Roxanne Rhoads's Blog, page 527

Guest Blog and Giveaway with LJ Hadaway

Can you tellreaders a little bit about yourself and what inspired to write in thisparticular genre?
I have worked  in the chemical addiction field for manyyears, I've encountered so many family members that asked how they can helptheir son, or daughter, mom or dad. When I thought about writing DarkSide Of Purgatory, it began with a thought of how to illustrate addiction- oraddict thinking- to the family. How to put family members into the "thinkingmind- of an addict.  At the same time, Iwanted to give the readers the feel of the family members and what they mayexperience. Besides all that, I had to have a story and character that peoplewould like-/ relate to.
What is it aboutthe paranormal, in particular ghosts and ghouls that fascinates you so much? 
I like the idea of my own rules for the "ghostworld." There are general things that everyone "expects" in a ghost story, butso many things you can dream up. What does Purgatory look like? Certainly notgreen trees, and butterflies, bluebirds singing.



Please tell usabout your latest release.
Dark Side Of Purgatory
Let me tell you a bit about JaxonSlater. He's the bad boy you had a crush on in high school- maybe a littlelater. He's got that crazy, crooked grin that makes your heart skip a beat-when it's directed at you- and a wink that causes you to blush- even when youdon't want to. He's the guy you'd like to date- or spend the night with- buthe's certainly not marriage material!
He's got a great sense of humor andyou like him fine sober. Trouble is, he doesn't seem to like himself much thatway. Figures he's better off after he takes a drink---or two..or more. He's the guy, that when you hearsirens from far away, your first thought is, "Hope it's not Slater."
Come on, go with Jaxon Slatersomewhere you've never been before…Purgatory. Maybe you can help him stay onthe right path- help him redeem himself. You won't regret it.


 Do you have a formula for developing characters? Like do youcreate a character sketch or list of attributes before you start writing or doyou just let the character develop as you write? 
I'll start out with a picture in mind- or one I've gotten off the netor out of a magazine. Then I write out several things ( I have a form) Whatdoes my charter like? What are his fears- his dreams. And sometimes during astory, the character may surprise me and ends up doing something that I had notexpected. They kind of take on a life of their own.

Do you write indifferent genres?
Oh yes! I have writtena suspense, One Step Ahead Of Danger, a contemporary- Life Choices, and willhave another contemporary out in May, (Don't Mess With ) Clear Lake Women,(GLBT content)
Do you find itdifficult to write in multiple genres? 
NO!I love it!

Other thanwriting, what are some of your interests, hobbies or passions in life? 
I love to read- ( duh!) also enjoy sewingand quilting has become a passion lately. Like to camp. Walk on beach, and…Ilove Las Vegas!

Where can readersfind you on the web? www.lindahadaway.com   e mail ljhadaway@hotmail.com
What can readersexpect next from you? 
I'm working on asqueal for Dark Side.
Would you like toleave readers with a little teaser or excerpt from the book?
"So,you're here too?"
"Uh?"Jaxon responded, unsure if he heard him right. He smiled back. "I'm having thiscrazy dream. It's funny you being here, I haven't thought about you in...." Hestopped. Jaxon's eyes squinted a bit, trying to pull up an old memory. It cameto him. "I thought you were...." His voice trailed off.
"Dead?"Shorts answered.
Jaxonnodded.
Shortslooked passed Jaxon, staring at what seemed like nothing, and paused. His voicewas low and heavy, as if coming from a deep well. "One hellav'a pile up on mybike."
Jaxonremembered hearing about it now. Shorts going too fast around a corner on hisHarley, grazing a telephone pole. Tipping sideways, the only thing in his waywas the damn guide wire, bolted into the ground.
His forehead furrowed deep callingup the memory...taking his head clean off. Jaxon glanced at Shorts' neck, butthe turtleneck he wore hid any...scars. He shuddered again. A feeling ofanxiety began to stir in his stomach.

April 2 Tour IntroRoxanne's Realmwww.roxannesrealm.blogspot.com
April 3 Guest BlogLisa's World of Bookswww.lisasworldofbooks.net
April 4 Guest BlogThe Creatively Green Write at Home Momwww.creativelygreen.blogspot.com
April 6 PromoMila Ramos' Jade Mystiquewww.jademystique.blogspot.com
April 7 Guest blogFull Moon Dreamingjulielynnhayes.blogspot.com
April 9 InterviewCarrie Ardoinhttp://sweetsouthernhome.wordpress.com
April 11 InterviewFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com
April 13 Promohttp://www.hildiemcqueen.com
April 16 Guest Blog and reviewPicked by Poisonhttp://www.pickedbypoison.com/
April 19th - Guest Blogwww.salaciousreads.com
April 22 Guest Blog and reviewFictional Candy www.fictionalcandy.com
April 26 Interview and ReviewThe Readers Roundtable Outerlimitshttp://outerlimits.thereadersroundtable.com/
April 26th - Reviewwww.salaciousreads.com
April 30 Reviewabookishgirl.com

May 15 InterviewNight Owl Book Lover's Magazine

DARK SIDE OF PURGATORY
By L.J. Hadaway

Jaxon Slater was the life-of-the-party- guy until one day he woke up in Purgatory. He runs into a mean bunch of ...guys...an unlikely guide and... possible redemption. His quest is finding a certain young woman and steering her away from the path of Destruction that killed him. He will need to face the wreckage of his past. Old temptations linger. Dark forces shadow his path.

Book Trailer http://youtu.be/UEQ83Rxn-7Y

Long blurb

Everyone knows Jaxon Slater. He's the life-of-the-party guy. He's the fun guy we want to invite to our out door barbeques but not marry our daughters. He is our nephew, the next-door neighbor who drinks too much, a friend of a friend that overdosed on heroin. He's the class clown in high school that was always in trouble from drinking and driving.

Jaxon Slater has 'pushed the envelope' and tried to scam his way through most of his life. He's charismatic and good-looking. Many things come easy to Jaxon. Sobriety isn't one of them. He's tried staying clean numerous times but always falls back into relapse, using one more time. His long time sponsor had warned him plenty... His last use of heroin landed him dead-in Purgatory.

Jaxon believes he is having a terrible nightmare until he finds an old friend and recalls how he died. Reality sets in and Jaxon begins to learn the rules of the strange land. He runs into a mean bunch of guys, an unlikely guide and... possible redemption. His quest is to find a certain young woman and steer her away from the path of Destruction that killed him. In doing so, he will need to face the wreckage of his past. Old temptations linger and Dark forces shadow his path. Jaxon has no idea his journey will take him to an abyss of his deepest fears.




About the Author:

I live in a small town in Washington State near the Cascade Mountains. I have worked in the Human Services field for thirty years, mainly in chemical addition. My writing genre has taken me to different arenas: suspense- One Step Ahead Of Danger, contemporary-Life Choices and now, with Dark Side Of Purgatory, the paranormal.

Writing has always been a great passion of mine and seeing my books published in the last few years, has certainly made my dreams come true.

I hope that you, the reader, will share your thoughts about this book with me. Please drop me a line at: ljhadaway@hotmail.com

I make my own book trailers, which you can view at: www.lindahadaway.com

Thank you for reading…..If you have a "Jaxon Slater" in your life, please remember him in your prayers. There's always hope.



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Laura Kaye's WEST OF WANT Preview and Prizes Event!

Happy WEST OF WANT Preview & Prizes Event, everyone! Today, April 10, was the original release date for Book 2 in my Hearts of the Anemoi series, West of Want. And then some really cool things happened: my publisher, Entangled Publishing, signed a huge deal with the nation's biggest book distributor, which means for the first time ever, my books will be shelved in brick-and-mortar bookstores. And then, West of Want received a very nice pre-sales estimate by the booksellers and Barnes and Nobles bought it for all their stores nationwide (and it got bought for airports, too—squee!). The only bad news in this whole scenario was this: the release date got pushed back, by three LONG months! LOL So, I thought I'd celebrate the original release date with a preview of the book and a big contest, and give you a small taste to whet your appetite until the actual release date arrives.


"Laura Kaye's captivating writing and vibrant world-building will have readers hooked on the gods of the Anemoi. WEST OF WANT is steamy, spellbinding, and a must-read for all romance fantasy fans."~Elisabeth Naughton, author of the Eternal Guardians series
Forty sites are celebrating with me today, and there are different posts at those different sites. To see the whole list of participants, click here. Now, without further ado, here's the book blurb and one of four different never-before-seen excerpts from the book available for you to enjoy:
WEST OF WANT BLURB:Betrayal is all he's ever known, but in her, he'll find a love strong enough to be trusted...

When Marcella Raines' twin brother dies, she honors his request to be buried at sea, never expecting the violent storm that swamps her boat. Though she's gravely injured--and still emotionally damaged from her recent divorce--Ella fights to survive.

Zephyros Martius is the Supreme God of the West Wind and Spring, but being the strongest Anemoi hasn't protected him from betrayal and loss. Worse, he's sure his brother Eurus is behind it. When Zeph's heartbreak whips up a storm that shipwrecks a human, his guilt forces him to save her.

Ella is drawn to the vulnerability Zeph hides beneath his otherworldly masculinity and ancient blue eyes. And her honesty, empathy, and unique, calming influence leave Zeph wanting...everything. When Eurus threatens Ella, she and Zeph struggle to let go of the past, defend their future, and embrace what they most want--a love that can be trusted.
WEST OF WANT EXCERPT:Zeph concentrated and allowed his mind to travel in search of his brother's unique energy signature. As polar opposites, their energies were connected. Yin and yang. Life and death. West and East. So he found Eurus, easily. Within blocks of Ella's house. Thunder rumbled around him as he flowed through the air in pursuit.
Corporeality returned in a blaze of light, his seething rage crackling around him.
"Ah, brother. I've been expecting you," Eurus said. In the gloom of twilight, he lay prone on the dock in the middle of the marina where Ella's boat had been taken that first day. Ankles crossed.Fingers making lazy designs in the air as if he were conducting a symphony. Cold wind whipped up around them, turning the calm waters of the inlet choppy, jostling the sailboats in their slips.
His brother's calm, casual repose was more disturbing than if Zeph had found him petulant and ranting. Because it meant he was planning. "What the fuck are you playing at, Eurus?"
He sprung to his feet and tugged the lapels of his leather coat. "You see? I offer civility, and what do I get in return?"
Zeph squared off and braced, ready for anything. "You don't have a civil bone in your body."
Eurus pinched the bridge of his nose, shifting the wraparounds up the smallest bit. Though not enough, Zeph was relieved to see, to reveal his dead black irises. "If what you say is true, brother, whose fault exactly would that be?"
"Not. Mine." It was a fruitless conversation, but it was their little dance, and Zeph's own special corner of hell.
"Of course not yours. Not perfect Zephyros. Not the god of life and renewal. Gods forbid."
Zeph ignored the barb. Perfection was the last thing he believed of himself. Eurus was jealous of a figment of his imagination. "What do you want?" he finally bit out, hoping to defuse the other man, to delay the confrontation long brewing between them.
Eurus whipped off his glasses and drilled his disturbing, blank gaze into Zeph's very soul. "Leave the woman alone."
Pre-order West of Want on Amazon | B&N
So, what d'ya think? Want more Zephyros and Ella? Visit more participating sites to read all the excerpts, meet the characters, see the the West of Want romance trading cards, and enter to win! Thanks for reading! July 10 can't get here soon enough for me! *grins*
~Laura Kaye
"Using ancient winter mythology as an allegory for grief, Kaye has written a sexy story that packs a powerful emotional punch. NORTH OF NEED is pure winter magic and Kaye's sparkling talent warms the heart."~Stephanie Draven, author of the Mythica series aboutmulti-award-winning Book 1 in the Anemoi series, North of Need
WEST OF WANT PREVIEW CONTEST!

