Karen Swart's Blog, page 41

Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: Karma by @DonnAugustine

 

Karma

Karma Series

Book One

Donna Augustine

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Strong Hold Publishing

Date of Publication: July 9, 2014

ISBN: 0692248463

ASIN: B00LMNRWQ4

Number of pages: 344

Word Count: 72,000

Cover Artist: Donna Augustine

Book Description:

People say karma's a...well, you know. Personally, I don't think I'm that bad. It's not like I wanted this job. I wasn't even in my right mind when I accepted it. Now, I'm surrounded by crazy coworkers like Lady Luck, who's a bit of a tramp, and Murphy's Law, who's a bumbling oaf.

But the worst is Fate. He's got a problem with transfers like myself and I have to see him constantly. It's unavoidable, since we're hunting the same man, my murderer.

Available at Amazon

Review- A Night Owl Top Pick

I was immediately drawn into the story and once I started I couldn't put it down. I can't wait for the next book in the series. ~ Review by BookGirl

“No. Just you. Everyone has their own department. You are Karma.” He pointed toward me dramatically, the way someone would try and accent a meaning to a person who didn't know the language.

“I'm not sure I'm adequately suited for this position. Even for a month. I'm more of a “bygones be bygones” kind of person. Don't you need someone a bit more vengeful?”

He looked down at the file spread on his desk. “I would disagree. Your file said you would be an excellent candidate.”

“May I see that?” I asked, eying up said file on his desk. How much did Harold know about me? Everything? That was an uneasy feeling. Even the best of us had our secrets and even though I considered myself a decent human being, I didn't think I fell into the saintly category.

The file didn't look big enough for my entire life to be in it. It didn't even look thick enough for a short story. Maybe just a highly edited Wiki version?

“No, absolutely not.” He shut the Manila folder quickly, as if I were going to jump up and try to peek. The guy took neurotic to a whole other level.

Okay, the file wasn't that important. I needed to keep the peace and simply explain in better detail how I'd made an error in judgment. Be nice. My southern mother had always said you caught more bees with honey than vinegar. She had tried to drill it into my head since I was a small child. It wasn't something I'd come naturally to, that was for sure, but it was a valid tactic, even if that wasn't the lesson my mother had meant to instill.

“Harold, when I agreed to work for you, I was under the duress of seeing my dead body. You can understand how jarring that can be, right? I wasn't thinking clearly at all.” It sounded logical enough to me, but I wasn't sure if he'd ever had the pleasure of dying and his manner didn't scream naturally empathetic.

He cleared his throat and I could tell by the set of his mouth that I wouldn't like the next words. “I'm sorry, but that's not how things work here. Like I told you, there’s a mandatory one-month trial period. An active one-month.”

He leaned back in his chair and pushed his glasses up closer to his face. His almost black eyes, artificially enlarged from the lens, stared at me in a bit of an awkward way. I wasn't sure if there was a bite to follow up his bark but his magnified beady gaze sure made the situation less than desirable.

Still, beady gaze and all, I had to try one last time. Perhaps a different angle. Regardless of my record, he clearly thought I was an idiot; maybe that was the way to go. I had no problem playing a stooge if it got me out of here quickly.

“As you stated, I'm a transfer. You really don't want me. I'm a horribly slow learner. The mistakes I've made in my life, geesh, you'd squirm if you knew.” I twirled a finger in my hair for effect and wished I had some chewing gum to smack.

“Yes, I'm well aware.”

He was? Hey, wait a minute; I didn't think I'd done too badly for myself. What were these jerks writing about me in that file?

“Fate will help you with that.”

And just like that, I had bigger problems. I wasn't just stuck here; I was stuck with him. “The guy who helped me so far?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“It has to be him.” Harold threw his hands in the air, as if why am I bothering him? Not his orders.

“Then I'll work alone.”

I'd be clueless but peaceful. There was something wrong about that guy. There was something too bossy or too intense. I couldn't even describe exactly what it was about him that was too much, but it was.

Even the brief moment I'd actually been in my right mind around him, it was as if his presence exerted some sort of gravitational pull, stronger than a normal person’s. As if his intensity could throw me out of orbit. And I didn't want to go out of orbit. I had enough things to handle besides ping ponging around.

“Non-negotiable. I've got orders.” Harold folded his hands and rested them atop his desk, littered with paper.

“From who exactly?”

“The universe.” His chin notched up a hair.

“Would it be possible to speak to this universe person? I'm sure they'll understand that there is a personality conflict.” It was time to bump my complaint to upper management.

“No one speaks to the universe.”

“Then how do you know what to do?” I leaned in a little.

“Simple. Through my orders.” His eyes started to twitch.

“Which you get how?”

“My memos.”

“Then you can send a memo to the universe. I won't work with him.”

“I'll file your complaint but it won't matter. And don't forget, as I've already explained, it has to be an active month.”

Twenty-five days. I've dealt with worse for longer. One case in particular came to mind. The guy actually tried to bite me when we lost. Harold didn't seem inclined to bite and he didn't get into my personal space. I could deal with him.

On the other hand, Fate looked like he might be the biting sort.

“Do the last five days count toward the thirty? Time served and all?”

“Yes.”

“These first days were highly unpleasant. Do you think I could get extra credit for those? Maybe, I don't know, you could knock off a day or two? Like they do in jail for good behavior?”He squinted his eyes and tilted his head. I was going to take that for a no.

1. Did you always wanted to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?

I never thought I’d be able to make a living at it but I always knew I wanted to write a book. It was on my bucket list.

2. When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

I still don’t. I write full time, it pays my bills, and yet when people ask me what I do, I feel like a fraud calling myself a writer.

3. Do you do another job except for writing and can you tell us more about it?

I’m fortunate enough to be able to write full time at this point, which I never imagined would be a possibility.

4. What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say?

Woman dies and discovers the secrets to an agency who controls the Universe, then gets a job working for it.

5. How long does it usually take you to write a book, from the original idea to finishing writing it?

I get a small acorn of an idea that blooms over the course of a few months. Then it takes another 3-4 months to get it down.

6. What can we expect from you in the future?  ie More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

I’m thinking of dipping my toes into paranormal romance before I go back to urban fantasy but there are many genres that appeal to me. I’d like to try a contemporary romance at some point and also a high fantasy. I love post-apocalyptic, too. I’ve already crossed into that a bit with my book Shattered.

7. What genre would you place your books into?

I’d say I’m solidly in the urban fantasy category but there is always a love interest, albeit slow moving.

8. What made you decide to write that genre of book?

That was incredibly easy. It’s my favorite genre to read.

9. How long have you been writing?, and who or what inspired you to write?

I’ve dabbled on and off writing for years but didn’t crack down and take it seriously until about four years ago.  

10. Do you have a certain routine you have for writing? ie You listen to music, sit in a certain chair?

I lounge on the couch with my feet up as I listen to alternative music. For the rewrites, I still lounge but I need it to be completely quiet. I’ll take breaks to make coffee, tea, lattes or any other caffeine I can find.

11. Do you choose a title first, or write the book then choose the title?

The book typically comes first but with Karma I knew the title early on. It was kind of an obvious one.

12. How do you come up with characters names and place names in your books?

I like male names that have a hard consonant. I’m fond of names that begin with C for no reason I can explain.

13. Are character names and place names decided after their creation? Or do you pick a character/place name and then invent them as you go along?

 Sometimes I think I know who they are but they’ll usually throw me a couple of surprises as they develop.

14 Are there any hidden messages or morals contained in your books? (Morals as in like Aesops Fables type of "The moral of this story is..")

I’m a very live and let live type. I don’t particularly like having other people’s morals thrust upon me so I try and avoid inserting them myself.

15 Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

 Ebook since I’m always fighting eyestrain and I like the large font.

16 Do you think books transfer to movies well? Which is you favorite/worst book to movie transfer?

Some do and some don’t. I think there are so many factors that come into play. Fight Club was a fantastic movie.

17 Your favorite food is?

 Tirimasu

18 Your favorite singer/group is?

Sons of Leon

19 Your favorite color is?

 Tan

20 Your favorite Author is ?

 Karen Moning

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Donna Augustine’s lifelong ambition was to become the crazy cat lady. Unfortunately, when family allergies cut short her dream of living in a house full of furries, she turned her ambitions toward writing. Combining her love of fantasy, scifi, horror and romance, she tries to string together interesting twists on urban fantasy.

