Thea Harrison's Blog, page 21

Three winners of The Wicked eARCs

Using Random.org, here are the three winners from The Wicked eARC contest:

Wrayth

Iswari

brendab

Congratulations!  Email thea@theaharrison.com with your e-format of choice, and we’ll send you your prize.

**Must respond by 5 PM MDT / 7 PM EST Friday June 14th.  If any of the winners are unable to claim their prize, it will be allocated to someone else**

Happy reading!

Thea

Wicked Wednesday – Excerpt from The Wicked

Hi folks!

As part of my Wicked Wednesdays in June, here’s the first excerpt from The Wicked.  In this scene, the heroine Olivia has just finished a visit with Grace and Khalil, Max and Chloe (from Oracle’s Moon), and she first lays eyes on the hero, Sebastian.

Enjoy!

~~~

The remaining few hours of Olivia’s visit flew by. A tear-stained Chloe gave her a big hug before drooping off to kindergarten.

Olivia watched her leave with a pang of regret. She may have decided not to have children of her own, but her decision wasn’t based on health or financial reasons. She kept herself quite fit, and while she wasn’t very tall, just barely topping five feet four inches, she had a constitution as sturdy as an ox.

As far as finances went, her profession was quite specialized. She was a witch working as a reference librarian at the largest library of magical works in the United States. Only skilled symbologists—those who were proficient at reading, controlling and infusing words and images with Power—could work at Ex Libris, and she was highly paid for what she did.

Not only did she own her house outright, but she also had a healthy savings account, a good stock portfolio and a pension that would allow her to retire early and in comfort, if she so chose.

She had just never found a steady, long-term relationship within which to consider having children, and though she was a human woman in her mid-thirties and her biological clock was ticking, she wasn’t interested in having a child by herself.

After Chloe left for school, it was time for Max’s morning nap. Olivia was happy to get one last chance to tuck him in his crib, then she and Grace talked for a few hours.

Olivia had already packed her bags, so when the time came to leave she only needed to collect her luggage from the guest bedroom. She had packed as her temporary employer, Carling Severan, had instructed, bringing one full-sized suitcase that could be left behind at either a hotel in San Francisco or a yacht in the Bay, and one water resistant pack that would carry all her essentials and clothing for the length of her stay on the island.

Taking the instructions as her cue, she had packed sensible, sturdy clothing that would be suitable for field work—jeans, T-shirts, sweaters, a wind-resistant raincoat, hiking boots and sneakers—along with a leather-bound journal for taking notes.

Mindful of the limited space in her pack, she kept her toiletries focused on the essentials, shampoo, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste and sunscreen, and she didn’t bother to pack any makeup. That morning she wore jeans, a light blue, form-fitting T-shirt and sneakers.

Slinging the pack onto one shoulder, she wheeled the suitcase to the living room where Grace and Khalil stood with Max and Phaedra.

As Olivia appeared, Khalil was speaking to his daughter. “It is nonsensical to summon a taxi for Olivia when you are both traveling to the same place. You will transport Olivia and her luggage with you.”

Phaedra appeared to have no problem whatsoever in facing down her formidable father. She said in a cold voice, “The only reason to transport a human anywhere is to use it as a means to acquire a favor.”

Khalil said, “You have been away too long, either as a pariah with a bent spirit or resting in an incorporeal state. You are supposed to use this job as a means to reacquaint yourself with the world. Do not attempt to bargain with anyone on this trip. Listen to how people interact with each other, and learn from it. Do as Grace suggested. Make small talk. Don’t kill anyone who does not deserve it.”

Olivia raised her eyebrows. If ever there was an order based on too much subjectivity, that one was it.

Grace must have felt the same, because she murmured, “Khalil.”

Khalil and Phaedra turned to Grace at the same time, their heads tilted in exactly the same way, imperious and inquiring. Grace said to Phaedra, “Don’t kill anybody unless it is in self-defense. Period. Don’t risk making a fatal mistake and possibly becoming a pariah again. You do not have the right to decide if someone else may live or die.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Phaedra said, eyes narrowed.

Grace scowled and looked as if she would reply, but Olivia took that moment to step forward. “Excuse me,” she said. “I need to call for a taxi if I’m going to make it to the agency offices in time for the meeting.”

Khalil folded his arms and looked at his daughter. Phaedra’s eyes narrowed further as she considered his expression. “Fine,” she said between her teeth. “But only for the duration of this job.” The younger Djinn turned to Olivia and gave her a razor sharp smile. “Come, human. We have a meeting to attend.”

“Really, I don’t mind calling a taxi,” said Olivia. She would rather take a cab than get on Phaedra’s bad side. She set her pack on the floor next to her suitcase and walked toward Grace, intending to hug her goodbye.

Phaedra’s corporeal form dissolved into a whirlwind of Power that engulfed Olivia and yanked her away from the world.

A maelstrom surrounded her. There wasn’t anything solid or stable anywhere. She wanted to scream, but some stubborn sense of pride made her swallow it down. She would not give the ornery Djinn the satisfaction of knowing that she had rattled her.

When the world re-formed, the details of her surroundings were completely different. Olivia stood in a polished hallway, outside double doors made from carved oak and propped open to reveal a conference room filled with several people.

Phaedra materialized beside her, long blood-red hair whipping around regal white features that were filled with subtle, smug amusement.

Everyone in the room turned to stare. They all wore different versions of the same kind of outfit Olivia wore, along with varying expressions of surprise.

Details blurred in the moment, except for a few standouts. Carling Severan, former Queen of the Nightkind, stood at the head of the conference table. She was a dark-haired, beautiful woman, with honey-colored skin and long, almond-shaped dark eyes.

Despite the fact that Olivia knew that Carling was one of the most Powerful witches in the world, and she was also one of the oldest and most Powerful Vampyres in the world, Olivia sensed no evidence whatsoever of the other woman’s Power. The fact that Carling could cloak her Power to that extent was more than a little unsettling.

The Vampyre stood beside a man Olivia had never seen before. Both Carling and the man were the same height, which meant he could not be very tall, perhaps only a few inches taller than Olivia herself. He wore a plain gray T-shirt, jeans and boots, and he was extraordinarily striking, with a hard, boldly planed face half-hidden by sunglasses, short, dark brown hair speckled with flecks of white, and a palpable aura of power that was both physical and magical.

Along with everybody else, he seemed to be staring at Olivia and Phaedra. With his sunglasses, it was hard to tell where his eyes were trained, but at least his face was turned in their direction.

Olivia jerked her gaze away. She knew exactly what everybody was thinking. No one in her right mind would bargain away a costly, potentially dangerous favor in return for transportation from a Djinn, not for a trip that could be completed so easily by mundane means. Everyone present would think she was either insane, or insanely important.

Actually, scratch that thought. Nobody would believe she was insanely important.

There was probably a worse way to meet the people she would be working with for the next few weeks, but at the moment, she couldn’t think of what it would be.

Olivia took a deep breath to try to calm her rioting nerves. Then she looked at the empty floor around her feet. Irritation took control of her mouth. She said to Phaedra, “You forgot my luggage, dimwit.”

Realization transformed Phaedra’s features, wiping the smugness away. The Djinn crossed her arms with a scowl. Then she blew into the whirlwind again. A moment later she reappeared, and Olivia’s luggage landed with a thump at her feet.

The room was so silent, one could have heard a pin drop.

Let’s be sensible, shall we? Let’s not make an enemy of the whackadoodle Djinn.

“Thank you,” she said, in as polite and dignified a tone as she could muster. Phaedra twitched a shoulder in impatient reply and stalked into the room to lean against a wall.

The tips of Olivia’s ears felt as if they were burning, and so did her cheeks. She refused to look around at anybody. She especially did not look at the striking, powerful man who stood at the head of the room.

Instead, she picked up her suitcase and pack, carried them into the large conference room, set the pieces along the wall with the heaps of other luggage, and then sat at the large conference table, several seats away from anybody else.

The floor never did open up and swallow you, no matter how badly you might wish it.