Seven participants who enter through the Rafflecopter form will win gift cards from winners' choice of Amazon or B&N valued between $15 and $100! Those prize winners will be announced on West of Want's release day, July 10, 2012. As a special thank you to those who have pre-ordered the print West of Want through Amazon or B&N, you'll receive extra entries - just enter your order confirmation number on the appropriate Rafflecopter line. Pre-orders are hugely important for an author because they determine how many books bookstores will actually stock and they count toward an author's first-week sales which is when most authors have their best chance to hit the big bestseller lists. However, pre-orders/purchases are not required to enter. Commenting is the only required entry. Open to international..




About Laura Kaye:Voted Breakout Author of the Year in the 2011 GraveTells Readers' Choice Awards, Laura is a bestselling and award-winning author paranormal and contemporary romance. Hearts in Darkness is the EPIC eBook Award Winner for Best Novella, Forever Freed won the NJRW Golden Leaf Award for Best Paranormal of 2011, and North of Need, the first book in the Hearts of the Anemoi series, was named GraveTells' Best Book of 2011 and won their 5-STAR Gold Heart Award, and won Sizzling Hot Read of the Year at Sizzling Hot Books. Laura lives in Maryland with her husband, two daughters, and cute-but-bad dog, and appreciates her view of the Chesapeake Bay every day.

Buy Laura's Books
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Now On Tour Frozen in Time

April 9 Promostories with bite o,.,ohttp://ravencorinncarluk.blogspot.com
April 10 PromoSharondawww.salaciousreads.com
April 11 Guest blogThe Creatively Green Write at Home Momwww.creativelygreen.blogspot.com
April 12 Guest Blog (review later)Ce-Ce`s Garden of Reviewhttp://cecesreviews.blogspot.com
April 14 InterviewStorm Goddess Book Reviews & More: www.stormgoddessbookreviews.blogspot.com
April 15th PromoGraveTells.com
April 15 Guest blogRoxanne's Realmwww.roxannesrealm.blogspot.com
April 16 Guest blogAlways a Booklover – http://alwaysabooklover.blogspot.com



FROZEN IN TIME

BLURB
Set in Ancient Greece, at the time of Alexander the Great, a time when the spirit world of gods and goddesses and other immortal beings bleeds into the world of mortals, Frozen in Time is an engaging story of a love that can transcend anything. Even death or banishment to otherworldly realms, or the transformation of the lovers into immortal beings.

After the death of his wife in childbirth, Philip, grief stricken and suicidal, joins the army of his half brother Alexander, with whom he has a very uneasy relationship. But the world of immortals has other plans for him and the vampiric monster, Scylla, plays on his grief by seducing him in the form of his dead wife. Horrified when he discovers the truth and that he too is now one of the immortals, it becomes his life's quest to escape Scylla, find a way of destroying her forever and also reunite himself with his beloved wife in one way or another.

AUTHOR BIO

Marie Symeou was born in North London, where she still lives. She is the author of FROZEN IN TIME, a historical vampire fantasy set in Ancient Greece, and AGE OF DREAMS, a semi-autobiographical tale of fame, love and addiction set in the 1980s. She also writes screenplays and song lyrics, and is the vocalist of Violet Eternity. She is currently working on the sequel to FROZEN IN TIME.



http://marie-deepthinker.blogspot.com/

https://twitter.com/#!/marie_p_s




http://www.facebook.com/pages/Marie-Symeou-Author-Singer/119520001398734

Guest Blog and Giveaway with Marsha A Moore

Dragons of the EnchantedBookstore Legends by Marsha A. MooreSince I have a dragonon the cover of Seeking a Scribe ,you'd expect those magical creatures to play a major role. Dragon lovers willnot be disappointed. I love dragons and have included many types, ages, andsizes. I'd like to share a brief description of the most common ones in this firstlegend.Like all fantasies,the battle between good and evil is a key theme. The dragons in my fantasyworld of Dragonspeir are either members of the good Alliance, governed by thegolden Imperial Dragon and his High Council, or the Dark Realm, led by theBlack Dragon. Alliance Dragons: Gold dragons are born leaders,being lawful, just and good.Their intelligence exceeds the other types, and their wisdom is sought after. Beinggood-natured, they help those who are kind and fair. The Imperial Leader helpstrain and guide my heroine, Lyra, along her quest. Golds are the most powerful and largest in size. The breath weapon of golddragons is a cone of fire. Although they are cautious about entering a fightand dislike killing, once engaged, they will pour their entire being into thebattle. Physically,gold dragons are spectacular. Two prominent horns point backwards along theirheads. The most obvious feature is probably the tentacle whiskers that sproutfrom the bottom of the gold dragon's jaw, giving the appearance of a sort ofbeard in both males and females. The Imperial Dragon isgold. Like his father before him, he will serve the Allianceuntil either he dies or steps down.  Similar to most golds,he keeps his Alliance headquarters in a grand network of caves set in the rockplateau. His overlooks the Steppe of Ora, the wide plain which divides good andevil in Dragonspeir. His lair includes an elaborate gathering hall, a vastlibrary, guest quarters, and his own personal chambers with cases of magicalinstruments and a glass-walled observatory to consult the stars. As one of thefour Alliance Guardians, his area of expertise is magic powered by the air element,including mystical astronomy studies of the skies. Blue dragons are the sentries tothe Imperial Dragon. They love spending hours soaring and are excellenttrackers. Squadrons of them patrol the Alliance. They are lawful and obedient,with strong moral character.They are a brilliant cobalt blue, bearing asingle horn. Their eyes are smooth and glossy, without pupils, which makes foran hypnotic appearance. Although slightly smaller than golds, they arequicker to strike in battles with their lightning bolt breath. Bronze dragons are duty-bound and honorable to a fault. Physically, thebronze dragon is quite fierce in appearance, despite its good nature. Whilemost of its body is a reflective copper color, the wings are often tipped withgreen. There are two breathweapons these dragons employ. They either use a bolt of lightning or arepulsion gas, which is so putrid that it forces everything away. Always inline with the Alliance, the bronze dragon is a deadlycombatant, roasting enemies with bursts of lightning or ripping them open withits clawed forelegs.
Dark Realm Dragons:
Blackdragons, like the leader of the Dark Realm, always seek tolair in deep dark caves. Although small, they are vile, evil-tempered, andabusive. Their hearts are as dark as their slimy scales. They are obsessed withdeath and take comfort in the sickening-sweet aroma of drowned, rottingcarcasses. The Black Dragon leader prefers his drake servants leave the preythey bring him in pools within his personal cave. The victims float for days orweeks before he eats them.
The dark leader, like all black dragons, is grim andskeletal. His eyes lie deep in their sockets between two great horns that curveforward and down. The flesh of his face is partially deteriorated or burnt fromhis acidic drool.  His method of attackis spitting caustic acid. My heroine and hero, Lyra and Cullen, learn too wellwhat that feels like!
Asallies to the Black Dragon, greendragons live alone in dense forests. Although short dragons, they have nasty,belligerent tempers. They delight in torturing their captives. The head of agreen is covered in hornlets. They reek of chlorine since their chosen breathweapon is hurling clouds of toxic chlorine gas.Numeroustypes of drakes are the soldiers andscouts of the Dark Realm. Fire and magma drakes attack with burning flames,while the evil ice drakes freeze victims with contact.
This was only a quick summary ofmany of the evil and good dragons in my Enchanted Bookstore Legends. Thereare others I enjoy just as much, like the three-foot long pseudodragon, Noba,who is the wizard's familiar to Cullen Drake, the Imperial Sorcerer of theAlliance. Read more about Noba and all the dragons in Seeking a Scribe: EnchantedBookstore Legend One.


Seeking a Scribe: Enchanted Bookstore Legend One

Genre: Fantasy romance
Description:

Lyra McCauley is a writer and loves fantasy novels, but until she opens a selection from bookstore owner Cullen Drake, she has no idea he's a wizard character who lives a double life inside that volume…or the story's magic will compel her from the edge of depression to adventure, danger, and love.

His gift to Lyra, the Book of Dragonspeir, was actually her copy, misplaced years ago. Lost in her pain following divorce and death, she fails to recognize him as her childhood playmate from the fantasyland. Friendship builds anew. Attraction sparks. But Lyra doubts whether a wizard is capable of love. She's torn—should she protect her fragile heart or risk new love?

Opening the book's cover, she confronts a quest: save Dragonspeir from destruction by the Black Dragon before he utilizes power of August's red moon to expand his strength and overthrow the opposing Imperial Dragon. Lyra accepts the challenge, fearing Cullen will perish if evil wins. Along with magical animal guides, Cullen helps her through many perils, but ultimately Lyra must use her own power…and time is running out.


Purchase at Amazon for only 99 cents 


Author Bio:

Marsha A. Moore is a writer of fantasy romance. The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing. Her creativity also spills into watercolor painting and drawing. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she's happily transforming into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors. Crazy about cycling, she usually passes the 1,000 mile mark yearly. She is learning kayaking and already addicted. She's been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and that spiritual quest helps her explore the mystical side of fantasy. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at new stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at the beach is magical!

Website: http://MarshaAMoore.com

Twitter: http://twitter.com/MarshaAMoore

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/marshaamooreauthorpage

Fantasy Faction staff page: http://fantasy-faction.com/staff-members?uid=38

Goodreads author page http://www.goodreads.com/marshaamoore

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Spotlight on Bandit Creek Books Heart of Mine by Michelle Beattie

