Carly Fall's Blog, page 12
December 18, 2012
A Soul For Chaos: The Soulbearer Trilogy, Book 2 by Crista McHugh
Today I’m welcoming Crista McHugh and her book A Soul For Chaos.
A Soul For Chaos
The Soulbearer Trilogy, Book 2
Crista McHugh
Genre: Fantasy with strong romantic elements
ISBN: 978-1479236817
Ebook 978-0985446222
Number of pages: 338
Word Count: 89K
Cover Artist: Claudia McKinney
Book Description:
Book 2 of the Soulbearer Trilogy
Life is dull without a little Chaos.
Trouble is more than just a nickname for Arden Soulbearer. It seems to follow her wherever she goes. And no one knows this better than her protector, Devarius Tel’Brien.
Dev thought that by moving Arden to Gravaria so she could learn how to control Loku, the chaos god whose soul inhabits her body, life would be simpler. Wrong. Not only is he continually torn between his duty and his growing feelings for the Soulbearer, but he also has to contend with the rival prince who wishes to claim her heart. Adding to his problems, a group of powerful mages have banded together to rid the world of the disembodied chaos god once and for all. Of course, that means they have to destroy Arden in the process.
EXCERPT:
From the dark recesses, he watched them enter, the torch light flickering across their golden masks as they filed into the main chamber. Tonight, the Tribunal of the Gods would meet for the first time in over a decade. Tonight, they would discuss the fate of the newest threat to their power.
He adjusted the mask of Nelos, concealing his face from everyone. It didn’t matter who he was, only the god he served. And he did more than just serve Nelos—he was his voice in this realm. Out of all the priests and priestesses in the chamber, only he spoke with the true authority of a deity. Only he could channel the God of Law’s power. And only he could lead them on the crusade to rid the world of the god of chaos, Loku, once and for all.
He waited until everyone else had arrived before he made his grand entrance. With a flick of his hand, the torches brightened, bathing the main chamber in light. The jewels that adorned the wall winked at him as if they already approved of his plan.
“So nice of you to join us,” the priestess wearing the mask of Ivis said as he entered. “We could have done without the theatrics, though.”
“The light of the Law will drive the darkness of Chaos away,” he replied, quoting the teachings of Nelos. As he sat in his appointed chair and draped his silver robe across the seat, he surveyed the other eleven members of Tribunal, trying to pinpoint each of their weaknesses. “After all, that’s why we’re here—to discuss what to do with Loku.”
“In a way, yes.” The Priestess of Ivis narrowed her eyes as if to challenge him.
He muffled his snort. Ivis may have the most followers in Gravaria, but she was a weak goddess. Too kind, too merciful, too aligned with the so-called “Lady Moon” worshipped in Ranello.
The Priestess of Ivis finally turned her gaze away from him. “Loku has a new Soulbearer.”
“Why should it concern us?” the Priest of Jussip asked as he toyed with the golden battle ax dangling from his belt. Like the god he served, he was a soldier, a man of action. He was probably wishing the Tribunal to end as quickly as possible, but he would also be the easiest to sway to Nelos’ plans.
“Agreed.” The Priestess of Sulia twirled her hair around her fingers. “Loku has had many Soulbearers, and they all suffer the same fate. Why is this one any different?”
He leaned forward. Did they really not know? Had they all turned a deaf ear to the rumors coming from Ranello? “For starters, she’s a woman.”
One of the other priestesses gasped, and every pair of eyes behind the golden masks focused on him. Nelos had told him everything about her, every detail about the girl known as Trouble. For once, he had the upper hand, and he would use it to bend the others to his will.
The Priestess of Sulia stopped playing with her hair. “But Loku’s never had a female Soulbearer.”
“She’ll probably succumb to the madness sooner than a man.” The Priest of Jussip fidgeted in his chair. “Is that why you called this meeting, Ivis? To mark this milestone in Loku’s regression?”
“No.” Ivis’s voice echoed off the wall, and a current of magic rippled through the air.
A shiver raced up his spine, and his muscles locked. Could she have the ability to channel her deity as well?
“Do not fear her, my servant,” the familiar voice of Nelos whispered in his mind. “She is the one resorting to theatrics. Ivis doesn’t hold her in the same regard that I do you. You are my chosen one. You are the one who will bring peace and order to this realm.”
He relaxed back against his chair. “She’s a Ranellian.”
Once again, he held their attention, and the Priestess of Ivis appeared slightly perturbed by it. “Correct. And since you know so much about her, Nelos, do you care to offer a guess why I’m so concerned?”
A smile curled up behind his mask. “Unlike the others, she’s used Loku’s powers for something other than personal gain.”
“So I’ve heard.” Ivis addressed the other members of the Tribunal. “Arden Lesstymine is the girl’s name. From the reports I’ve been given, she channeled Loku’s powers to destroy a necromancer that was terrorizing the kingdom.”
“But magic is outlawed in Ranello.” The Priest of Kylow, god of the sea, rubbed his chin. “King Heodis will order her burned at the stake before she’s a threat to us.”
“Or he will use her against us and try to conquer our Empire.” Jussip grabbed his ax and jumped to his feet. “I say we destroy her before she crosses the border.”
Several others echoed his sentiments. It was all too easy to get them riled up. Yes, they served their deities, but in their hearts, they were all staunch Gravarians.
All but him. He served a higher calling. Out of all the priests in the empire, Nelos had chosen him to help usher in a new age of peace.
“Silence, please.” Ivis’ voice boomed over their shouts, and once again, another burst of magic blew through the air. “Heodis knows of her abilities and has even bequeathed a title upon her for her efforts. But I do not think she will be manipulated by him.”
“Is Devarius Tel’brien still the Soulbearer’s protector?” The Priestess of the Ornathian goddess, Lireal, startled everyone with her question. Normally, she remained silent, following the nature of the goddess she served. On the rare occasions she spoke, people listened.
Jussip chuckled. “Poor Dev. Always the protector, never the Soulbearer. How’s that for a never-ending punishment?”
“Yes, Sir Devarius is still her protector,” Ivis replied in a tight voice, ignoring Jussip’s snide remarks.
“Then we have little to fear from her.” The winged Ornathian priestess sank back into her silence and let the others dwell on her statement. The knight had a reputation of keeping the Soulbearers under control, never mind his unwavering loyalty to the Empire. They almost seemed convinced that the new Soulbearer was not a threat as long as Devarius remained in the picture.
Rage boiled up inside him. He needed to renew his momentum. He needed to convince them that she was as dangerous as the god living inside her. “Perhaps, but from what I’ve heard, she’s channeled Loku numerous times and has not shown any signs of madness. Could he be trying a new strategy? One where he could manipulate his Soulbearer into doing his bidding without raising any of our suspicions?”