~~~

To Pre-Order:

Amazon  |  Samhain  |  Barnes & Noble (Not yet available

The Wicked cover blurb and contest! Please RT

Join me over the next few weeks for Wicked Wednesdays!
The Wicked, the next novella in the Elder Races series, releases July 2nd. Hurray!
Check below for details for the international contest.  Next week, for Wicked Wednesday, I’ll post an excerpt!


 

The adventure of a lifetime might just end in turmoil, but when it includes meeting your future mate, who gives a hoot?

A Novella of the Elder Races

For a librarian with a focus on rare magic books, Olivia’s new job is a dream come true. She has been hired as part of a team to help manage the safe transportation of the collection of books owned by the Vampyre sorceress Carling Severan. The fact that the library is located on a mysterious island in an Other land only heightens the adventure.

Head of security for the expedition, Sebastian Hale is tired of his rootless life of adventure and finds himself attracted to the calm, beautiful librarian. But he is living a personal nightmare. He has been hit with a curse that is slowly taking away his sight, and he doesn’t know if he will survive the results.

But the powerful feelings growing between them, along with Sebastian’s inner turmoil, take a backseat when they learn there is a traitor lurking among their expedition team. With Elder Races politics and a priceless library on the line, they’ll have to rely on each other to survive the experience.

Warning: When a librarian who likes to nest meets an owl Wyr who has always lived for adventure, their romance won’t just be fly-by-night…

International contest

To celebrate the upcoming release of The Wicked I’m giving away three digital ARCs (advanced reader’s copy). So you can win it before you can buy it!

In The Wicked, Olivia gets the chance to ‘play’ with the books of her dreams.  Tell me, dear reader, what books would be on your dream list?

Leave a comment below to enter.

The winners will have their choice of e-book format including: .mobi, .imp, .epub, .pdf and more.

We’ll draw the winners on Wednesday, June 12th at 12 noon MDT (2pm EDT) and announce them on the blog. The winner must contact us at info@theaharrison.com  by 5pm MDT (7pm EDT) Monday, June 17th  to claim their prize. 

**If the winner is unable to claim their prize by the time and date and time listed above, it will be allocated to someone else**

Good Luck!

Winner of THE VAMPIRE SHRINK by Lynda Hilburn

Using Random.org, here is the winner from my Colorado Series Lynda Hilburn contest:

Sandi Esry (email starts with sandies…. )

Congratulations!  Email your mailing address to info@theaharrison.com, and we’ll send you your prize.

 

**Must respond by 5 PM MDT / 7 PM EST Tuesday May 14th.  If the winner is unable to claim their prize, it will be allocated to someone else**

Happy reading!

Thea

Colorado Series Feature – Lynda Hilburn

From Thea: Lynda Hilburn is another member of my local writer’s group, Colorado Romance Writers. She writes paranormal romance and dark contemporary fantasy. Be sure to check the end of the post for my giveaway.

BIOGRAPHY

I sometimes feel as if I’ve already lived several lifetimes in the years I’ve inhabited this body. I’ve been able to create outlets for all my varied interests and abilities. So far, I’ve been a rock-and-roll singer/musician, a typesetter/copy editor for various newspapers and magazines, a professional psychic/tarot reader, a licensed psychotherapist, a certified clinical hypnotherapist, a newspaper columnist, a university instructor, a workshop presenter and a fiction writer.

During many of those years, I was also a single mom.

After a childhood filled with invisible friends, sightings of dead relatives and a fascination with the occult, turning to the paranormal was a no-brainer.

Since switching from writing nonfiction to fiction in 2004, I’ve had a wonderful time creating stories about my favorite paranormal characters. I’ve been a rabid fan of all things paranormal – especially vampires – since I first got my hands on Bram Stoker’s Dracula. To me, there’s just something fascinating about those extraordinary nightwalkers.

My son and I live in Boulder, Colorado, in the beautiful foothills of the Rocky Mountains. (Affectionately known as “The Republic of Boulder.”)

The Vampire Shrink was my first completed full-length fiction manuscript. And, like all my stories, it crosses genres. It’s an urban fantasy romance w/mystery elements, sex, dark humor, and a contemporary vibe.

 

THE VAMPIRE SHRINK

Book 1, Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist Series

GENRE: DARK CONTEMPORARY FANTASY

Denver Psychologist Kismet Knight, Ph.D., doesn’t believe in the paranormal. She especially doesn’t believe in vampires. So what happens when she finds herself neck-deep in the vampire underworld?

Kismet is smart, witty and attractive. She’s respected in her field, successful and prosperous. She’s followed all the rules – done everything right. So, what’s the problem? Her life is empty. There’s no passion. No vitality. No excitement.