This week's spotlighted title is Heart of Mine by Michelle Beattie



Heart of MineBy Michelle Beattie
To avoid a forced marriage, Laura Gibbs has little choice but to go along with her controlling father's plan to deceive the man she's secretly loved for years. Scared and alone, she lies next to a drugged and sleeping Jake knowing fully well the position she's putting him in. 
Jake Evans has been burned in the past and has learned the hard way that nobody is interested in him, only his money. So when he wakes to find Laura in his bed, he's convinced that she's yet another in a long line of women who only wants his share of his recently inherited gold mine. A fact soon confirmed when her father storms in the room and demands Jake make an honest woman out of Laura, lest he be charged with rape and hanged. A bitter Jake agrees, but vows that money-grubbing Hugh will never see a cent of his money. 
As Laura gains freedom from her oppressing father, she also gains courage. Determined to make a real marriage with Jake, she refuses her father's demand that she steal from her husband and instead concentrates her efforts on showing Jake the woman she truly is. 
Despite Laura's deceptions, Jake can't deny his attraction to her. With the physical attraction sizzling between them, Jake begins to believe he's finally found the woman for him. But there's trouble brewing. Hugh, neck-deep in gambling debts with no money in sight, seeks drastic measures that won't only risk Laura and Jake's marriage; it'll risk her very life.
About the Author  
Michelle Beattie has been writing for 15 years. Her first pirate novel sold to the Berkley Publishing Group in 2007 and hit the shelves in December 2008 under the title, What a Pirate Desires. 
Wanting to build a readership, Berkley encouraged Michelle to turn the book into a series and 6 months later she signed a two-book contract. Her second novel, Romancing the Pirate was released in 2009 and the third book, A Pirate's Possession was released in December 2010. 
Her books have received wonderful praise from publisher's weekly, Romantic Times and several on-line review sites as well as have been published in several languages 
Michelle Beattie-Romance Author
http://www.twitter.com/M_Beattie
Michelle Beattie
ONEBandit Creek, Montana 1897            Laura Gibbs had always secretly hoped to share a bed with Jake Evans, but she'd never imagined it would be like this.              She pinched her eyes closed, drew the sheet higher until it covered her chin.  She didn't dare look over; it was terrifying enough to hear Jake's low, even breathing beside her.  To worry about what he'd do when he awakened and saw her there.  If he assumed, as her father had planned, that they'd been intimate last night, he may very well deem the damage done and want to bed her again.            With a snuffle, Jake rolled over and tossed a leg over hers, which were clamped tightly together.  Laura froze.  His skin was hot but a shiver shimmered over her.  She loved Jake, had since her body began to change into womanhood.  But she wasn't ready to give herself.  Not like this.            He must have realized he wasn't alone.  A deep growl rumbled from his throat.  He shifted closer.  His hand snuck underneath the covers.  Laura's eyes flew open.  Her arms covered her breasts, but she couldn't protect...everything.  His hand slid over her bent arms, fingers cleverly finding any skin that wasn't covered.            Laura's heart was a trapped wild mustang trying to kick its way free.  When Jake awakened and saw her there, he'd be livid and she'd be forced to continue the deception her father had thrust her into.  A deception she never would have agreed to if she'd been left any other choice.  But when Hugh Gibbs wanted something badly enough, he stopped at nothing to achieve it.  A cruel truth Laura had witnessed firsthand growing up.            Clearly realizing his hands weren't going to find the glory they were after, Jake's leg resumed the conquest.  Using her rigid limbs as leverage, he shifted closer to her until-            Laura jammed her fisted hands into her mouth to keep from squealing.  As much as she could with Jake's leg trapping her, she shifted away from him.             "Where do you think you're going?" his gravelly voice asked as he once again moved closer until his body pressed tightly against hers.  Until she felt that against her leg.            He was aroused and eager, but he didn't even know who he was in bed with.A single tear ran down her cheek.            Jake opened his eyes.  Morning light spilled from his curtain-less windows, enabling Laura to see the emotions cross his face.  Confusion and disbelief reigned.  His brow creased. He blinked several times as though he couldn't believe whom he was seeing.  "Laura?"            She hadn't moved and remained still and stiff beside him, the blankets at her lips.  She imagined her eyes were as large as his.  Since words failed her, Laura simply nodded.            Jake's gaze roamed over her.  Laura felt naked.  Of course it didn't help that under the covers she was naked.  They both were.  Heat poured over her as though someone had dumped liquid fire over her head.            Jake too got some color in his cheeks and he eased away.  Thick blonde hair fell over his forehead.  His face was a combination of angles and lines that culminated with a pair of penetrating coffee-colored eyes.            His hand reached for her.  Laura's heart tripped over itself but his fingers stopped on her cheek, where he gently wiped the tear that had snaked its way to her jaw.            "Did I hurt you?"            Laura hadn't thought she could feel any lower but his words shamed her.  She was knowingly deceiving him and he was worried about her.  She lowered the blankets to her neck.            "No, you didn't."            "Well, that's something, then."  He shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Laura.  I don't remember last night at all.  The last thing I remember is being in the Powder Horn Saloon."            "You were drunk," Laura volunteered, hoping he wouldn't remember the rest.            Jake frowned.  "I've never been so drunk that I've forgotten making lo-"             Laura's face burned as Jake swallowed the rest of his sentence.   She knew he was digging in his memories, trying to remember their coupling.  "You weren't at the saloon last night," he stated.            Laura swallowed, licked her dry lips.  "No.  I saw you...later."            Jake ran a hand through his already tousled hair.  "I remember tossing some coins on the table, I was getting up to leave when-" His gaze grabbed hers.  "Your father was there.  He offered to buy me a drink."             Laura licked her lips again.  "I didn't see him."  But she knew Jake didn't believe her. His jaw was ticking and his eyes were sharp.            "I know I didn't bring you here.  What's really going on?"            No, of course he'd never have taken her home, because she was Laura Gibbs, poor daughter of lazy, smooth-talking, money-grubbing Hugh Gibbs.  Who'd ever want her?  Other than the old miner her father threatened to sell her to if this farce didn't work.  The thought reinforced Laura's wavering will.  She wouldn't marry a man old enough to be her father.  She wouldn't give her body, her soul, to a man she didn't love.             "It's as I said.  You were coming from the saloon and-"            Beyond the bedroom and down the stairs, Jake's front door crashed in.            "Jake Evans!" Hugh Gibb's voice thundered from the entryway of Jake's sprawling log house.  "What have you done with my daughter?"            "Damnation," Jake cursed as instinct shot him out of bed.             She caught a glimpse of naked leg and backside and turned her head.  She yanked the cover to just under her nose as her father's heavy tread thumped up the stairs.  Of course he knew exactly where Jake's room was as he'd been the one to carry him there to begin with. Despite it being her father's idea, Laura nonetheless cringed when he stomped into the room. Alone with Jake she could fool herself into believing that she could be good for him, that she could make him happy.  But with her father in the room, she couldn't hide the fact that, despite having no alternatives, she was as guilty in this scheme as Hugh was.            Hugh Gibbs wasn't nearly as tall as Jake.  In fact, Jake was at least half a head taller, but her father nevertheless made an impression.  Dressed in his best suit--which Laura's wages had paid for--his beard neatly trimmed and his midnight hair slicked back, he seemed everything he wasn't; wealthy, successful.  Concerned.            His girth expanded as he drew a righteous breath.  "Jake, you filthy, no-good snake in the grass!  You ruined my daughter!"            Hugh's flinty gaze slid from Jake to Laura.  Dollar signs pulsed in her father's eyes, making Laura's stomach churn.  If only it hadn't come to this.  Daring to look, she slid her glance Jake's way.  He'd pulled on a pair of pants and while Laura was glad he wasn't naked any longer, the sight of his well-muscled chest captivated her attention more than it should have considering the circumstances.            Jake's stare grabbed her.  The cold that snapped from it made her shiver.  The disgust that followed had bile burning the back of her throat.  She was a good person, struggled every day to make the folks of Bandit Creek see that she was nothing like her father.  She wasn't an opportunist.  She wasn't dishonest and she surely wasn't lazy.  But the look on Jake's face said he considered her no better than her four-flusher father.            Finally he turned away from her and she was able to breathe without his contempt choking her.  She wasn't sure how her father managed it as Jake's scorn doubled when he looked at Hugh.            "Don't think I'm not wise to you.  My uncle is barely cold in the ground and already you're sniffing around trying to get your fingers into my share of his mine holdings.  Well, you barked up the wrong tree this time.  I've watched you swindle folks around here, but you won't get around me.  You're not getting your shiftless hands anywhere near my money."            Hugh pointed a finger Laura's way.  "You bedded my daughter!  You ruined her chance of ever getting married to a respectable man.  You won't get away with that, not as I live and breathe."            Jake took a step toward him.  "Don't tempt me," he growled.            Undaunted, Hugh tugged at the hem of his jacket, ran a hand over his hair.  "Fine.  Then you've left me no choice but to tell Sheriff Wilson that you raped my daughter.  I believe it'll be the noose for you."            Jake spun to Laura.  The color had drained from his face.  Mercy, she'd never thought it would come to this but from Jake's perspective it could very well look as though she was afraid of him.  As though he'd hurt her.  He'd seen her tear when he'd awakened.  She'd been cowering in the blankets ever since.            She couldn't have him believe that.  Not when the only time he'd touched her was to wipe the tear off her cheek.  She opened her mouth but her father spoke first.            "Well, since you refuse to answer, I'll head to the sheriff's office now."  He spun on the heel of his well-polished boot.            "Wait."  Jake's voice was as rigid as his shoulders.  His chest rose and fell with his breathing.  His hands fisted at his sides.  "Since I am a man of honor, I'll marry Laura, but," he emphasized and this time he did close the distance that remained between him and her father.            "I will also be seeing my attorney regarding my will and if anything suspicious should happen to me, all my money and properties will go to my nieces and nephews in Missoula."  His smile never reached his eyes.  "In case you had another scheme cooking."            "Jake, I'd never hurt you!" Laura exclaimed.  His scathing glare told her he didn't believe it.            "You can't let my daughter live in poverty!" Hugh argued.            "Why not?  You have," Jake answered.            Shame was an uncomfortable cloak and it fell heavily on Laura's shoulders.             "You've no need to worry for Laura, however.   While I'm alive your daughter will be looked after.  You, however, are never to step foot in my home again," Jake said before her father could argue further.  "Now, you've accomplished what you set out to do.  Since you found your way to my room so easily I assume you can find your way out in the same manner."             Jake crossed his arms over his chest.  Furious or not, he was beautiful.  While the sunlight underscored her father's faults, it did the opposite for Jake.  It cast a glow on Jake's skin, called attention to his narrow hips and broad chest.  Morning stubble darkened his cheeks and jaw, but it only added to his ruggedness.            "There is one other matter," her father drawled, a smug grin curving his lips.  "I've arranged for the preacher to perform the ceremony this afternoon.  Since my darling daughter didn't come home last night, I had things arranged before I came over."             "Of course you did," Jake answered.             "I'll meet you two at the church in an hour."  Hugh's merciless gaze locked onto his daughter and the warning in them was as clear as in his words.  "Don't do anything else to disappoint me, Laura."  Then, whistling a lively tune, he turned and left Laura and her future husband alone.            Still clamping the sheet underneath her chin Laura waited.  She couldn't move, not with Jake standing right there and her naked as the day she was born.  But he didn't seem in a hurry to leave either.  After an interminable silence, his arms fell to his sides.             "Until today I never would have put you in the same category as your father.  I've seen you about town; I know how hard you work.  I thought it was to prove you weren't like him."  He shook his head.  "You had me fooled," he sneered.            He stopped in the doorway, his back to her.  Speaking over his shoulder he said, "Get your clothes on.  We can't be late for our own wedding."            He didn't slam the door, but he may as well have because the sound of him leaving, the finality as the door clicked shut, reverberated loudly in her head.   Sliding down onto the bed, Laura balled the covers and pressed them to her lips.  Her father's plan had worked.  Jake had been tricked into thinking he'd bedded Laura and because of that she'd soon be his wife.   It solved one of Laura's problems; she'd be out of her father's house.  She didn't fool herself into thinking she'd be out from under his control.Nothing would keep Hugh from coming after Jake's money and, in turn, coming after her.  Laura had known that when she'd been strong-armed to agree to her father's plan but she'd chosen her fate regardless.   Her father thought it was the threat of selling her to that filthy miner that had made her yield to his demand.   There was little doubt that had played into Laura's considerations, but it was being married to Jake that had carried the most weight.  And the hope that one day, if she worked hard enough and poured herself into making him happy, he would grow to love her back.            Downstairs the door closed as Jake went outside, reminding Laura she needed to hurry. She threw off the covers and hurriedly dressed in yesterday's clothes.  Buttoning her shirtwaist, Laura faltered.  It was her wedding day and what did she have to show for it?  Yesterday's worn clothes, a man who'd been blackmailed into marrying her and a father who wasn't giving away his only daughter, he was selling her. Loneliness and misery fisted into a hard knot in her chest.  Through trembling lips Laura breathed deeply until the pain subsided, then she bucked herself up.  Laura Gibbs was a fighter. Besides, however bleak her future may look, it was still a step up from her past.***            How in God's name had this happened?  Jake braced his forearms on the corral rail, looked out past his small herd of palomino horses to the snowy mountains beyond.  He'd been so careful, so damn careful.  Since he'd first overheard a group of his so-called friends talking about how they only spent time in Jake's company for the candy sticks he brought them, he'd been suspicious of people using him for his family's money.             He'd put those suspicions aside when he'd fallen in love for the first and only time. Surely the woman who claimed to love him wouldn't ever hurt him.  He'd been proven wrong in the worst possible way.   He'd overheard his fiancé scheming about ways to get his money, plotting against him while wrapped in the arms of another man.             From then on, Jake had closed himself off.  He had business acquaintances and family. Nobody in between.  Animals, he'd decided as his favorite mare came plodding through the spring mud for a pat, were the only ones that didn't want anything from him.  Which was why he'd built his house far enough from town to avoid people and why he'd surrounded himself with animals.  Besides horses, he had chickens, a dozen cows, and enough barn cats to keep the mice under control.            Behind him the house door opened and closed.  Jake hung his head, took a deep breath.  His bride was ready.             Mid-April mornings in Montana weren't warm.  Though the sky was blue and endless, the air was crisp.  Seeing Laura on his porch, wearing a threadbare coat and old, worn boots had him gritting his teeth.  He'd seen for his own eyes her working at least two different jobs in town.  She should be able to buy herself decent clothes.  But then, why would she need to when she planned on using his money to do so?            Anger percolating, Jake crossed the yard.             Still as the mountains that surrounded them, Laura watched him approach.  She'd tidied her mass of auburn hair into a long braid down her back.   She seemed a little pale to Jake and as he closed the last of the distance between them he noticed that her gaze wasn't near as stoic as the rest of her.  It swirled with guilt, trepidation and, damn it, fear.  She had pushed her way into this, why in hell would she be scared now when she was getting what she'd sought? Marriage to a wealthy man.            He pointed to the buckboard he'd hitched while he'd given her the time to wash and dress.  Bitterness crept into his voice when he said, "Let's get this charade over with."              Laura worried her lip with her teeth.  "Jake-"            "One confrontation with your father is more than enough.  It's been almost an hour, let's go before he gathers a posse and hunts me down."            Despite his feelings, Jake offered her a hand into the buckboard.  As she rearranged her skirts, he took his seat beside her on the bench, grabbed the reins as if they could somehow get him out of this mess.            He was marrying Laura to avoid the noose, but as they drove the short distance toward Bandit Creek, Jake swore he felt the rope tighten around his neck anyway.***              Jake couldn't put it off any longer.  After the farce of his wedding, he'd avoided the house and instead busied himself outside tending his animals and doing chores.  He'd been caught, quite literally, with his pants down.  No matter how much he racked his brain to remember, no details of his night with Laura came to mind.  And now she was his wife.  What the devil was he supposed to about her?  He couldn't very well sidestep her forever.   Neither could he imagine having polite conversations with her as though he hadn't been deceived into marriage.And he sure as hell wasn't going to march in the house and demand his marital rights. Not after seeing the fear in her eyes that morning.   He had no idea if he'd raped her or not, though he'd never abused a woman in his life and couldn't imagine he'd have started now, but he knew she'd been frightened.   Which meant, regardless of the specifics, she hadn't enjoyed their coupling. Besides her fear, however, was the fact that he didn't like her and he'd never bedded a woman he hadn't, at the very least, been attracted to before.  It took more than a warm body to get Jake interested.            "Or so I thought," he muttered into the night as he realized he'd done just that with Laura.             Dusk was settling in and still he had no answers.  But answers or not, he couldn't delay the inevitable any longer.  Five years ago he'd built an expansive log house, not because he saw himself needing the rooms for his future children, but he loved big spaces and he'd have felt trapped in a small one-room abode.  His residence was open, with thick-notched logs overhead and plenty of windows to let in the daylight.  Normally, stepping into his home filled him with comfort, a sense of belonging, a sense of peace.            He felt none of those things when he stepped into the covered back porch and, with a clear opening to the kitchen, clapped eyes on Laura.  It was like something whooshed through the room and took all the air along with it.            She stood by his stove, a flush to her ivory skin.  With a strike of heat to his loins he remembered how soft her skin had been that morning when he'd swung a leg over hers, when his fingers had found flesh.  She wore the same yellow blouse and brown skirt she'd worn to town, her hair remained tied at her back.  For a brief moment he saw it spilled across his pillow, pictured her wearing nothing but a sheet.             He jerked.  What the devil was he doing?  He'd lived in the same town as Laura for years, had watched her grow up, for Pete's sake.  Though only a few years separated them, he'd never entertained such thoughts about her.             "I wasn't sure what time you'd be in, but I kept supper warm."  She gestured to the stove where the smell of beef and onions originated, but his gaze was on the table.             Two place settings.  A lantern flickering.  It looked inviting, as did the delicious aroma that reminded him of two things:  he hadn't eaten all day and he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a home-cooked meal he hadn't had to make himself.  Damn, he could get used to this.            The thought came unbidden and left him shaking his head.  First he'd imagined her naked, and now he was thinking how nice it was to have her cook a meal for him?  He'd been blackmailed into this marriage and he'd be wise to remember that.            "Next time, don't wait on me," he grumbled, disconcerted by his reaction to her.            Her eyes latched onto his and he swore he heard the crack of a bullwhip.            "I don't like eating alone, if it's all the same to you.  Now, if you want to wash, I've got some water warming for you." With a towel, she lifted the kettle off the stove and stepped into the porch.  She poured the heated water into the washbasin he kept on a long shelf by the back door.  He noticed the towel next to it was neatly folded and the mirror hanging over the basin was free of smudges and spots.  Yes, indeed, he could get used to this.  Which meant he needed to keep his guard up. He didn't trust her.  She had to be up to something because he didn't believe for one moment that her only goal was to tend to him.             After he'd washed, he took his seat at the table where he was promptly served a hearty meal of fried beef and potatoes, onions and carrots.  Laura sat across from him and they ate in silence.  Wood in the stove shifted and hissed.  She was up to add more before he could push away from the table.  When he was done eating, she exchanged his empty plate for a smaller one filled with a large slab of spice cake.  His coffee was poured, hot and fresh.             The more she waited on him, the more it grated.  She and her father had forced him into a marriage he hadn't wanted.   He wouldn't be swayed from that reality by a little doting on her part.             He grabbed her wrist when she moved to take away his dessert plate.             "If you wanted to endear yourself to me, Laura, you might have tried that before you ingratiated yourself into my life."            All the times he'd passed her by on the street with little more than a glance and a nod marched through her mind causing a bitter laugh to spill from Laura's mouth.  If Jake had noticed her before, had seen her as anything but the poor girl, she may not have had to resort to 'ingratiating".  Hiding behind a bluster she didn't feel, she yanked her arm free and said, "I'll cook and serve the meals as I choose.  As of today I live here too."            She knew right away she'd said the wrong thing.  Jake's eyes narrowed.  He shoved from the table, came to his feet.            "There are four bedrooms upstairs.  I don't care which one you decide to sleep in, but stay away from mine."            Laura's stomach fell.  She'd worried all day about where to put her things and in the end had decided on Jake's room.  She'd hoped that perhaps even a little of him was attracted to her.             "Your things are already there, aren't they?"            "I didn't know…I wasn't sure…I'll move them right away."  Grabbing her skirts, glad she'd thought ahead and lit the hallway lights, Laura raced up the wide staircase and into Jake's room.  When she'd come up earlier to turn down the bed, she'd left a light burning softly.   The room looked cozy and inviting.  Welcoming.  Her heart pinched.  He didn't want her there; he'd never want her there.  "Idiot," she muttered, thinking that even after all these years, she had the same foolish dreams about Jake she'd nurtured since her youth. Turning away from what would never be, she hastily grabbed her things.  Luckily she'd only brought up the bags, and hadn't been stupid enough to unpack them.  Hands full, she turned for the door.             She nearly ran into him.             He filled the doorway.  Broad shoulders, long legs.  A face that, even in anger, made all others pale in comparison.  His chest rose and fell with his breaths.  His hands braced on narrow hips.  His eyes went to the bed before meeting hers.  Again it felt as though she couldn't get enough air.            Had he changed his mind?  Did he want her there, after all?            "This may be 'our' house now, but this room is mine.  I can make my own bed and if I need the sheets washed, I'll leave them in the hall."             He may as well have slapped her.  But flowers would bloom at the top of Turtle Mountain in January before she'd let him see it.  She had very little in this world, but she had her pride.            "Fine."  She was relieved her voice held strong.  "Then if you'll step aside, I'll get out of your way."            He did and she'd barely made it through the opening when she heard the hard click of the door shutting behind her.

