slate. We are standing in front of a wooden house with narrow clapboards, and there are diamond-paned casement windows and a steep pitched roof with two gables pointing at the laughing, hidden moon. I am certain I hear someone singing sweet nothings to us from the sky. From the light of the few jewel stars I can see the halo of his hair, like the halo of an angel, and even if I cannot see his eyes I know they look at me, into me. I stand on my toes, he is much taller than me, and I point up my face and he kisses me. As the warmth of his lips melts into mine, making me weak from the inside out, I feel my knees give from the thrilling lightness his touch brings. I know the face I cannot see is beautiful, like the lips I feel. His hands press me into him, clutching me closer, closer, unwilling to let me go. I grip him with equal strength, wishing he would carry me inside, yet I cannot bring myself to break our embrace.“I shall never leave you ever,” he whispers in my ear. I promise him the same.I do not know how I have been so fortunate to have this man in my life, but here he is, before me, wanting me. I am overcome with the joy of him.

CHAPTER 1Sarah Alexander didn’t know what was waiting for her in Salem, Massachusetts. She had moved there to escape the smog and the smugness of Los Angeles, craving the dulcet tones of a small town, seeking a less complicated life. Her first hint of the supernatural world came the day she moved into her rented brick house near the historic part of town, close to the museums about the witch trial days, not far from the easy, wind-blown bay. As the heavy-set men hauled her furniture inside, her landlady leaned close and told her to beware.“If you hear sounds in the night it’s ghosts,” the landlady whispered, glancing around to be sure no one, human or shadow, could hear. “The spirits of the innocent victims of the witch hunts still haunt us. I can feel them stirring now. God rest them.”Sarah didn’t know what to say. She had never been warned about ghosts before. The landlady peered at her, squinting to see her better.“You’re a pretty girl,” the old woman said. “Such dark curls you have.” She still spoke as if she were telling a secret, and Sarah had to strain to hear. “You’re from California?”“I moved there after I got married,” Sarah said.“Where’s your husband?”“I’m divorced now.”“And your family is here?”“In Boston. I wanted to live close to my family, but I didn’t want to move back to the city. I’ve always wanted to visit Salem, so I thought I’d live here awhile.”The landlady nodded. “Boston,” she said. “Some victims of the witch trials were jailed in Boston.”The landlady was so bent and weak looking, her fragile face lined like tree rings, that Sarah thought the old woman had experienced the hysteria in Salem during the seventeenth century. But that was silly, Sarah reminded herself. The Salem Witch Trials happened over three hundred years ago. There was no one alive now who had experienced that terror first hand. Sarah wanted to tell the landlady how she believed she had an ancestor who died as a victim of the witch hunts, but she didn’t say anything then.“Yes, they’re here,” the landlady said, staring with time-faded eyes at the air above their heads, as if she saw something no one else could see. “Beware, Sarah. The ghosts are here. And they always come out at night.”The landlady shook as if she were cold, though it was early autumn and summer humidity still flushed the air. When Sarah put her arm around the old woman to comfort her, she felt her skin spark like static. She rubbed her hands together, feeling the numbness even after the old woman pulled away.“It’s all right,” Sarah said. “I won’t be frightened by paranormal beings. I don’t believe in ghosts.”The landlady laughed. “Salem may cure you of that.”For a moment Sarah wondered if she made a mistake moving there, but she decided she wouldn’t let a superstitious old woman scare her away. She thought about her new job in the library at Salem State College—Humanities I liaison, go-to person for English studies, well worth the move across the country. She saw the tree-lined, old-fashioned neighborhood and the comforting sky. She heard the lull of bird songs and the distant whisper of the sea kissing the shore. She felt a rising tranquility, like the tide of the ocean waves at noon, wash over her. It was a contentment she had never known before, not in Boston, never in Los Angeles. She was fascinated by Salem, looking forward to knowing it better, certain she was exactly where she needed to be, whatever may come.Sarah’s first days in the library were hectic since it was the start of an autumn term. She spent her shifts on the main floor, an open, industrial-style space of bright lights, overhead beams, and windows that let in white from the sun and green from the trees abundant everywhere on campus. Across from the librarians’s desk, a combined circulation and reference area, was a lounge of comfortable chairs in soothing grays and blues where some students socialized using their inside voices while others stalked like eagle-eyed hunters, searching the stacks or the databases.By Wednesday afternoon, as she saw the short-tempered rain clouds march across the Salem sky, Sarah thought she would have to buy a car soon. After driving and dodging in nail-biting Los Angeles traffic for ten years, she liked the freedom of walking the quiet roads from home to work, watching in wonder as the leaves turned from summer green to an autumn fade of red, rust, and gold. But she had been living in the sunshine on the west coast for ten years, and she had forgotten about the sudden anger of New England thunderstorms. They could appear just like that, a crack of noise overhead, then a gray flannel blanket covered the sky as fast as you could blink your eyes, water splashing all around, wetting you when you did not want to be wet, and she was caught unprepared. She held out her hand and shook her head when she felt the drops splash her palm. Jennifer Mandel’s voice sang out behind her.“Need a lift?”“Please.”Sarah wiped her palm on her skirt, grateful once again for Jennifer’s assistance. Jennifer had been the head librarian at the college for five years, and she had taken Sarah under her wing, showing her where everything was, introducing her to the rest of the staff, answering her questions. There was something almost odd about Jennifer’s intuition—she always seemed to know when Sarah needed her, like a clairvoyant magic trick. They sprinted to the parking lot, trying to avoid the sudden splats of rain soaking their thin blouses through, and they clambered into Jennifer’s white Toyota, laughing like schoolgirls jumping in puddles. Jennifer drove the curve around Loring Avenue to Lafayette Street, the main road to and from the college.“Where were you before you came here?” Jennifer asked. “You’re obviously not used to the rain.”“I worked at UCLA.”“A small town like Salem must seem dreary after living in the big city.”Sarah looked at Jennifer, saw the compassion in her eyes, the understanding smile, so she said just enough to make herself understood. “I’m recently divorced.”Jennifer held up her hand. “You don’t need to explain. I have two ex-husbands myself.”They drove quietly, letting the sound of the car’s accelerator and the rain tapping the windshield fill the space. As Sarah watched the small-town scene drift past, she thought it might not be so bad to drive in Salem. Everything back east, the roads, the shops, the homes, was built on an old-time scale, narrower and smaller than they were out west. But here people slowed when you wanted to merge into their lane and they stopped at stop signs, so different from L.A. where they’d run you over sooner than let you pass.“Why don’t you come over tomorrow night?” Jennifer asked. “We’re having a get-together at my mother’s shop.” She leaned closer to Sarah and whispered though they were alone in the car. “I should probably tell you, and I’ll understand if you think this is too weird, but my mother and I are witches.”Sarah studied Jennifer, her hazel eyes, her long auburn hair, her friendly smile. “You don’t look like a witch,” she said.“You mean the kind with black hair and a nose wart? The kind that fly around on broomsticks? Not that kind of witch.”“You mean you’re Wiccan?”“Yes, I practice the Wiccan religion, among other things. I’m the high priestess of my coven. I’m also licensed to perform weddings here in Massachusetts, in case you ever need someone to preside over a wedding for you.”Sarah laughed. “I just got divorced. I won’t be getting married again any time soon.” She paused to watch the drizzle slip and slide on the windows. “I’m surprised there really are witches in Salem.”“Ironic, isn’t it? The city known for hanging witches is now a haven for mystics.” Jennifer shook her head, her expression tight. “Is this too much information? I don’t usually tell someone a few days after I’ve met her that I’m Wiccan, but you have a positive energy. You don’t seem like someone who’s going to assume I’m a Satanist who loves human sacrifices.”“I don’t mind. I’m just surprised. I’ve never known a witch before.”“There are all sorts of interesting people you could meet around here.” Jennifer nudged Sarah with her elbow. “So will you come tomorrow night?”“I don’t know, Jennifer.”“You don’t need to participate in the rituals. Come make some friends. I think you’ll like the other witches in my coven. They’re good people.”A Wiccan ceremony did sound odd, Sarah thought, but she had always been fascinated by different religions and cultures. Librarians had to keep learning—a healthy curiosity was a job necessity. And it would be nice to know some people in Salem, even if they were witches.As they continued down Lafayette Street, Sarah saw the sign for Pioneer Village and she added it to her mental to-do list. “I haven’t had a chance to see much of this part of town since I’ve been here,” she said.“How about a quick tour then?”“What about the rain?”Jennifer turned right down Derby Street. “I’ve lived here my whole life. A little water doesn’t bother me.”Jennifer drove down one tree-lined street, then down another street, and another until Sarah didn’t know where she was. Though Witch City was small, Sarah was still learning her way around. She tried to gauge her surroundings and saw the tall, white lines of the Peabody-Essex Museum, then further down was the Hawthorne Hotel. Past that was the brick, colonial-looking Salem Maritime National Historic Site. As she watched the history flip past, like a stack of photographs from time gone by, she noticed a house she thought she knew though she was sure she hadn’t been down that way before. The one that caught her attention had wooden clapboards, diamond-paned casement windows, and two gables on the roof. It was old, though it didn’t seem to be a museum as the other old buildings were.“What is that house?” she asked. “It looks familiar.”“James Wentworth lives there.”“Do you know him?”Jennifer’s answer was stilted, as if she considered each word, weighed it, measured it, decided yes or no about it, before she let it drop from her lips. “He teaches at the college. He—his family—has owned this house for generations. It’s over three hundred years old, one of the oldest standing homes in Salem.”Jennifer slowed the car so they could get a better look as she drove past. “Does it still look familiar?” she asked.“Yes. Even that crooked oak tree in front seems right. I can picture the man I dream about standing in front there kissing me.”“What dreams?” Jennifer gripped the steering wheel more tightly and her eyes brightened. “My mother’s friend Martha is great at dream interpretation. She’s done a world of good for me.” She winked at Sarah. “And you dream about a man? Is he a good looking man?”Sarah pulled her arms around her chest, wishing she could take back her casual reference, afraid she had already said too much.“Do you have a lot of dreams?”“Yes,” Sarah said. But that was all she could manage. When Jennifer had waited long enough and Sarah had to offer something more, all she could say was, “It’s not a big deal. I just thought I knew the house from somewhere.”“A lot of houses around here look the same,” Jennifer said.Sarah looked at the houses, the tall, Federal-style ones, the Victorian ones, the brick ones, the modern-looking ones. Suddenly, as they drove around the green of Salem Common, the rain cleared, the sun brightened, and the clouds flittered away across the bay.“That must be it,” she said.She lowered the car window so she could smell the wet air. Though she missed the rain when she lived in Los Angeles, at that moment she was glad to see the serene blue reflection of the northeastern sky again.
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
About the Author:
Meredith Allard is the author of the best-selling novels The Loving Husband Trilogy, Victory Garden, Woman of Stones, and My Brother’s Battle (Copperfield Press). She received her B.A. and M.A. degrees in English from California State University, Northridge. She has taught writing to students aged ten to sixty, and she has taught creative writing and writing historical fiction seminars at Learning Tree University, UNLV, and the Las Vegas Writers Conference. She lives in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Website: www.meredithallard.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormeredithallard
Twitter: www.twitter.com/copperfield101
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4866638.Meredith_Allard