That is, until a new client introduces Kismet to the vampire underworld, and a drop-dead gorgeous, 800-year-old vampire named Devereux. Kismet isn’t buying the vampire story, but can’t explain why she has such odd reactions and feelings whenever Devereux is near. Kismet is soon forced to open her mind to other possibilities when she is visited in her office by two angry bloodsuckers, who would like nothing better than to challenge Devereux by hurting Kismet.

As Kismet gets pulled deeper and deeper into the vampire subculture, she struggles to hold onto her professional ideas about what is and isn’t “real.” The more she finds herself attracted to the charismatic, handsome Devereux, the more out of control her life becomes.

When one of her clients shows up in her office almost completely drained of blood, Kismet finds herself immersed in an ongoing murder investigation. Kismet is questioned by irreverent, handsome FBI profiler Alan Stevens, who warns her that vampires are very real. And one is a murderer. A murder who is after her.

In the midst of all this, Kismet realizes she has feelings for both the vampire and the profiler, but even though she cares for each of the men, facing the reality that vampires exist – along with all the other supernatural insanity she discovers – is enough of a challenge. For now.

BUY THIS BOOK FOR KINDLE | BUY AT JO FLETCHER BOOKS/QUERCUS

BUY AT AMAZON.COM | BUY AT BARNES&NOBLE.COM

READ AN EXCERPT

BLOOD THERAPY

Book 2, Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist Series

GENRE: DARK CONTEMPORARY FANTASY

Dr. Kismet Knight and the dark world of vampires are back in this sexy sequel to the wicked romp The Vampire Shrink. Still reeling from her earlier adventures, the spunky, smart, and tough heroine tries to adjust to her new reality–and new undead clientele. Then she discovers a frightening secret about these powerful immortals that further warps her world. Needing to escape, she flees to New York for the American Psychological Association’s conference, where she meets up with hottie FBI Agent Alan Stevens. Unfortunately, he’s not the only blast from the past in the Big Apple: so is Lucifer, the demented tormentor who nearly killed her. As the killer closes in, everyone is rounded up for a shocking finale that no one will survive unscathed.

BUY THIS BOOK FOR KINDLE  | BUY AT JO FLETCHER BOOKS/QUERCUS

BUY AT AMAZON.COM | BUY AT BARNES&NOBLE.COM

From Thea: I’ve got a signed copy of THE VAMPIRE SHRINK to giveaway!

Leave a comment to enter to win an autographed copy Lynda’s first book in her Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist Series.

So, tell me, what do you suppose a vampire talks to his shrink about?

We’ll draw the winner on Friday, May 3rd at 12 noon MDT (2pm EDT) and announce it on the blog. The winner must contact us at info@theaharrison.com by 5pm MDT (7pm EDT) Monday, April 18th  to claim their prize. 

**If the winner is unable to claim their prize by the time and date and time listed above, it will be allocated to someone else**

Good Luck!

New Blog Post: due to a series of unfortunate events…

Hi folks,

I’m afraid it is now official:  due to a series of unfortunate and unavoidable events, I have had to cancel my trip to London and Berlin.  I’m so very sorry to write that I will not be able to attend the LoveLetter Convention on the 25th and 26th of May.

I know that this will come as a disappointment to readers who were hoping to meet at the Convention, and all I can do is apologize.  I’m disappointed too.  I was very much looking forward to meeting readers in Berlin, and I tried very hard to avoid the cancellation but in the end, I was left with no other choice.

HOWEVER, this spring makes me even more determined to attend a LoveLetter Convention in the near future!!  And I look forward to meeting all of you soon.

With love,

Thea

 

 

Colorado Series – CRW Upcoming Events and Workshops

Twice a year my local writer’s group, CRW (Colorado Romance Writers) and a sister chapter HOD (Heart of Denver) get together and put on a mini-conference. This May they’ve engaged Social Media guru Kristen Lamb to fly up to colorful Colorado and speak.

May, 2013 Mini-Conference



Colorado Romance Writers
in Cooperation with
Heart of Denver Romance Writers
proudly presents our
May Mini-Conference Event
with Kristen Lamb!

 

Who:

Colorado Romance Writers and Heart of Denver Romance Writers

What:

May all-day Mini-Conference - Rise of the Digital Age Author with Kristen Lamb

Details:

The publishing paradigm is changing faster than any of us can keep up. The Digital Age has opened up all kinds of opportunities, but with new opportunity comes increased competition. How can a writer stand out in a sea of “published authors?” Branding is very different in the Digital Age and if we fail to appreciate the changes in branding, then all our social media efforts are a giant waste of time. This session will explore why branding is different, why traditional marketing does not sell books, and will equip participants with tools to make them successful in the Digital Age.

Kristen Lamb is the author of the #1 best-selling books “We Are Not Alone–The Writer’s Guide to Social Media” and “Are You There, Blog? It’s Me, Writer.” She has trained thousands of writers and her methods are responsible for selling hundreds of thousands of books and elevating even unknown authors into the ranks of mega-best-selling success. In her free time, Kristen trains sea monkey for the purposes of world domination.

Come listen to her speak on a variety of subjects valuable to writers of every genre and level.

When:

Saturday, May 18, 2013, 9:00am to 4:00pm

Registration begins at 8:00am

Where:

Double Tree Hotel – Westminster

8773 Yates Drive, Westminster CO 80031

(877) 387-8277

http://doubletree1.hilton.com/en_US/dt/hotel/DENNSDT-DoubleTree-by-Hilton-Hotel-Denver-Westminster-Colorado/index.do

If you are interested in staying overnight either Friday or Saturday night, the Doubletree offers a special room rate of $119.00. Mention you are with the Colorado Romance Writers/Heart of Denver Romance Writers group and use the code HOD when you make your reservation.

Cost:

$35.00 – CRW/HODRW members

$40.00 – non members

Meals:

Continental breakfast and catered lunch included in the Mini-Con fee.

Registration Deadline:

Deadline for reservations is Monday, May 13, 2013.

RSVP:

Visit the Heart of Denver website at http://www.hodrw.com/ for registration details.

Space is limited, so register early!

Payment:

Visit the Heart of Denver website at http://www.hodrw.com/ for payment details.

Information:

For more information, contact any Board member.

CRW also offers many great online workshops every month. Here are the upcoming one’s for  May. Click on the name of any of the workshops to go directly to the CRW page to get more information or to sign up.