Interview with JD Brown Author of Dark Heirloom

Can you tell readers a little bit about yourself and what inspired to write in this particular genre?

First of all, Roxanne, thank you so much for having me today. Boy, I always fumble with the "tell us about yourself" question. Well, I'm J.D. Brown and J.D. stands for Jennifer Danielle. I'm originally from the Chicago area but moved to southern Wisconsin after college. I miss the city though and hope to move back there someday. The country is just too quiet for me. I write Urban Fantasy mainly because it's also my favorite genre to read - along with Paranormal Romance - and I can't imagine trying to write something I wouldn't enjoy reading. I don't think it would work out very well, LOL. The appeal of Urban Fantasy for me is that it usually takes place on modern-day Earth, but still has all the magic and mystery of fantasy. Our world is so vast and complex, I don't feel the need to travel to a new realm or parallel universe to get that same sense of escape. I can just sit back and focus on the characters and their story.

What is it about the paranormal, in particular vampires that fascinates you so much?

I love how versatile vampires can be. There's such a wide range these days, from mindless killer monsters in horror, to the much more human type that can eat food and walk in the daylight and have a conscious. A vampire can be almost anything we want them to be and discovering how the author chooses to use them and mold them into their own creation is always one of the things I look forward to in every vampire themed book I read. My vampires in Dark Heirloom, for example, are a hybrid species. They're the offspring of humans and nephilim who went on to gather in numbers and create their own customs, fight their own wars, and build their own history in this world they share with us.


What inspired you to write this book?


In a nutshell, I was attempting to write something I wanted to read that I felt I wasn't getting from other books of the time. There is a quote that goes "If there is a book you want to read that hasn't been written yet, write it yourself". I took that quote to heart. What I wanted was to experience more of the paranormal world and less of the human world. I read paranormal books because I like paranormal characters, so why were so many of them written from a human's point of view? I set out to change that with Dark Heirloom and wrote a book that is entirely about the vampires and their world.

Please tell us about your latest release.

Dark Heirloom is the first book in the Ema Marx series. Ema is a young woman going through a long brush of bad luck. Her mother's depressed and senile, her boyfriend's been cheating on her, and her bills keep piling up. But all of that gets swept away when she's kidnapped and turned into a vampire. Ema being Ema, she can't even be a normal vampire. She's stronger and more powerful than the others and she has a heritage that breaks all the rules the vampires have lived by for so long. Some would really enjoy using Ema for their own agenda, while others are threatened by her existence and want her dead.


Is there a character that you enjoyed writing more than any of the others?


I love all my characters, but I'm absolutely taken by Jalmari, the vampire prince. He's so in-your-face and a little too confident and pompous for his own good. His attitude is just so much fun. But his firm hostility is actually a mask that he works desperately to keep in place day after day. On the inside, Jalmari is a complete train wreck. He believes himself to be a pathetic, worthless, and powerless spec of dirt not worthily of the throne he's inherited. He holds impossible standards for himself and can't see what a truly amazing vampire he is. So he's angry all the time, LOL. Oh, he also radiates sexual energy where ever he goes. Can't forget about that part!


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?

Most of the time, the characters just appear in my imagination already with their own personality and conflict. I do keep a binder full of character sketch worksheets but it's mostly just a record of the facts in case I forget and need to look something up later. I'm one of those authors who has conversations with her characters and have learned to let them dictate the story once in while.

Did you find anything really interesting while researching this or another book?

I researched a lot of original vampire folklore from around the world and found that I really enjoy researching when it's about a topic I'm interested in, LOL. It also amazed me how far our modern stories and media has come from he original vampire lore. Someday I'd like to write a book using those original myths.

What is the most interesting thing you have physically done for book related research purposes?

Oh Jesus, this is embarrassing but… I tasted blood. It was my own blood, so no worries. I just wanted to able to able to describe the taste accurately, haha.

Can you tell readers a little bit about the world building in the book/series? How does this world differ from our normal world?

The vampire world exists right there with our human world, it's just kept a secret. They have their own territory boarders, their own government, their own customs and traditions. Because they live so long, their ways don't change as rapidly as ours do.

Do any of your characters have similar characteristics of yourself in them and what are they?

Ema, the heroine, has a few characteristics in common with me, though I think they're somewhat exaggerated for entertainment. She has my sarcasm and humor and stubbornness. She's petite like I am and she really enjoys modern comfort. She's laid back and down to earth and easily friends with everyone. I'm sure people who know me well can pick out several other elements.

Do you ever suffer from writer's block? How do you deal with it?

I used to think that I suffered from writer's block all the time until I matured in my craft and came to understand how my unique creative process works. I'm a plotter, but I'm not always able to plot on paper. I have to let a scene or idea or block of dialogue, etc. percolate in my head for a while before it becomes solid and the details take root. But once everything falls into place in my head, I can easily crunch out a whole chapter or two in a few short hours and then keep the momentum going. Stopping no longer freaks me out. I've learned to embrace the  stops and let the magic work in my brain.