A native of New Jersey, when she isn’t writing, or overdosing on caffeine, she can occasionally be spotted in disguise at the local dog park.

www.donnaaugustine.com

https://www.facebook.com/Donnaaugustinebooks

https://twitter.com/DonnAugustine

Series Blast, Giveaway & Interview: War-N-Wit, Inc. by @GailRoughton

 

 

Witch Resurrected

War-N-Wit, Inc.

Book 1

Gail Roughton

Genre: Paranormal Romantic Suspense

Publisher: Books We Love, Ltd.

Date of Publication: September 21, 2014

ISBN: 978-1-77145-314-1

ASIN: B00NSY9NZ8

Number of pages:192

Word Count: 63,858

Cover Artist: Michelle Lee

Book Description:

Ariel Anson thinks she has her life in order. She’s young, smart, and beautiful, even if she doesn’t believe the beautiful part. She’s a paralegal with a great career and a fiancé who’s a CPA. You just can’t get any steadier than that. Then she meets private investigator, bounty hunter, process server Chad Garrett.

What does War-N-Wit, Inc. stand for anyway?

Warlock and Witch? For real? Oh, yes! For real.

Her life as she knows it is over! Instead of organizing corporate documents and pleadings, she’s chasing bail jumpers and taking down serial killers. And investigating secret societies. Like Resurrection.

Not everyone can join, just the elite few who remember their past lives. Only the Seer knows if those memories are truth or fabrication. There’s just one problem. The new Seer is missing in action. War-N-Wit’s new assignment is a blast from the past! But whose past?

Available at Amazon

 

 

 

Mean Streets

War-N-Wit, Inc.

Book 2

Gail Roughton

Genre: Paranormal Romantic Suspense

Publisher: Books We Love, Ltd.

Date of Publication: October 17, 2014

ASIN: B00NT22DXI

Number of pages:194

Word Count: 58,274

Cover Artist: Michelle Lee

Book Description:

Daytona Bike Week. Biker’s paradise. The perfect place for Chad and Ariel Garrett to take a few days off and relax with Chad’s buddy Spike and Ariel’s little sister Stacy.

But nothing ever goes as planned with that magical duo. Trouble just stalks them like a black cat. A missing agent riding with an outlaw biker gang, a call from Chad’s past, and War-N-Wit, Inc.’s riding again, with romance blooming in the midst of danger. From Daytona, the crew heads back to Vegas and another family wedding. Spike and Stacy are ready to say “I do!” In the Tunnel of Love Drive-Thru at the Little White Wedding Chapel in Vegas, of course. It’s become a family tradition.

But what’s supposed to happen in Vegas just refuses to stay in Vegas. And you’re not going to believe this side-trip!

Available at Amazon

Did you always wanted to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?

Quite honestly, I think writers are born writers and it’s not something you can “want” or “decide” to be.  The innate drive and talent to be one is something you’ve either got or not.  Now don’t get me wrong, I think anybody can become a proficient writer insofar as everyday life and the competence in writing it takes to navigate it.  But writing fiction? It irritates me a lot to hear people say “I could write a book if I wanted to. One day I will.” Well, I could stare at a da Vinci painting for a year, but that doesn’t mean I’d ever be able to paint anything close to a da Vinci, because I wasn’t born with that talent.  I could stare at a calculus problem for a century and I’d never figure it out because my brain just does not do higher math.  As to writing, if someone wants to write a book, they’ll write it, they won’t be saying, “I could if I wanted to”. Will the first one be a good one?  That’d be a miracle.  It’s a learning process.  But you have to have the talent and more importantly, the drive, to write that first one.  I know many writers, published and unpublished, who don’t make a living from writing, they have other careers as well.  And in fact, I always planned to be a lawyer.  Until my first job in a law office.  Then I got scared I’d turn into an attorney.  But I’m in a law office anyway.  What’s brought home the paycheck most of my life is my job as a paralegal.  It’s the perfect niche for me.

When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

See above.  I was born one.

How long did it take to get your first book published?

The first book I actually wrote will never be published.  The first several books I actually wrote will never be published.  I wrote them for entertainment and threw them in the closet and believe me, that’s where they belong.  I’d been writing about twenty years when I first subbed and pubbed. 

Do you do another job except for writing and can you tell us more about it?

Yes, I’ve been a paralegal for forty years, it was my perfect nitch.  I love the legal world – well, I loved the legal world, I’m honestly about ready for retirement now – and it’s taught me a lot.  I’ve written every day, all day, in a very specialized profession and while writing fiction is nothing like drafting a brief, the precision and discipline involved in both is the same.  And it’s been a fabulous source of ideas and characters.

What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say?

The one I’m working on right now?  Black Turkey Walk.  It’s a paranormal thriller, and a rather dark one. In twenty words exactly, “Lucy Elliott’s moving her family back home, site of the traumatic events of her childhood. The ones she doesn’t remember.”

Who is your publisher? Or do you self-publish?

My publisher’s Books We Love, Ltd.  I’m not brave enough to self-publish.

How long does it usually take you to write a book, from the original idea to finishing writing it?

I’ve done complete books in two months, four months, six months.  Others have taken years.  Literally.

What can we expect from you in the future?  ie More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

I’m all over the board as to genre.  My books run the gamut from humor to romance to thriller to horror, sometimes in the same book.  The one thread that usually remains constant is a paranormal thread.  All my books have one, some a lot more so than others.

What genre would you place your books into?

See above.  I don’t write genre, I write stories. And those stories fit whatever genre they turn out to be.

What made you decide to write that genre of book?

It wasn’t a decision.  It’s just – what the characters of that particular book decided the story was.

Do you have a favorite character from your books? And why are they your favorite?

Maggie Kincaid Brayton from Country Justice.  All my heroines have a lot of me in them, one aspect of my character or the other.  Maggie’s probably the closest to the real “me”, though.

How long have you been writing?, and who or what inspired you to write?

Well, I’ve been writing pretty much all my life, in one form or another, and I think I’ve pretty much covered my thoughts on why.

Do you have a certain routine you have for writing? ie You listen to music, sit in a certain chair?

My workspace is a laptop at the kitchen table. I’ve been on a computer in a law office for so long, I’m geared to think while typing in the midst of noise, bustle and chaos.  My husband actually set up a little typing desk for me in our bedroom, bless his heart, “so nobody’ll bother you”.  I sat down at it for about five minutes and moved my laptop back to the kitchen table.  I can’t think if I’m not where I can monitor everybody’s comings and goings, follow the action on the tv show in the great room, hear the timers dinging for the oven or microwave, and see the pots if they start to boil over.

Do you read all the reviews of your book/books?

Yes, I do.  I’m curious as to how well I’m doing at telling the story I wanted to tell.  I don’t get the big-head from good reviews or depressed by bad ones, nobody likes everything anybody writes. But I do want to know if, on the average, I’m giving readers what I strive to give them.   Which is a good, entertaining read.

Do you choose a title first, or write the book then choose the title?

That varies, and I’ve done both.  Sometimes a title’s actually inspired a book and it’s certainly shaped the plot of some of my books. But I also have books that’ve waited a looooong time for the right title.

How do you come up with characters names and place names in your books?

Sometimes characters and places just name themselves.  Sometimes they don’t.  And in order to avoid using the same names over and over again, I think most writers have “go-to” places where they can pick and choose.  I personally like jury lists and such.  Take this first name, that last name, mix and mingle.  One of my friends uses the phone book.  Another uses a baby book.  I will say usually the best characters are the ones who just stand up and flat-out announce their names.  And yeah, I’ve had a few do that. Maps can be used the same way for place names.  Sometimes you want the town or city to be an actual real place and sometimes you don’t.  And the same for location and business names in that city.  You just have to play it by ear.

Are character names and place names decided after their creation? Or do you pick a character/place name and then invent them?

That depends entirely on the particular book, the characters, the setting.  I’m sure every writer’s done it differently, even amongst their own books.  I certainly have. In general, I’d have to say the whole process is so entwined it’s rather like “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” and just as impossible to say with any certainty which did, in fact, occur first.

Do you decide on character traits (ie shy, quiet, tomboy girl) before writing the whole book or as you go along?

I have no idea where my characters come from.  I don’t decide anything about them. They just – appear.  Sometimes fully grown and raring to go, sometimes in a ghostly shadow that gradually acquires solid form and substance.  I start writing when they stand up independently and start walking and talking and telling me their story.  They tell the story, not me.  I just transcribe their words and actions onto a computer screen.  I can’t tell you how to develop a character because I don’t know how.  And once the story’s told and the book’s written, I look at both the characters and the book itself the same way I look at my children – with an intense feeling of disbelief that I created them, that I had anything to do with them.  They’ve become independent entities I really had very little to do with.