July 7 Guest blogMythical Bookshttp://www.mythicalbooks.blogspot.ro/
July 7 SpotlightRoxanne’s Realmwww.roxannerhoads.com
July 8 InterviewParanormal Romance Fans for Lifewww.paranormalromancefanforlife.blogspot.com
July 9 Guest blog (review later)Fang Freakin' Tastic Reviewshttp://fangfreakintasticreviews.com
July 10 Spotlight3 Partners in Shopping, Nana, Mommy, & Sissy, Too! http://3partnersinshopping.blogspot.com 
July 11 Guest blogFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com
July 14 SpotlightBooks Directhttp://booksdirectonline.blogspot.com.au/
July 15 SpotlightBuried Under Bookshttp://www.buriedunderbooks.com
July 16 InterviewAngel’s Guilty Pleasureshttp://angelsguiltypleasures.com
July 17 Top Ten ListDarkest Cravingswww.darkestcravings.blogspot.com
July 18 SpotlightBlack Lilac Kitty blacklilackitty.wordpress.com/
July 21 SpotlightThe Creatively Green Write at Home Momwww.creativelygreen.blogspot.com
July 21 ReviewMom With A Kindlehttp://momwithakindle.blogspot.com/

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Spotlight and Giveaway with Rachel Carrington

Connecting StrangersDiscovering Emily SeriesBook 1Rachel Carrington
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Date of Publication: July 21, 2014
ISBN:ASIN:Word Count: ~67,000
Cover Artist: Elaina Lee of For the Muse Designs
Book Description:
Getting close is dangerous…
He’s too close, and I start to fidget, needing to keep my hands busy so they won’t grab hold of his shirt. Because that’s what they want to do. Draw him closer. So I can Inhale his scent. Taste his skin.
I didn’t run because I was in an abusive relationship; I ran because my soul was being crushed. I’d forgotten how to live, how to be happy. Running out of gas in a small town, I catch the eye of the local sheriff when the very last thing I want is to come under the scrutiny of the police. I left my boyfriend with blood on my hands, and I know as soon as the wound heals he’ll come looking for me.
Adam Madison draws me to him so easily I can’t even pretend to fight. And the closer we get, the more combustible we become.  I’ve never experienced such passion or power. My need is as great as his, but I’m sure he’ll walk away from me once he knows my secret. No other man would stay.

I’ve had enough complications in my life. I’m not looking for more, and that’s exactly what Adam is—a sexy, magnetic complication with secrets of his own. And with my ex on the hunt, I can’t risk bringing him down with me. But he won’t leave…even when vengeance could kill us both.
About the Author:
I started writing years ago, and my first attempt was a contemporary romance that will never see the light of day. I think I may even have thrown it away by now. It was absolutely horrific as I knew nothing about well…anything to do with writing.After that, I started writing fantasy romances about wizards and wizards, and once those took off, I segued to paranormal romances (hello, vampires and ghosts) and romantic suspense.
I also write articles for various magazines, including The Writer’s Journal, Writer’s Magazine, Writer’s Weekly, Writing for Dollars, Absolute Write, Freelance Writing.com, and Funds for Writers.
I’m fortunate to make my home in historical Charleston, South Carolina. Beautiful city. Beautiful people. When I’m not writing, I love to read, watch Bones, Castle, Blue Bloods, and Hawaii Five-O, create videos, keep Target in business, play visitor in my city, and drink lots of coffee.
My website: http://www.rachelcarrington.com
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/rcarrington2004
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorrachelcarrington
Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/rcarrington2004
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/rcarrington2004
Wattpad: http://wattpad.com/RachelCarrington


June 23 Character InterviewEclipse Reviewshttp://totaleclipsereviews.blogspot.com/
June 23 SpotlightBook Liaison  http://www.bookliaison.net
June 24 SpotlightParanormal Book Club http://www.paranormal-bookclub.com
June 25 Spotlight3 Partners in Shopping, Nana, Mommy, & Sissy, Too!  http://3partnersinshopping.blogspot.com
June 26 SpotlightThe Tome Gnomehttp://tomegnomes.blogspot.com/
June 27 InterviewA Writer's Mindwww.skypuringtonwrites.blogspot.com
June 30 reviewMore Romance Pleasemoreromanceplease.blogspot.com
July 1 SpotlightDeal Sharing Auntwww.dealsharingaunt.blogspot.com
July 2 SpotlightSapphyria's Book Reviewshttp://saphsbookblog.blogspot.com/
July 3 Spotlight and reviewThe Book Reviewhttp://www.cluereview.blogspot.com
July 4 InterviewThe Creatively Green Write at Home Momwww.creativelygreen.blogspot.com
July 7 Guest blog and reviewDiaries of 2 Thick Chicks http://diariesof2thickchicks.blogspot.com/
July 8 Guest blogRoxanne’s Realmwww.roxannerhoads.com
July 9 SpotlightBlack Lilac Kittywww.blacklilackitty.wordpress.com
July 10 SpotlightFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com
July 11 Guest blog and reviewBarb Taubhttp://barbtaub.com
July 14 SpotlightWriting from Corsets to Bustiershttp://www.christinamcknight.com/
July 15 Spotlight and reviewQueen of the Night Reviews.http://queenofthenightreviews.blogspot.com
July 16 SpotlightKristy Centenohttp://booksbycenteno.com
July 17 SpotlightShare My Destinyhttp://sharemydestiny.blogspot.com
July 18 InterviewBooklover Sue http://bookloversue.blogspot.com
July 18 SpotlightLisa’s World of Bookswww.lisasworldofbooks.net
July 21 InterviewPembroke Sinclair.  www.pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com
July 21 Guest blogDarkest Cravingswww.darkestcravings.blogspot.com



Rachel would like to thank all of her sponsors for contributing prizes to her blog tour for Connecting Strangers.
For a complete list of participating authors and how to connect with them socially, please visit: http://www.rachelcarrington.com/blog/huge-shout-out-to-these-fabulous-authors

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Guest Blog and Giveaway: Shawndirea by Leonard D. Hilley II