I think when you feel like you have writer's block, the best thing to do is not to dwell on it. It's easy to convince yourself you're not good enough, that you can't even form a coherent sentence, and quickly spiral down from there. This is a trap though, and the only way to pull yourself out is to give yourself an honest break from writing, but still keep the positive aspects of the story with you in your mind. You never know when or where inspiration will strike, and often it hits when you're not looking for it.


When did you consider yourself a writer?

It wasn't until I wrote "The End" on Dark Heirloom that I sat back and said holy cow, I just wrote an entire novel. That was when I knew I never wanted to stop writing books and that I truly was a writer.

What are your guilty pleasures in life?

Oh, coffee! I'm a caffeine addict. Admitting it is the first step, right?

Other than writing, what are some of your interests, hobbies or passions in life?

I love art in all it's forms; music, dance, theater, film, painting, sketching, graphic design, etc. I try to surround myself with if, even the areas where my talents are lacking. I especially love to read and have a very broad reading pallet. I was the only kid in my class who read Great Expectations, Animal Farm, and The Scarlet Letter cover to cover (not just the cliff notes!) and enjoyed it. My English Lit teachers loved me because I liked to read. They'd let me work ahead or nap in class, knowing I probably already finished the book and understood it all.

What was the last amazing book you read?


I think it depends on your definition of amazing, haha. I'm currently obsessed with Darynda Jones and Cassandra Clare. But my favorite literary authors are Anne Rice and Orson Scott Card. I loved Card's Ender's Game series. I also love some of the more ancient classics, Shakespeare and Homer. I would read their works just for the challenge. I swear I'm not just dropping names here, lol. I told you my tastes are broad. I occasionally read the backs of my shampoo bottles too.  

Where is your favorite place to read? Do you have a cozy corner or special reading spot?

As long as no one's bothering me, I can read anywhere comfortably. But I do have a dream of someday renovating a room in my house and turning into a library/cozy reading room/writing den. It would be made of glass and surrounded by nature so I can nature watch in there too without being bitten by my arch enemy, the mosquito.

What can readers expect next from you?

Book two of the Ema Marx series, titled Dark Liaison, will be out sometime next year to continue Ema's story.


Where can readers find you on the web?

The best way to keep up with me and everything related to Dark Heirloom is via my Facebook fanpage at http://facebook.com/authorjdbrown

You can also learn more about Dark Heirloom and read the first five chapters for free on my website at http://authorjdbrown.com

My blog is at http://authorjdbrown.blogspot.com

And I do the Twitter thing @AuthorJDBrown

Readers are welcome to send their comments or questions about the book to DarkHeirloom@gmail.com or they can send me a message on Facebook. J

Would you like to leave readers with a little teaser or excerpt from the book?

Absolutely. I'll leave with you an excerpt of Chapter One. Thanks again for having me, Roxanne. It was a pleasure and I had a lot of fun answering your questions.

Chapter One
A scream tore from my throat. The rapid slap of my sneakers against asphalt echoed through the alley. Wind ripped my hair and coat back as if trying to halt my escape.  A chain link fence rose in the distance as I neared the end of the alley. Shit. I could have sworn this one opened to Clark Street.
Thud.
I froze. My heart pounded in my ears. Tears fell as I closed my eyes. Please, please, God…
His heinous laugh drowned out my ragged breath. Caught at a dead end, I had no choice but to turn and face him. He stood in the shadows, the darkness of his attire blended in with the night. Only the glow of his emerald-colored eyes gave him away.
Think, I shouted to myself. What does he want? My purse? My money? With a shaky hand, I pulled my wallet from my bag and flung it at him. He shifted his weight, dodging the wallet in one simple move. I stared like an idiot as it landed in the gutter behind him. Why is he chasing me if he doesn't want my money? What else could he want?
He grinned, bearing a set of abnormally sharp, fluorescent-white teeth. Who the hell is this freak? He stepped toward me. My fists clenched as I stepped back. He took another step forward. My back pressed against the cold metal of the fence. Tears blurred my vision and fell as ice melted through the back of my coat. Chills rolled down my spine, sending a quiver to my lip. I swallowed the lump of panic building in my throat. "Leave me alone!"
He kept advancing, his eyes locked on my face, his gait slow with one foot in front of the other, like a cat. I shoved a trembling hand in my purse in search of my pepper spray. He snatched my wrist and yanked me to my knees. The contents of my purse spilled and scattered.
"What makes you think I want anything from you?" he sneered.
My chest heaved as I pushed myself up. From the corner of my eye, I glanced at the mouth of the alley, now behind me.
He scoffed. "You think you can run? Go ahead, mouse. Run."
I did.
I was almost to the street when a thick shadow dropped from the sky. Two rock-solid fists shoved my chest. I fell backward. My head hit the pavement. Stars danced in the periphery of my vision as I struggled to sit up, but my limbs moved in slow motion.
Two hands, each finger adorned by a silver ring, gripped my shoulders and lifted me. My back hit something solid and cold—a brick wall. My feet dangled above the ground. He held me at eye level; his sour breath churned my stomach as his face inched closer to mine.
"I know what you're thinking." His voice was deep, smooth, as he rolled his R's. "You've done nothing wrong. Nevertheless, once you kill one rat, you have to kill them all. Even a little mouse like yourself."
My blood drained at the utterance of the word kill. I squirmed in his grasp. "Please, don't hurt me."
He clenched my jaw with one hand as his fingernails dug into my skin. I cried not from the pain, but from fear.
"Would you like to know a secret?" His hot breath caused bile to rise in my throat. "Only you disgusting rats can see our eyes glow. I'm sure you knew that already. I'm sure your mother told you the stories. I'll bet you didn't listen to her. I bet you thought they were just fairy tales and bad dreams, hmm?"
I had no idea what he was talking about. I concentrated on finding a way out of his grip, hoping his guard would slip while he continued his monologue.
"You know, when you find one rat, there are a dozen more in the nest." He tightened his grasp. "Where's your rathole, eh little mouse?"
"Let me go!" Pain manifested in every inch of my face. My jaw throbbed and my head spun. A stiff ache cut through my spine. Fear and cold shook my core. Exhaustion weighed down my struggling limbs. I just wanted it to end.
He studied my face for a moment, a frown tugged at his lips. "Very well."
He released my jaw then reached back under his jacket. The sound of sharp metal being unsheathed pierced the night as he drew out a long silver dagger. My eyes widened at the emblems engraved on every inch of the blade and handle. I recognized them as Norse in origin. I also recognized the precise way in which he held the dagger level with my left rib cage. He's going to stab me in the heart.






April 3 Guest blogKeeping Up With The Rheinlander'shttp://mnmrheinlander.com
April 5 Guest blogThe Daydreamer's Book Obsessionhttp://thedaydreamer3.blogspot.com
April 7 InterviewFang-tastic Bookswww.fang-tasticbooks.blogspot.com
April 8 Interviewhttp://www.MarshaAMoore.blogspot.com
April 9 Guest BlogRoxanne's Realmwww.roxannesrealm.blogspot.com
April 10 interview and reviewThe EBook Reviewers http://theebookreviewers.blogspot.com
promo post - April 9thhttp://aobibliosphere.blogspot.com/
review - April 11thhttp://aobibliosphere.blogspot.com/
April 14 review and interviewBeverly @ The Wormholehttp://wormyhole.blogspot.com
April 15 Reviewbook briefshttp://bookbriefs.blogspot.com
April 19 Guest BlogFiction Fascinationhttp://fictionfascination.blogspot.com/
April 21 Guest blog (review later)Read2Review http://read2review.com
April 22 Guest blog and reviewstories with bite o,.,ohttp://ravencorinncarluk.blogspot.com
April 23 Interview and promoJeanzBookReadNReviewhttp://jeanzbookreadnreview.blogspot.com/
April 24 Guest blogParanormal Romantic Suspense, http://sjclarke.com/blog-2/
April 28 Promo Stop The Readers Round Table Young and the Restless
April 30 Guest blogThe Speculative Salon:http://speculativesalon.blogspot.com/
Dark Heirloom
J.D. Brown
Genre: Urban Fantasy

Book Blurb:

"You're a vampire" is so not what Ema Marx wants to hear when she wakes from a two-day coma in a cryptic yet exquisite castle in northern Finland. Unfortunately, it explains a lot. Like why she's able to see in the dark and walk through solid objects. What she doesn't understand is why the other vampires expect her to have all the answers. It's their fault she turned into one of them…right?

Jalmari's hatred for his old-man intensifies when he's ordered to bring that troublesome girl to their castle. He has a clan to run; there's no time for babysitting newborn vampires no matter how they were converted to their culture. But when a two-thousand-year-old premonition threatens to take the crown and his life, Jalmari sees no other choice than to take out the catalyst, Ema Marx. Fortunately for Ema, she could also be the clan's only savior.

The race to figure out her vampiric origins is on. And maybe she'll get the hang of the blood-drinking gig along the way…


About the Author:

J.D. Brown graduated from the International Academy of Design and Technology with a Bachelor Degree in Fine Arts. She currently lives in Wisconsin with her two Pomeranians. Growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, her writing is influenced by the multicultural urban society of her youth which she continues to visit each summer. J.D. loves paranormal characters; from vampires and werewolves, demons and angels, to witches and ghosts. Her writings are often a combination of suspense and romance. J.D. enjoys helping and promoting her fellow writers and leads an active life on the web. She also writes erotic romance for the MuseItHOT division under the pen name Danielle Ravencraft.


Links:

Website: http://authorjdbrown.com

Blog: http://authorjdbrown.blogspot.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/#!/AuthorJDBrown

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-JD-Brown/100734053354525

Interview and Giveaway with Steve Vernon Author of Sudden Death Overtime

Can you tell readers a little bit about yourself and what inspired to write in this particular genre?
My name is Steve Vernon. I started making up stories back when short pants looked cute on me – about a hundred years ago.  It started with stories in school. I'd write a story and the teacher would put a good mark on it – say, maybe one of those big funky A's in bright red ink – and then life would get easy for a while. Then I figured out that I could write a story for nearly every assignment imaginable. I figured out that essays were nothing more than stories with their facts straight. I figured out that book reports were likewise nothing more than stories telling all about how one morning Ernest Hemingway got out of bed and decided to write about a big old fish and a man in a rowboat.
The only course I had trouble in was math. There was no way I could manage to convince my math teacher – who stood about as wide as a pair of Toyotas parked side by side and was known by the nickname "Crusher" – that a story had any place in a math class – not even when we were dealing with word problems.
Then I figured out how to write plays and things got even simpler. I would write humorous satiric plays in which I would cast the school bullies. The school bullies loved it – because they turned out to be some amazing little actors.
Well, actually, there wasn't anything "little" about the bullies in our school. Some of them could stare King Kong in the eyeballs – even if the big gorilla was standing on top of Godzilla's forehead bone at the time. In any case, the bullies enjoyed acting in my plays. It meant they could pass with good marks without actually having to put a pen to paper. Which meant they stopped picking on me – which they had done a lot of in the past on account of I was about tall enough to look King Kong directly into his left toenail – if I stood on tiptoe and bounced.
Yet through it all one thing remained. My love for horror. One of the first full length novels I ever wrote was Dracula, by a dude named Bram Stoker. It was given to me by my grandmother. Had a black and white photograph of Christopher Lee, leaning over the neck of some unwary virgin.
Cool, I thought. I want to be Christopher Lee.
(yes, I am old enough to say "cool" with a degree of authenticity)
My grandmother was likewise responsible for my love of horror movies. She used to let me go to bed early on Friday nights and then wake me at midnight for the once-a-month all-night horror festival that our local television station called FRIGHT NIGHT.
(not to be confused with the Roddy Macdowell – Chris Sarandon flick – and don't you even dare talk about that crapfest of a remake).
Ptuey!