“What are you suggesting?” Jussip’s knuckles turned white as his grip tightened around his battle ax.
“She was a witch before she became infected with Loku. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s stretching his influence over her in a different way. Instead of turning her mad like he did the others, perhaps he’s seducing her into becoming a willing servant. Loku didn’t open the portal to the Realm of Chaos without help from his followers.”
His threat had the desired effect. Doubt filled all of their eyes.
All except Ivis. She lifted her chin in defiance. “Your point is made. We should watch her as carefully as we have other Soulbearers in the past. Spring is near, and Sir Devarius will bring her here as quickly as he can. Once she is encased in the Mage’s Conclave, we will have ample opportunity to study Loku’s influence over her.”
The others nodded their heads in agreement, but Nelos curled his hand into a fist, banging it on the armrest of his chair. “We’ve only seen a glimpse of what she’s capable of doing, and look what she did to her home kingdom. She leveled the city walls of Trivinus. I say we strike now before she brings chaos to Gravaria.”
Ivis stood, her unwavering gaze fixed on him. “Would the God of Law sentence someone without having absolute confidence she has broken any laws?”
“She has broken laws, or have you forgotten magic is outlawed in Ranello?”
“But not here.” She moved to the center of the circle, turning slowly to speak to each of the priests and priestesses in turn. “We have little concrete information on this new Soulbearer other than the rumors that have made their way here. I urge all of you to pray to your deities for guidance on this matter, but do not act until we have all the facts. If she has managed to resist the madness thus far, then perhaps we have found the most powerful Soulbearer yet.”
She finally came to him. “Does that sound agreeable to you, Nelos?”
Inside, he seethed. She had somehow managed to turn them all against him, to reduce them to cowards that would rather wait until the threat was on their soil before they struck.
“Patience, my servant. You do not need their help to dispose of Loku. I am all the power you need.”
His god’s word soothed him, and the red faded from his vision. “I will pray on the matter,” he replied in an even tone. And strike when he tells me to.
About the Author:
Growing up in small town Alabama, Crista relied on story-telling as a natural way for her to pass the time and keep her 
two younger sisters entertained. Of course, that also means she’s inclined to suffer some of the same maladies that plague many southern writers like overuse of simile and metaphor, exaggeration, melodramatic writing style, and the ever-popular long-winded sentence.
She currently lives in the Audi-filled suburbs of Seattle with her husband and two children, maintaining her alter ego of mild-mannered physician by day while she continues to pursue writing on nights and weekends.
Just for laughs, here are some of the jobs she’s had in the past to pay the bills: barista, bartender, sommelier, stagehand, actress, morgue attendant, and autopsy assistant.
And she’s also a recovering LARPer. (She blames it on her crazy college days)
For the latest updates and answers to any burning questions you have, please check out her webpage.
Twitter: @crista_mchugh
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3035791.Crista_McHugh
December 17, 2012
A Ghost for Christmas – Kacey Hammell
[image error]A Ghost for Christmas
Kacey Hammell
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Genre: Paranormal Erotic Romance
Release Date: December 6th
ISBN# 978-1-77130-211-1
After receiving a long weekend at an elegant hotel beside the majestic Niagara Falls as a Christmas gift, Jodie Gibson is determined to do nothing but relax and enjoy the scenery. And, okay, just maybe meet someone who makes her toes curl.
Sebastian is sophisticated, tall, dark and gorgeous–everything a woman fantasizes about. But he’s also an 18th century ghost. He haunts the halls of the hotel, seeking the one true love that can help him find peace…
Excerpt © Kacey Hammell
As she peered into the reflective glass, a face appeared behind her. Jodie whipped around and fell back against the window.
Oh my fucking God!
Before her, in what looked like a shimmering bubble, stood the most breathtakingly beautiful man she’d ever seen. Dressed in a white shirt and black pants, he had dark unruly hair and striking, magnetic blue eyes that held her in place.
Jodie blinked, uncertain, scared and breathless.
How was it possible? She’d read the newspaper clippings, yes, but it was unimaginable to think ghosts might actually walk among the living.
Not everything made sense. She only believed in things that could actually be seen, felt and touched. This seemed surreal.
Stunned by the apparition before her, dressed in what looked like centuries-old clothes straight out of Esquire, he seemed to look straight through her, and his smile warmed her clear to her toes. Lord, she was in trouble.
“Hello.” Soft and gravelly, his voice alone seduced her…all the way to her toes. Her body quivered and her center tightened.
Whoa. What the hell am I thinking? There’s a ghost in front of me and I’m ready to jump his bones. Not bloody likely.
“What are you doing here? Get out. I don’t care who you are, you’re leaving, right now.”
He frowned. “No need to be frightened. I’ve been here for centuries.”
Jodie laughed, and not one to wilt like a scared little girl, stood tall. “This is all a joke.” She looked around, up and down, and all over the room. “Are there hidden cameras somewhere? Hey, Ashton, if you’re behind the camera, you can come out now. I’ve been Punk’d good. Thanks and all, but I’d like to get on with my evening without you.”
“Who is this Ashton? What is a punk? A rake, perhaps?” he asked.
Jodie squinted. “A rake?” She hadn’t ever heard that term spoken, but had read it in historical romances. No one talked like that these days. “No. Never mind, it’s not important. Listen, I just want you to go. I want to enjoy my evening.”
His smile was gentle. “I’m sorry, my dear, but this evening every decade is the only time I am visible to the human eye. I never miss a chance to watch the Falls.”
Every decade…
“You’re telling me you do this every ten years? How old are you?”
“I was born in 1781. That makes me—”
“Two hundred thirty-one,” Jodie whispered, legs weak. She grabbed the back of the chair nearby and sat down. Were such things even possible?
Jesus.
An eighteenth century ghost stood before her.
Merry Christmas to me.
Available at…
Evernight Publishing
Amazon
aRe
Readers can learn more about Kacey’s books/contact her via …
Website / Facebook / Facebook Author Page / Twitter / Amazon / Goodreads / Pinterest
December 12, 2012
A Warrior’s Betrayal – Brandi Salazar
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I’m happy to have Brandi Salazar here today with her book A Warrior’s Betrayal. She is giving away 2 eBook copies of “A Warrior’s Betrayal” (1 each to 2 winners), so please enter below.
A Warrior’s Betrayal (Brotherhood #2)
by Brandi Salazar
Self-Published/Indie
Erotic Dark Urban Fantasy Romance
Contains Elements of Action, Mythology
Heat Level: Sizzling
Length: 237 pages
Available at:
Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009MP9PRS
B&N – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-warriors-betrayal-brandi-salazar/1113326379
Smashwords – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/242762
Kobo – http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/A-Warriors-Betrayal/book-HAL2P70k6k2X0_6bAzmugg/page1.html
Blurb:
Forbidden desires…
Being a Brother and a caretaker isn’t an easy job, especially when you find yourself coveting the one person you were meant to protect but never have- your brother’s woman. That is exactly where Behr finds himself- in love and out of luck. Nothing a little killing can’t remedy. While looking for a little trouble to take his mind off what’s brewing at home, Behr finds the perfect distraction: hunting down the mythical Rage demon prowling his city’s streets.