Sometimes a writer’s muse will do unexpected things with a character or a storyline, but that’s a good thing.  Don’t ignore the gentle prodding.  Follow.  I give you two examples of how this has worked well for me.
First:
I’ve been asked if I use an outline when I write.  The answer is: “No.”
I don’t know why, but I’ve never been able to outline events well before they occur in my fiction.  When a great idea pops into my head, I immediately write it down.  That’s my writer instinct.  I may not know where the idea will lead, but I’m willing to follow.
That’s how the Darkness Series began.  In January 1996, when I laid down to go to sleep, the opening sentence came to me:  “Dropping a cat from the top of a ten story office building was not the best way to remain hidden, but it was necessary.”
I was intrigued.  I didn’t know where the story would go or why someone dropped the cat off the building, but I got up and wrote it down.  A few minutes later when I was trying to go to sleep, the next two paragraphs came to me.  So, again, I got up and wrote down the words.
The next day I sat at my computer and hammered out twenty pages in a few hours.  At the end of those pages, I found myself in a new dilemma.  I couldn’t add anything else to the storyline.  Anything I attempted to add didn’t fit, sounded too corny, or took away from the characters and the building plot.  I was stuck, and I didn’t know why.  I printed it out and set it in a box to work on later.
Two years later, during my final year at Morehead State University, I registered to take two creative writing classes in the coming fall.  During the summer I took out the twenty pages and thought I would see if any new ideas stirred to breathe life into this story.  Rereading the piece I realized something.  I didn’t have twenty pages of the novel.  What I had was the skeleton of a novel that needed depth, description, and more urgency to push the plot forward.
I took a yellow notepad and made a lot of notes.  When I was content with how I would flesh the book out, I sat at the computer and spent a week working and revising with the new ideas.  The last sentence of the original twenty pages now ended on page 100; but still, I couldn’t add anything else.  Frustrated, I set it aside.
Once the fall semester started, we met the new creative writing professor, Dr. Chris Offutt.  He stated that his class would be treated like a writer’s workshop, and on our designated days, we could bring in a short story or the chapter of a book we were working on to have the class evaluate it.  When my day came, I brought the first chapter (~32 pages) of Predators of Darkness: Aftermath in and gave each student a copy.  The next week they came back to critique and offer suggestions about what did/didn’t work.
After everyone in the class made their suggestions, the professor walked to the chalkboard.  He drew out a diagram on the board and said, “Leonard, you don’t have one chapter here.  What you have is five or six chapters.”  In a matter of minutes he mapped out five chapters.  I feverishly wrote down his suggestions.  The best part is that something clicked.  The fog lifted.  And I suddenly visualized my characters, their uniqueness, and their voices were audible in my head.
Eventually, Predators of Darkness: Aftermath grew into 340 pages, and there are four complete novels in the series.  Had I not written that sentence down, I do wonder if the series would have occurred.  After all, I didn’t have a plot or any characters.  All I had was the one sentence.  I never imagined the opening sentence would spawn four more novels afterwards (Yes, I’m working on the fifth book), which is why I suggest that writers follow their muse, carry notebooks, and don’t get chained to an outline.  If a character takes an unexpected turn into a dark alley, don’t stop him/her.  Follow.
Second:
A couple of years ago I published Devils Den.  Due to the characters in the fantasy realm of the novel, I thought that writing a novella backstory would be a good idea.  However, my muse had a much different idea.
The fantasy characters in Devils DenI’ve known—in my mind, at least—for more than twenty years.  The first novel I attempted was based on these characters, but the plot was too weak to develop, so I killed the story.  But the characters never died.  They didn’t speak a lot, but they were there in the back of my mind, maturing.
As I started the “Prequel” for Devils Den, something strange occurred.  The characters wanted their voices to be heard, and they weren’t shy about letting me know.  What I thought would be 40-50,000 words, came to life on a much larger scale.  Twenty years of maturing in my mind, the characters suddenly brought their world to life.  And thanks to Millard Pollitt, who drew an outstanding map of the realm, so many places can be explored.  The plotlines are endless.
The new novel is a 148,000 word epic fantasy novel (Name and cover soon to be announced). Since the events in this novel are twenty years prior to Devils Den, and so much occurs between the two, the new book has become the first book in its own series.
So, you see, my muse took me in a different direction and definitely farther than the novella I had planned.  Most often my muse knows more than I do, so I follow, take notes, and I write down what I hear and see.  If there’s a better formula than that, I don’t know it.
Shawndirea34 songs, 2.5 hours, 292 MB
This is the soundtrack that I used a majority of the time while writing Shawndirea.Leonard D. Hilley II




Name Time Album Artist 1 Dusk Of A Northern Kingdom 4:35 The Witcher Adam Skorupa 2 Breton Medley 3:35 Dark Age Of Camelot Cheryl Ann Fulton 3 Spanish Point 4:10 Dark Age Of Camelot Declan Masterson 4 Star Of The County Down 3:07 Dark Age Of Camelot Henson Conant, Deborah 5 Earth 3:59 Assassin's Creed 2 (Original Gam… Jesper Kyd 6 Venice Rooftops 3:18 Assassin's Creed 2 (Original Gam… Jesper Kyd 7 Ezio's Family 3:58 Assassin's Creed 2 (Original Gam… Jesper Kyd 8 Florence Tarantella 1:52 Assassin's Creed 2 (Original Gam… Jesper Kyd 9 Tristram 7:41 The Music of Diablo 1996 - 2011 Matt Uelmen 10 Dungeon 4:23 The Music of Diablo 1996 - 2011 Matt Uelmen 11 Catacombs 5:50 The Music of Diablo 1996 - 2011 Matt Uelmen 12 Caves 4:57 The Music of Diablo 1996 - 2011 Matt Uelmen 13 Hell 4:08 The Music of Diablo 1996 - 2011 Matt Uelmen 14 Song of the Lonely Mountain (Exte… 6:01 The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journ… Neil Finn 15 The Voyage 2:54 Transylvania Nox Arcana 16 Gossamer Mist 2:40 Transylvania Nox Arcana 17 The Black Coach 2:36 Transylvania Nox Arcana 18 Into The Shadows 2:59 Transylvania Nox Arcana 19 Castle Dracula 2:56 Transylvania Nox Arcana 20 Lair Of The Vampire 6:29 Transylvania Nox Arcana 21 River Of Life 5:22 The Witcher Pawel Blaszczak 22 Returning To The Fortress 1:31 The Witcher Pawel Blaszczak 23 Evening In The Tavern 0:57 The Witcher Pawel Blaszczak 24 New Tristram 5:16 Diablo III Soundtrack Russell Brower, Derek Duke, Glen… 25 Bastion's Keep 7:31 Diablo III Soundtrack Russell Brower, Derek Duke, Glen… 26 Caldeum 7:11 Diablo III Soundtrack Russell Brower, Derek Duke, Glen… 27 A Tenuous Bond 4:50 Diablo III Soundtrack Russell Brower, Derek Duke, Glen… 28 Garden of Hope 3:25 Diablo III Soundtrack Russell Brower, Derek Duke, Glen… 29 Hibernian Village Dance 0:30 Dark Age Of Camelot Various Artists 30 Main Title From Dark Age Of Cam… 2:51 Dark Age Of Camelot Various Artists 31 Dead City 8:04 The Witcher Various Artists

32 The Princess Striga 6:52 The Witcher Various Artists 33 The Dike 7:05 The Witcher Various Artists 34 New Beginning 9:13 Trapt Trapt ShawndireaChronicles of AetheaonBook ILeonard D. Hilley II
Genre:  Fantasy (Epic, Adventure, Sword/Sorcerer)
Publisher:  DeimosWeb PublishingDate of Publication: June 27, 2014
ISBN: 9781310304965ASIN:
Number of pages: 536 printed pagesWord Count:  148,000
Book Description:
Often the smallest unexpected surprises garner the most demanding dilemmas, which proves to be the ordeal that entomologist Ben Whytten faces.  While netting butterflies to add to his vast collection, he mistakenly sweeps what he thinks is the most spectacular butterfly he has ever seen into his net.  Upon examining his catch, Ben is horrified to discover he has captured a faery and shredded her delicate wings into useless ribbons.
Devastated, Ben vows to take Shawndirea back to her realm, Aetheaon; but he discovers that doing so places their lives into immediate danger.  To get to Aetheaon, they must pass through a portal rift deep inside the haunted cavern, Devils Den. 
Once they cross the rift, Ben enters a world where mysteries, magic, betrayal, and power struggles await.  He must adapt quickly or die because Aetheaon is filled with enchanted creatures and numerous races where chaos often dominates order.  And since Shawndirea’s destined for the throne of Elvendale, opposing dark forces plot to prevent her from ever reaching her kingdom again.  The faery's magic isn't enough to fully protect them, so he must trust other adventurers to aid them during their journey.