 

Are there any hidden messages or morals contained in your books? (Morals as in like Aesops Fables type of "The moral of this story is..")

No, I’m not presumptuous enough to think anything I write has a “message” of great import.  I write stories. I want them to entertain readers, not to preach, teach, or depress.  As a reader, I read fiction for entertainment. I think its whole purpose is to provide entertainment and I think a fiction writer’s purpose is to write books that do that.

Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

Ten years ago, I’d NEVER have believed I’d say this, but eBook.  Nothing else but an eReader lets you take a library of 500 plus books on a plane.

What is your favorite book and Why?  Have you read it more than once?

I’ve got many books I’ve read more than once, but I’d be hard-pressed to say a specific book was my “favorite”.  Because that’s sort of like comparing apples to oranges.  My favorite romance? My favorite thriller?  My favorite chiller?  I mean, you can’t pick just one. 

Do you think books transfer to movies well? Which is you favorite/worst book to movie transfer?

I think they definitely CAN transfer to movies (and television) well.  I think they definitely don’t always do so. And on that, I can tell you my favorite transformation.  Dr. Zhivago.  And yes, I’ve read the book, too.  I think I was in the 9th grade at the time.  I’m sure I’d never have stuck with it if I’d been an adult when I started reading it.  It’s not a book that I think most Americans would read for pleasure, but the movie was a masterpiece.

Your favorite food is?

Mexican.

Your favorite singer/group is?

That depends on my mood, but I gravitate toward country music.

Your favorite color is?

Warm tone colors.  The red/yellow/gold/brown tones.  I don’t really have an overall favorite favorite. 

Your favorite Author is?

I don’t really have a favorite favorite.  I have many favorites and it all depends on which category of books you’re asking about.

 

 

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Gail Roughton is a native of small town Georgia whose Deep South heritage features prominently in much of her work. She’s worked in a law office for close to forty years, during which time she’s raised three children and quite a few attorneys. She’s kept herself more or less sane by writing novels and tossing the completed manuscripts into her closet.

A cross-genre writer, she’s produced books ranging from humor to romance to thriller to horror and is never quite sure herself what to expect when she sits down at the keyboard. Now multi-published by Books We Love, Ltd., her credits include the War-N-Wit, Inc. series, The Color of Seven, Vanished, and Country Justice. Currently, she’s working on Black Turkey Walk, the second in the Country Justice series, as well as the Sisters of Prophecy series, co-written with Jude Pittman.

Another War-N-Wit plot always seems to be brewing on the back burner, too, whether she’s actually trying to brew one or not, and usually boils quicker when she’s trying not to brew one at all.

Amazon Page: http://amzn.com/e/B007JVZCKQ

Facebook: www.Facebook.com/GailRoughton

Web-Blog: www.gailroughton.blogspot.com

Books We Love, Ltd. http://bookswelove.net/roughton.php

Twitter: @GailRoughton

Casual Curses and Meticulous Magic by @LeeRolandM

 

Casual Curses and Meticulous Magic

The Gramarye Series

Book I

Lee Roland

Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Highland Press

Date of Publication: September 24, 2014

ISBN: 978-0-9916439-2-9

ASIN: B00NOZCUB0.

Number of pages: 292

Word Count: 92,000

Cover Artist: Iris Hunter

Book Description:

What happens when a dysfunctional witch and a tough PI work together to save an aging apartment house filled with ghosts, dragons and one oversexed house plant?

Spirits, spells and mayhem…Magic rises in the Gramarye

Melian Devlin is a witch who often resorts to exotic and slightly illegal methods of acquiring money to maintain the 300-year-old Gramarye, the stone apartment house that’s her heart and home. Her life is a series of skirmishes that occasionally end with her behind bars.

Titus Moran is a no-nonsense PI who makes big bucks busting insurance fraud schemes. So how did he wind up in a tortuous battle to keep Melian out of jail? Did the delightful young witch with her gray eyes and magic at her fingertips enchant him—or does the Gramarye hold greater mysteries.

Titus will enter a new exciting world when he joins Melian in her quest to save the Gramarye. Melian will fumble along in her usual impulsive way, leaving a trail of disasters behind her. If they’re lucky, they might survive.

Available at Amazon BN Smashwords Books A Million

Melian Devlin considered her arrest late Friday evening an ill omen, a portent of dire thingsto come. At the very least, it would ruin her weekend. Her bad luck had continued after her arrest when she’d found herself standing before Judge Franklin P.O. Merkle. Merkle’s exact words were, “You again?”

He’d set her bail at an obscene five thousand dollars.

Psychic readings weren’t illegal in the City of Ashburn, Florida, but selling magic potions skirted the legal line of medicine, hence her arrest. And then there was the sticky issue of not having a business license—again. Minor infractions. So why did Merkle have such a burr up his ass? Maybe because he was working late on Friday? The malicious cop with an aversion to psychics hadn’t helped either.

Standing behind bars at ten o’clock that night, listening to her Great Uncle Will royally chew her butt, confirmed Mel’s dismal assessment of the situation.

“Psychic?” Will’s deep voice rumbled the word. His tired eyes watched her from a weather worn face. “Mel, honey, you ain’t no psychic. You’re a witch. You’re supposed to use magic.”

He shook his head. “I understand why you can’t get a regular job, but can’t you find something irregular you’re good at? Or at least something legal?” He glanced over his shoulder and pitched his voice lower. “You should’ve marked a cop soon as he walked in the door, then spelled him out of making an arrest. You’re allowed basic self-defense. I taught you that.”

Mel winced at Uncle Will’s words. He had taught her. She was simply incredibly incompetent at casting spells and making potions, and utterly terrified of making a mistake. What if she hurt someone? Pretending to be a psychic and selling a few harmless herbal elixirs was easier—and safer.

They’d put her in a simple holding cell inside the precinct station after she’d seen the judge. The arrangement gave detainees a chance to post bail before they moved them to the main jail downtown, something Mel had hoped to avoid. Prospects didn’t look good.

The sparse cell had a single bench bolted to the floor and air filled with the odor of acrid, nose-searing bleach. Her cellmates, two tough prostitutes, sat on the bench staring straight at the wall. Imperfect witch she might be, but she could still deal with the bullying they tried when she first came in.

“Will, please,” Mel begged. “Go talk to Milo for me. Give him an IOU. I’ll get the money some way.” Milo the Bail Bondsman, her father’s second cousin, usually handled her bail. Milo hadn’t returned any of her numerous calls.

“Yeah. Sure.” Will laughed, but it didn’t sound funny. “Gettin’ money some way is what landed you here. I can hear Milo now. Cousin Melian? She told my Granny Panopoulos to put all her money on a horse named Show-Too in the third race and—”

“I told her thirty dollars to show on the number three horse, not… Oh, hell.” She wrapped her hands around the bars to steady herself.

Granny Panopoulos had cried to Mel about not being able to pay her mortgage and buy food in the same month. She figured Granny could lose thirty dollars and learn an excellent lesson about the futility of gambling. How was Mel to know the woman had fifty thousand dollars tucked in her mattress and a persistent bookie looking over her shoulder? Oh, right, she was supposed to be a psychic.

“Okay, girl, here’s the deal.” Will shoved his hands in his pockets like he always did when he had to deliver bad news. “I’ll get you out on Monday—” “Monday?”

“Yep. I’m not going to call Milo on a Friday evening or ruin his weekend. And I don’t trust anyone else.” Will’s head bobbed. His sorrowful expression tore at her. His eyes remained bright and his mind-dagger sharp, but time had worn his aging body. He loved her, and she shouldn’t have troubled him.

“Ya’ know Mel...” He sighed. “Honey, you’re twenty-seven years old. Couple of days and nights in jail won’t hurt. ‘Bout time you learned a lesson. Past time, in fact. While you’re there, think about having to stay longer, what might happen then.” He turned and shuffled out of the room.

Mel leaned her forehead against the cold hard bars. What a stinking mess. She wasn’t a true psychic, but the power, the magic she lived by, occasionally gave her glimpses into the situations surrounding people. A haphazard thing she couldn’t control, but between it and the potions, she made a little money—as long as some cop with an attitude didn’t arrest her.

Mel had paid little attention when the nervous young man with dark, curly hair entered her low-rent storefront room four hours ago. He had a sweet, shy smile and almost pretty face. Not a hint of a cop in him. He paid her forty dollars for a reading and asked her if he would ever find true love. His precise words. “True love.” That alone should have tipped her off. She felt sorry for him and tried to sell him a magic potion. Only a twenty-dollar mixture of Vitamin B and Ginseng, but with the power of suggestion, it might be enough to adjust his outlook on life. He was far too good-natured and attractive to be alone. Then his partner had charged in and gleefully busted her. It didn’t take much to make some cops happy.