What is it about the paranormal, in particular vampires that fascinates you so much?
We discover love at an early age in life.
Some of us learn to love sports. We chuck the football and our dad grins at us and we think to ourselves – cool, I love this feeling.
It was that way with me. I started watching those horror movies and felt like I had discovered my native homeland, after years of wandering around through some deserted wasteland.  Monsters were cool. Werewolves were cool. And vampires – especially – were cool.
Why?
Because vampires lived forever. They never grew old – which meant they never grew up. They had cavity-proof smiles – which meant no dentist, ever. They could turn into bats and fly through the night and they lived in coffins with no beds needing making.
Besides, vampires got all the girls. To a painfully shy, stammering little school boy the notion of just looking at a girl and having her walk over and loosen her blouse so that I could bite her on the neck was way wicked cool.
What inspired you to write this book?
I wrote this novelette because I am a great fan of good grade B horror movies. Those kind of fright flicks that just beg to be watched over and over. The no-holds-barred, no-pretenses-made style of horror that just makes you want to sit there and say booga-booga.
I'm talking about movies like Tremors and Silver Bullet. I am talking about stories where the good guy goes out with a few good buddies to unleash whoop-ape on a pack of back of the blackest-hat bad guys you ever laid eyes on.
I wrote this book because it was fun.
Please tell us about your latest release.
My latest release is called SUDDEN DEATH OVERTIME. Like I said, it is a tribute to B-movie splendor. It asks the question – "What would happen if a team of over-the-hill hockey players who did not how to spell the word "quit" – (seriously, I mean, they thought it was spelled with "kw") – decided to take on a pack of wandering vampires.
I should tell you a little about these vampires. These aren't your soft romantic glittering type vampires. We're not talking Stephanie Meyer or Anne Rice – (no offence to either authors or fans of those particular series). We are talking more along the lines of 30 DAYS OF NIGHT. Mean, mindless bloodsucking freaks with a bus that is powerful enough to be called a character itself.
I wrote this book because I had wondered just how my grandfather would stack up against one of these vampires. He was the toughest man I ever knew. He worked the CNR Railroad and he stood about twelve feet tall to a ten year old. So I wrote this novelette about a few of these old boys who just don't fuck around, deciding to do something about a pack of vampires who are laying waste to their town.
That's who I wrote this book for. The old boys. I am very tired about seeing these poster-boy young types combing their hair while they use an automatic stake gun to nail vampires who go woosh when the stake hits them. I wanted to write something will a little more guts and gesundheit.
You pick this book up and read it and I dare you to tell me you haven't met old men like these dudes.
Do you have a special formula for creating characters' names? Do you try to match a name with a certain meaning to attributes of the character or do you search for names popular in certain time periods or regions?I try and put a lot of thought into a character's name. For example, the main character in SUDDEN DEATH OVERTIME is called Sprague Deacon. I wanted a name that sounded both tough and righteous in the same breath and I believed I accomplished that. One of his buddies is named Leo Kiniski – named after Leo Burke and Gene Kiniski – two of the toughest old-school wrestlers I ever saw. I chose that name because I saw Leo as being this rough-hewn fireplug of a man without an ounce of give-up in his bones.
Was one of your characters more challenging to write than another?
Not in this book. These characters were small-town working-class types – the kind of people I grew up with. Slipping into their character was just as easy as slipping behind the wheel of an automobile that you have driven for the last ten years. Your foot finds the accelerator without even thinking about it.
Some characters can be tough to come up with – but generally I strive to imagine characters that I can understand. I try and think of people whom I have met or grown up with. I try and imagine them wild and brave and courageous. And then life takes over and everything becomes easy.
Is there a character that you enjoyed writing more than any of the others?
I'd have to say that the character of Judith Two-Bear was the most enjoyable to write in that she presented the biggest challenge. It is always tough for a male writer to put on a dress, as it were, but I think I did a pretty job of planting my feet in this particular lady's shoes.
What is your favorite scene from the book? Could you share a little bit of it, without spoilers of course?
I'd have to say that my favorite scene from the book is when the main characters – Sprague, Leo, Rufus and Fergus – go out to the bus and "pick a fight" with the pack of vampires in their own true Canadian style. What those old boys do that bus-from-hell has got to be seen to be believed. I would love someday to see this book made into a movie – and I believe that it would be this scene more than any other scene in the book that would get people standing in the aisles and cheering.
Did you find anything really interesting while researching this or another book?
A couple of years ago I wrote  a book called HALIFAX HAUNTS: A GUIDE TO THE CITY'S SPOOKIEST SPACES (Nimbus Publishing). I would have to say that I learned more about the city that I have lived in for thirty-five years during the research prior to the writing of that book – than I learned from any other collection. However, I've just turned in a collection of historic maritime murders to the same publisher that involved an equally massive amount of dedicated research.
Do any of your characters have similar characteristics of yourself in them and what are they?
Let's face it. By and large, most writers are self-cannibalizing mad doctors, constructing our characters out of bits and pieces of their own experience. Oh sure, we might strain it through somebody else's brainpan or pelvic girdle – but odds are most of us are either writing about who we are, who we know, or who we want to be.
The characters in SUDDEN DEATH OVERTIME are old-school and hardcore and, being raised by grandparents, that is exactly how I see myself. I am a cultural caveman. I believe in corny old mottos such as "Do whatever you do as hard as you can." or "Cheaters never prosper". I come at life like every day was a brand new adventure – and so do most of my characters.
On the other hand, I truly sucked at hockey while I was a kid.
Do you ever suffer from writer's block? How do you deal with it?
I deal with it the way I deal with any challenge at work. If a carpenter says to the man whom he is building a house for – "I can't put up the walls because I have a case of carpenter's block," then odds are he is going to find himself looking for a brand new job. So if any sort of block arises in my writing I go around or over or under or right straight through it. Writing is a craft as much as it is an art. A craft has to be practiced. You have to get up in the morning , stare at your keyboard and ask yourself – "How badly do I want this?"
Do you have any weird writing quirks or rituals?
Only that I'm obsessed with it. I try to write something every day on the work I am attempting to complete. I gave up on quotas a long time ago, though. There are days when I write a hundred words and there are days when I write a thousand – but every day I do my very best to make sure that SOMETHING gets written.
Do you write in different genres?
In addition to my horror novels and novellas and stories – I also a writer of regional folklore.  Crossroad Press has released ten of my horror e-books in the last ten months. I don't know if I can keep up that one-a-month rate for much longer – but the rush of production has been most satisfying.
My regional work is primarily released through a Nova Scotia publisher, Nimbus Press. I've released several ghost story collections (HAUNTED HARBOURS, WICKED WOODS, HALIFAX HAUNTS, THE LUNENBURG WEREWOLF), as well as a children's picture book of legendary maritime creatures (MARITIME MONSTERS) and a middle grade reader (SINKING DEEPER – OR – MY QUESTIONABLE (POSSIBLY HEROIC) DECISION TO INVENT A SEA MONSTER).

Do you find it difficult to write in multiple genres?
I don't find it particularly hard. I read a lot of genres, so I feel I can write a lot of genre work. Mind you, writing YA is awfully tough. Kids don't let you fart around. You need to cut right to the chase. However, I do live in perpetual fear that some harmless fan of my ghost stories is going to pick up one of my hardcore horror e-books and attempt to read it.
When did you consider yourself a writer?
The first story I ever sold hit the market in 1986. It was a Mad Max style scifi tale entitled "The Bridge" that I sold to the very first issue of HAWGS Magazine – one of those motorcycle magazines that are filled with pictures of bikes, big old boys with bushy beards, and women baring bosoms at every opportunity. They paid me $125.00 – which back then wasn't bad at all. That was when I first felt like a writer.
What are your guilty pleasures in life?
Potato chips, salt and vinegar, the kind that sting your lips and make your pucker where you ought not to. Old western movies. Ultimate Fighting Videos. Old school wrestling. Knife and fork beer. Pizza.
Other than writing, what are some of your interests, hobbies or passions in life?
I love to garden – mostly perennials, because I suck at maintenance. I love to put something in the dirt that will keep coming back over and over – like a vampire.
What was the last amazing book you read?
THE WEDNESDAY WARS, by Gary D. Schmidt.
Where is your favorite place to read? Do you have a cozy corner or special reading spot?
I love to find a quiet corner of a local food court. I'll sit there with a cup of strong black coffee and climb into a book and not come out until I have to go to work. Barring that, I read on the bus.
What can readers expect next from you?
I am currently awaiting the release of TATTERDEMON – a big fat doorstop of a novel involving a town invaded by some of the nastiest scarecrow monsters you have ever seen. The book will be released sometime in the spring in e-book format from Crossroad Press.
Where can readers find you on the web?
They can check out my blog - http://stevevernonstoryteller.wordpress.com/They can check out my website - http://www3.ns.sympatico.ca/stevevernon/They can catch me at Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/stevevernon007Or, finally, they can follow me at Twitter - @StephenVernon
Would you like to leave readers with a little teaser or excerpt from the book?
Sudden Death OvertimeTuesday night 9pm.
                No one noticed quite exactly when the long black bus stole into the parking lot of the Anchor Pub. As far as anyone knew the bus just sort of drifted into the Labrador coastal village of Hope's End like an unexpected snow flurry.
                Things happen that way around here.
                Judith Two-Bear leaned her elbows against the wood grain of the unvarnished table top. Her cigarette glowed like a lighthouse's lonely beacon, bobbing as she nodded three beats behind the music of the static-ridden radio. She'd parked herself at the window seat since dinner time. She liked to watch the world go by from the sanctuary of the town's only pub.
Several long slow warm beers later she found herself staring vaguely at the names and dates carved and inked into the table top. She knew some of them. She could guess at others and she wondered just who the hell the rest really were. How many lonely souls had made their mark on this table and then just sat here like so many half finished glasses of warm draft beer – just waiting to be swallowed but not quite yet.
Truthfully, she didn't think of any of this. Not in those exact words, any way. She felt it, perhaps. She breathed it in with the stale pub air. Her loneliness, her growing disappointment and her unvarying boredom were as much a part of her as the blood that sludged through her tired veins. She had lived her life and had nothing but time left to her keeping. She had seen her kids grow up and run away, her lovers grow cold and run away, she had seen life pull up to the curb and wave gaily once or twice before passing her right on by.
(if you want to read more you're going to have go and pick up the e-book)Or you can enter to win a Kindle copy by leaving a comment on this post with your email address

In the Depths With The Literary Dark Prince

It's interesting to pause and look back at myself as what I was and what I've done to get to where I am, and while I've never been one for ideals of fate or destiny it's hard to deny that an inherently promising sequence of events have been in my favor. Since as far back as memory will allow me to explore, I have been a storyteller of enthusiastic and (more-often-than-not) overly-complex sorts. Before I could write I would enact epic tales of heroism and virtue with my Batman action figures or haphazardly scribbling--driven by imagination and a bottomless reservoir of youthful exuberance--on stolen sheets of my mother's printer paper with crayons (only stopping to throw a tantrum when the last of the waxy implements snapped in half under the intense pressure of my efforts). However, an intense drive to decipher my bedtime story books with my own eyes motivated an eagerness to learn to read and, with this, to write.

Then broken crayons and flakes of waxy residue were replaced with pencil shavings and powdered graphite.

While I can't begin to take all the credit for the literary mind my life has found me with, I can most certainly admit that I was blessed with a mind that was driven to create. This drive, as it turned out, was a prime foundation for my future educators to build upon. With each passing year of schooling, The Universe was kind enough to put me under the wings of the perfect sequence of teachers--their lessons perfectly weaving into the previously laid network of knowledge set in place by their predecessors--that instilled not only an awareness of the mechanics, but a greater love of the subject and its vast potential.

And while the seeds of wisdom were planted, those of motivation and reason were also sowed.

Like many of my generation, I was a child of divorced parents, and, like parents often do in those circumstances, my mother remarried. Now, fairytales often depict the stepparent as being a malicious embodiment of evil and hatred, and while I still view this as a rather clichéd literary device, I suppose the irony of ending up with a psychotic stepfather is too perfect to ignore. While the details of my mother's and my four years of being under the same roof as a man whose name to this day still chills me need not be addressed, it nevertheless taught me some valuable and worthwhile lessons. It was during this time with this man--who offered little kindness or support in my early years outside of trying convince me and my family that I was the Antichrist (by far the nicest thing he'd ever said to me)--that the fantasies that would birth Xander Stryker and the world of the Crimson Shadow series.