Synopsis Writing with the Plotting Wheel +PLUS+ The Question of Queries

Instructor: Becky Martinez

Dates: April 29 – May 24, 2013

Classroom: Foothills

Craft, Promotions, Submissions, Querying, Pitching, Professional Development

Social Media Rock Stardom

Instructor: Lisa Pietsch

Dates: April 29 – May 24, 2013

Classroom: Prairie

Promotions, Publicity, Networking, Professional Development, Industry, Social Media

The Push/Pull/Lock of an Effective Opening

Instructor: Lydia Sharp

Dates: April 29 – May 17, 2013

Classroom: LoDo

Craft, Plotting, Characterization, Inciting Incident, Writing Fundamentals

SKINWALKING: Intimate Character POV

Instructor: Renee Wildes

Dates: May 13 – May 24, 2013

Classroom: Cherry Creek

Craft, Plotting, Characterization, Editing, Writing Fundamentals

If you’ve got a chance, take advantage of these events and workshops.

Enjoy,

Thea

New Blog Post – First Chapter of KINKED, Just For Fun

Hi folks!

Just for kicks, I thought I would post the first chapter of KINKED (release November 5th).  This is used as a teaser at the end of RISING DARKNESS, so I figured since the chapter is already out there, might as well share it here too!

Hope you enjoy a glimpse of Aryal and Quentin’s story!

xoxo ~ Thea

Two opponents must confront the cause of their obsessive fury in the latest Novel of the Elder Races…

As a harpy, Sentinel Aryal is accustomed to dealing with hate, but Sentinel Quentin Caeravorn manages to inspire in her a burning ire unlike anything she’s ever known. Aryal believes the new Sentinel to be a criminal, and vows to take him out as soon as the opportunity arises. But the harpy’s incessant wrath has pushed Quentin to the limit, and forces him to make a deadly vow of his own.

To put an end to the conflict, Dragos, Lord of the Wyr, sends them on a reconnaissance mission to the Elven land of Numenlaur. Forced to work together, Aryal and Quentin’s mutual antagonism escalates. Each fight draws forth more passion—culminating in an explosively sexual confrontation. But when their quest reveals real danger, Aryal and Quentin must resolve their differences in ways beyond the physical, before the entire Wyr is threatened.

Not all of the pre-order links are available, but here are those that are!