Character Name:  Melian Devlin

Character Bio: Born into a family of witches in Ashburn, Florida, orphaned at twelve, Melian Devlin was chosen at thirteen to be the Guardian of the Gramarye.  The Gramarye is a three-story build brought stone by stone from Europe and is an icon/temple of all the witches in the city.  For expediency, it was modified into an apartment house in the 1940’s.  The building is sentient, or maybe something sentient lives there, but has a power of its own and it chose Melian as its Guardian. 

Melian grew up in the Gramarye, always aware of it and her responsibility, but she is woefully inadequate for the task.  The witches of Ashburn deeply resented her being chosen, so they shunned her and do everything they can to make her miserable.  They vehemently disagree with her actions and her choice of tenants to live in the building.  Her guardian, her Grandmother Cleo, is reclusive and doesn’t help.  Melian is strong, but erratic, especially when it comes to magic.  In her desperation keep things going, she occasionally resorts to minor fraud and theft.  She really is a good person and deserves better in life.

 

Describe yourself what is your worst and best quality?

I think my best quality is my ability to laugh.  Sometimes bad things happen to me, starting when my Mom and Dad were killed in an accident.  I was twelve and it hurt for a long time.  It still hurts, but I have what they taught me and I can face what comes.  My worst quality is my failure to take some important things seriously.  When I have so many important things I need to do, to obtain, I sometimes refuse to look at the consequences of my actions.

What is the one thing you wish other people knew about you?

I wish they knew how much I want to do what is right.  Other people only see the consequences of my actions.  They won’t help me, and blame me when things go wrong.

What is your biggest secret something no one knows about?

Biggest secret?  How utterly terrified I am sometimes.  I can cover it with a joke or laughter, but I want to crawl in the basement and hide.

What are you most afraid of?

Failure.  Failure to keep and take care of the greatest responsibility in my life, the Gramarye.

What do you want more than anything?

For my plans to work when I take action.  Just work.  Half-assed work is okay, one time out of three or four is okay, too.

What is your relationship status?

None.  Absolutely zilch.  No guy hangs with me long.  I’m too strange.  Any guy I go with gets really freaked when certain magical events occur.  And the witch families who do know what’s happening won’t let their sons anywhere near me. 

How would you describe your sense of fashion?

Thrift shop chic.  Hand me down boutique.  My cousin Raziya is rich and the only family member who is my BFF, gives me her things.  They’re wonderful, but usually too fancy for me to crawl around in the basement fixing the plumbing.

How much of a rebel are you?

Define rebel.  While some things I do seem rebellious, I’m just accepting responsibility the best way I can.

What do you considered to be your greatest achievement?

I’ve made it without giving up.  I’m 28. I managed to finish high-school in spite of poverty and days missed taking care of the Gramarye or its tenants.  I endured the taunts from classmates for my clothing, occasional savagery and humiliation from the witches who resent the Gramarye choosing me to be its Guardian. I made it.

What is your idea of happiness?

That’s a hard question.  Being a person who lives in the present, the now, my idea of happiness can change from day to day.  It could be a good meal with my few friends, or pipes that don’t leak.  I’m such an incompetent witch that a spell that actually worked right would make me ecstatic.

What is your current state of mind?

Pretty good.  All the tenants paid their rent this month and I had enough money to pay the electric bill.  It’s the small victories that keep me going.

What is your most treasured possession?

I’m not one to collect things.   I do have a small locket that belonged to my Mom.  It has a picture of her and Dad inside. 

What is your most marked characteristic?

My uncontrolled mouth.  It will spout off words without my any consideration of the consequences.

What is it that you, most dislike?

Witches who believe they have the right to control others.  Oh, they might have the power to do so, but they will never have the right.  I will fight them as long as I live and breathe.

Which living person do you, most despise?

My Uncle, Nicholas Ratavick.  When my parents died, he wanted to take control of the Gramarye by taking control of me.  My grandmother was named my legal guardian and she won in court, but his high class lawyers kept on until she was totally broke.  Although he is my father’s brother, I’m terrified of him.  I spent those years in fear that he would actually take me away.

What is your greatest regret?

That I didn’t have time in my life to cultivate more relationships with people I would like to have as friends.  It isn’t my fault, but I’d be a better person if I could.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

Acceptance of things as they are.  Acceptance of the strange and unusual.  Acceptance of me as I am, even though I’m strange an unusual.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Same as above.  I like people who look at the world and see the possibilities without preconceived ideas of how things should be.

If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?

I’d be a little less erratic.  Not a lot less, just a little.  Being me is just so much fun.

What is your motto?

“That’s not the way it was supposed to happen.”

 

 

Lee Roland is a full time writer who lives in North Central Florida. She loves the peaceful rural area where she shares a home with three small dogs who think they are pit bulls and an evil cat with sharp claws.

Lee writes stories of urban fantasy and paranormal romance where strong men and women battle the wickedness hiding under the surface of the modern world. Her characters are passionate in life and love and are formidable enemies to the malevolent criminals in their worlds.

Her first series, the Earth Witches, was published beginning in 2011 by NAL. Her website, www.leeroland.com offers samples of the Earth Witches books and information on their world. There are short stories and news of any upcoming books and events.

www.leeroland.com

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https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/321863.Lee_Roland

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Cover Reveal: My Wife’s Li’l Secret by @EveRabi1 @MyFamHrtBookRvw

   BOOK INFORMATION

TITLE – My Wife’s Li’l Secret AUTHOR – Eve Rabi GENRE – Women’s Fiction PUBLICATION DATE – 18 November 2014 PUBLISHER – Eve Rabi COVER ARTIST – Eve Rabi

     BOOK SYNOPSIS

She called me the miracle in her life, I called her my Li’l treasure.

Sounds corny, I know, but I really believed I was the luckiest bastard on earth. I had the loving and supportive wife, a nurturing mother to our two precious girls, a thriving business and the future looked rosy. I was a contented man. But overnight everything changed. My wife withdrew from me, ignored our children, and made it clear she was no longer interested in playing the role of wife and mother.

We had two children under five, they needed her. I needed her.

When her dressing began to change and she disappeared for hours, I suspected I was not enough for her. Thinking she was having an affair, I placed my wife of five years under surveillance.

What my surveillance revealed shook my world, broke my heart and exposed a web of lies and deceit.