The day came when my mother and I found the strength to uproot and run, making what has been referred to as our "smokescreen getaway" from my hometown of Andover, Massachusetts to Upstate New York to be in the comforting embrace of our family and the promise of a brighter future. However, as many can attest, bright and sunny times are not motivators for change, and while we'd escaped the clutches of one tormentor we found ourselves entangled with others. Finally, the pressure of a deep-rooted hatred and a rapidly expanding self-loathing turned me into what I'd always feared of becoming:

A monster.

A scornful, violent, self-destructive force.

The only certainty in my life at that time was that I would more-than-likely not survive to see my 16th year, and though I'd harbored dreams of returning to Massachusetts to find the destroyer of my childhood and become a destroyer in return, the news of his death from an old friend left me with no target but the one glaring back at me in the mirror. Realizing what I had become and clinging to the demonic title I'd been instilled with, I invented Xander Stryker, a boy--a monster, like myself--with all the strengths I, myself, could not muster.

And then Xander, in his tireless mission to end his life, helped me to find mine.

What had started as a means of venting my dark thoughts and hurting others on paper as others had hurt me in life became a purpose to continue. Taking on a life of his own, Xander became my mission; a means of discovering myself with every new revelation depicted on the pages. Then, after five painstaking years of depicting Xander's story--what would later become book #1 of the Crimson Shadow series--I'd discovered the strength to move on to his next tale.

A need to grow through Xander's stories became a reason to live, and my dreams of becoming an author began.

As the years have passed, I've found greater levels of peace with myself and the world, and have discovered that Xander's stories--which years ago had saved my own life--could just as easily serve as a means of support and bringer of hope to others who, like myself, find the weight of the world too much to bear.

In this way, I can find purpose not only in my natural abilities and a phenomenal line-up of educators and supporters, but in all my pain and suffering, as well. Had the events of my life not dropped me into the pit of my own mind, I would not have been driven to create one such as myself with the power to overcome it.

I would not have been driven to save myself.So if my late stepfather was right in his claims--if I truly am a product of some benevolent evil and destined to be a villain and a bane to humanity--then I'll wear the title of "Antichrist" with pride. In the end, whether I'm good or evil, loved or hated, I am The Literary Dark Prince.

And I'll always have a story to tell.


Crimson Shadow
By Nathan Squiers

Xander Stryker wants to die.Ever since witnessing his mother's murder at the hands of his abusive stepfather when he was a boy, he has spent every day trying to reach that goal. But every night he's denied the death he craves.

When his eighteenth birthday approaches, an unforeseen chance for change is offered when his life is plunged into chaos and he's dragged into a supernatural world of vampires and other creatures of darkness.

Caught in the depths of this new reality, mysteries of his supernatural lineage begin to unravel and Xander is given the ultimate choice:Continue on with his wretched life or begin a new one as the vampire he was always meant to be.

 Unfortunately, the supernatural world can be just as unforgiving and brutal as any other and Xander's choice is met with disastrous consequences. Now, with the chaos of the new world pressing down on him, his past reemerges and once again threatens to crush him. Will Xander be able to use his new strength to conquer his fears, or will he succumb to his own bloody darkness...... and allow it to finally destroy him.

Book Trailer http://youtu.be/AUc8IpwcPCM

About the Author

Nathan Squiers (The Literary Dark Prince) is a resident of upstate New York where he lives with his loving fiancé and two demonic beings that have, for the time being, chosen to disguise themselves as cats (incredibly demanding and out-of-control cats).

Living day-by-day on a steady diet of body modification and potentially lethal doses of caffeine, he often escapes reality through novels, comics & manga, movies, and (of course) his own writing. When he's not immersed in the realm of fiction (be it his own or someone else's), he can be found in the chair of a piercing studio/tattoo parlor or reacquainting himself with the real world.

Visit Nathan and find out more about him and his work at

www.nathansquiers.com


http://www.facebook.com/visceralvices


http://www.facebook.com/Nathan.Squiers

Hunter Moon Excerpt

Excerpt:
"Hey, have you heardanything about—wait, what? The fuzz is after me?" I sifted through my recentactions, but couldn't remember doing anything illegal that would put a cop onmy tail. "Wait, you're not talking about Tyler, are you?"

One of her husband'sfavorite pastimes was making me pull over without cause. I was always temptedto pull a stunt like I was on Copsand lead him in a high speed pursuit. But since I'd gotten out of a fewspeeding tickets by dropping his name, I guess it was a wash.

"What, Tyler? No, Iwish he was this hot." She leered. "The game warden stopped by about fiveminutes ago asking all about the girl who lives on the Flint ranch." Shewaggled her eyebrows at me.

It was Jesse's missionin life to set me up with a man. It was the bane of her existence that I'dsworn off cowboys. A cowboy hadn't worked out too well for my mom, and that waspretty much all there was around Raymond. It was probably the only lesson I'dlearned from my mother.

"I have to say, MattAlbert wasn't a fan of Mr. Warden asking about you.  Gave me one scary glare when I told thehottie where you live."

"Oh geez. You haven'ttold Matt I'd date him again did you? The guy's dumber than a box of rocks!"

The Albert clan washuge in Raymond. Half the population was related in some form or another, andMatt had his eyes on me since grade school. I'd always chalked up hisinfatuation with me to the fact we weren't related. Kissing cousins were so Alabama.

Matt liked to get drunkat the rodeo and pick fights. The one date I had gone with him I ended up withfour glasses of Coors on my shirt and a bruise on my cheek where the other guy hadelbowed me to get at Matt. That had been four years ago. He was eithertenacious to the extreme or stupid, and I leaned toward the latter.

"Of course not. Especiallyif you've got Hunky McWarden in the wings!" I rolled my eyes at Jesse'soutrageous nicknames. It was never a good sign when she waxed poetic.

"Why do you keep sayingthat? I thought the game warden was an octogenarian?"



"Yeah, that was BillFreedman, and he retired last month. OfficerHotstuff must be his replacement. Lucky for us! Lord knows we need aninfusion of new blood around here." 

While that wascertainly true, I wasn't in the mood to play 'The Dating Game' with Jesse. "Ohquit it. I'd better get home if there's a popo waiting for me. Wish me luck!"

I walked back to mytruck and looked down at Reggie.

"Sorry, I forgot yourhot dog. I guess I owe you one."

He hopped in the back,forgiving as always and off we went. I wondered why the warden would be lookingfor me. I hadn't hunted or fished in years, not since grandpa's health wentdownhill. I hoped one of my cows didn't get out. That could be a nightmare ifit ruined property or someone hit it with a car. 


Great, that's all I needed right now.

I saw the warden'sforest green Silverado when I pulled in, but no sign of the warden himselfanywhere. I lowered the tailgate of the Blazer to let Reggie down and he tookoff toward the barn. I trusted his instincts and followed him and found animage I could use to warm the lonely, cold nights. On the trailer of alfalfawas a 6'4' Adonis. The man, or god, who I assumed was the warden, had his shirtoff while he was unloading hay. His fantastic shoulders were bare and ripplingas he unloaded bale after bale of hay. His biceps flexed as he squatted to pickup another and bless him, I had a front row seat to his fantastic rear.

The warden couldn'thave been any older than late twenties or early thirties, and his golden skinjust added to the Greek god effect he had going. Something stirred in me whileI watched him work, something I had never felt before. Pure unadulterated lust. I wanted that man more than anyone in mywhole life.

Irritated with my surginglibido, I tamped down my unwelcome feelings as much as I could. I definitelydidn't need that kind of complication in my life right now. He bent over andpicked up another bale and I had to bite the inside of my lip to keep frommoaning. No man should look thatdelicious. I nodded my head in agreement with myself and continued to gawk.His shoulders were nearly twice as wide as mine, and his broad chest narrowedto flat, rippling abs and a trim waist.

In the ten minutes Isupposed he'd been there he had almost the whole trailer unloaded, and itdidn't even look like he'd broken a sweat. If I'd unloaded that much I wouldhave been a puddle of exhausted goo. I stood there, staring at all his assets,for a few minutes longer before I climbed on the trailer and started helping.

When I came up behindhim, he stopped working and stared at me. His nostrils flared wide, but hedidn't seem surprised at my arrival. Unnerved a bit by his piercing gaze, Ipicked up a bale. He just shrugged and resumed unloading, maintaining a silencethe whole time we worked. In between bales he brushed his dark brown hair offhis forehead to reveal two eyes the brilliant blue of sapphires.

He looked at me for amoment, and then unloaded the last bale of alfalfa. I hopped off the trailer,suddenly needing distance from his cobalt stare. Without the hay bales tooccupy my hands, they were itching to touch the ripples of all six of his abs. Istared at the ground, shifting from foot to foot.

"Thanks. I reallyappreciate the help. If I was by myself, this would have taken hours." I handedhim his uniform shirt that was hanging off the side mirror of my truck andglanced at the name tag. "Officer Newcomb."

"It's warden Newcomb,but you can call me Cash." He put his uniform back on and I couldn't helpfeeling a sense of loss. The fabric covered a spectacular chest with just ajudicial smattering of curly brown hair that drew together in a fuzzy line thatlead south. Talk about a happy trail.

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Beverly @ The Wormholehttp://wormyhole.blogspot.com
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Hunter Moon
By Cait Lavender
Bawling cattle tore Shelby Flint from her bed. With lawyer fees to pay in her struggle to keep her ranch from the clutches of her greedy cousins, she couldn't afford the loss of even one calf. When she sees a large wolf circling her cows, she aims and fires. While the wolf escapes, Shelby can't seem to get away from her troubles when a marijuana grower sets up shop on her land, sabotaging her property and eventually coming after her.

Adding to that, a handsome game warden is poking his nose into her business and working his way underneath her skin. Shelby will have to fight harder than she ever fought before to keep from losing her heart and everything she ever loved.

Shelby Flint is a self-sufficient cowgirl and cattle rancher, but when a wolf goes after her calves, a man is murdered on her land and someone is sabotaging her property she can't do it by herself any longer. In walks a handsome game warden, poking his nose in her business and working her way under her skin. Shelby will have to fight harder than she ever has before to keep from losing her heart and everything she ever loved.

About the Author:

Cait Lavender is a twenty five year old wife and stay at home mother of one in Central California. Living on a cattle ranch and raising her daughter doesn't afford her much leisure time, but when she has a spare minute or two she loves riding horses, baking and reading everything she can get her hands on. She grew up loving the written word and creative writing and finally decided to work on her dream of becoming a published author.

She has a short story, Cowboy Moon, and a full-length novel, Hunter Moon, both available on Smashwords, Amazon and Barnes & Noble. She'd love to hear from you on her Facebook author page, @caitlavender on Twitter or on her blog, www.caitlavender.com

The Familial Witch Book Trailer

And here's a preview of Eternal Witch .

Chapter One
Lucien Lemoine twirled a ribbon between his fingers. The edges frayed, the coloring no longer a deep sapphire…to some it would seem ugly, insignificant. Nevertheless, to him it was the last thing that touched his daughter before she disappeared—making it priceless. She had been but a small lass of four at the time of her abduction and Lucien could but dream of the young woman Lucinda had grown into. The comfort of her immortality was the only thing that allowed him to go on.

At first Lucien, suspected vampires were behind the abduction. The kidnapper, a woman, had screamed, "Revenge is mine…" in an ancient dialect before disappearing with his only child. Her shrill high-pitched voice still echoed in the cavern of his mind. Soon enough he'd discovered vampires were innocent, as innocent as vamps could be. Upon returning to their room for reinforcements, Lucien had found Lucinda's mother, Elizabeth, had disappeared as well.

It was then when Lucien had time to stop and think he figured out who was behind it all…an enchantress. Very few knew the tongue of long ago, and in order to infiltrate Eternal Valley and his personal keep magic, powerful magic had to be used.