Lost and alone…
Cheyenne doesn’t know what to do with herself. Weeks have passed with no sign of Erias, and as far as she knows, he’s dead. Just when she resigns herself to the difficult task of moving on with her life, he reappears, but the Erias she knew no longer exists. He’s a demon, the very thing he and his brother’s hunt each night. Can Erias overcome this transformation and find the strength to make it back to Cheyenne and the Brotherhood, and if he does, will they accept him? In a world plagued with uncertainty, only one thing is definite: no matter how it ends, someone’s heart is bound to get ripped to shreds.
EXCERPT
It didn’t take him long to wash away the blood, tend his wounds and redress himself in a pair of comfortable, loose-fitting pajama pants. Behr silently praised himself for his clean efficiency. It seemed he had become quite a pro after all these millennia.
Finding his comrades still in the living room, Behr eased back into the couch—being careful not to tear the fresh stitching in his thigh—sandwiching Cheyenne between his big body and Dehstroy’s.
“What are we watching?” he asked, but didn’t have to wait for an answer.
“Everything seems so unreal.”
“You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all.”
Behr groaned. “Another poorly made Bronte movie, ladies?”
Cheyenne spared him a plaintive look, and Dehstroy ignored the cutting remark. “I don’t understand your aversion, Brother. As one who lived it, I find it to be a rather soothing, albeit somewhat distressing, reminder of a time long passed, where things were simpler, time moved at a steady pace, and the women were genteel while the men were well-groomed and mannered.”
Shaking his head, Behr’s eyes didn’t leave the screen as he spoke.
“In case it has escaped you—and considering your advanced age, it certainly may have—I also recall those days, and often fondly.”
Hell, when had he reverted back to proper English? If he had a cup of tea on hand, he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find his pinkie angling upward.
“Look, the point is, there are like, what, twenty versions of Jane Eyre?” He looked to Cheyenne for confirmation, but she just shrugged, clearly unwilling to join their argument. “I have yet to find one suitable to the book. It seems to me that the Bronte sisters, reclusive and unworldly as they were, fashioned better drivel than the people who merely scooped up the material and put it to film.”
Dehstroy’s eyes darkened. “Did you just call this…masterpiece….‘drivel’?”
Behr’s body tensed, readying for a possible fight.
“Boys!” Cheyenne finally cut in. She gave them each a hard stare, the longest of which lingered on Behr, as if he was the instigator!
Behr’s eyes widened with feigned innocence. “What?”
“Don’t what me, mister,” she chided. “You’re always picking. Now, I want everyone to shush it so I can finish this movie. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Behr and Dehstroy said like a couple of scorned children, and turned back to the movie.
About the Author:
Brandi Salazar started writing poetry, short stories, and novels at a very young age, weaving tales to share with her friends that were geared toward making them[image error] laugh. Today her writing habits reflect that, ranging from mystery/suspense/thriller to paranormal and YA romance, and no matter how different her works may be, you can always find a healthy dose of action, romance, and humor.
A longtime resident of Ohio, Brandi lives with her husband, three children, a dog and five cats that keep her very busy. She holds a degree in Business and has plans to continue her education so she can one day become an editor to authors everywhere. When she isn’t crafting her next novel, toiling away at schoolwork, or hanging out with family, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair with her nose buried in a book.
Visit Brandi online at:
Email – branflake3083@gmail.com
Blog – http://twistingyourmindonewordatatime.blogspot.com/
Goodreads – http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4810728.Brandi_Salazar
Facebook – http://www.facebook.com/brandellavalena
Website – http://brandisalazar.weebly.com/
Twitter – https://twitter.com/brandellavanela
For other stops on the tour:
December 8, 2012
Guardian of Abyss – Shannon Phoenix
I’m happy to have Shannon Phoenix and her book Guardian of the Abyss. She will be giving away one ebook, so please leave a comment.
Guardian of the Abyss
Supernatural Singles
Shannon Phoenix
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Number of pages: 127
Word Count: 43,500
Book Description:
Buried at sea by the sorcerers who created him, Abaddon is unable to heal himself and unable to replenish his energy. He has lived here for longer than he can remember, with no hope of escape. Time is against him as the sea eats away at him, body and soul.
When her diving partner tries to kill her to take over her company, Sarah finds herself trapped beneath the waves and dying. Having brought light to Abaddon’s dark existence at last, only she can grant him the courage to do what must be done to escape his watery prison.
Abaddon must sacrifice his wings to save her. Sarah must come to terms with being trapped with someone she has been raised to believe is a demon, and face the betrayal that nearly destroyed her and the company she built. Together, they must take on the ocean and their own fears. The consequence of failure is death.
Excerpt
Abaddon had lived in this ocean hell for so long now that he didn’t even know how long it had been. Unable to connect to the wind or the Earth due to the water around him, he had been forced to attempt to revive what energy he could from the distant sun. Water was his enemy, and he had never known it more than now.
Most of the ‘guests’ he got here were men or women whose intentions were vile. Their nefarious purposes broadcasted so strongly that even the wildlife here felt it and hid. Abaddon hadn’t known of their explosive devices for very long, but he’d found out by means of a curious–and now dead–shark. He had never touched their strange packages, and knew nothing of what they contained.
But today, he had stepped out of his underground lair in order to attempt some time in the sun. He needed replenishment, and in these depths, watery sunlight was all he could get. Unfortunately, it came at a cost as the water continued to etch away at his stone form. He had no idea what would happen, but without sufficient power, he couldn’t renew it. Would he die? Never return from stone form? He didn’t know… didn’t care to find out. So his forays out were few and far between.
As he sat there in stone form, he had seen the human man detonate the bomb, and felt his ill will. The water had filled with blood and then Abaddon had seen the woman and the terror on her face. She wore none of the strange apparatus the others always wore, and Abaddon wondered how she survived so long under the water. Yet he also realized that her death would happen any second now. He looked up after the retreating man. He could jump and catch him. Then he could climb the rope and be free of this prison at last.
Or he could save the woman. He felt her shining soul and he could do nothing but gather her close and make haste towards his cavern. He refused to look at the retreating chain that held her companion. He couldn’t bear it, and he might change his mind. He already regretted it. It was likely that she would die anyway, and he had thrown away the first opportunity he had ever had to escape. The others had never lowered a chain. They swam down with their bodies covered in strange machines, and swam away again.