BUY & TBR LINKS

AMAZON KINDLE US – AMAZON KINDLE UK

     EXCERPT

Since my wife was out partying again, bedtime routine for our girls was left to me. Again. I tucked Ally and Becky into bed and began to read a story to them. “Once upon a time…” “Dadda?” Ally said placing her hand on the storybook and stopping me from continuing. I paused and looked at my daughter. “Yes, Alleycat?” “Dadda, what’s a hooka?” “Whaaaat?” I peered at my daughter wondering if I had heard correctly. “The teacher at preschool, she said, ‘Here comes the hooka,’ when she saw Mummy.” Slowly, I lowered the book and stared at my daughter. “It’s …it’s …” How do I explain what a hooker is to a four-year-old? I shouldn’t even be in a position where I had to. “The lady shouldn’t have said that, Ally,” I muttered. “But, Dadda …” Two-year-old Becky spun around and clamped her hand over Ally’s mouth. “Shhh! Let Daddy read the story, Ally!” Becky hated anyone interrupting a story, so to prevent her from getting mad with us, both Ally and I fell silent. I continued reading even though I was terribly distracted by Ally’s words. “Talk about it tomorrow, Ally,” I muttered when the opportunity arose. Ally nodded. After the kids fell asleep, I sat in my lounge in the dark and pondered Ally’s teacher’s comment. Liefie had great legs, a great figure and I had no problem with her wearing whatever she liked, but people were talking and clearly her dressing needed to be …addressed. Of course I expected Liefie to become angry when I confronted her about it, accuse me of controlling her and after the number of arguments we had had, I was reluctant to talk to her about it. But when I saw her the following evening, all dolled up and ready to party without her family again, hooker was the word, alright. Her red skirt was the size of a large belt, her white top strained across her breasts and ended above her belly button, her fake tan looked like she’d dipped herself in food coloring and that garish, face paint with that dominating electric-blue eye shadow…reminded me of Braveheart. She didn’t look pretty; she looked like an aging prostitute. Harsh words, I know, but they weren’t out of malice, they were simply an observation. (People were talking, remember?) Tarty make-up aside, to my absolute surprise, she sported two piercings above her left eyebrows. My jaw fell. When did that happen, I wondered? How could that happen? Why hadn’t she told me about it? Of course it was her body and she was free to do what she liked to it, but facial piercings weren’t something I liked. She knew that. She could have at least mentioned it to me before she pieced her face. We were husband and wife; it was reasonable to expect her to talk to me about something like that before she did it. “What’s with the piercing?” I asked, both mesmerized and irritated by them. She shrugged, flashed me a deal-with-it look and turned away. With a weary sigh, I walked around to face her. “We need to talk.” A guarded look flashed in her eyes before they hardened. “Liefie, you need to dress more like a mother,” I said in a quiet voice. “You have two children and …” “What?! You want to tell me how to dress now? You want to CONTROL ME?” Just as I had expected. “Hey, keep you voice down, will you? I’m talking to you, that’s all.” “There is nothing wrong with my dressing, okay?! Nothing!” “Yes, there is, Liefie. Your skirts are too short, your tops are way too tight and the people at Ally’s school are talking about it. You need to …” “Ally’s school?” Her heavily-lined eyes slanted. “Yes!” Her painted, pillar-box-red mouth twisted into a sneer. “You’re lying.” “I’m not. I swear!” She cocked her head and looked at me. “Who told you that?” “Ally told me. She said one of the mothers or teachers, I can’t remember, after seeing you, used the word hooker.” Her body stiffened. “Ally said ….THAT?!?” “Yea…” “That bitch! Where is she?!” She turned and strode off in search of Ally. Even though she was in heels, she almost ran. “Liefie stop!” I cried running after her, shocked she would call her little daughter a bitch. “Leave her alone!” She found Ally playing with Becky in the TV room. “Did you call me a hooker?” she demanded, putting her flaming face in Ally’s. “Liefie stop this shit!” I warned. Ally’s eyes flitted between Liefie’s and mine, a terrified look on her face. “Lief…ie! ” I hissed. “Stop this …” Liefie suddenly backhanded Ally across the face, sending her crashing into a doll’s house. Ally lay on the floor so stunned, she didn’t even cry. The only thing that showed her distress was puddle appearing around her waist. For a moment, I too was stunned. Liefie had never ever hit our kids before. Then fury overtook me – I grabbed my wife by the hair and slammed her against the wall. Putting my face in hers, I snarled, “You ever touch my child like that and I will fuck the shit out of you, understand? UNDERSTAND?” Her attempt to look defiant failed and I saw fear flicker in her eyes. I had never hit Liefie before, never even called her names, so this wasn’t something she was used to. “Don’t ever lay a finger on any of my daughters. Understand?” I pushed my face further into hers, resisting the urge to head-butt her. “Daddy, stop! Daddy!” Ally cried, while Becky started to whimper. I looked over at my two children clinging to each other, terror on their little faces. What am I doing?! Quickly, I released Liefie and took a giant step back. I walked over to Ally and Becky, scooped up both of them and hugged them to me. “It’s okay, it’s okay!” They looked at their mother who stood holding her head with both hands, but did not try to go to her. After a few moments, Liefie ran out of the room, shouting, “Your father is an abusive man! He just abused me in front of our children. That’s the kind of man I married!” I looked at Ally. “Sorry, hon.” “Why did you tell her, Daddy?” Ally whispered, holding her tear-stained cheek. “I’m sorry, Al, I was trying to get her to do the right thing. I’m sorry.” “You knew she’d hit me, Daddy. You shouldn’t have told her.” I peered at Ally. “What are you talking about? She doesn’t hit you, Ally. Usually. Right?” No answer. “ALLY?!” “I need to change my pants,” Ally muttered, ignoring my questions. My head jerked to look at little Becky. Becky’s head bobbed, her eyes opening wide. You can’t be serious?! My eyes shifted back to Ally. “This is the first time she hit you, right? Or does she hit you? Tell me, Ally.” I shook her. “Tell me!” Becky’s head continued to bob. “All the time, Daddy,” Ally finally muttered. “Yesterday she hit me because I took too long to get Uncle Viggo’s beer. From the fridge.” “WHAAAT?” She had my four-year-old daughter fetching alcohol for her brother? Ally nodded. “Mummy hit Ally here,” Becky said, slapping the top of her head. I was mortified at what I was hearing. If Liefie could hit my daughter that way in front of me, backhand her, what would she be doing behind my back? Aghast, I looked at my firstborn who I idolized. “Ally, honey, why didn’t you tell me this?” “You weren’t here, Dadda. And Mummy said if I carry tales she’ll make me sorry.” Fat tears coursed down little Ally cheeks. I drew my girls closer, feeling absolutely gutted to know they were being silently abused by their own mother. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Daddy will make it stop. I’m so sorry. This is not going to happen again. I promise.”

AUTHOR BIOEve Rabi lives in Sydney Australia, but was born in South Africa. She is the author of 25 books and is known for her kick-ass leading ladies, her alpha males and her ability to make you cry and make you laugh as you fall in love. She loves music and cannot live without it. She also enjoys dancing, (was a Latin dance instructor years ago) and keeps her kids in line by threatening to bust a Zumba move in front of their school assembly.

FOLLOW EVE HERE

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Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: Snow Blood Season 1 by @carolmckibben

 

Snow Blood Season 1

Snow Blood Series

Episodes 1-6

Carol McKibben

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Troll River Publications

Date of Publication: February 14, 2014

Print ISBN: 978-1939564368

eBook ISBN: B00JOWG05O

Number of pages: 240 pages

Word Count: 56,025

Cover Artist: Truenot Dreams

Book Description:

Snow Blood Season 1 by Carol McKibben is the first in a series of short novels retelling the modern day adventures of the first vampire.

When Brogio must turn Snow, a beautiful white husky, in order to save the dog, a series of events is unleashed that reveal a sinister plot against the father of all vampires.

As life and true death experiences bond the master vampire and his newly transformed vampire canine together, they unravel a conspiracy that when resolved may return Selene, the love of Brogio’s life, back to him and set him free from the lonely existence that has plagued him for thousands of years! From the author of Luke’s Tale, follow Snow Blood, an epic story of the first vampire as told through the eyes of his kindred dog.

Episode One - reveals how Snow first meets Brogio, the original vampire, and follows the white husky through his transformation to the Kindred world.

Episode Two - uncovers a sinister plot to destroy the father of all vampires, and we meet Kane, Brogio’s first blood child. This episode traces Snow’s efforts to discover Brogio’s history.

Episode Three - introduces Selene, a nurse who is identical to the love of Brogio’s existence. Is she merely a doppelganger or his love returned to him? Is she part of the threat to his destruction? More threats are made not just against the lives of Brogio and Snow but against Selene, forcing them to reveal their true identities to her. Struggling with her acceptance of Brogio, Snow and Kane, Selene is brought into their fold for her protection.

Episode Four and Five - let the reader know more about Brogio and the original Selene’s past while Brogio attempts to protect those he loves from inevitable destruction by leading the threatening dark forces away from them. Snow intercedes after Selene’s plea for help to reunite her to Brogio. United again, destruction follows the four of them wherever they go. Hounded by ancient gods and goddesses, monsters, werewolves and a number of disasters, they battle to protect each other. In his effort to protect his master and those he loves, Snow must make a promise that will end his life as he knows it. The true source bent on destroying Brogio is finally revealed and culminates in an epic battle where Snow offers up his life to save Brogio, Selene and Kane.

Episode Six – Snow prepares to keep the promise that he made, but Kane intervenes for his “blood brother,” leaving us to wonder about both their fates. Tension grows between Brogio and Selene as he attempts to make her his wife for eternity and defy the gods. The reader discovers if Selene is his love returned to him.

Snow Blood video trailer: http://youtu.be/Jkr2Qgcwwr0

Available at Amazon BN Kobo Smashwords

The pain sliced into my ribs like steel on bone. Then, nothingness.

Searing pain, and the sight of two snarling, rabid beasts locked in battle, interrupted the safety of my void. The scent of their blood-filled rage made my nose twitch. My brain screamed "move" but my legs disobeyed. Paralyzed on the ground, I watched as two giant beasts circled each other, lumbering dangerously close. One, an unknown, unnatural brother who could stand on hind legs. The other ... a demon, perhaps? That was the best way I could describe this otherworldly creature.

My eyes began to focus. I could see blood-covered fangs and claws, a demon strangely glowing in the lunar light. It looked "moon-kissed”. Light from the night-time sun caressed this deformed creature. Perhaps I'm imagining this? Maybe it's my love of the moon. I've always felt its protection at night on my forays into the woods near my home.