A moan from the corner tore him from his reflections. At his supernatural speed, he kneeled beside a hay-filled mattress. A woman, a beautiful lady lay upon the bed…her skin sickly pale, wet hair around her crown flattened to her skin from the feverish sweats that plagued her. The soft floral scent of peony mingled with her essence that enveloped him like an invisible blanket in the air around him. Only now, there was a difference. The floral scent was less poignant, her essence wasn't as strong. He hoped it was simply because she was ill and not an indication of something worse. She groaned again. Lucien took the cloth from the bowl of water on the floor, wrung it out, and then carefully bathed her face. She quieted.

When she was still, he unwrapped the bandage on her right arm. A gasp of fear and horror escaped Lucien when he saw the abrasions were no longer puckered and red. Strips of dark blue and black created snakelike tendrils in a web from the broken skin of her wounds, her left arm revealed the same ghastly patterns. The Blue Death, as it was called, would slowly kill off her body. It was a painful agonizing experience. Only one time in all of Lucien's years had he seen it's effects. Now as it infected Aisleen emotions that had merely been peaking since he met her culminated together in one giant knot in his stomach. Blue Death came from wounds inflicted by venomous animals tainted by magic and only infected those blessed with the same skill. Worse still...there was no cure.

Guilt jumped out and plagued Lucien from his emotional knot . Why did I leave? I should have got to her sooner. Curse that beast! The thoughts repeated over and over in his mind until they became one tortuous stream of self-deprecation. The whole scene played out in his mind only adding to the torture. There before him stood the NighKat scaling the tree that Lucinda had climbed. The predator had been toying with her. The defensive wounds on Aisleen's forearms had proven that. Just as the beast made its move to strike he jumped, attacked in midair, and broke its neck then dropped the body to the ground. Aisleen had clung to him as soon as he reached her. He wished he were magic so he could take those wounds upon himself instead of the compassionate woman who had saved him--when she had every right to leave him to his fate.

Lucien laid a crisp white bandage over the wound, full well knowing it would need replacement much too soon. Despair greater than he had ever known forced him to his knees, burying his face in the blanket that covered her chest. The weakness of her special fragrance only added to his misery.

"Please hear me Mother…." He started to pray then stopped knowing she would not answer. The last time the Mother Goddess had spoke to him was after he had wiped out her beloved Familial Witches…Aisleen's coven, "Only the Familial Witch that knows you as an eternal, sees you as a man, and accepts you as both will restore your daughter and your heart."Those last words were her prophesy and his curse. The Mother hadn't appeared to him or answered since. Nevertheless, this was his punishment…not Aisleen's.

With the seed of knowledge that the Goddess loved Aisleen, courage sprouted from the hope within him. Dark worry filled eyes ran through Aisleen's collection of ancient tomes as he sought out what he knew the Mother could not ignore. Calloused fingers inched along the shelf that was much too far for Aisleen's natural reach Lucien found it. He smiled as he stretched his farthest. Cunning vixen probably did it on purpose to hide its importance.

Unsure if he could even open it Lucien ran his hand along the cover. His fingers brushed the same peony that represented Aisleen printed on the top of the leather binding, the distinct smell rose in the air, while his own living birthmark of lightning bolts and a half moon burned on the skin of his chest. Agony overtook him as the Peony shined…still he did not withdraw his hand. Then the pain left him, the book opened, and the pages turned of their own accord. Lucien looked on in shock as the magic of the Familial Witch worked before his eyes.

A reverent ghostlike calm filled the atmosphere of the cottage as the pages slowed, fluttered, and then stopped. There in front of him was the very spell he sought:

Summoning the Mother Goddess.

Lucky for Lucien being alive for two centuries meant he had learned a thing or two. The list of ingredients, he could figure out. Aisleen's organization was impeccable. Each of her herb's was stored in alphabetical order without labels. His eyes sought her offering his approval. But she lay still…deathlike.
Eyes back on the book, he began to read the incantation and ingredients. When finished, he gathered the supplies, only stopping to look at Aisleen one more time before going outside. Snow covered the ground in a blanket of deathly cold. The mist Trinity Forest was known for hovered just above the snow pack. His pace quickened to the spot just beyond her crude fence where the fog cleared as though if magic.

Lucien walked a wide berth, dragging a stick creating a circle in the snow. Still using the same crude tool, he drew lines within the sphere creating five points, identical to the symbols in Aisleen's book. On top of the cover, he pinched and folded in the powdered ingredients from her herb storage. Then sprinkled the mixture at the top of each point before finally kneeling before the top, and sprinkling the leftovers of the powder…he ripped his shirt open revealing his mark of the Goddess and spoke the enchantment.

"I call upon my creator,
My mother,
My Goddess.
She who touched me,
She who knows me,
She who loved me.
Hear me great Goddess…
I implore thy mercy
And beseech thy presence."


Burning pain erupted from his living tattoo. Each lightning bolt seemed to radiate a vibrating sting while the half moon simply blazed continually. The ache caused a sheen of sweat upon his forehead and he leaned forward with his fists clenched refusing to scream. Then as abruptly as it began, he was released. Unable to find the strength to stay upright he fell in the snow. Wet cold flakes relieved his burnt chest. Laying there it occurred to him that he didn't even hesitate using the language of magic…of the beautiful yet deceitful enchantresses. They who possessed the power to snare the unsuspecting in deadly traps using their guile and physical beauty, they who preyed on the fear and insecurities of mortal and immortal alike, they who took his only daughter away causing him his greatest heartache. Familial Witches were natural and kind…calling upon their surroundings to fuel their magic. Their only motivation was to relieve others of illness, plight or to ease their burdens. It was there tongue as well. Once again, he had grouped two very different beings into one prejudice.

Ethereal stillness surrounded him as he moved up to his knees. There was a chance The Mother would banish him for calling upon her…but she couldn't refuse this summons. The spell called for a symbol of binding, or unity, such as a witch of a coven would use a cord. Lucien's symbol was his birthmark—that which bound him to the Mother unequivocally. Mysteriously, he was unafraid of his potential punishment…only thinking of Aisleen instead.

The air above the circle of symbols he'd created distorted. If it wasn't for his heightened vision, he may not have seen it. Then one flake after another floated upward, slowly at first, eventually gaining speed as more and more joined into a beautiful tornado. Finally, a silhouette appeared and there before him in all her glory was the Mother Goddess.

Eyes to the ground, Lucien dared not lift them. He couldn't bare to look upon her face. His breath came out in pants as he struggled with the relief that Aisleen may have a chance now.

"Do not cower before me, my son. I will not harm you," she promised. Her voice was enchanting in its sweetness and frightening in its strength. Anyone who heard it knew she held the power to both create and destroy.

Slowly, showing his utmost respect, Lucien lifted his head.

Once again, her beauty overwhelmed him as every time before. Long tresses so black almost appearing turquoise formed behind her like a cape of protection. Rose and white tinted robes fitted around her shoulders and chest then billowed outward to fall around her in soft waves. Within the beauty of her ghostly face lie the same penetrating emerald eyes as Aisleen. An overwhelming sensation of comfort and love enveloped him. It was a feeling he knew from being in her graces. A feeling he hadn't felt in so long the joy was indescribable. Even knowing she was not displeased, he still could not look into her eyes for he wanted to see another's green gaze much more. This thought confused and astonished him.

"Well my son, haven't you become resourceful?" She said floating around within the sphere. He was unable to reply. After a slow inspection, she stopped in front of him.

"Your silence is shocking. Before you would never hesitate when speaking to me… but now only quiet….most intriguing. While I can easily see what ails you, I want to hear it from your lips. Go ahead my child; tell me what you would ask of me."

The warm words gave him courage, "Great Mother…I ask not something for myself but for she whom I have hurt just as much as I injured you." He paused, trying desperately to swallow the lump that formed when the words he must say appeared in his mind's eye. "It's Aisleen…she's dying. Please help her…I'll do anything." He finished on a gasp and finally looked her in the eye.

Greenery filled his vision as the Mother looked into his soul. When she did this, it was both painful and thrilling. Like the sensation of falling only to realize at the end, great pain awaited. One other time, experienced the inspection…when he had asked for his daughter's location. The answer then had been a disappointing no. Green faded to white as the snow-covered landscape seeped back into his vision. Unable to kneel any longer, he fell over again in the snow and allowed exhaustion to claim him.

To his shock, she approached and as her foot stepped beyond the bounds of the circle, she made footprints in the snow. Never in all his time had in this realm had she ever appeared to him in a mortal form. Yet there she was. Adding to his dismay, she was a spitting image of Aisleen. From the flowing midnight tresses to the crimson red lips, long delicate fingers reached down but with the strength of a divinity helped him to his feet.
Much taller than the Mother in this form Lucien, was unsure what to do…kneel or stand…speak or stay silent.

She looked up at him, ran her blood red finger nail along his jaw and spoke, "I feel your confusion. Why I revealed myself to you in this form is unimportant right now. Know this my son, Aisleen; I created exactly in my image for a reason. As for saving her…I promise you will find it. But it will require something from you."

"Anything…" Lucien promised again, and renewed hope for Aisleen's survival blossomed in his heart.

"I'm pleased with your growth my child. All I ask of you is to be more." A wolf howled in the background and on instinct, Lucien assumed a protective stance in front of the Mother. The echo of the words still clung on the air, but The Mother Goddess had vanished.





The Familial Witch
By Bri Clark
Blurb:
Lucien Lemione the clan leader of the feared and revered Eternals is faced with the ultimate betrayal. His second in command for two centuries has not only created the most grievous of offenses but also commissioned the creation of liquid silver. When poisoned by this toxin, an immortal suffers a fate much worse than death, frozen in an internal prison. After being wounded when found spying, he hides deep within the eerie woods that encircle the Triad Mountains. Desperate and in pain, he prays to an offended mother goddess for help. Her answer: a woman, but not just any woman. A witch.

After losing her entire coven at the hands of the Eternals, Aisleen is the last of her kind. She retreats from the world to Trinity Forest where she is giving the opportunity of a lifetime, or perhaps a test of principles. It's there she discovers the man she heals is the Eternal that wiped out her people. Although she is bound as a healer, she could be creative in her revenge. Aisleen knows who and what Lucien his…but does not speak of it. There can be no future with Lucien for she can only be with a mortal man. Even if she wanted to be with him, can she forgive the man that caused the genocide of her people?

Lucien must act quickly for the survival of his clan is at stake. However, Aisleen's ethereal beauty and emerald eyes keep pushing those thoughts far from his mind. Determined to find out what secret she hides, he prolongs his time with her. When his people need him most what will he choose…duty, desire, or will he make his own fate?

You can choose love but you can't choose destiny.

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About the Author:

Bri Clark is a real example of redemption and renewal. Growing penniless in the South, Bri learned street smarts while caring for her brother in a broken home. She watched her mother work several jobs to care for their small family. Once her brother could fend for himself, Bri moved on to a series of bad choices including leaving school and living on her own.

Rebelliousness was a strong understatement to describe those formative years. As a teenager, her wakeup call came from a fight with brass knuckles and a judge that gave her a choice of shaping up or spending time in jail. She took that opportunity and found a way to moved up from the streets. She ended up co-owning an extremely successful construction business. She lived the high life until the real estate crash when she lost everything.

She moved west and found herself living with her husband and 4 kids in a 900 square foot apartment. She now fills her time, writing, blogging, leading a group of frugal shoppers and sharing her southern culture. Her unique background gives her writing a raw sensibility. She understands what it takes to overcome life's obstacles. She often tells friends, "I can do poor. I'm good at poor. It's prosperity that I'm not used to."

Bri and her husband Chris live in Boise. Bri is known as the Belle of Boise for her true southern accent, bold demeanor and hospitable nature.

Bri boasts several positions in the publishing industry. An author, professional reviewer, blogger, and literary strategist she enjoys all aspects of her career from the creation of story to the branding and marketing needed to make her books successful.

Bri Contact Links
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