It was almost more than he could bear to let it go, but now the decision was made and with each passing second, it went beyond the reach of his highest underwater jump. He pushed into the cavern and leaped from the water in a single jump. His powerful legs took him up onto the ledge that made up his prison.
Had he never found this underwater chamber filled with air, his stone form would have been taken over by the ocean long ago. As it was, he was able to escape the water’s constant torment for great periods of time.
He laid her down carefully, concerned about her health and well-being. She looked fragile, laying there alone in the slight gloom from the lichen that coated the walls. He had no memory of how to care for her. It had been so long since he’d been around humans–anyone at all, for that matter–that he had no idea what to do.
A moment passed and she suddenly convulsed. Abaddon decided that was most likely a bad thing. He turned her onto her side and watched as water and something else spewed from her mouth, filling the chamber with a vile odor. Disgusted, he cupped water from the ocean and let it carry the vile substance back with it. After a couple of minutes, she lay still and quiet except for the strange, regular sound of air going in and out of her. That, he felt sure, was a good thing.
He wondered what he would do when she awoke. Maybe he would just sit in his stone form, and she’d go away. She couldn’t stay here, humans were fragile. She had gotten down there without the strange objects the humans kept on their faces, so she would leave his cave and go back the same way.
Satisfied by this certainty, he moved a few feet away and squatted down to watch her taking in and releasing air. It was odd that humans, even while rejuvenating, could not be still. Fascinating, as well… and lovely. No doubt he only thought so because he hadn’t seen a woman in… how long had it been? Well, a long time, anyway.
The usual silence of his cavern was broken by the woman’s sounds, and Abaddon found it difficult to focus. Perhaps he should go outside and attempt to utilize the remaining hours of daylight. It was a wise choice. Not doing so was likely unwise in the extreme.
But Abaddon sat and stared at the constantly moving form of the woman. If there was one thing he could admit, it was that at least he hadn’t forgotten what a woman was. Nor, in all those long years, had he forgotten what it felt like to be betrayed by one. He’d be rid of this one as quickly as possible. Until then, he wasn’t above enjoying looking at her. She was beautiful, and that was a fact. He’d remember her for a long time after she was gone.
The thought made his heart pinch. He didn’t want her to be gone. Except he did, because her being here was just plain dangerous on every level, for both of them. Not that she was his problem. She wasn’t his problem. But if she was, he’d want her back to her own world quickly, for her own good. Humans had needs, as he recalled. A rather excessive lot of needs, at that. He had absolutely no way of caring for a pet, aside from the shark he sometimes fed. Other than Geoff the shark, he didn’t need anything, unless it could get him out of his personal hell.
And that, he decided, was that.
~~~~~~
For the purpose of this blog post, Abaddon has agreed to answer a few questions. I hope that you enjoy them, as I found his answers fascinating.
Shannon: Hello, Abaddon. Thank you for joining me today for this interview.
Abaddon: Thank you for having me, Shannon.
Shannon: The first question that we have for you is, what did you do before you were a gargoyle? I understand you were the original living gargoyle; made, not born?
Abaddon: That’s correct. I was created in what you might call a state-of-the-art laboratory at the time. The men who changed me from human to gargoyle were sorcerers. Most people nowdays call them alchemists and claim that they aren’t what legends say they were. That’s the way we all want it, of course. Discovery lies on the other side of people realizing that legends are just distorted truths.
When they discovered me, I was an untrained sorcerer. I was working as a blacksmith. I shaped metals into tools of all kinds. Mostly horseshoes and wagon parts. It was hard work, but it was honest work that paid very well. I also enjoy creating sculptures from the poorer quality metals that wouldn’t have made good utensils. There was little time for it, but the sculptures were quite sought after when I did get to make some.
Shannon: Can you tell us more about your experiences right after you were captured after Mayra died?
Abaddon: Some may not be appropriate, so I will stick with the lighter telling. I was taken by the Rakshasa to a dungeon, where they kept me for some months. I believe they were in negotiations with the sorcerers. It was during this time that they discovered my weaknesses, and tortured other prisoners if I attempted escape. It’s very difficult to restrain a gargoyle.
It was during this time that I learned that I could still form metals, using my hands and my natural affinity for sorcery. Sadly, it was a mostly useless skill, since all it netted me was releasing myself from my bonds only to run up against the threat of others being tortured.
Shannon: I’m sorry. It sounds like you had a very difficult time of it. So how many sons do you have? I understand that you had a great number of offspring before you left captivity at the hands of your creators?
Abaddon: I had 57 sons. Of those, only 12 remained alive when I finally escaped the sea.
Shannon: Where were you trapped at?
Abaddon: I didn’t know at the time. It’s interesting to note that I walked a very long distance before becoming trapped. I ended up off of the coast of Bimini, on a shelf low in the gulf stream’s channel. I still chide Sarah to this day for diving there.
Shannon: And how does that work out for you?
Abaddon (sounding a bit sheepish): I sleep on the roof.
Shannon: I suppose the doghouse is too small for you.
Abaddon: I guess it depends on who you ask. She says that if I keep harassing her about diving there, she’s going to have a big enough one built, just on principle.
Shannon: You’ve just disappointed all women who had hoped that gargoyles might not spend their time in the doghouse like human men do, you know.
Abaddon: Sarah will be so proud…
Shannon: Well, Abaddon, thank you for joining me for this little chat. I enjoyed it and I hope to chat with you another time and ask you more questions, but for now, our time is up.
Abaddon: All the best to you and your readers, Shannon
About the Author:
Shannon Phoenix always wrote stories. She watched the characters take on their lives within her mind, and began to write down what they were doing. She would write the stories and then let them go. But a few years ago, she got caught writing those stories. You know… those stories.
To her surprise, the person who found her stories loved her characters as much as Shannon did. She tentatively allowed others to read the stories, as well, and it was from that first foray into the scary world of letting others read her ‘little tales’ that Shannon Phoenix Books was born.
Shannon lives in New Hampshire with her husband John, her daughter, and their family cat, Song. Her full time job is parenting, her part time job is as a mother’s helper to a family friend, and her passion is letting the characters in her mind out on paper–or keyboard, as the case may be.
Welcome to Shannon Phoenix Books. May you find the magic in your own life.
http://www.facebook.com/shannon.phoenix.714
http://shannonphoenix.wordpress.com/
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5829040.Shannon_Phoenix
December 7, 2012
Christmas Eve – Angela Burns
I’m happy to welcome Angela Burns today. She will be giving away 5 paperbacks (no shipping restrictions) and 5 Ebooks. Please enter below.