Jaws snapping. The upright wolf-being lunged. The demon creature moved faster, almost a blur. It hastily side-stepped the wolf's bite as easily as a mongoose avoids a cobra. The wolf snarled its frustration. It circled the moon-kissed demon that appeared to be taunting its opponent. I tried to move to observe better, but pain savagely raked through me. A dark circle of wetness surrounded me. The air reeked with the smell of ... blood. My blood.

Why had I recklessly left the comfort of my home? The fireplace in the den warmed us against the outside of fall's cold weather. Perhaps I needed adventure. Prey lurked in the outside darkness, and instinctively, I had wanted to give chase. My little human tried to tackle me just as I dashed to the kitchen and nosed aside the flap from the back door to the freedom of the night that beckoned me.

"Snow! Don't go out there. It's dark!" He squirmed, trying to hold me. He weighed less than any little subaltern laying his body across my shaggy mass. Embarrassing, I thought, since I outranked him in the pack. But, I never snapped at him. My little human needed my protection.

"Let him go, Tommy. He's just doing his job; keeping the coyotes away." Tommy's father, our Alpha, had spoken, and we must all obey.

The little human stood upright and slowly released his grip on my back. Moments later, I was chasing coyotes across the front lawn and out into the street, doing what I did best – protecting my pack. Now, as the sound of gnashing teeth brought me back into the present, I wished for the chance to better safeguard them. Who would warn my humans of this danger if I didn't make it home?

The two creatures battled on. The wolf leaped over its combatant's head, narrowly avoiding a crushing blow to its leg. The glowing demon blurred, quickly avoiding an attack from the rear. It spun just in time to avoid its throat from being taken. Suddenly, fall leaves were flying into the air. They hit the grass under the trees that lined the abandoned road and tumbled, arms and heads over legs.

My paws quivered as the fight drew closer to me. Inexplicitly, I remained unable to move from where I had landed after the pain hit me. My energy had already seeped from my body. Running away appeared no longer an option.

I watched as the fierce beasts arose quickly from their tumble. The wolf gained an advantage, lunging forward and extending its claws as the demon stumbled over a broken tree trunk. Its opportune fall to the ground enabled the demon to duck the razor-sharp claws. Just missing the demon, the wolf landed and rolled behind its enemy. Quickly, it spun up to go after its prey now sprawled out on the grass.

Just as the wolf leaped, BOOM. A loud explosion ... and then the wolf crumpled to the ground with a pained yelp and a heavy thud. His lifeless body sprawled awkwardly on the dirt.

A strange voice pierced through my head. "Silver bullets work well on panweres, too." A malicious chuckle followed.

Was that the demon's voice? I wondered. Surely I did not see his lips moving.

The demon creature knelt over its victim and poked the wolf's body. No sign of life. Triumphantly, it threw back its head and let out a victory scream that made the hairs on my neck bristle. It then rose to cast its appraising gaze in my direction. I struggled to get my feet under me, fearing that if I didn't, the demon would kill me on this spot, just as he had taken the life of the wolf. As it approached me, I felt my life slowly drain away; the darkness enveloped me again. The sadness of never seeing my family again lingered ...

Darkness closed over me ... drifting into ... an overwhelming itchy sensation? My nerve endings were on fire, consuming me with a new-found rush. The thin line of life spread throughout me. Every fiber of my body stood on end as the blood-filled eyes of the demon pierced mine. A thin drop of blood clung to one of its fangs before descending onto my face in slow motion. I tried to move but the creature held me in place with one giant claw-covered hand. Other than the weight of its massive body, I felt no trace of the initial pain that had sent me into darkness.

I watched transfixed as the creature transformed into a human. First claws became large hands. It shrunk only slightly. Its deformed body took the shape of a strong, muscular athlete. Its distorted visage faded into a handsome face with a strong nose, cheek bones and jaw. It was only seconds until it became a naked man. It spoke. "Hold still, dog. Let your body absorb my venom and heal."

Venom? Heal me? Fire streaked through my veins, forcing every part of me to come alive. An unfamiliar strength enveloped me. I had been crippled only moments ago. Now, every part of me sprang to life. My eyes never left the demon/man.

Blonde and fair, a pale face framed large violet-colored eyes that transitioned back to red and again to violet. He towered over me; his long, muscular frame stretched over what must have been almost a half-head taller than James, my master. I once heard my master brag, "I'm six-foot-one in my stocking feet." I guess that was his way of stating how tall he is.

The demon/man wiped the blood from his face onto his hand. My blood, or his? I wasn't sure.

"All right," he commanded, "try to get up now."

I sprang to all fours, shook my heavy white coat and sat back on my haunches. How did I get on this deserted road in the middle of the woods? Prey. That's it. Chasing prey. The large black car with Oregon plates sitting sideways in the road next to us, lights on, motor running, looked as though it had swerved to avoid something. Had it collided with me?

The man knelt down and patted my head. "Confused are you? That's right, I hit you."

I cocked my head at him, feeling better than before. How could he have hit me? I got a whiff of his odor. A layer of perfume concealed the smell of death and something rotten that had emanated from the demon during its battle with the wolf. I stood and shook my whole body again, as if to expel the experience and the smell. Then I turned away to go back home.

"Wait!" He placed a firm grip on my back with his strong, human hands.

I whipped my head around, baring teeth in warning. Let me go! I had to go home to my loving family and the warm fire that awaited me.

He stared at me. "No, that's an insane thought."

Was he speaking to me? Was he reading my mind?

He paused for a long moment, staring at me as if he could see through me. I shivered from the menacing touch of his hand on my back.

He released his grip. His shoulders slumped, and he ran a bloody hand through his blonde hair. He took a long, deep breath, then shook his head. "Come with me."

I watched him move toward the car. I had to go home. My people must be worried.

He turned to me, and I felt drawn to him. No, I must go home.

"There is no choice, dog. Come with me."

No! The hackles on my back stood on end in warning. I will go home! I backed away, growling in defiance. I turned to run, but he blocked my path to freedom and caught me in a heartbeat.

He stopped me in my tracks. How could this human outrun me?

He grabbed my head with his bloody hands and twisted my face to meet his blood-red eyes. "You will come with me now! It is for your survival and that of your people." He let go and stood tall again. He took two long strides to the car. Over his shoulder he commanded, "Come!"

I resisted with everything that I had.

He opened a door to the large sedan and motioned for me to take the passenger seat. I tried to resist again but my legs disobeyed me, and I covered the short space and jumped in. He slammed the door behind me.

I growled as I watched him cross in front of the car and open the driver's door. A black turtleneck sweater and black pants hung on the back of the driver's seat. Black loafers and socks sat on the floor in front of the seat. He reached inside for them and hurriedly put them on, never taking his eyes from me. His gaze was creeping me out. Intense.

Sliding behind the wheel, he looked at me for a long minute. "You're my responsibility now. Let's go find you something to eat. You will need your strength."

I didn't like his toothy grin. What wasn't he telling me?

I found it odd that my ravenous cravings for something ... something very bloody outweighed all other reason.

Praise for Snow Blood

CAROL MCKIBBEN HAS BECOME ONE OF THE AMAZING NEW LIGHTS IN LITERATURE AT THE MOMENT! -Grady Harp, October 20, 2014
SNOW BLOOD ENTHRALLS ... A TALE FOR ALL AGES  5-Stars! "From Chapter One I was enthralled...a love story...a vampire dog...a mystery? The author didn't miss one intriguing trick in this spellbinding tale. I hated when it ended and need it to continue to know what happens next to these entrancing lovers and this loyal, mystical and prophetic canine. Carol manages to weave in every element that will captivate a reader and it is like reading ancient mythology which to some is real, and it was hard to believe that these characters are not real, especially Snow Blood who is a dog, but so much more. It is storytelling at its finest. Best yet, it could appeal to all ages, from younger children (10 on up) to teens to adults. Carol, don't stop now!" -Andrea Michaels
5-Stars for Snow Blood! "Approaching midnight, and I can't stop reading Snow Blood. If you enjoy vampires, mythology, intrigue, and a love story all told from a dog's perspective...read this book. Page turner from page 1. Rare for a book to capture and hold my attention from page one. So looking forward to the next Snow Blood book!" -Lee Brown
5-Stars - "SNOW BLOOD Season 1 is a unique novel in that McKibben has elected to tell a story through the eyes, senses, and thoughts of an animal. For some authors this attempt may become uncomfortably artificial, but McKibben is so gifted at the manner in which she maintains this stance that every page of the novel is wholly credible. Add to that fact the theme of the story being the turning of non-vampires into vampires and one would think the author was up against an unscalable wall of credibility. But that is the mark of a practiced veteran: understand the stance of the perspective, keep it viable, and the story will work.