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | The Book Depository | IndieBound

~~~

Chapter One

            Aryal spun and floated in the wild dark night.

She didn’t mind living in New York as some other Wyr did.  The city was edgy and raw in a way that appealed to her.  But this lonesome realm that hung high over the top of the world—this was her true home.  This was where she came to think, or brood, or fling her fury into space.

She flew so high that the air felt almost too thin for even her powerful lungs.  The clouds lay below her, air castles of shadowed ivory, and the stars above her whirled in their dance of constellations, their lights telling ancient tales of places from unimaginable distances.  At this altitude, the stars were so brilliant she almost felt as if she could leave the shackles of gravity behind forever and fly into them.

Almost.

There was always that one moment when she reached the peak of her ability to fly, that one instant of perfection as she hung weightless in the air, no longer straining to rise but simply existing in flawless balance.

Then gravity would reign supreme and pull her back down to earth, but she always carried with her the memory of how she could touch that one perfect moment.

Tonight, she didn’t fly for pleasure.  She flew to brood in solitude.

She had two hates.  One, she held close and nurtured with all of her passion.  The other one she had to release.

Her first hate was Quentin Caeravorn.

As soon as she could figure out a way to do it without getting caught, swear to gods, she was going to kill him.

She would prefer to kill him slowly, but bottom line, at this point she would be happy to take any opportunity she could get.

It was bad enough when Quentin’s friend and former employee Pia ended up mating—and marrying—Dragos Cuelebre, Lord of the Wyr.  Once Pia had been a thief who had stolen from the most Powerful Wyr the world has ever seen.  Now she was his wife and the mother of his son.

Ever since Pia had moved into Cuelebre Tower—the gryphons had gone bat shit ga-ga over her; they all thought she pooped sparkly rainbows or something.  Hell, as far as Aryal knew, she actually did poop sparkly rainbows.

The Wyr in general had a more reserved (sane) response to her presence, especially since she continued to refuse to reveal her Wyr form, which Aryal thought was not only a short sighted decision but a rather wretched one.  How could anybody expect the Wyr to accept or follow her when they didn’t even know what the hell she was?  The very fact of her existence made Aryal’s teeth ache.

Outside of the Wyr demesne, however, Pia’s popularity had skyrocketed.  Her daily mail had gone from a trickle of letters and cards into an avalanche that required a separate office and its own small staff.

Pia even took Dragos’s last name, an old-fashioned move that had Aryal rolling her eyes.  Now she was Pia Cuelebre.

Last names… they were like word parasites.  They attached to people in strange ways, moved across cultural and political lines, traveled the world and reattached to others, certainly at whim and seemingly at random.

Why didn’t anybody else see how creepy last names were?  They labeled a person as coming from a particular class or geographical area or linked their identity to another person, as if someone’s identity had no merit on its own unless it had latched on to another.  Aryal refused to pick a last name for herself, as so many of the first immortal Wyr chose to do, nor would she ever take anybody else’s.

Pia was her second hate.

Earlier today, Aryal finally, grudgingly, painfully conceded she was going to have to let go of her snerk over Pia.  That was a bitter pill for her to shove down her own throat.  It was sugar coated by the most lethal weapon in Pia’s armory to date:  the unbelievable sweetness in her newborn son’s face.

After Pia and Dragos had gotten married, they had gone on their honeymoon where she had given birth unexpectedly.  Yesterday, she and Dragos cut short their trip to upstate New York to return to the city.  When they had arrived back at the Tower early last evening, everybody had to see, touch, hold and/or coo over the baby.

The other sentinels acted like Dragos had conquered all of Asia overnight, while Dragos radiated a ferocious pride.  Almost seven feet tall in his human form, with a massive, muscular body and a brutally handsome face, he would always carry in his demeanor a sharpness like a blade, but Aryal had to admit, she had never seen him look so…happy.

As for her, she refused to go anywhere near Pia and the rug rat.  She didn’t want to have anything to do with them.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t lasted long.

Less than twenty fours, to be exact.

Earlier today, when she had charged around the hall corner outside of Dragos’s offices, she nearly mowed down Pia who pushed some kind of ambulatory, complicated-looking cart with the sleeping baby tucked inside of it.

Pia looked tired.  Her pretty, triangular face was paler than usual and her ever-present blonde ponytail was slightly lopsided with wisps of hair trailing at her temples.  One of her new full time bodyguards was with her.  The mouthy woman, Eva.  Eva thrust between Pia and Aryal, her bold features and black eyes insolent with hostility.  She stood as tall as Aryal, a full six feet in flat boots, dark brown skin rippling over toned muscle.

“You’re a menace just walking down the hall,” said Eva.  “Do you know any speed other than one that might get someone hurt?”

“You and me,” Aryal told her on a surge of happiness.  “We’re gonna go some day.”

“Let’s make that day today,” said Eva.  “We can go right down the hall to the training room.  With or without weapons.  You pick.”

“Lower your voices,” Pia said irritably.  “If you wake up the baby, I’ll take you both down.”

Eva’s expression softened as she looked at the occupant in the cart.  Before she could stop herself, Aryal looked too.

And found herself snared irretrievably.

She was astonished at how tiny the baby was.  His entire face, in fact most of his head, was smaller than the palm of her hand.  He was wrapped tightly in a soft cloth.  It looked restrictive and uncomfortable, but she knew absolutely nothing about babies, and he seemed content enough.

Aryal sidled a step closer, her head angled as she stared.  Eva made a move as if she would block Aryal, but Pia put a hand on her bodyguard’s arm and stopped her.

The sleeping baby carried a roar of Power in his soft, delicate body.  Aryal shook her head in wonder.  She hadn’t sensed any of it before now.  How had Pia managed to conceal that much Power when she had been pregnant?

The baby opened his eyes.  He looked so alive and innocent, and as peaceful as a miniature Buddha.  He had dark violet eyes like his mother’s.  The color was so deep and pure it seemed to hold all the wildness and mystery of the night sky.

Some vital organ in Aryal’s chest constricted.  Her hand crept out to him and hovered in midair as, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pia twitch.

Comprehension clipped her with an uppercut to the chin.

Pia wouldn’t trust her anywhere near the baby as long as Aryal held onto any lingering resentment or hostility.  She wouldn’t teach Aryal how to hold him, and she sure as hell wouldn’t ever leave him in Aryal’s care.  Nobody would, which was hideously unfair because Aryal would cut off her own hands before she would do anything to harm a child, no matter who its parents were.

As she struggled with the realization, the baby worked an arm loose from his straightjacket and stuck his fist in one eye.  Surprise and confusion wobbled over his miniscule face.  With a Herculean effort he managed to jerk his fist to his mouth.  He started to suck on it noisily.

That vital organ in Aryal’s chest—that was her heart, and she lost it to him forever.

“Okay,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“What exactly is okay, Aryal?” asked Pia.

Aryal looked at her.  Some sort of suppressed emotion danced in Pia’s gaze.  Triumph, maybe, or amusement.  Whatever it was, she didn’t care.

She said without much hope, “I don’t suppose you would at least consider cutting off the cheerleader ponytail.”