Christmas Eve
By Angela Burns
ASIN B00AHK0H92
‘Christmas Eve’ is a simple Winter Ghost Story. A tale of one woman’s redemption from immeasurable suffering, taking you on a journey to the Heights of Heaven and the Gates of Hell, exploring the intricacies of human nature and the deigns of fate through the eyes of a family left in torment following a horrendous accident.
‘Christmas Eve’ is a heart-warming read, set over the night when we all feel a little magic in the air.
Book Trailer http://youtu.be/EL59TGGUdAY
Excerpt
“Jo’s on the phone.”
This simple sentence pushes her headlong into the abyss of insanity, causing her to throw up as she spirals into incomprehension, not caring which of these winter ghosts she is being persecuted by.
This isn’t real. This can’t be happening!
Repeating this mantra provides no comfort as she rocks back and forth on the sofa, sobbing wildly, floods of tears burning her, her hands covering her face. She lets out an almighty scream. Her dishevelled state and pitiful wails do not attract the revellers as she stands and looks around the room.
The familiar faces of friends and family from the past, all gathered for their annual celebration of the holiday they once held dear, remain oblivious to her presence.
Brutally trembling, holding onto the furniture for support, she makes her way slowly through the room. Disjointed snatches of conversations resonate in her skull, feeding an intense headache of confusion.
Jo is on the phone…I need to talk to Jo. Am I dead? Are these ghosts? Am I the Ghost? Why can’t they see me?
She was right; they couldn’t see her or hear her–apart from one man.
He stands resolutely in the bay window of the room, by the grandiose tree, in mid-conversation with Janet’s boss and her partner, when he stops and glances at her, smiling warmly.
Nick! She shouts in her mind, unable to form the word.
She tries again to call out, but each time the syllables stifle in her throat, sentencing her to a wretched silence from which she cannot flee.
Winking at her, he returns to his previous conversation.
You were here on that night, damn you! Why can’t I remember you?
Continuing through into the entrance hall, she slowly drags her feet on the flagstones, crippled by her sickness.
I must get to the phone.
There are more people there, many more, crammed, solemn, like cattle to the slaughter. This time, however, they do not belong to her memories. None of them speak as she ambles her way through. Hunched like zombies, they study her every step as she moves pathetically amongst them.
They can see me.
Their costumes reflect the history of the life once told in this home – four hundred years of history. Mortified, she remains possessed by the miraculous chance of hearing her daughter’s beautiful voice again, and has no time to question what is
happening.
As she approaches the kitchen where the phone is kept, a cold wind brushes past her arm. Horror-struck to see her other self sweep through her as she quickly walks towards the kitchen, towards the phone, another scream begins to curdle as she realises that she shares one common denominator with the guests in the hall. They are all ghosts. The ghosts of Stonebridge Farm. It is only her determination to hear her daughter once again that chokes her cries, refocusing her.
I must … get … to that … phone.
Each weighty step exhausts her as she trudges through the walls of dead energy that surround her.
Am I dead? What the heck happened? Where’s Nick? I’m coming Jo … sweetheart … please don’t go … I’m coming.
The other Janet had already picked up the phone as she stumbles into the kitchen.
DAMN YOU, YOU SELFISH BITCH! THAT WAS MY CALL! She screams at herself in deathly silence.
Helpless and panicking, she calls wildly at the others to help her.
Please help me! HELP ME! She doesn’t know what she is doing … what she is saying! FOR GOD’S SAKE, PLEASE WON’T SOMEBODY HELP ME! I NEED TO SPEAK TO MY DAUGHTER!
The Magic of Christmas
As the holiday season bears down us all once again, I resume my crusade to define what makes Christmas magic?
I love Christmas. Always have and always will. I do, however, find myself trying to emulate the essence of Dickens, Capra and the Coca-Cola company all into one, and ask the same question I ask myself every December 1st. How can I capture the spirits of past, present and future as the ultimate gift for my family?
Is it an elusive equation studied by seasonal scholars? A sprinkling of snow, a dash of bauble, a cup of pine all mixed into a simmering, warm pot of love? Whatever the season means to you one thing is for sure, the magic it brings IS effecting. I don’t know of any other event that managed to bring two warring sides together in a moment of infamous unity. Ypres, Belgium, Christmas Eve 1914. If the Allies and the Germans manged to silence the shrilling of the shells for the sake of a greater good, then the season brings hope for us all.
It is the spirit of hope that inspired me to write ‘Christmas Eve’. Like many, I have experienced loss and tragedy. Having served as a Police Officer before retiring to my own devices, I have born witness to the hurt of others and slipped into their sadness, often unable to resolve the demon that plagues them. Through the enigmatic ‘Nick’, the stories co-protagonist, I was able to live my own dream of being the person who can offer understanding, forgiveness and ultimately redemption. His magic, the Christmas magic, was the perfect avenue for him to breathe life.
This takes me back to the elusive question, can we capture the magic of Christmas and serve it up on a plate with a glass of sherry and mince pie? For me the answer is a resounding no! Christmas is a hugely personal affair and no person will be able to dictate how or why we should celebrate the holiday. The mere fact that it’s core is so wonderfully translucent perpetuates the mysterious magic that descends every December 24th.
If one were to solve this equation and Christmas was made concrete, it would quickly become commonplace and we complacent. The image of a child watching the winter skies with glee, eager to spot a star shooting across the heavens, pulled furiously by reindeer, would fade. What would be the point? Where would the excitement and curiosity go? After all, that same child would know exactly what to expect from Christmas ‘A+B=C’
For now though, Christmas IS magical, it’s historic mystery unsolved, and the child in all of us can sleep peacefully. The magic is as strong now as it was in 1914.
HAVE A WONDERFUL CHRISTMAS & A HAPPY NEW YEAR!
About the Author:
Angela Burns is a retired Police Officer, living with her partner and children in Norwich, Norfolk. Having been given the gift of time, she now writes full time, living her ambition to share the stories that have floated around her head for so long.
December 6, 2012
Christmas Wishes Blog Hop
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Welcome to the Christmas Wishes Blog Hop! Thanks to Book & Trailer Showcase, Coffee Beans and Love Scenes and Full Moon Bites for hosting!
I hope you all are enjoying the Christmas Season, which happens to be my favorite time of the year!
For this blog hop, I’m giving away a paperback and three bookmarks from my Six Saviors Series. You can click on the picture to read reviews and an excerpt of The Light Within Me.
To win the above, fill in the Rafflecopter:
For the big prize which is A Kindle Paperwhite, A Nook Glow, and a $90 choice giftcard for either Amazon or Barnes and Noble, please fill out this Rafflecopter, and have a wonderful holiday season, and please make sure to check out the other awesomeness participating in the hop!
December 5, 2012
Six Saviors Holiday Giveaway!