And work SNOW BLOOD Season 1 most assuredly does. The Snow of the title is a beautiful white husky who is attacked by a mysterious wolf like animal who then takes the form of a human (Brogio) and transforms Snow into a vampire. When Brogio must turn Snow in order to save the dog, a series of events are unleashed that reveal a sinister plot against the father of all vampires. As life and true death experiences bond the master vampire and his newly transformed vampire canine together, they unravel a conspiracy that when resolved may return Selene, the love of Brogio's life, back to him and set him free from the lonely existence that has plagued him for thousands of years. But to appreciate the skill of this fine writer, the following `turning' is quoted form early in the book:
He bent down and looked deeply into my eyes. "What is your name?" My thoughts betrayed me as my legs had earlier. I felt compelled to answer. My name is Snow. "Ah, yes. Snow. I shall call you Snow ... Blood. You can call me Brogio." I heard the words, but his mouth didn't move. He took another sip from his glass and smiled. "That's right; you're hearing my thoughts. Spoken words will not be needed between us now." He held up his glass. I wondered what was in the glass. "This is wine from my winery. Vintage 1985." I was relieved that he wasn't drinking a glass of blood in front of me. So tell me, Brogio, why do we not need words? Again, the smile. The eyes turned deep red for a fraction of a second. A cold chill coursed through me, and I shivered. I wanted to run, but where? This Brogio could outrun me. And he could read my mind too! Anger rose up, and I let out a reflexive growl. "I am an Artemis. Animals understand and obey me. It is the way. And now, I am your sire." If you control animals, why did the strange wolf attack you? "I have no control over panweres." Panweres? Never heard of them. What ... "A shape shifter. A creature that can shift into many different kinds of animals." He stood straight up. "Come, you must feed. We can talk more later." I want to go home. "No, you can't. It would be dangerous." He kneeled down next to me. "Snow Blood, you would end up killing those you love until I can teach you to control your urges." I shook my head from side to side. I don't understand. He sighed and returns to the oversized chair, taking a long drink of the remaining wine. I sat firmly in place. I refused to go anywhere until I understood what he meant. "Snow." He sat back in the chair as if ready to tell me a story, "You are becoming a vampire. And, Only a vampire can make another." He stared at me to let the words sink in. "You died on the road, and I turned you to bring you back."
This is very fine, highly creative writing from an artist who knows her trade well. She will be noted." Grady Harp
5-Stars for Snow Blood!  "Carol McKibben has outdone herself. She 'writes from the heart' as she once again weaves her magic by sharing her unique way of seeing life through the eyes of another animal. The moment I saw Snow's beautiful white fur and piercing blue eyes, I wanted to protect him right away. Then "Brogio, the first vampire!" must turn Snow, If he doesn't Snow will die. Carol's fluent writing is a page turner and this book is full of twists, turns and surprises. I won't give too much away but believe me you won't want to miss the series!" –Robin Potter
5-Stars! "Exquisite Vampire Novel -  Brogio is the first vampire created by the goddess Artemis. Brogio creates the first vampire dog who he names Snow Blood. At first Snow Bolood resists being "vampire." As time passes, he accepts being "vampire" and is loyal to Brogio. He learns about Brogio's life and his lost love. Snow Blood tells this stunning story that has mystery, romance, mythology and horror in it. This makes for a fantastic read! Does Brogio find his lost love? How does Brogio survive in the world besides making a living? Why does a vampire dog not be affected by the sun? This is an excellent vampire novel. There are twists and turns you don't expect. I enjoyed this "vampire" novel more than any of the other vampire stories I have read with the exception of the original Bram Stoker's Dracula. This is a strong not to be missed! Disclaimer: I received a digital galley of this book free from the publisher from NetGalley. I was not obliged to write a favourable review, or even any review at all. The opinions expressed are strictly my own."  -S. Mahaffey
5-Star - "Excellent Vampire Read! Snow Blood: Season 1: Episodes 1-6 was an excellent read that really took me by surprised. I was intrigued by the plot, as it sounded like a story that I have never read before. The concept is pretty amazing, and definitely did not disappoint at all. The Husky dog, Snow, tells the story of how he came about meeting his master, Brogio. I have never read a story where a dog is a vampire as well, which made this one so likable (I love dogs!).
This story contains pretty much everything; from mystery to suspense, to romance and deep questioning. The relationship between Brogio and Selene was quite interesting, and I am curious to see what will happen next. Reading the story through Snow's eyes made the story even better.
I can't wait to read episode 2. Carol McKibben truly is a very gifted author." -Karen Ruggiero
5-Stars - "Snow Blood Episode 1 was a real surprise find for me. Being a dog person, I was tempted but I only reluctantly ventured out to read this book about a white husky who becomes vampire. To my relief and joy the concept really worked. Snow, the husky, tells in his own words how he comes in contact with Brogio, his saviour and master, and how his new life pans out. Telling a vampire dog story adds a great twist, one that is long overdue since we have shapeshifters and werewolve stories everywhere. Telling the story from the dog's perspective worked for me since it is a welcome break from just 'cute' dog stories and stories told by dogs. Episode 1 sets the scene and focuses on the transformation and the main characters, but it is ultimately a short novel that leaves a lot for the next installments. The drama, the suspense and the perspective are excellent, and I no doubt will make my way through this canine paranormal series. Well done." -Christoph Fischer
"In Snow Blood, Season 1, another of Carol McKibben’s books, we encounter Snow, a white husky, who (as in Luke’s Tale, above) tells his own story. It involves a sinister plot against the father of all vampires told through a stream of supernatural events. And there’s another love triangle, of a sort, involving Selene, Brogio and Snow. This wildly imaginative tale delves deeply into a complex occult world of the vampire and the panwere (a type of shapeshifter).  • vampire, n. – one whom drinks the blood of others, be it animal or human.  • panwere, n. – a shapeshifter that can morph its life to match that of another creature.  This first of a series (Series 1) is told in six scenes or episodes. If you are a lover of vampire stories involving clever dogs, this book is for you." -Don Messerschmidt, Literary Dogs
This story is the perfect tale of unconditional love. We get to see things through the eyes of a dog watching the love of Brogio's life walk in while the jealous god that cursed him tries to rip the lovers apart. Snow Blood has none of that and seeks to help Brogio and Selene be together! Fun, fast read!" -Lea Lyanna, BookBeasties
"I love Carol's books on Snow Blood. I know 5 is the highest rating, but they deserve a 10. I can not wait to see what happens next." DConner
New Book Journal features Snow Blood with some info on Luke's Tale.

Preview
Go to http://askdavid.com/preview/8306 for a preview of Snow Blood.

And, here's more info on Snow Blood!

“A real surprise find for me. Being a dog person I was tempted but I only reluctantly ventured out to read this book about a white husky who becomes vampire. To my relief and joy the concept really worked! … The drama, the suspense and the perspective are excellent, and I no doubt will make my way through this canine paranormal series. Well done!” ~Christoph Fischer

Did you always wanted to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?

I can’t remember ever wanting to be anything else. Oh, I taught writing in high school for a decade, and I was a magazine editor and publisher for another. I did the C-Level executive gig for a while too, but I never stopped writing.

When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

When I was 14 and my Daddy read some of my stories, he looked at me and said, “You’re a writer.” And, I never really considered myself anything else other than that afterward.

How long did it take to get your first book published?

My first book was a memoir entitled, Riding Through It. I self-published it because it was the final step of letting go of my past, which had been difficult. So, I wrote the book and went with Outskirts Press to publish it immediately.

Do you do another job except for writing and can you tell us more about it?

I have a small editing/writing/marketing business. I work with other authors editing or ghost writing their books. I have a number of clients that have me either edit or write everything that they offer to the public, including social media. I’ve been doing that for the past 7 years (after leaving the publishing business.)

 

What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say?

Snow Blood Season 1. First in a series: The epic story of the original vampire as told through the eyes of his kindred dog.

Who is your publisher? Or do you self-publish?

Troll River Publications is my publisher for the last two books I’ve written and the one I am currently writing.

How long does it usually take you to write a book, from the original idea to finishing writing it?

They’re all like babies – about 9-10 months.

What can we expect from you in the future?  ie More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

Right now, I am working on Snow Blood Season 2.  Multiple reviewers said this is a vampire story … love story … mystery with lots of twists and turns. That’s still all there and continuing on.