Pia said gravely, “I will consider it.  Not very seriously, but I will.”

Aryal met her gaze.  She asked straight out, without posturing or bullshit, “May I come visit him?”

Pia studied her for a moment.  “Yes, you may.”

Aryal looked down at the baby again and a corner of her mouth lifted.  “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”  The baby started to burble plaintively.  Pia said, “I think he’s already hungry again.  I’d better take him back upstairs.”

She pushed the contraption toward the bank of elevators that would take her up to the penthouse at the top of the Tower.  Eva followed Pia, walking backwards.

“Don’t you fret none, chickadee,” Eva said in a gentle voice to Aryal.  “We still gonna go one day.”

Aryal balanced back on one heel and beckoned her with both hands.  Bring it, baby.

She laughed when Eva made a face before spinning to follow Pia and the little prince onto the elevator.  Then Aryal turned toward Dragos’s offices and came to a standstill.  She couldn’t remember why she had been going to see him in the first place.

Behind her, she could hear the two other women’s whispers clearly just before elevator doors closed.  Pia said, “Behold the Power of the peanut.  His body mass may be small, but his influence is mighty.  The last holdout in the Tower has officially fallen to him.”

“If you say so.”

Eva sounded skeptical, but Pia had called it.  Aryal had fallen in love with that mysterious new person.

For his sake, Aryal released the last of her resentment into the night.

After all, Pia had only stolen once.  While Aryal had been more stubbornly suspicious than anybody, even she had to finally admit that Pia had no real knowledge of Caeravorn’s activities, so it wasn’t as if Pia had actually ever been a career criminal.

Granted, Pia’s theft had been a bad one, but Dragos had not only forgiven her, he had mated with her.  And Dragos was not known for his forgiving personality.

If a dragon could do it, so could a harpy, right?

Giving up her hate on Pia for the sake of the baby was one thing, and that was hard enough.

Quentin Caeravorn was an entirely different disaster.

Aryal turned her attention back to her first hate, the one she held close to her own breast and nurtured with all of her strength.

Caeravorn was a career criminal.  He was also a “triple threat,” a rare and Powerful mixed-breed creature who was part Wyr, part Elven and part Dark Fae.  Aryal didn’t have the details of his family history, but one of his parents had to be full Wyr, while the other parent was a half breed, because his Wyr side was strong enough that he could change into his animal form.  That gave him all the status and legal rights of a full Wyr in the demesne.

Because he had the legal rights of a full Wyr, and he hadn’t been convicted of any crime, he had been eligible to enter the recent Sentinel Games.  He had fought his way through to become one of Dragos’s seven sentinels, who were the core of Dragos’s governing power in the Wyr demesne.

And he had accomplished that, because in spite of almost two years of investigation, and several months of concentrated digging before the Games began, Aryal couldn’t pin a single goddamn thing on him.

She knew he was dirty.  She knew it.

Her leads turned into dead ends and sources dried up.  She would track down somebody only to find out that they had moved out of the Wyr demesne, or maybe they had died accidentally (and didn’t that get investigated thoroughly too).  Or they weren’t directly involved in any illegal activity connected to Caeravorn, they had only heard of things—hearsay and rumors that dissipated into thin air when she tried to nail them down into concrete evidence.

Caeravorn was a magician, surrounded by a labyrinth of smoke and mirrors while he stood at the center of it all, untouched.

Dirty.

He had gained access to the very heart of the Wyr demesne, and all because Aryal couldn’t get him.

Her mood blackened.  While she thought back to the events that had happened two months ago in January, she flew higher and dove just to hear the wind scream in her ears.  The sound matched the scream of outrage in her head.

She had watched every one of Caeravorn’s fights at the Games, absorbing every detail.  He was killer fast and elegant, and highly, superbly trained.  Normal civilians didn’t train to fight to that extent.  Why the fuck didn’t anybody else have a problem with that?

A few times he had chosen to fight in his Wyr form, a huge black panther with electric blue eyes that gleamed under the white hot lights.  In his human form, he had kicked ass.  As a panther, he was sinuous, muscular, and moved like lightning.  He had owned every inch of that fight arena and had captured the imagination of almost twenty thousand spectators.

Directly after the Games were over and Dragos had presented his new sentinels to the Wyr demesne, Caeravorn had strolled like a conquering hero into the great hall at Cuelebre Tower along with the other seven sentinels.  Aside from Quentin, there were the five who had re-won their places—the harpy Aryal, the gryphons Bayne, Constantine, and Graydon, and the gargoyle Grym—along with the other new sentinel, the pegasus Alexander Elysias.

That had been a hell of a party, like a hundred years of New Year’s Eves all rolled into a single night.  There had been endless liquor, and loud music from famous bands, and gourmet food and confetti, and a general stampede at all of them, but especially at the men who were all buff and reeking of testosterone and victorious swagger.

It had been a night of triumph for every sentinel—for Aryal as well, and she had her fair share of propositions too—but she couldn’t let go and enjoy any of them since the night had also been her failure.

She held herself aloof, bitterness a hard, heavy knot in the pit of her stomach while she watched Caeravorn laugh as someone upended a bottle of champagne over his head.  He was six-foot-two, with a long, lean body and a cat’s quick grace, spare graceful features, and dark blond hair he had once worn longer.  He had cut it very short for the Games, and the severe style lay close to the strong, clean lines of his head.

As she stood with her arms crossed, Grym came up to her side.  In his human form, Grym was dark haired with even features.  In his Wyr form, he was nightmarish, with huge bat-like wings, a demonic face and gray skin as hard as stone.

He had his own small share of groupies, as did all of the sentinels, but Grym actually didn’t like to talk much and that fact tended to put females off, at least after the first night or two.  He was one of the few entities whose companionship Aryal actually found peaceful, and he had used that fact more than once to defuse her volatile temper.

She had wished more than once that there was a sexual spark between them.  Unfortunately there wasn’t.  Years ago, they’d even experimented but neither one of them had any interest in taking things past first base.  They had long since settled into an unconventional yet entirely comfortable friendship.

Grym stood close enough that their shoulders brushed.  “You didn’t get him,” he said.  “Sometimes it happens.  You gotta let it go.”

“No, I don’t,” she said.  She scowled at him.

Grym rubbed the back of his neck.  “Aryal, with the kind of hours you’ve put into digging into Quentin’s life, if you haven’t found any hard evidence by now, it’s very likely you’re not going to.”

She shook her head.  “Doesn’t mean I’ve got to let it go.  Just means I haven’t found it yet.”

He turned to face her, his mouth pursed.  “Have you ever considered that he might be innocent?”

She angled out her jaw.  “He’s not.”

“Well, if he isn’t, sooner or later he’s going to trip up.  In the meantime, you earned this night too,” Grym told her.  “Don’t let him ruin it for you.”

She made a face as Grym clapped her on the back and disappeared into the crowd, headed for the nearest bar.  Caeravorn was ruining the night for her.  Just the very fact of his presence at the celebration made her stomach tighten.  Watching him enjoy himself was about as pleasurable as taking a bath in acid.