Available at Amazon


Chapter One

The early autumn sun blazed over the freshly cut hayfield in Cider Knoll, Kentucky.  Ben Whytten rested his butterfly net against the rusted barbed wire fence and then wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.  Sweat soaked his shirt and blue jeans.  Although fall had officially begun, the outside temperature didn’t indicate it. Sporting near ninety degrees, summer refused to let go of the climate and turned what should have been a pleasant Saturday afternoon into an intimidating taunt, daring anyone with partial sanity to remain outdoors in the sweltering heat.After he unscrewed the canteen cap, he tilted it back and took a long drink of cold water.  Beads of water dripped down his short brown beard.  He sighed and twisted the cap tightly.  His piercing brown eyes studied the sky.  Not a cloud in sight.  No breeze to help combat the hellish sticky heat.Ben combed his sweat-matted brown hair from his eyes with his fingers.  He picked up the butterfly net and looked across the straw-colored field at the small grove of pastel leafed maples that lined a winding stream.  The shade was inviting, and he guessed a good ten degrees cooler than the open field.  He took a deep breath and trudged across brittle grass stems that crunched beneath his hiking boots.Collecting butterflies during autumn was better than spring or summer because the diversity of species increased.  The fall forms of butterflies were generally brighter, larger, and fed in greater clusters on the ironweed, milkweed, and clover.  Brilliantly colored swallowtails puddled along the creek beds.  Plump moth larvae were also easier to find as they searched for places to spin cocoons or burrow beneath the soil to pupate before the colder temperatures set in.“If colder weather ever settles in,” Ben thought, “Hell will have truly frozen over.”Long narrow grasshoppers jumped and took to flight as Ben crossed the field.  Their wings buzzed as the alarmed insects glided and drifted downward, landed, and propelled themselves into the air again.Reaching the shade beneath the maple branches, Ben leaned against a thick tree trunk and closed his eyes.  The shallow stream trickled softly.  Cicadas hummed.  In the distance a woodpecker rapped the bark of a massive dead pine.  Weather had stripped away sections of the rough pine bark, revealing the smooth yellow wood underneath.  The soothing sounds of nature relaxed him, and he was thankful to be outside, alone.Dr. Isaac Deiko had planned to collect insects with Ben this particular Saturday, but at the last minute, he called and said that he couldn’t go.  Deiko had to help set up tables for a gun show in a neighboring town.The news didn’t disappoint Ben.  He’d rather collect butterflies and other insects alone.  The outdoors was a place where he gathered his thoughts and meditated about life.  The forests, bluffs, and meadows were the best places where he felt at peace.  Leaving the fast-paced, bustling technological-craving addicts for a calmer, slow-paced life without all their distractions was worth more than millions of dollars to Ben.  He’d give up all the instant gadgets for the tranquility that his grandfather and great-grandfather experienced while working on their farms.Ben kept a serious outlook on life while Dr. Deiko spent more time playing practical jokes on their colleagues and students, which often irritated and infuriated Ben.  He knew if Deiko came on this field trip, the collecting possibilities would be little or none simply because Deiko was clumsy-footed and boisterous.Ben had never extended an invitation for Deiko to join him in the first place.  In fact, Deiko had invitedhimself when he found out about Ben’s collecting plans for the weekend.  Although Deiko was a biologist like Ben, Deiko was more concerned with uncovering a discovery to make him famous, whereas Ben loved science and didn’t care if anyone other than his students knew he existed.  Of course when final exams rolled around, most of his students would rather he didn’t exist.  Other than giving his students field trips from Hell, his tests were considered harsher than rigorous ten mile hikes through steep mountainous terrain.Ben looked back across the field and chuckled.  He had traipsed hundreds of acres through forests, caves, and fields when he was still in middle school.  He had done so voluntarily, without a word of complaint, and yet, today’s college students voiced disdain over the least thing.  The challenge wasn’t getting them to learn; it was getting them to do anything that didn’t require the pacifying need for their technology.His inner frustration brought more heat to his face.  He was seconds from rehashing how he wished computers and cellphones weren’t so controlling until the soft bubbling creek caught his attention.  The gentle soft sound of water allowed his mind to leave the tensions of the classroom and return to the natural calm surrounding him.  He expelled a long sigh and refocused himself.Tall narrow blades of grass covered the sandy banks of the shallow stream.  Small drab satyr butterflies fluttered lazily from grass blade to grass blade.  Ben shook his head.  After two hours of walking the fields and woods, he had hoped to capture a few new specimens to add to his collection.  But with each species he encountered, he already had at least a half-dozen of those pinned inside glass-top boxes at home.  In many ways, he believed he’d have done himself a greater service by staying home.But regardless of what he deemed bad luck, his life was about to change.Forever.He removed his backpack and set it down.  Slowly he lowered himself and sat back against the tree trunk to rest.  He set down the canteen and placed the net handle across his lap and watched the gentle stream flow.  A few minnows darted back and forth beneath the water as water striders skimmed like polished skaters across the water’s surface.Ben was drenched in sweat and drained from the heat.  A cool breeze stirred along the stream, which seemed an invitation to relax a while longer.  His eyes ached to close for a nap.  He fought the urge to doze even though the place was so comforting and peaceful.  But, if nothing interesting presented itself soon, he was going home.  He dreaded walking across the dry pasture to his SUV.Ben took his hunting knife from the sheath attached to his belt and then picked up a dried oak branch.  He whittled and shaved away bark.Perhaps it was the extreme heat that kept the most brilliant butterflies in hiding, but he still didn’t see any within the grove or along the sandy banks.  Later in the evening he might have better luck, but he refused to stick around that long.  He slid the knife back into its sheath and rubbed his tired eyes.Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy.  Several birds flew low across the stream and through the trees.  Seconds later two yellow butterflies glided to the edge of the far bank and landed.  A larger butterfly caught his attention.  At first glance he thought it was a giant swallowtail, but instead, it turned out to be an oversized tiger swallowtail.Ben’s fingers tightened around the net handle.  He pushed himself to his feet.  He stepped lightly and headed toward the stream to get a better look at the butterflies.  Near the bank, a blur of metallic bluish-green streaked past him.“Damn!” he said, watching the zipping wings catch the breeze and glide.With incredible speed, it darted up, down, left to right, and along the stream’s edge.  Perhaps the sweltering heat or near dehydration was playing tricks on him, but he was almost certain glittery dust trailed behind it.Ben hurried after the butterfly, a prize unlike any other in his collection.Few butterflies in this part of Kentucky had such metallic colorings.  One he thought of immediately was the White M Hairstreak, but this one was too large and flew much swifter.  Another butterfly with similar colors was the long-tailed skipper, but the sheen sparkling off the butterfly following the stream was too bright.  Its flight was also more erratic.  The skipper stayed near gardens, and he doubted any strayed this far into the woods since the larvae food plant was the leaf of various beanstalks.Ben realized he had just discovered something new.  Excitement shot through him.He hurried along the stream and jumped over a fallen tree.  His sudden pursuit had not gone unnoticed.  The iridescent creature darted downward and swept through the tiny branches of a shrub.  But Ben moved faster.As the beautifully winged specimen shot through the other side of the bush, Ben arced the net sharply and captured his prize.  The end of the net pulled and stretched while his captive struggled to fight free.Quickly, Ben clamped his fingers near the end of the net, but by the time he did, the struggling ceased.He opened the net and looked inside.  His eyes widened.“What the hell?” he asked.At the bottom of the net lay a gorgeous creature, but not what he had expected to capture.  Her wings were tattered, frayed.  Unconscious, he hoped, but he feared she might be dying or already dead.  Broken scales and wing fragments covered her nearly nude body.His excitement of the chase suddenly turned to regret and dread.A faery?Ben dropped to his knees and gently set down the net.  “God,” he whispered.  “I hope I didn’t kill you.”He carefully placed his left hand beside her unmoving form.  He nudged her into the palm of his hand with the tip of his finger.  She breathed, but her eyes remained closed.  Her radiant face was more beautiful than any woman he had ever met. A door slammed and echoed near the pasture gate where he had parked his SUV.Ben looked over his shoulder but couldn’t see who had driven up.“Ben!” Deiko shouted.  “Where are you?”“Dammit,” Ben grumbled under his breath, looking back over his shoulder.  “What the hell are you doing here?”He hurried to the tree where his pack lay.  He curled his left hand gently around the faery’s limp body while reaching into the pack.“Ben!”Ben took a wide-mouthed dark plastic bottle, set it between his knees and unscrewed the hole-punched lid.  Glancing back over his shoulder he saw Deiko’s lanky figure jogging toward the grove.  Deiko smiled and waved when their eyes met.  His jog turned into a sprint as he headed toward Ben.Ben placed the faery into the jar, turned the lid, and wrapped the jar inside a white cloth before setting it back into his pack.  No sooner had he placed it there and zipped the pack shut, Deiko’s thundering footsteps stopped beside him.“Catch something nice?” Deiko asked.“No,” Ben replied, looking up but not making eye contact with Deiko.  “Not much activity out here today.  I blame the heat.”Deiko smiled broadly.  “You caught something.  Something special.”Ben shook his head, picked up his pack, and stood.  “Look around, Isaac.  What do you see?”Deiko glanced around but then his eyes focused on Ben’s backpack again.  “I agree.  Not much flying around.  But you got something.”“What makes you think that?”“Your eyes.  It’s the same with poker players who have a great hand and haven’t conditioned themselves to suppress their excitement or like kids that find money on the ground after someone drops it.  Hell, I noticed people at the gun show who bought guns from people far cheaper than the owners knew the guns were worth.”Ben’s eyes narrowed, and he chose to change the subject.  He said, “How was the gun show?  I thought you’d be there all day.”Deiko shrugged.  “That had been the plan.  Not much going on there, either.  Got a couple good deals though.  Like this Ruger.”He pulled a handgun from the back of his belt.“Nice,” Ben replied.  Carefully he slipped his pack over his shoulder and headed toward the hay field.“Well?” Deiko said.  He tucked the gun behind his belt and stepped in front of Ben.  “Aren’t you going to show me?”Sweat dripped from his Deiko’s black hair and beaded on his brow.  Ben studied the determination set in his colleague’s dark eyes and his firm muscular jaw.  Within seconds, Deiko’s boyish face had hardened into that of a fierce murderous villain.  Physically, he had no weight to put behind his facial threat.  He was tall and quite bony with slender arms.  And although Deiko was probably fifteen years younger, Ben had no doubt if he was forced to fight that Deiko would be the one sitting on the ground looking up and rubbing his jaw.  But, then, there was the gun issue.  Isaac was armed and all Ben had was his knife.  Even those odds didn’t stand in Isaac’s favor.“Show you what?” Ben asked.“Your prize.  It must be something nice since you still refuse to show me.”“How many times have I told you that I haven’t found anything?”“You and I should play poker sometime,” Deiko said.  “I’d make a fortune.”“Being as I don’t play cards, you’re probably correct with that assumption.”“Oh, come on, Ben,” Deiko said.  Hostility loomed in his voice and darkness narrowed his eyes.  “Why are you afraid to show me what you found?”Ben studied him for a moment.  Never had he seen Isaac behave like a demented spoiled brat.  He had his moments, but Dr. Deiko generally didn’t keep a quiet and intimidating tone.  But out here, away from others, Ben suddenly saw the violence that hid deep within the botanist, and it was creeping to the surface.  Knowing that Deiko lusted for fame, for a discovery beyond what man had seen or could fathom, Ben knew he could never show the faery to Deiko.  The second he did, something horrible would happen.  To Ben and the lovely faery.Deiko had not only shown the gun as his grand prize from the gun show, he had established his subtle threat by revealing he had brought it into the field.  Hunting season was still a few weeks away, and no one needed a gun to collect butterflies.  He had shown the gun for a reason—either as a bullying tactic or simply to exhibit dominance.“I think the heat is getting to you, Isaac,” Ben said, shaking his head and stepping around his colleague.“Put down the pack,” Isaac said.“What?”Ben froze when Isaac inserted the magazine into the gun and snapped the gun’s chamber back and forth.“Put down your pack.  I want to see what you’re hiding inside.”Ben turned.  He looked in Isaac’s eyes, then to the gun.Isaac shook his head.  “Uh-uh.  Just set it down.”Ben frowned and slowly lowered his pack to the ground.  He held his hands before him in surrender.  “You’re making a big mistake.”“So you did find something.”“And if I did?  You going to kill me for it?” Ben asked.Isaac chuckled.  “Depends on how good a find it is.”“Seriously?”