December 4, 2012
I Kissed a Dog – Carol Van Atta
Today I’m happy to be featuring Carol Van Atta and her book, I Kissed a Dog.She’s giving away 3 ecopies and 1 print copy of I Kissed a Dog (US Shipping Only)
I Kissed a Dog
The Werewolves of the West Series Book One
Carol Van Atta
Genre: Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Cambridge Press US under the umbrella of Charles River Press (CRP)
ISBN: 1936185725 ISBN13: 9781936185726
ASIN: B009SV179U
Number of pages: 446
Cover Artist: Ann Falcone
Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jeuDqevNSXM
Book Description:
Chloe Carpenter isn’t like other women. She can communicate with animals. A gift she unwrapped following one of her frequent dances with death.
In her otherwise wacky life, she’s finally found a semblance of sanity working at the Plum Beach Wildlife Park, where her unique talents can make life or death differences for the animals in her care. That semblance is shattered when a new veterinarian roars into the park in his spiffed up sports car and sets his golden gaze on her. If she had her way, he’d roar right back out.
Problem: He’s her new coworker and he’s saved her life twice – in the past twenty-four hours.
Zane Marshall, Enforcer for the Pacific Pack of purebred werewolves, has a job to do – figure out who or what is mutilating the young men of Plum Beach.
With orders to find the woman who talks to animals, he accepts a position working alongside the fiery Chloe Carpenter, a female who ignites his interest far more than he ever expected. Remarkably, she’s the one elusive female with potential to bring meaning and passion to his empty existence.
Problem: She despises him.
Together, they’re forced to unravel a mystery of supernatural proportions, a murderous mystery with eternal implications for everyone. In the process, they discover opposites really do attract.
Major Problem: Zane is pledged to another woman, and she’ll do anything to keep him from Chloe.
Excerpt:
June 12, 2011 – The Oregon Coast
The lion paced to the left, top lip curled back, revealing his pointed teeth; he snarled at me for good measure.
Wary, I watched as his tail whipped from side to side, and he shifted into a crouching position, his eyes never once straying from mine. He was perched above me on the rocky ledge where he spent hours lounging in the sun.
Planting my fists on my hips, I stood taller, squaring my shoulders, and glared up at Butch, a regal three-year-old lion I’d known since I first started working for Luke Snider at the Plum Beach Wildlife Park, over two years ago. Never had I experienced the wrath of this particular animal, and I wasn’t enjoying being on the receiving end of the young cat’s fury.
Fred, one of the park’s volunteers, had gotten the absurd notion that lions were just bigger versions of their housecat cousins, and based on the faulty information, decided to enter the cage for a feel of their fur.
The two females were eating and ignored the intruder. Butch, always curious and fiercely territorial, wasn’t quite as welcoming. He’d cornered Fred and was preparing to paw at him when I’d noticed his dilemma. Counting on my positive relationship with Butch, I’d helped Fred escape and was turning to leave.
Butch had other ideas and decided to get frisky with me. Something I hadn’t anticipated.
Now I was stuck and angry. How dare Butch treat me like a prospective snack?
I could hear Luke, off to my right, warning me to exit the cage — now, but I refused to surrender to my growling challenger. This was one battle I didn’t intend to lose.
It appeared Butch felt the same.
My pride alone wasn’t holding me back; I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced I could escape unharmed and wasn’t ready to risk it.
To make matters worse, I’d become the animal park’s featured entertainment.
A considerable, mid-afternoon crowd swarmed the lions’ enclosure eager for some action. As if the town’s recent murders weren’t enough. Granted, most of the park’s patrons were tourists with their cell phones raised in hopes of capturing footage worth posting online later.
If I had any say, it wouldn’t be me dangling from the jaws of my former feline friend. Some vacation memory that would be for the kids watching.
Butch roared, sending a wave of nerve-induced nausea crashing through my midsection. His hindquarters quivered in preparation for the sure-to-come pounce. If I was going to divert a catastrophe, and my funeral, I had to act now.
Backing away, I used my coma-acquired communication skills, and sent what I hoped was a soothing mantra into the lion’s mind: You’re okay. It’s me, Chloe. Calm down. Relax. I have treats for you. Relax. Good boy. That’s it. Relax.
Butch cocked his head, responding to my calming thoughts. He looked, for a brief moment, more like a dog with a mane than a menacing lion. I sensed him relaxing, his rage receding, but before I could release the lung-tormenting breath I’d been holding, a child screamed loud enough to crack glass, inspiring several more children to add their piercing shrieks to his, creating a chaotic chorus.
The lion, startled by the commotion, roared a final warning and sprang, arcing toward me; front paws, lined with stabbing claws, extended my direction.
To avoid direct impact, I dove to the ground, bundling myself into a ball, making sure to cover any vital organs and the soft flesh of my neck.
With my head tucked to my knees, I shielded the back of my head with my arms, and waited.
And waited …
Buy the book Author Blog Book Depository Indie Bound
Amazon Print Amazon Ebook BN BN Nook
About the Author:
Like most authors, Carol Van Atta is no stranger to the written word. She penned a short novel at age 12 (somewhat frightening illustrations included, and lots of bunnies were involved), and had a creative writing piece published in her high school newspaper (about David Bowie’s Diamond Dogs LP). Yes, she’s an ex-80′s chick.
Devouring books from numerous genres, Carol developed a deep thirst/hunger for 
more reading material, and could almost always be found with her nose in a book.
She has contributed to several popular inspirational anthologies and devotional books, and lives in the rainy wetland of Oregon with a terrifying teen (another in college) and a small zoo of animals. She is taking an undetermined hiatus away from inspirational writing to delve into her darker side. (Though you can check out her latest spiritual suspense novel, Soul Defenders). It is rumored that this genre-jumping occurred after Carol discovered too suspicious red marks on her neck, and experienced an unquenchable urge to howl at the moon.
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Werewolves-of-the-West-I-Kissed-a-Dog/153030771437034
https://www.facebook.com/carol.vanatta.1
http://www.werewolvesofthewest.com/
http://vampswereswhyohmy.blogspot.com/
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1237874.Carol_Van_Atta
December 2, 2012
Lancaster House by Taylor Dean
I am so happy to have Taylor Dean here today with her book, Lancaster House. I had the opportunity to review this book, and let me tell you, I LOVED LOVED LOVED IT! You have the opportunity to grab a copy here today, so leave a comment.
Seriously, this book was just flat out awesome. You can read a little bit about it, but then hurry down and leave a comment because I’m picking the winner on December 4th.
Lancaster House
Taylor Dean
Genre: Paranormal Romance
ISBN: 9781475068689
ASIN: B008EMKKYW
Number of pages: 304 pages
Word Count: 91,303
Amazon Smashwords Barnes and Noble Apple iBooks
Book Description:
Are you ever really alone?