He exuded testosterone along with all the rest, an alpha male supremely confident in his own abilities, and why wouldn’t he be?  He had just clawed his way to the top of the Wyr demesne and earned his place with the best of the best.

Her gaze narrowed.  He was a beautiful man, she’d give him that.  He owned a popular neighborhood bar named Elfie’s, where he tended to wear clothes that were more upscale, but here he dressed simply like the other sentinels in jeans, boots and a dark blue t-shirt that turned his blue eyes brilliant.

Sex would have always come easily for him.  It would come even easier for him tonight.  He could have as much sex with as many people as he wanted.

One of his companions was a corporate lawyer for Cuelebre Enterprises, a Wyr lioness who was the antithesis of Aryal in almost every way.  Aryal studied the other woman, assessing her as if she were an opponent.  Instead of Aryal’s six foot height, the lioness stood at a snuggly five foot six.  Males were suckers for females of that size.  The other woman had a sinuous, curvaceous torso, while Aryal had an athletic build, her muscles long and lean.

The lioness’s limbs were tawny and sun-kissed, her piquant face cleverly made up to emphasize her tilted eyes and full mouth.  She wore four inch heels, and her waist-long hair tumbled down her back and had expensive golden highlights.

Aryal had gray eyes and angular features, and the only time she had ever worn makeup was when she had gotten drunk with her friend Niniane who had somehow managed to coax Aryal into letting her put pink lipstick on her.  That experiment had lasted all of five minutes.  Aryal wouldn’t be caught dead in heels of any height unless they hid a spring hinged blade, and she barely remembered to brush her thick, black shoulder length hair, which was why it so often ended up tangled, especially just after a flight.

The lioness stood on tiptoe and leaned against Caeravorn’s arm as she said something in his ear, deliberately brushing her breast against his bicep.  Then she sent a warning glance around to the others who stood nearby while she licked at the champagne that dripped off his chin, and Caeravorn grinned and cupped her ass.  Clearly if that chick had anything to say about it, she would be his only partner for the night.

Aryal’s lip curled.  Aw, look.  Two Wyr felines going into heat.  There wasn’t even any suspense to it.

Caeravorn turned to give the female a slow sexy smile, and his gaze fell on Aryal.  His long blue eyes narrowed, and his expression chilled.  He said something to the female as he pulled away from her.  She gave him a pouting, kittenish smile and made as if to follow him, but as she tracked his trajectory, her gaze fell onto Aryal and she jerked to a halt.

Yeah, that one was irritating but she wasn’t stupid.

Caeravorn shouldered past a few people and approached her, his eyes glinting.  He was broad shouldered, lean hipped and long legged, and he had a lithe, almost boneless stride.  Aryal’s gaze drifted over his hard face and equally hard body.  Under the cover of her crossed arms, her talons came out, quiet and slick like well oiled switchblades.  She clicked them together as he prowled close.

So dirty.

He was an outlaw in masquerade.  Her gaze fixed on the bulge in his jeans.  Was he an outlaw sexually as well?

Kitty lawyer’s antics must have been doing it for him, because as he came toe to toe with her, he smelled like healthy male, champagne and arousal.  Aryal hated the fact that he smelled incredibly delicious.

“You are the most ungracious, obstinate creature I have ever had the misfortune to meet,” he said.  She cocked her head and contemplated his hard, well cut mouth.  “Give it up, sunshine.  You lost.”

Genuinely amused, she smiled.  She leaned forward until she was literally in his face, and she whispered, “I know something you don’t.”

His teeth were even and white as he snapped out, “You fucking wish you did.”

“No, I really do know something, Caeravorn.  What are you, a hundred and sixty, a hundred and seventy years old?”

He sliced at the air with one hand.  “What difference does my age make?”

“You young Wyr are all alike,” she said.  “Maybe your panther side will dictate a limit to your life span, or maybe your Elven and Dark Fae blood will prolong it, but either way, you don’t really understand what it means to be immortal.  The past is nearly as limitless as the future.”

“Make your point,” he growled.

Her voice grew softer, pitched for his ears alone.  “I’ll give this to you.  You’ve been meticulous, you really have.  You’ve covered your tracks well.  But nobody in this world is perfect.  That means that you have fucked up somehow, somewhere.  That’s what I know.  I have all the time in the world to find it, all the time, and do you know what means?  That means I’ve already got you.  It just hasn’t happened yet.”

She watched the rage build in his face and body language as she spoke.  She might not have gotten him yet, but she got him good enough for now, as she shoved him over the brink and his temper splintered utterly.  He lunged for her throat.

“You’re not a harpy,” he snarled.  “You’re a fucking pit bull with lockjaw.”

Her head fell back, and she laughed as his iron-hard hands circled her neck.  Fingers tightening, he cut off her air supply.  She hooked an ankle behind his leg and threw her entire body weight at him, knocking him backward.

They crashed to the floor together.  People shouted and scattered, while others leaped toward them.  All the ruckus seemed to happen somewhere else.  Right here it was just her and Caeravorn, in intimate, struggling silence.

As he hit the ground his hands loosened from her neck.  When she landed on top of his muscular length, she twisted to bring up one elbow, hard, underneath his chin.  The blow connected and snapped his head back.  For one pulsating moment his long, powerful body lay supplicant beneath hers, his neck bared as she straddled him.

It was glorious.

Then a freight train slammed into Aryal, knocking her several feet from Caeravorn who flipped, still snarling, onto his hands and knees.  With his head lowered and teeth bared, his gaze fixed on her and he prepared to spring.

Wow, he had really lost it.  She must have said something.  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bayne, Constantine and Alexander pile on top of him, their combined weight knocking him flat again.

Her freight train resolved into Dragos’s new First Sentinel, Graydon.  Graydon was the largest of all the current sentinels.  In his human form he stood almost six foot five, and he carried a good thirty pounds more than the other gryphons.

All of that weight was hard packed muscle which currently took up residence on her chest.  He pinned her arms to the floor by the wrists.  Normally his roughhewn features were set in a mild, good natured expression, but not at the moment.

Not even bothering to struggle, she looked up at Graydon with her eyebrows raised.  “What?”

His dark slate gray eyes were furious.  “People have been through hell this month.  We’ve all gone to war, and then we’ve beat the shit out of each other in the Games.  Everybody needs a little goddamn R & R, and you can’t leave well enough alone for a few fucking hours at a party.”

Angling her jaw out, she savored her next words for the rare treasures they were, as she said in perfect, pious honesty, “He started it.”

 

RISING DARKNESS Release Week Guest Post WINNERS!

Thanks to everyone who stopped by the blog to chat with all my guests during the RISING DARKNESS release weeks. And thanks again to all the great authors who visited me here.

And now, using random.com here are the winners!

The winner of Vivian Arend‘s HIGH RISK swag bag is: Timitra (email starts with taccb_…)

 

The winner of Shannon Stacey‘s giveaway, a digital copy of any one of her titles (winner’s choice and a $25 gift card to the online bookstore of choice is : Hilly (email starts with hillya…)

 

The winner of Jane Porter‘s prize pack, a $15 B&N giftcard, A copy of THE GOOD WOMAN and a copy of THE GOOD DAUGHTER is : Heidi Howard (email starts with heidif…

 

The winner of Laurie London‘s ASSASSIN’S CHOICE ebook at your choice of retailer is: Robin the Book Nerd (email starts with robin.ni…)

 