About the Author: 
Leonard D. Hilley II currently lives in the mountains of Kentucky with his wife, Christal.  He is a biologist that has also earned his MFA in creative writing.  Having a passion for books at an early age, he knew he wanted to author his own creative works.  He wrote his first novel at the age of eleven and has never lost his love for books.
Blog: http://deimosweb-hilley.blogspot.com/   
Twitter: @Deimosweb
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1194774.Leonard_D_Hilley_II
LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/pub/leonard-d-hilley-ii/32/bb2/760  
Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Leonard-D-Hilley-IIauthor-page/157289854329916  


 June 30 InterviewEclipse Reviewshttp://totaleclipsereviews.blogspot.com/
June 30 SpotlightThe Creatively Green Write at Home Momwww.creativelygreeen.blogspot.com
July 1 SpotlightThe Tome Gnomehttp://tomegnomes.blogspot.com/
July 2 Guest blogMarsha A. Moorehttp://marshaamoore.blogspot.com/
July 4 InterviewPembroke Sinclair.  www.pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com
July 7 SpotlightDeal Sharing Auntwww.dealsharingaunt.blogspot.com
July 8 ReviewThe Avid Readerhttp://the-avidreader.blogspot.com
July 9 Guest blogpressed leaf publishingwww.benjaminmctish.blogspot.com
 July 10 Guest blogFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com
July 11 SpotlightBooklover Sue http://bookloversue.blogspot.com
July 14 SpotlightFantasy Book Lanehttp://www.fantasybooklane.com/
July 15 Spotlight Books & Tales:http://booksandtales.blogspot.co.uk/
July 16 Spotlight?Share My Destinyhttp://sharemydestiny.blogspot.com
July 17 SpotlightCassandra M's Place http://www.cassandramsplace.com
July 18 InterviewA Writer's Mind www.skypuringtonwrites.blogspot.com
July 21 Guest blogBeauty in Ruins  http://beauty-in-ruins.blogspot.ca
July 22 SpotlightShut Up &Read http://shutupandreadgroup.blogspot.com/
July 23 SpotlightSapphyria's Book Reviews http://saphsbookblog.blogspot.com/
July 24 reviewParanormal Romance and Authors That Rockwww.pratr.wordpress.com
July 25 SpotlightAngel’s Guilty Pleasureshttp://angelsguiltypleasures.com
July 28 Guest blog and reviewVailia's Page Turnerhttp://vailiapageturner.blogspot.com/
July 28 SpotlightRoxanne’s Realmwww.roxannerhoads.com

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Guest Blog and Giveaway with Peiri Ann

Here is an Interview with Tracey, one of the characters from Burdened.
Interviewer: Hello.
Tracey: Hi, I'm Tracey, from Burdened. Thanks for having me.
Interviewer: Hi Tracey, thank you for joining us. We will just get right into it. Can you tell us something's about yourself?
Tracey: You’re welcome, and yes, I can. My full name is Tracey Warren; I’m eighteen and preparing to graduate from high school. I stay with my mother and my dad but he is always gone. He works and travels back and forth for his job. I love freedom and doing what I want. I love Twinkies and Coke, and hanging out with my best friend Glen. Everything in life was good, well, it’s still good but in a different way. (She gives me an uncomfortable look)Interviewer: What do you mean, “In a different way?”Tracey: Before, me and my friends hung out all the time and partied. You know, like us eighteen year olds are supposed to. But I met this guy, his name is Nathan. He's hot, like…illegally hot, but being with him and his constricted yet amazing personality, I have to deal with his family and his enemies. And they seem to live to make our lives a living hell. Even Glen. (She rolls her eyes, shaking her head)Interviewer: Can you give me more, on how they make your life a living hell?Tracey: I cannot, I can’t give away too many of our burdens. But I can tell you Nathan is - burdened, and when we first met...I would have never expected the things he told me the first night we talked, after that party. I thought, he was talking stuff, you know, giving me the 'I'm a bad guy' and 'messed up stuff happens in my life everyday' spill. Come to find out. It wasn't a spill, he was serious. But I'm with him, and it's not like I can leave. (She shrugs)Interviewer: Okay Tracey, can you give us anything else?Tracey: Yes, oh, my best friend, Glen, mated with Nathan’s cousin, Scott. They are a headache, (She throws her head back) just me thinking about them makes my head hurt. That's what I meant when I mentioned her earlier. I mean, we still don’t know if they should be together and Nathan thinks Glen, is going to suffer in their relationship because of the way Scott treats her - maybe even try to kill herself.Interviewer: Kill herself! Suffer how? And how does Scott treat her?Tracey: You are asking a lot of questions.Interviewer: It's an interview Tracey. I'm supposed to ask a lot of questions. I am only trying to get some more information about you and Burdened for everyone.Tracey: I can’t tell you everything. And I don’t want to spoil the lovey - that’s sarcasm, mind you - Scott and Glen’s relationship. Burdened is as its name presents. There are some steamy scenes Nathan I share, that I will not get into details with you. I know you and your questions are going to ask. There is actions and fights that scared the crap out of me. I mean, I’ve seen people who look human do some non-human things, and it freaked – me – out. The unexpected things that happen living the life of an Burdened Sephlem's mate, is what gets me. Seems like all in one week, Nathan and I lived a life and encountered things from a year's worth of time.  Interviewer: Wow, that sounds interesting and overwhelming. But I assume you will not give me those details of what you encountered.Tracey: Nope, I can't. Just know, there are a lot of burdens that I encounter. Including, I'm not the same person I once was.Interviewer: Details Tracey, details!Tracey: No. (She shakes her head)Interviewer: Okay, you are killing me here, Tracey. Can you tell us about the author, Peiri Ann?Tracey: Yes. Of course she's a writer. She takes me off guard, sometimes, with her gory scenes and methods of healing. But you can't help but love her with her humble attitude and ‘tell it like is’ ways. She has a daughter and they both live in Chicago. That's the most of the "person stuff" I know. I think her website is www.peiriann.com it may have some more info for you.Interviewer: Thank You. So, you mentioned the name Nathan. Can you tell us about him?Tracey: Ah, yes. I can talk about Nathan for hours. But I won't, not today. Nathan Newcomb, is his name. He's my mate and my heart beats for him, keeping him alive. I die - he dies. Crazy right!? He is the hardest person on earth to read and you won't know what's going in with him, unless he chooses to tell you. I stated before, he's really attractive, and everything else about him…you will have to find out from Burdened. You're making me miss him.Interviewer: Okay can you-Tracey: Wait, (she puts up her finger) Nathan is calling me. He does this thing where he doesn’t’t have to be around for me to hear him. It’s annoying. I’ll talk to you later (she stands). Thanks for the interview, thank you Majanka for the spot. It was fun. (She walks to the door, waving)Interviewer: Okay Tracey, well, thank you for joining me.  And…she gone, and I’m talking to myself. 
BurdenedA Burdened NovelBook 1Peiri Ann
Genre: Paranormal Romance
ISBN: 9780991381104ASIN: B00JYOLZA2
Number of pages: ebook (381)Number of pages: paperback (423)Word Count: 142K
Book Description:
Tracey Warren has everything an eighteen year old girl should. She lives a life of expectancies; go to school, please her parents, party with friends, and revel in life as a young adult.
That is until she experiences an unexpected life changing accident caused by Nathan Newcomb; an illegally attractive yet perplexed guy who has her fumbling over her words and cracking her head on the concrete. In being enthralled by his overwhelming existence, Tracey neglects his promise of death (which never falls short of Nathan) and in ignoring his guarantee, she chooses to give into love over sanity and risks her life for the opportunity of being with him.
Nathan, knowing the risks gives into this want to have Tracey presuming it may be better to jeopardize their possible ending, than to allow her to endure the pain of his devoid. Nonetheless, with him being a burdened Sephlem, not only are they burdened by their adversaries who will risk everything but the exposure of their existence to see Nathan fall. But Nathan and Tracey come to find that their most sinister enemies lie under their same roof and regrettably share the same bloodline.
Book Trailers: http://youtu.be/8MEiI_O0j5A  and http://youtu.be/xUnMHHqvGfo   
Available at Amazon and BN
Excerpt:


We walk out of the house to the backyard, and over to a gazebo that sits off to the side, equal distance from the house and the fence. There are cushioned benches and a beautiful water fountain surrounded by lilies. It’s dimly lit and the rest of the light comes from the remainder of the setting sun.“I’m sorry about him, Tracey.” He sits down, pulling me to sit across him.“No, it’s okay. There’s something off about him though. I know you know him better than I do—him being your dad and all. But there is something about him that doesn’t sit well with me. Why all the questions all of a sudden? Just the other day he was the least bit interested in us.”“He’s an ass. That is how he is. He is one way one day and a different way the next. Fortunately, you were not able to hear what he was really saying—only what came out of his mouth.”“And what was that?” I’m curious.“‘This isn’t about you. This is about Nathan.’” He points to himself.I tense, feeling a slight discomfort. That’s what the Nathan-look-alike said to me the other night, and in that same tone. “That sounds familiar.”“How so?”“You said that to me the day you tricked me.”“That wasn’t me, again, and what do you mean?”“That exact same tone, those words. When the guy—” I can’t recall his name. “—cut me, that’s what he said.” My hands start getting cold.Nathan thinks for a moment, or maybe looks in my head. I sit quiet until he says something. “We have today. I’ll worry about it tomorrow,” he responds, ten minutes later.I smile at him. Although, that really doesn’t give me much for whatever conclusion he came up with, or if he came up with a conclusion. We sit in silence. I try to wrap my head around Nathan’s father and his mixed personalities.“What is he going to try to talk to us about?” I ask.“He has no plans of talking with us. Rather, I have no intentions of speaking with him—not with you in the room anyway.”“Why not with me in the room?” The distant Nathan is back.“I would say things to him, and perform in a way, that I don’t want you to see.”“And what, by you doing so, will make me think differently of you?”“That’s not what I’m saying.”“So what are you saying?”“I have no respect for my father. I don’t care about hurting his feelings—if he had any. I also don’t use control when I deal with him.” He looks towards the yard.“What are you saying?” I probe.“Tracey, this is not a conversation I’m ready to have right now.”“Why do you hold things back from me?”“My life is difficult. My relationship with my father is not like others. How would it sound to you if I said I want to kill my father, and every time I try, the only thing that saves him is my mother? That I don’t mind losing control around him, in hopes that I would murder him—with no doubts or regrets.” He looks at me with no hurt in his eyes about his feelings.“But if you murder your father, wouldn’t you kill your mother as well?”“No, she will remain alive, but she will be miserable and out of character.”“Wait, I’m confused. I thought one could not live without the other?”“The female can live without the male, but not the other way around. Remember, your heart beats in replacement of mine. So if I die, your heart will still beat, but if you die, that’s it for the both of us.” That’s some crazy shit. “But if I’m hurt, you can always heal me, and I you. You may also be able to feel my hurt now.”

About the Author:
A love for reading transpired into an admiration for writing at a young age for Peiri Ann. Starting off in writing poetry and short stories she indulged in the possibilities of creating new worlds and lives to live within them opening a window of unanticipated possibilities. In high school a pin and notebook never left her grasps and in college the pin was replaced by a keyboard and the notebook replaced by a computer screen. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology and certified in business management.
When Peiri Ann is not writing, reading, doing homework, or working in the downtown of Chicago she enjoys spending time with her little girl, watching action flicks, and spooning peanut butter from the jar as a midnight snack.
Web – www.peiriann.com
Blog - http://peiriannslifesloves.blogspot.com/
Twitter - @peiriann
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/aburdenednovel
Goodreads – http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7728917.Peiri_Ann


July 7 Guest blogVampChix http://www.vampchix.blogspot.com
July 8 InterviewPembroke Sinclair  www.pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com
July 9 Guest BlogFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com
July 10 SpotlightShare My Destinyhttp://sharemydestiny.blogspot.com
July 11 InterviewRoxanne’s Realmwww.roxannerhoads.com
July 14 Guest blogCloey's Book Reviews and Other Stuffcloeyk.blogspot.com
July 15 Guest blogParanormal Romance Fans for Lifewww.paranormalromancefanforlife.blogspot.com
July 16 ReviewParanormal ROmance and authors That Rockwww.pratr.wordpress.com
July 17 InterviewA Writer's Mindwww.skypuringtonwrites.blogspot.com
July 18 InterviewAngel’s Guilty Pleasureshttp://angelsguiltypleasures.com
July 21 SpotlightShut Up & Read http://shutupandreadgroup.blogspot.com/
July 22 Guest blogThe Creatively Green Write at Home Momwww.creativelygreen.blogspot.com
July 23 SpotlightCorazones Literarios http://coraznes-literarios.blogspot.com
July 24 SpotlightLisa’s World of Bookswww.lisasworldofbooks.net
July 25 SpotlightSapphyria's Book Reviews http://saphsbookblog.blogspot.com/
July 28 Top Ten ListDarkest Cravingswww.darkestcravings.blogspot.com
July 29 Character InterviewEclipse Reviewshttp://totaleclipsereviews.blogspot.com/
July 30 InterviewKaren Swarthttp://authorkarenswart.blogspot.com/
July 31 Guest blogJust Another Rabid Readerhttp://justanotherrabidreader.info
August 1 SpotlightMelissa Stevenshttp://melissastevens.us
August 1 SpotlightKristy Centenohttp://booksbycenteno.com
August 4 InterviewBooklover Sue http://bookloversue.blogspot.com
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Blitz The Zombie Upstairs by T.W. Kirchner

The Zombie UpstairsThe Troubled Souls of Goldie Rich Book 2T.W. Kirchner
Genre: YA mystery
Publisher: Short On Time Books
Date of Publication: 02/12/14
ISBN: 1494906902ASIN: 978-1494906900
Number of pages: 92Word Count: 30,000
Cover Artist: Tony Bryson
Book Description:
After the first harrowing but successful zombie encounter, fourteen-year-old Goldie Rich and her older sister, Gema, make amends. Since Gema still doesn’t share Goldie’s belief in zombies, Goldie and best friend, Rita, decide to keep their zombie activities a secret. With nine souls left to free from the magical pendant Goldie found, her zombie hunting days are far from over.
The warring light and dark magic of the pendant give Goldie frequent nightmares. Her visions give her clues of what lies ahead and what she needs to do to defeat the evil Bokor. As she struggles to unravel them while keeping it a secret, friends Jonny and Blake get pulled into the zombie hunt. Just when Goldie finally feels she has the mission under control, some new discoveries alert her that the dark magic has placed Gema in danger.
On sale for .99 July 8 through July 14 at Amazon

The Zombie UpstairsChapter 1
     The white magic charms fought against the black magic spells cast on the pendant.  The invisible battle raging inside the tiny, glass cylinder made it ice cold to everyone’s touch.  Everyone except Goldie.  Around her neck, the pendant radiated a tingling warmth that turned into a scorching poker whenever a zombie drew near—and they were coming for her.      I peeked out of my bedroom window for the hundredth time in hopes that the zombie traps would work.     “Ow! What did you do that for?”     Rita had closed the wooden blinds on my nose without warning.  Obviously, she was oblivious to my pain because she casually twirled a teal lock of hair around her fingers and strutted away from the window.  I meant to tell her that her choice of hair gel clashed with her fingernails—a bad paint job done in navy blue polish—but now wasn’t the time.     She bit her lip and squinted at me.  “Goodness, Goldie.  Stop worrying.  That was awesome the way you handled the first zombie.  Did the dude really look like Frankenstein and glow like a light bulb?  I can’t believe he died from being smacked in the face with a salt packet.  Who wouldn’t believe in zombies after that?”      “Really?  You have to ask?”  I twisted my out-of-control curls into a bun and secured them with a handy plastic bag clip from the empty pretzel bag.  “I can name lots of people that still don’t.  Seriously, Rita.  Everyone thinks it died of a heart attack.  Except for us, the Bokor, and voodoo enthusiasts.  We know the truth—feeding a zombie salt frees its soul, and it drops dead.  We already know that no one, even my dear sister, Gema, is going to believe what sounds like a wild tale spun by a fourteen-year-old.”  I stroked the floppy ears of my little dog, Chanel, to try to work out my aggravation.  “Whatever.”     Rita reached over and touched my pendant with one finger, but she pulled it right off.  She rubbed her finger.  “Geez.  That’s too freaky.  The glass froze my fingertip.  By the way, what’s the magic number?”     I lifted the pendant to my face and turned it to admire the golden dust and nine black granules trapped inside the seamless cylinder.  “Nine.  Nine souls left to free.  Nine zombies the Bokor has sent after me.”  I breathed a deep sigh.  “That’s okay, let them come.  We know what to do now.”     Wide-eyed, Rita stammered.  “We?  We’re BFFs, but you are the chosen one.  I don’t have magical powers.”     Rita was dingy, but she knew better.  “I don’t either.”     “But you have a magical necklace.”     “Good point.  Someone made sure I found the pendant.  But who?  And why?”     Rita shrugged and exaggerated a yawn, slipping into bed.  “No idea.  But you invited me to sleepover.  It’s 3 a.m., and we haven’t seen a decent horror movie yet.”     I flopped on my bed and grabbed the TV remote.  Chanel jumped up next to me and curled up into a furry black ball.  “I don’t sleep normal anymore.  Every night, I have zombie nightmares.  I see…things…clues, I think, but I can’t piece it all together.  Sometimes the Bokor appears.  His face is always hidden under a black hood, but I feel like I know him.  It’s weird.”     Rita pulled the blanket over her head.  “Do me a favor.  When you have another nightmare, be brave.  Beat up the zombies.  Face the Bokor dude.    Yank that hood off.  It’s a dream—they can’t hurt you.”     For a few minutes, I pondered the suggestion.  “You’re right, but…”     Snoring rumbled from under the blanket.      I sat my glasses on the nightstand.  “Never mind.”     Although I resisted sleep, it crept upon me like magic.  I opened my eyes and shivered.  I wasn’t in the familiar graveyard that inhabited my nightmares for weeks but a dark cavern.  My footsteps echoed, breaking the silence, no matter how carefully I stepped.  A chill rushed down my spine.  Faint light from two hanging lanterns illuminated the walls, carved from a damp, reddish earth.  It was a known fact to us zombie enthusiasts that zombies and mud went together like peanut butter and jelly.  My breathing deepened and the steam it created rose like smoke into the cold blackness.     The sound of feet shuffling across the dirt floor brought on more chills.  My body tingled from fear.  I wanted to run, but the cavern grew darker up ahead, and I didn’t know what I’d be running into.  This time, with salt packets crammed in my pocket, I was prepared to take down this zombie like I had the first one.  With as much bravery as I could muster, I spun around.  My body turned rigid.  The Bokor had found me.  As usual, I couldn’t see his face under the black hooded cape, only glowing red eyes that reminded me of hot coals in a fire pit.