Zoe Grayson needs a change. So, she moves to another state, purchases an old, dilapidated 1920s Victorian Mansion, and sets out to restore it to its former glory. As she begins the restoration, she finds herself falling in love with the old house…not to mention its illustrious builder, Mr. Lancaster. Zoe becomes obsessed with the house as she discovers its secrets; hidden rooms, secret passageways…and a mysterious man who seems to think the house is his. Who is he? More importantly, how does he live in her home unseen and unheard?
The unexpected answers leave her reeling—and questioning everything she’s ever known. To her dismay, Zoe’s actions land her in the local psychiatric hospital, scheming for ways to return to Lancaster House . . . and the love of her life.
EXCERPT
The next day, Wade read over Doctor Abernathy’s notes one more time. The girl he described was nothing like the one he’d met with yesterday.
He was making progress. She was wary of him, naturally. She was obviously biding her time, waiting for her chance to prove herself ‘normal.’ She was far more intelligent than they had originally given her credit for. Her sudden cooperation made him uneasy, even though it was exactly what he’d wanted to achieve.
Zoe walked in then, her head held high. Her blond hair was neatly combed today, her bangs framing her heart shaped face. A hint of crimson stained her cheeks, evidence she was coming back to life before his eyes. Her suicide attempt had left her hospitalized for over two weeks, hanging between life and death. Her recovery was considered a miracle. She wore a fresh pair of pajamas. The standard uniform was a white t-shirt and white pajama pants and she looked clean and fresh in them. The small logo that represented their facility—a crescent moon combined with a cloud—sat on the upper right hand side of her shirt along with the name, Serenity Hills.
“Hello, Doctor Channing,” she said politely.
“Hello, Zoe. How are you today?”
“I’m perfectly fine with not a care in the world,” she answered sardonically.
Wade smiled at her in spite of himself. Maybe it was a stupid question. Perhaps he’d dispense with the ‘how are you’ from now on. Her eyes wandered around his office as if taking it all in for the first time. Her next words were said with a frown on her face. “This office is awful.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your office . . . it’s downright sterile in here, cold even. You need to hire an interior designer, warm the place up a bit. You’ll have better results with your patients.”
“Is that a fact?” Wade smiled at her insight, even while admitting to himself she was right. The room had white tile floors, white walls, fluorescent lighting, white plastic blinds on the windows and no pictures on the walls other than his medical certificates. His desk was metal and the drawers creaked. It was a cold office. Zoe sat stiff-backed in a hard plastic chair. “Are you always this blunt?”
Zoe blushed. “Sorry. It’s an obsession. I mentally decorate every room I’m in, to the point of distraction.”
“Perhaps you can give me some pointers.”
“I’d start with painting the walls, a deep, rich color. Then I’d add some throw rugs, and then curtains that add color, but let the sun in. You need a couch, something classy, but comfortable, with lots of pillows. Replace that hideous desk with something mahogany. Then maybe some lamps for softer lighting . . .” Zoe trailed off. “You weren’t serious, were you?”
“Not really, but now that you mention it, it sounds good.”
Zoe scoffed.
Wade got down to business. “Where do you want to start?” he asked, wondering if she’d assume he was asking her about decorating projects.
“I don’t know.”
She knew exactly what he was talking about and it had nothing to do with design. “What would you say if I told you there is no such thing as ghosts?” He wanted to get a rise out of her again today. Her answer would be telling. Had she seen the error of her ways all on her own? Had she realized the extent of her delusions?
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?” Her hands gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white.
“No.”
“What would you say if I told you they do exist?”
His hopes for an astounding recovery plummeted. “I would have to disagree.”
“Then we have nothing more to talk about, do we?”
“Sorry, you’re not off the hook, Zoe.”
Zoe’s demeanor changed and her eyes stared into the distance, as if she was lost in thought. “It’s real—it’s all real,” she whispered, her eyes haunted.
“Tell me, Zoe. Start with the purchase of Lancaster House.” Several minutes ticked by and he began to think she wouldn’t answer, but then, in a timid voice, her story began to spill forth.
“It’s a stunning house, everything I’d ever dreamed of owning . . .”
The inspiration of this story??
Lancaster House is not a book I’d planned to write. I never intended to venture into the world of Paranormal Romance. However, it’s the favorite genre of one of my daughters. She called me one day and issued me a challenge. She said, “Let’s both write a short paranormal story and see what comes of them.” I told her I didn’t want to write anything paranormal, my mind just doesn’t go there. But by the time we hung up I had promised to think about a plot.
About this time I was utterly addicted to American Idol and Adam Lambert! I was mesmerized by Adam’s performance of Mad World on a fog shrouded stage while wearing vampire-like garb. This image spurred my imagination and started me on my way to writing Lancaster House. That was all it took!
To my surprise, I really got into it. I grew up going to the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose, California, and the place sparked countless stories in my mind. Also, as a child I spent a lot of time at the Hayes Mansion, in fact, my parents were at one time considering becoming the caretakers long before it was restored. Lancaster House contains many things I remember from exploring the nooks and crannies in these houses. I also couldn’t resist adding a little family history into my story, i.e.: my grandfather drove across the country as a young boy of sixteen, saying it was the best thing he ever did. (Andre does the same thing!)
Of course, in the end, Lancaster House far surpassed a short story and quickly became a novel. I have my daughter to thank for it.
Incidentally, my daughter never wrote her paranormal story!
MY REVIEW – 4.5 STARS
The first thing about this book is that it needs a new cover. The cover as it stands now (with the hand) simply doesn’t do this book justice.
Now, on to the content of the book.
Zoe is a 25 year old who has had a rough few months. I felt her pain, and can’t image two major life-altering events such as the ones she went through at that age. She’s an interior designer that has come into some money, and when she finds the Lancaster House with its oddities and the need for some TLC, she is sold.
Andre is the original builder and owner of Lancaster House, which makes him the resident “ghost.” As Zoe starts to rehab the house, he can’t help but join her, and needless to say, this freaks her out. Eventually, they meet and the attraction is immediate.
I loved the way this story was told, which was from Zoe’s perspective as she talks to her psychiatrist. She’s intelligent and well-spoken, but sometimes her defiance came across as a little childish to me, but it was easy to forgive her for it because I’d act a little childish as well in her position.
Andre…I was immediately in love with Andre…like I couldn’t put the book down in love with him… and my only regret was that we never got a true glimpse into his head. And when it was revealed what he was, it felt a little like a “jump the shark” moment, yet as the story came together, I became more accepting of it, and understood why the author did it. But honestly, the story would have been wonderful without that detail being added.
There were a few things I didn’t understand about the book, but I can’t go into it without revealing spoilers, and obviously they didn’t bother me enough to lower my rating of the book.