The winner of Lauren Dane‘s book, your choice of one of her Delicious series books, CHERISHED, TART or LUSH is: Glittergirl (email starts with glitterg…)

 

The winner of Carrie Ann Ryan‘s Cooper Brothers prize pack is: Marianne (email starts with marian…)

 

The winner of Elyssa Patrick‘s ebooks ONE HIT WONDER and AS YOU WISH is: bn100 (email starts with foursea…)

 

The winners must contact us at info@theaharrison.com by 5pm MDT (7pm EDT) Friday, April 19th  to claim their prizes. If you have a choice of books or retailers be sure to let us know what you’ve chosen. Please give us your name, which author and the prize you’ve won, your email address and your mailing address. We promise to only use this info for getting you the prizes.

**If the winners are unable to claim their prizes by the time and date and time listed above, it will be allocated to someone else**

Congratulations to everyone!

Rising Darkness Release Week 2 Guest Post: Elyssa Patrick

From Thea: Elyssa Patrick is one of those wonderful authors that I have connected with through the magic of Twitter. I was very excited when she accepted my invitation to come visit this week. Check the end of the post for contest details. Take it away Elyssa!

Thanks so much, Thea, for having me on today! And congrats on the release of RISING DARKNESS!

When I was writing ONE HIT WONDER, I seriously thought no one would like it, including my critique partners. The hero, Damon Suarez, was unusual, to say the least. Damon wasn’t the typical broody Alpha male—he was a one hit wonder and seemingly embraced the label. He was an uncomplicated guy, and I didn’t think he’d be well-received. But he made me laugh, and I loved writing him. For the most part, readers seem to like him. It got me to thinking why that was . . . and what exactly made this “different” hero so accepted. (Honestly, I still think it was a whole lot of luck.)

So, I thought I’d ask directly from the source. Without further ado, here’s Damon Suarez, hero and star of ONE HIT WONDER.

Me: Damon, I’m talking about you and—

Damon: My favorite subject. But I think I’ll need a drink for this. The usual, Patrick. Three ice cubes—

Me: And chocolate milk on the rocks with a mini umbrella. I know what you like. I did write it after all.

Damon: I’m sorry, Patrick, but my ears thought they heard something ridiculous. You wrote it? Hahaha. I told you, but I’ll let you think otherwise, you little writer, you.

Me: Anywayyyyyy . . . I was just telling everyone that I was surprised people liked you.

Damon: It’s the butt shake. Everyone likes a good butt shake.

Me: I’m sure that’s it. But why else, do you think?

Damon: I wear pink. Real men wear pink.

Me: I know. You keep telling me this.

Damon: I’m still mad you wouldn’t let me wear those crystal pants. People would’ve loved those crystal pants.

Me: Your taste in clothing is . . .

Damon: Perfect.

Me: Suuuuure. You like clothes that are . . .

Damon: Awesome.

Me: I was going to say tight. Very, very tight.

Damon: Cockhuggers are the next fashion thing. It encourages all the blood to flow to the head.

Me: O_O

Damon: Not that head. The head upstairs. Geez, Patrick, you’ve got a dirty mind.

Me: Be thankful for that. Otherwise no more smexytimes for you and Jane. So, why do you think people like you? Besides the clothes and that you’re awesome.

Damon: Don’t forget the butt shake. I don’t know, Patrick. I love Jane and I respect her. Readers like me because how can they not? I put the adorbs in adorbsable.

Me: Adorbsable isn’t even a word.

Damon: It is now.

So, there you have it. Clothes, butt shakes, and respect.

With heroes—no matter if they’re broody Alphas or carefree one hit wonders like Damon—that there’s always a common principle to why readers love them: the hero respects the heroine.

The hero might be all macho, like Tack in Kristen Ashley’s MOTORCYLE MAN; a powerful dragon shapeshifter like Dragos in DRAGON BOUND; a charming rake in Tiffany Clare’s MIDNIGHT TEMPTATIONS WITH A FORBIDDEN LORD; or a sweet, divorced kindergarten teacher in Tamara Morgan’s THE REBOUND GIRL, but deep down, these heroes have a deep abiding respect for the heroine. Sure, they might grumble a bit and give the heroine a hard time—but the respect is there, as well as the hero’s determination to put the heroine first and make sure she’s in his life.

Because, really, there’s nothing sexier than a man who respects a woman, reevaluates things in his life for the heroine, and then goes after her.

~

There was only so much torture a man could take.

He strode toward her, stopping when he was an arm’s length away.

She rubbed her lips together, her blue-gray eyes widening slightly as her breath quickened.

“It’s the whiskey,” she said on a whisper, the words stealing over the slight breeze, each syllable wrapping around him like a boa constrictor, slowing squeezing until they’d bled into him.

He shook his head. Not to get the words out of his system. No, he wanted to keep them in. It was directed at her meaning, at her feeble attempt to cover what couldn’t be covered—not from him anyway.

“It’s not the whiskey,” he said.

And then he extended his arm, his hand closing around her wrist and spun her into his hard body, where she fit exactly as if she belonged.

“Damon,” she said breathily.

Yes, he thought wildly, yes, he could get used to hearing his name uttered on such a sigh.

And even more, he wanted to hear how his name sounded when she came in his arms . . . or when she’d lowered her battlements and entrusted him with something he wasn’t sure she would ever let him be entrusted with.

But he had nine days to convince her . . . he was a very determined man, after all, and although he was clinging to fame, people still knew his name. He wasn’t forgotten.

And Jane wouldn’t forget him.

Not now, not ever if he could help it.

He desperately wanted her.

How he wanted her.

He dipped her over one arm, her arms looping around his neck, her hands clasped at the nape where her fingers grazed his hair.

A shudder wrecked through him at that touch.

She’d noticed, for her eyes widened even more, blue-gray saucers of wonder in that heart-shaped face.

“Damon,” she whispered again.

He said her name, not like a victory march, as if he was about to claim something that was his. Because she was not his—he had no claim over her. She was not something to be won.

She was more than that.

“Jane.” Her name was reverent, a hushed prayer of Hallelujah, a chord of harmony—an unbroken sound, one word that encompassed his world that he hadn’t even known about until now. He was no Galileo but rather a Columbus who had landed upon a new world without realizing it until told otherwise.

But unlike Columbus he wouldn’t plunder and steal, rob or beg . . .

Too much.

He gave her time to push him away. Five minutes past midnight, but the darkness didn’t cloak around them, the lights were too bright to hide anything.

Careless of anything but this, of her in his arms, of her blue-gray eyes going pewter, her tongue dipping out to wet her lips, and the way her breath caught . . . Damon did what he should have done long before now.

He kissed her.

~

One Hit Wonder (Rock Stars in Love 1.5)

Jane Timmons has two weeks to . . .

1. Keep her distance from her sexy boss, the once famous pop singer, Damon Suarez.

2. Stay firm. No kissing allowed!

3. And not let Damon know she loves him.

Damon Suarez has two weeks to . . .

1. Convince Jane to not quit.

2. Stage a comeback and be more than a one hit wonder.

3. Win Jane’s heart—no matter what it takes.

Buy links: Kindle | Nook | Kobo | ARe

Elyssa Patrick: website (www.elyssapatrick.com)  | Twitter| Facebook | Goodreads

From Thea: Thanks Elyssa! Now for the contest.

In Elyssa story Damon is a one hit wonder. I wonder what song was a hit for him. Hmm. What are your favorite one hit wonder songs? Leave a comment to enter to win an ebook copy of ONE HIT WONDER and AS YOU WISH.

We’ll draw the winner on April 12th at 12 noon MDT (2pm EDT) and announce them on the blog. The winner must contact us at info@theaharrison.com by 5pm MDT (7pm EDT) Monday, April 18th  to claim their prize. 

**If the winner is unable to claim their prize by the time and date and time listed above, it will be allocated to someone else**

Good Luck!