About the Author:
After working an assortment of jobs, which include a computer programmer, marketing director, and substitute teacher, T.W. Kirchner decided to concentrate on her second loves, writing and art. Her first loves are her husband, two children, and furry menagerie known as the Kirchner Zoo. Pirates Off the Deep End and Pirates Off the Wall are my first published novels. The Troubled Souls of Goldie Rich: The Zombie Next Door and The Troubled Souls of Goldie Rich: The Zombie Upstairs are now available. A sequel to Pirates will be out around summer 2014
Website: http://www.twkirchner.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/tinainlv


Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100006500718993

Excuse me, You’ve Gotten Some Steam in my Punk Guest Blog with Jennifer Harlow

           Romance. Fantasy. Sci-Fi. Mystery. Literary. We love to put things, including books, into hard defined categories. It makes sense, we’ve been bombarded by so much information, even before the internet era, it just makes life easier. But thank goodness for the rebels, the mutations,. If everything remained in its pre-set category we never would have grown as a species. There would be no internet, no antibiotics, no Firefly (the last would be a crime against nature.) As the saying goes, art often imitates life. In recent decades, we have seen a great surge in the blending of genres in all art forms, especially the book world. Vampires, once only confined to the annals of horror, now find themselves the lead in many romance novels. Mysteries, once centered around an asexual sleuth with the crime in the forefront, are now taking place in space or the crime takes a backseat to the sleuth’s love life. And in the case of Steampunk, the Victorian Era now finds itself awash in amazing technology and sometimes modern sensibilities like the rights of women. We are living to see the rise of the mutants.
            My love of amalgam of genres is what drew me to the world of Steampunk, even making me wish to contribute to this growing sub-genre. I personally cannot get through something that doesn’t contain elements of various genres anymore, let alone spend a year writing one. Variety is the spice of life, and I like my food like my books, on fire. It combines so many things that I love: England, technology, pure adventure, and I even threw in some werewolves and romance to boot. There’s something in it for everyone. Which is why I think this has become such a popular sub-genre. I cannot be the only one who likes unpredictability and the new. Like the Victorian Era, this the age of advancement.
            Steampunk is the perfect example of this innovation trend because it centers around a time of great growth and change, the Industrial Evolution. Trains made it possible to travel great distances in a short time. Machines made it possible to produce mass quantities of goods for the growing population. But what if we had just stopped there? What if plastic was never invented? What if there was no rise of steel? What if women never ventured out of the home? It may have been a simpler time but was it better? As a woman, heck no, but I like most people am sometimes overwhelmed with all the information and choices now available to me. Steampunk wipes that away, at least for 300 pages. And no matter what else books do, no matter how much they evolve, their purpose will always remain the same: as an escape.  Why not travel to a complex world where we aren’t cramped on planes but travel by dirigible? Or where clockwork gears and rivets are a fashion norm? (I’ve attended cons, the steampunk outfits are always the most impressive.) And that’s where it all begins. Asking, “Why not?”
            There are only three types of story: man against man, man against nature, man against self. Every story stems from one of those conflicts. But like in people, there are many shades of gray, billions in fact. We all have a unique view on this life, one that often draws from multiple sources, a collection of experiences and thoughts. We are not simple and that’s what makes a person interesting. What we create in art to reflect that fact should not be simple either. We  should always be moving forward, trying new things, taking elements of what we enjoy and combining them with other things we like. That’s how we evolve. That’s how we move from the caves to traveling to the moon. How penicillin was invented. And how the best of the Victorian era was transported into the future for your reading enjoyment. Mutant and proud. Why not?

Verity Hart Vs. The Vampyres OmnibusA Hart/McQueen SteampunkAdventure 1Jennifer Harlow
Genre: Steampunk Romance
Publisher: Devil on the Left Books
ISBN: 978-0-9893944-4-4ASIN:
Number of pages: 293Word Count: 96,000
Cover Artist: Jennifer Harlow
Book Description:
KEEP CALM AND STEAMPUNK ON
The whole of Victorian London knows there is something not quite right about the Lady Verity Hart. She may be the daughter of an MP and the sister of famed inventor Lord David Hart, but she is a spinster whose own father threatens to send her to the madhouse every fortnight. Because Society is correct-Verity Hart is no lady. If they suspected how quick with a quip she is, let alone the majority of her brother's ingenious machines were her design, the sale of fainting couches would double.
Verity requires one herself when her beloved brother is kidnapped by vampyres in the dead of night. With the aid of an aggravating, rude American bounty hunter with a secret of his own, Verity takes to land, sea, and even air to rescue the only person who could ever love and truly accept her. Or is he?
Available at Amazon
About the Author:
Jennifer Harlow spent her restless childhood fighting with her three brothers and scaring the heck out of herself with horror movies and books. She grew up to earn a degree at the University of Virginia which she put to use as a radio DJ, crisis hotline volunteer, bookseller, lab assistant, wedding coordinator, and government investigator. Currently she calls Northern Virginia home but that restless itch is ever present. In her free time, she continues to scare the beejepers out of herself watching scary movies and opening her credit card bills.
She is the author of the Amazon best-selling F.R.E.A.K.S. Squad, Midnight Magic Mystery series and The Galilee Falls Trilogy. For the soundtrack to her books and other goodies visit her at www.jenniferharlowbooks.com

http://jenniferharlowbooks.blogspot.com Tales From the Darkside blog
Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/jenharlowbooks
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/jennifer.harlow.52
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4708453.Jennifer_Harlow
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June 30 SpotlightAnya Breton Author's Bloghttp://blog.anyabreton.com
June 30 SpotlightCorazones Literarios http://corazones-literarios.blogspot.com
July 1 Guest blogJill Archerwww.jillarcher.com
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July 3 SpotlightThe Indigo Quill  http://theindigoquill.blogspot.com
July 3 ReviewBarb Taubhttp://barbtaub.com
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Five things about Alden Mochrie from Open World by Casey Moss

Hello, Alden. I’m so happy to have you here today to give readers an insight into you and the story Open World by Casey Moss.
05. What do you do for a living?
I was once in the military, but now I work for I-D-8 as a game designer. 04. Where are you from originally?
I’m from the east coast. I’m not at liberty to say exactly where, since it might cause trouble for the people I care about.03. You’re in Las Vegas now. Being so close to Rachel, NV, Area 51, and the Extraterrestrial Highway, I have to ask – Do you or don’t you believe in aliens and UFO’s.
After what’s been happening to me and my associates, I believe anything is possible and that includes life elsewhere in the universe.02. Would you go on one of the ghost hunting tours down in the city?
Sure. It’d be fun debunking any of the haunting claims that people are talking about.01. If you could change one thing about your partner, what would it be?

The amount of shoes, clothes, accessories and handbags she buys. Once we get married, we might have to have a second home just to store them all., Open WorldC.O.V.E.N.Book 1Casey Moss
Genre: Erotic Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Date of Publication: May 15, 2014
ISBN: 978-1-77130-852-6ASIN: B00KCE12JW
Number of pages: 146Word Count: 52,000
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Book Description:
The world has broken out in wars. Las Vegas has been ravaged by chemical warfare and is now home to several clans and creatures.
Welcome to I-D-8 Entertainment’s newest game: Clans of Vegas—Endless Night.Friends and family have gathered for a crunch time playtest of C.O.V.E.N.. When a horrible thunderstorm hits, everyone’s sucked into the game for real. In the MMORPG, Hope Collins is kidnapped by Buzz and forced to submit to his whims.
Her boyfriend, Alden, has to delay his quest of defeating a clan’s prince to save her, but time and circumstance don’t seem to be on his side. Faith Collins is bombarded by strange dreams brought on by Buzz. Her boyfriend, Tavis, learns to dream walk, but can he help break the spell she’s under and save her before she’s lost to him?
C.O.V.E.N. is more than just a game. It’s a whole other world.
Available at Evernight Publishing   Amazon   

All Romance eBooks   BookStrand
About the Author:
Casey Moss delves into the darker aspects of life in her writing, sometimes basing the stories on reality, sometimes on myth. No matter the path, her stories will take you on a journey from the light-hearted paranormal to dark things unspeakable. What waits around the corner? Come explore…
Website: http://caseymossbooks.com/   
Blog: http://caseymossbooks.blogspot.com/Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/author.CaseyMoss
Twitter: https://twitter.com/CaseyMoss_
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/CaseyMoss


June 30 InterviewDarkest Cravingswww.darkestcravings.blogspot.com
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July 1 SpotlightDeal Sharing Auntwww.dealsharingaunt.blogspot.com
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July 4 InterviewEclipse Reviewshttp://totaleclipsereviews.blogspot.com/
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Guest blog, Excerpt and Giveaway: Beyond the Reach of Judgement by Jo Bissell