This book is well written, and the author was descriptive enough to make me feel like I really, really want to visit Lancaster House for…real. Unlike other reviews I read of this book, I absolutely LOVED LOVED LOVED the ending. Maybe one more scene could have been added, but I closed my Kindle with a big smile on my face and felt like the story was finished. And that I wanted to read it again.
There are very few books I read anymore that stay with me, but Lancaster House did. I absolutely adored this book, the writing, and the characters. I am looking forward to reading the sequel to see where Andre and Zoe go from here.
This book was provided to me by an author representative for an honest review. I was not compensated in any way.
About the Author:
Taylor Dean lives in Texas and is the mother of four grown children. Upon finding herself with an empty nest, she began to write the stories that were always wandering around in her head, quickly finding that she had a passion for writing, specifically romance. Whether it’s paranormal, contemporary, or suspense—you’ll find all sub-genres of romance in her line-up.
website: www.taylordeanbooks.com
facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Taylor...
twitter: @taylordeanbooks
goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/...
November 29, 2012
Fire in the Blood – Robyn Bachar
Fire in the Blood
Bad Witch Book 3
Robyn Bachar
Genre: Paranormal romance
Publisher: Samhain Publishing
ISBN: 978-1-61921-173-5
ASIN: B008PGMPYK
Number of pages: 139
Word Count: 33,000
Cover Artist: Kanaxa
Samhain Amazon Barnes and Noble
Book Description:
It’s good to be bad…
Patience Roberts is the last summoner standing between magiciankind and certain demon invasion. After banishing two or three demons a day for too long, gods know she’d like nothing better than a little down time with her number one distraction—Faust.
But with vampires, hunters and assassins lined up to take her out, who has the time? Still, she has to admit her resistance to the amorous faerie is wearing thin. Not that she’ll ever let on—after all, faeries are notorious for their short romantic attention spans.
Faust, a Shadowspawn faerie, watched as his outcast clan dwindled to nothing. Determined to hold on to the woman he loves, he’ll do whatever it takes to protect Patience. And one day build a life with her.
When an old demon enemy punches through the barrier between the worlds, Patience must draw on every ounce of her reputation as a cast-iron bitch to temporarily banish him. To get rid of him for good, she’ll have to sacrifice one too many pieces of her soul to leave room for love…
Warning: Contains a hero and heroine so hot they’re literally on fire, naughty faerie sex, post-coital cuteness, angsty magician drama, and yet more gratuitous violence against vampires, demons, and innocent furniture.
EXCERPT
The elevator brought us up to the penthouse—of course, nothing but the best for the associates of Zachary Harrison. He was rich, famous, powerful, handsome and he gave me the creeps. Unlike Faust, he pinged my evil radar, which was why I kept our visits to a minimum even before he put a hit out on me.
I eyed the décor while Faust showed Harvey to the guest room. It was surprisingly bland and conservative for a faerie’s home, because they’re usually into bling and bold colors. The place was bigger than my condo, but I tied up a lot of my money in investments and savings instead of luxury. If I lived long enough to retire, I’d be a millionaire when I did. Judging by the size, I was willing to bet there was more than one guest room in a place this big, but I didn’t call Faust on it. Yet. It would depend on how our conversation went.
I went in search of the kitchen, and more importantly, of a cold beverage. A glass of wine would be nice, but I was just plain thirsty and I’d settle for anything. Food would also be helpful after my trip down the stairs. I opened the cabinets, looking for a water glass, but the shelves were empty. No food, no dishes. The fridge was empty too, but then again my fridge was pretty bare. I collected condiments, soda and expired take-out. Poor Harvey was very tired of me asking him to smell things to see if they’d gone bad.
“Here. Try this,” Faust said from behind me.
I turned and he offered me a plain white coffee mug of pink drink, the faerie version of a medicinal energy drink. It’d cure all my aches, pains, cuts and bruises—hell, it could probably bring me back from the dead.
“I’m not hurt that bad,” I protested.
“You need your strength.” He smiled, and I peered at him warily.
“Why, what do you have planned?”
His grin widened, and I walked away to sit on a stool next to the kitchen island. I sipped the drink and wondered what it tasted like. Delicious, probably. I missed delicious, it was a distant memory. Healing magic tingled from my lips to my toes and back in a prickly wave.
“You have history with this shadow demon?” Faust asked.
“Kris? We go way back, and I’m not his favorite person. Look, I know you’re wound up about Harrison’s hired killer, but this is worse. Kris is an ancient demon. He shouldn’t be able to get through to this world, and now that he’s here, I’m not sure I can send him back. It’s never happened before that I know of. I sure as hell don’t have a spell that’ll banish him.”
Faust tilted his head to the side and stroked his chin as though he had an invisible beard. Did faeries shave? Doubtful. “You need more information. You should speak with a chronicler.”
I smiled dryly over the rim of my mug. “A chronicler’s the reason I’m in trouble with Kris and your buddy Harrison. I’m pretty sure Simon St. Jerome sent the Titania my way to get her ritual, and we got it from Kris. I kicked his ass for it, and it must’ve been the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
“Ah. I see.”
“No, you really don’t. If I can banish Kris, and that’s a big if, I’ll have to finish the job in the shadow realm. I can’t let him go this time. He’ll keep coming at me until one of us is dead.”
“Didn’t you say that people try to kill you all the time?”
The corners of my mouth twitched, and I bit back my response. There’s a reason I haven’t killed Kris before now. Fighting him was within my ability, but killing an ancient demon takes a lot more power. I’d have to trade a piece of my soul to do it, and I didn’t have any more to spare. Summoners trade bits and pieces of our souls away for favors and power, like I’d foolishly traded my sense of taste to win over a boy. Every bit of soul lost is a bit of demon gained, hence my yellow eyes. I’d done enough bad things that I was on the verge of tipping from human to demon. An act like killing Kris would finish me, but I couldn’t tell Faust that, so I chose a different truth instead.
“I’m afraid of him. I’ve kicked his ass a dozen times, but I can’t kill him.”
His face sobered. “I’ll do it,” he offered.
I blinked. “You’re going to slay my demons for me, babe?” I meant it as a joke, but he didn’t laugh.
“Yes,” he replied. It was so simple, so matter-of-fact. My dark knight.
About the Author:
Robyn Bachar was born and raised in Berwyn, Illinois, and loves all things related 
to Chicago, from the Cubs to the pizza. It seemed only natural to combine it with her love of fantasy, and tell stories of witches and vampires in the Chicagoland area. As a gamer, Robyn has spent many hours rolling dice, playing rock-paper-scissors, and slaying creatures in MMPORGs.
https://twitter.com/RobynBachar
https://www.facebook.com/AuthorRobynBachar
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3517688.Robyn_Bachar