What I've Learnedby Jo Bissell
Two years ago I started my journey towards becoming a independent author. I knew as soon as I set my mind to the project of writing a full length paranormal romance novel that I was going to take it through to publication. How was I so confident? Because prior to starting the project, back when I was dabbling in fanfiction, short stories, and WattPad I encountered other Indie Authors in various stages of their journeys, and I knew I wanted to join them. Unlike many writers, I never had any intention or interest in pursuing a “traditional” route and as I wrote on what has now become Beyond the Reach of Judgement I focused on creating something I personally would enjoy reading and something I would be proud to share with other readers, whether that turned out to be one or one million.
Beyond the Reach of Judgement now exists as an actual completed project available to the masses. I've got six unique reviews and some excellent reader feedback. While I will continue to share this project with the world, I feel a huge sense of pride and accomplishment just getting it to this point. And I've learned a great deal so far. Here's some thoughts for those considering the leap:
Dream big but work hard: everyone whom has every written anything original with the intent to let others read it, has had that moment when they feel they are pure genius and they will find instantaneous accolades and review the second their words are available to the public.  Then you come to realize that even if your book was that good (and it's probably not) you still have to find people to read it before anyone will care. And I thought writing the thing was the difficult part. So wrong. Finding readers, especially with a limited budget and time, is not an easy task. It just as much, if not more, research, planning, and effort as writing.
Write, rewrite, and rewrite again BEFORE you share with anyone: my first rough draft was barely 50K words. As above, I thought it was pure genius...until I reread it. Then I sat back and wondered what happened to all the things I thought I had written. Where was the magic? After crying over my keyboard a while about all that time wasted, I finally dove back into the project with renewed passion to capture what I previously thought I had written. Several rewrites with new scenes and expanded scenes, I had created something I felt I would enjoy reading.
Be grateful for all feedback, even the less than positive feedback: my first beta-reader tore my manuscript apart. My first reaction was to delete the email and forgot her name. Instead, I left it alone for a few days, and sat down to review the feedback. In retrospect, her feedback was brilliant and without it, I would likely have published that early draft and been very disappointed with the wave of negative feedback which would have likely echoed that of my early beta-readers. That being said, I did not blindly accept all advice, but I did consider each piece of feedback carefully. Even now that my Beyond the Reach of Judgement is published, I make a habit to evaluating each review, positive or negative for usable feedback which will help me in future endeavors. Someone took time to first of all read my words, then cared enough about those words, to evaluate them. How awesome is that?
Don't forget to write: it's so easy to get distracted, especially with the amazing amount of resources available and all the pressure to get involved in things like blogging, social media, and other forms of marketing even before you've finished the project. I know for a fact that I wasted and continue to waste  at least two hours a week that I should be writing, falling down rabbit holes of internet advice with what starts as good intentions and ends as a missed opportunity. I now block out specific times which are for writing only and separate block of time for researching and marketing.

Bask in your success: you wrote a book! It's available on the internet! People you've never met are reading it. That's a pretty cool thing. End of story.
Beyond the Reach of JudgementJo Bissell
Genre: paranormal romance; paranormal tragedy
ASIN: B00JNUJ810
Number of pages: 294Word Count: 76K
Cover Artist: Char Adlespergerat Wicked Cover Designs
Book Description:
“Did we leave any sin out?” she replied with a forced weak laugh.
“No. Between the two of us, I think we have managed to cover them all,” he mumbled as that uncomfortable lump in his gut returned.
Julien Rene Durant was once a good man. Born in France, he took the oath as a Jesuit Priest in the 1600s. He dedicated his life to spreading the Gospel. Now, he was a monster surviving off the blood of others; killing for survival even as he wished for nothing other than for his own extinction. After almost four centuries of guilt and hopelessness, he encounters someone who might just be able to rescue the good man trapped within the monster, but will his judgements deny him a second chance?
Mary Ruth Jacobson-Ryan is nothing special; a small town girl stuck in a rut. Married to the local Iraq and Afghanistan War Veteran and town hero who turned out not to be the perfect guy she fell in love with before the war, she is desperate for a way out. When things turn from bad to worse, she runs with plans to never look back. She quickly finds, however, that her search for a better future may lead her down a path with no future at all.
Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/D-BSsXjx0v8
Amazon   Print Copy  Nook  Kobo


Excerpt 4:
Agent Samantha Wolf reviewed the surveillance video for the fifth time that hour. Frustrated, she rewound the tape and played it a sixth time. Her sources had verified that the woman was indeed the one for which she searched, but her case ended there. The tape remained her only hard evidence. There must be something in it she had missed. She needed something new, anything new. Her only angle thus far had been the black Porsche. Only a few people in the entire state owned that exact make, model, and trim in that color, all of which she had questioned personally. Sighing, she opened her notes and flipped through the pages. There was no body. She almost always had a body. If not a body, she had a victim with a story and a trail of clues leading straight to her undead perpetrator. She had no body, no victim, and only a dried up trail of black sports cars to work from. Why did she agree to a missing person’s case? There was absolutely zero evidence to support anything other than a human had taken the girl from that street corner. This case was not even in her jurisdiction. Looking over at the photo of her husband in uniform sitting on the nightstand in her hotel room, she shook her head and pulled the frame closer. She was not doing this because it was her job, she was doing this because it was the right thing to do for her fellow officer, and a good friend of her husband. If it was her husband missing, she hoped a friend would do the same for her. In fact, Jonathan Ryan had done that for her. By sending her the letter cataloging her husband’s last moments, and the happier times prior to those moments, including photos and comments from his other friends, he had given her something she felt she needed to return. She was determined to find his missing wife. He deserved that, and she had the training and the resources to do it.Reading over her notes, she tried desperately to connect the dots. She flipped through the profiles of the eight Porsche drivers she had questioned recently. Of the eight, two were women, and five had verified alibis. Mr. William Durand of Kansas City, MO remained the only man whom had yet to prove his whereabouts that evening. His address was mere blocks away from the location where Ms. Ryan had last been seen, but other than her gut feeling about him, she had no other real evidence against him. The car and the address hardly proved anything other than his wealth. When she had visited Magdalen Durant, as she had called herself, Wolf had no idea at the time that the girl she was investigating for unrelated reasons, would become the same woman she so desperately wanted to find now. If only she had opened the email from Jonathan sooner, instead of allowing it to drift further down her inbox until she had all but forgotten about it. As soon as she read Jonathan’s desperate plea for help and opened the picture of the exact girl she had interviewed a few days prior, she regretted her decision. Had she had this information during the interview, she imagined it would have ended very differently.Instead of just some random female who had flagged the alerts she had in place with the hospital as part of her ongoing investigation into mysterious deaths from extreme blood loss, she was Mary Ruth Jacobson-Ryan, wife of her dead husband’s best friend, and recent missing person case to which she had unofficially assigned herself. She assumed it to be coincidence. All of her other victims had been prostitutes. It seemed now to be one of her stranger cases, actually; dead, bloodless prostitutes found with slit wrists in motel rooms around the city every three to four weeks.It took the local authorities years to see the pattern and wonder if they were connected. Everyone involved in the individual cases attributed the deaths to suicide and rightly so, based on the obvious evidence. But to her experienced eyes, it had to be vampiric in nature. Nothing else she had encountered could drain a human dry in such an exact way, not even suicide via wrist slitting in a bathtub. Turning to her notes again, she read through the details regarding her interview with Ms. Durant/Mrs. Ryan. As she scanned them, her eyes stopped.“Scarring to a wound consistent with previous suicide attempt by exsanguination via laceration of the radial artery at the wrist.”While this detail had been important when Wolf had been focused on her bloodless prostitute case, somehow she had forgotten it when she realized she had missed her chance to confront Jonathan Ryan’s missing wife.Looking over at her calendar, she noted, for the first time, that the highlighted days had come and gone with no dead girl found in a motel bathtub. Furthermore, the woman’s arrival at the hospital correlated with that timeline perfectly.What if she wasn’t working two different cases? What if Mary Ruth Jacobson-Ryan was the latest victim of her prostitute-preying predator? She did disappear from a street corner well known for such activity. It could be possible that she had fallen victim in the same way the others had.  Thinking back to her interview with Mrs. Ryan, she tried to understand if indeed she had experienced and survived an attack by a vampire, why she would not have said anything about the attack during their exchange. So many questions swirled through the agent’s mind - Did she not remember? Did she not care? Did she not think she would be believed? Was she being coerced into silence? If so, how and why? Why had she been allowed to live when so many others had died? How had she escaped? Samantha’s thoughts drifted to the possibility that Mr. Durand could be one of the immortals she usually investigated. He definitely had a certain air about him - the difficult-to-place accent, the large amount of wealth for a man no one had seemed to have heard of, and a bit of arrogance when speaking with the law that she had encountered with her other vampires of significant age and experience. She remembered him being attractive and healthy in appearance at the time she had met him, meaning if he were indeed vampire, he had probably fed recently, but not too recently, judging by the whites of his eyes and the paleness of his skin. Making a note to get more security footage from Mr. Durand’s building to determine if he ever left during daylight hours, she grabbed her folder that contained the details of the prostitute case. Pulling out the map showing the locations of the victims’ bodies and their last known locations prior to their deaths, she located the loft building in which Mr. Durand lived. “Aha!” she exclaimed as she noticed the building’s location, centrally located among the mess of dots. Her suspicions increased, and now the evidence started to support them.


About the Author:
Jo Bissell started writing in middle school with fantasy stories inspired by books such as The Hobbit, and in fact once turned in a journal project written entirely in Dwarfish Ruins. She then explored fanfiction and short speculative fiction writing. Now, after many years of study, she spends most of her time working as a full time physician caring for hospitalized adults. When she is not writing or doctoring, she enjoys reading, watching movies, traveling, archery, thrift store shopping, and snowboarding. She currently resides in the Iowa City, IA area with her husband and two cats.
Beyond the Reach of Judgement is Jo Bissell’s first original novel which evolved out of a 2012 National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) project. She also has a short speculative fiction piece, His Eyes, available for Kindle. Future planned novels include a sequel to Beyond the Reach of Judgement, other works of urban fantasy and paranormal romances, and a science fiction novel. She continues to participate in NaNoWriMo.
http://jjobissell.wix.com/author
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jo-Bissell/540912922607472
https://twitter.com/jobissell
Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.com/e/B00CEDZWHM
Goodreads Author Page: http://www.goodreads.com/JoBissell

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