 

After that, my publisher is pushing for Snow Blood Season 3. Beyond that, something very quirky. I want to create a quirky, funny, unforgettable character. Am fiddling with it … but something that would make John Irving proud of me.

 

What genre would you place your books into?

Luke’s Tale, my first book of fiction, is a family drama/love story. The Snow Blood Series is definitely Paranormal Romance – they are vampire stories, love stories and mysteries. My books tend to be appropriate for a YA audience as well. One reviewer said they are appropriate for all ages, which is nice. I think all of my books will have some quirky twist to them, no matter which direction I go.

What made you decide to write that genre of book?

My over-riding theme of unconditional love guides me. Luke’s Tale is told through the eyes of a dog because no creature on earth can give unconditional love like a dog. Snow Blood shows unconditional love being given in the most dire of circumstances. They were somewhat two opposite ends of the spectrum that took me there.

Do you have a favorite character from your books? And why are they your favorite?

The dog narrators are always my favorite characters. Dogs are a passion. I have several, and my husband and I work in dog rescue. I understand their nature, and I love them. Luke was modeled after a real dog named Luke. Snow Blood’s initial character was developed from a white husky we fostered. But both their personalities took on a life of their own.

How long have you been writing?, and who or what inspired you to write?

Since I was about 10 years old. I had no choice. It is who I am. I don’t think when you are born with something that you have to be inspired to it. These stories are inside me, and they have to come out.

Do you have a certain routine you have for writing? ie You listen to music, sit in a certain chair?

I work with my clients in the morning to around 2p in the afternoon. Then, I take the rest of my day to work on my current book. I have a home office, desk, chair, computer, lots of photos and music. That’s about it!

Do you read all the reviews of your book/books?

I try to. I don’t like to disappoint people. So I’m always hopeful that they will like what I write.

Do you choose a title first, or write the book then choose the title?

Almost always choose the title out of the gate! I always know the general gist of where I want to go. But, sometimes, the characters write the story for me.

How do you come up with characters names and place names in your books?

You’ll laugh. For Luke’s Tale, I named the female protagonist Sara because it was the second choice for the name of my daughter. Since I didn’t use it, I called this “baby” Sara. I was driving one day and saw a truck with the name “Ashlundt” and that became my male protagonist’s name. Luke was modeled after my yellow lab. Snow Blood was named after a foster pup I had named Snow. Hey, it’s a vampire novel, so Snow Blood it was! I just let my imagination run around to find them. The places are generally real places that fascinate me.

Are character names and place names decided after their creation? Or do you pick a character/place name and then invent them?

I pick the character name and then invent them. Places are generally real places.

Do you decide on character traits (ie shy, quiet, tomboy girl) before writing the whole book or as you go along?

I generally write a description of each of my characters to always have a firm grasp of who they are and how they will respond to various situations before I write the book.

Are there any hidden messages or morals contained in your books? (Morals as in like Aesops Fables type of "The moral of this story is..")

The moral of all my stories is that we should love each other unconditionally, not place “conditions” on if we will love someone. In other words, I will love you and stay with you if you are healthy, handsome, make lots of money, do what I want you to … then I will love you. But if you get sick, lose your looks, lose your job, don’t behave the way I think you should … then not so much. Do you get my  drift? In today’s world, people often give up on each other before they should. The dog characters in my books exemplify loyalty, love no matter what … if they can love us like that, then why can’t we love each other like that?

Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

I personally read paperbacks. They’re easy to take along with me on trips, and I truly love holding books in my hands when I read.

What is your favorite book and Why?  Have you read it more than once?

I can’t just name one book that is my favorite. John Irving is my favorite author, and I read any and everything that he writes. I read The World According to Garp a number of times.  Stephen King is another favorite – I’ve read ‘Salem’s Lot about three times. I think it is the most frightening vampire book ever written. Dean Koontz is another favorite, and Watchers is my very favorite. It’s about a dog, of course. I’ve read it three times. And then there’s To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. That’s on a lot of folk’s favorite list. I’ve read it twice.

Do you think books transfer to movies well? Which is you favorite/worst book to movie transfer?

I thought The World According to Garp and Cider House Rules came across well as books-to-movie transfer but Hotel New Hampshire bombed as a movie (All John Irving.) The Shining (King) came across well as a movie, but ‘Salem’s Lot (King) didn’t. However, Misery (King) was a really good adaptation. And, of course To Kill a Mockingbird in both book and movie forms were exceptional.

I think it’s a 50-50 split. So much of great writers’ books don’t come across well because the words, the narratives, the characters in written word are so powerful. For instance, nothing could transfer the absolute terror of ‘Salem’s Lot to the screen for me.

Your favorite food is?

Steak and sweet potatoes. Yes, I’m a meat and potatoes girl who eats mostly salads!

Your favorite singer/group is?

Don’t have a favorite. I like so many different kinds of music. If I have to pick the one that is timeless for me, it’s James Taylor.

Your favorite color is?

Purple.

Your favorite Author is?

John Irving and Stephen King.

 

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Carol McKibben graduated from the University of Kentucky with a degree in Secondary Education and a minor in Journalism. She went on to earn a Master’s of Arts in Teaching (MAT) from Rollins College. After teaching English and Journalism for a decade, she was offered the opportunity to join Miramar Communications, the 8th largest publishing house west of the Mississippi in Los Angeles.

Working her way up from editorial and then as Director of Market Development, she became the publisher of Special Events magazine (a trade publication for all those working in the events industry) that she helped launch in 1984. In addition, she created a companion trade show, The Special Event, for which she was also the director for a decade, planning every aspect – from exhibits to educational conferences and events.

During that time, she earned her Certified Special Events Professional (CSEP) designation and helped found the International Special Events Society (ISES) of which she was international president from 1999-2000. She co-authored The Dictionary of Event Management for ISES and helped write the study guides for the CSEP exam.

She was a magazine publisher for both consumer and trade magazines for 20+ years. She has written numerous articles and conducted a myriad of seminars, often speaking to large audiences for both The Special Event and ISES. She was awarded the Lifetime Achievement Award from the special events industry in 1999.

In 2007, she began a freelance writing and editing career, working with other authors to help them realize their dreams. She has published Luke’s Tale, Riding Through It and Snow Blood Season 1. Luke’s Tale and Snow Blood are targeted to a YA market. Luke’s Tale was included in the Summer Solstice Top 12 Book Pick List. Carol writes from the heart of a dog’s eyes. Her books help support her dog rescue efforts and focus on unconditional love.

Carol is married to Mark McKibben, a broadcast engineering sales professional and experienced airplane pilot, and they have two grown children, Rett and Stephanie, and three grandchildren, Lauren, Diesel and Slater. Their current “babies” are Neo, their 117-lb. Labradoodle, a trained therapy dog, and Binks, a black Labrador Retriever rescue. Together Mark and Carol work with the Los Angeles Animal Rescue and Wings of Rescue to save the precious lives of endangered dogs.

Carol is a firm believer in Maya Angelou’s quote:” I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” She believes that angels were her inspiration for Luke’s Tale – a Story of Unconditional Love and feels that even though the Snow Blood Series is about the original vampire and his kindred dog, that theme carries through. “There’s a method to my madness,” she states. “The world is waiting for love to overcome hate. I feel that my purpose is to show others how to love unconditionally, just as dogs love us we should love each other.”

Carol’s other favorite quote is one that her husband taught her. “I love myself more when I am with you.”

Carol ,Neo and Binks are currently working on Snow Blood Season 2.

To learn even more about Carol, go to http://www.carolmckibben.com

Blog: http://www.carolmckibben.com/blog

Twitter: https://twitter.com/@carolmckibben

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

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20497411-snow-blood

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4046806.Carol_McKibben

LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/in/carolmckibben

RSS: http://www.carolmckibben.com/1/feed

Luke’s Tale: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s5TgN5PQao8

Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: The Shadows of Stormclyffe Hall by @LsmithAuthor

Presented By:



Title: The Shadows of Stormclyffe Hall
Series: Dark Seductions # 1
Author: Lauren Smith
Audience: Adult
Genre: Paranormal Romance/Modern Gothic Romance
Formats: E-book and Paperback
Publisher: Entangled Publishing
Cover by: Heather Howland
Editor: Tracy Montoya
Pages: 253 pages
ISBN: 978-1-63375-104-0
ASIN: B00NE06UI4
Date Published: 29 September 2014









To defeat a dark evil, they must face his family’s past…
Bastian Carlisle, the Earl of Weymouth, doesn’t believe in ghosts. Even though tragedy and mysterious hauntings have driven his family away from his ancestral home, Stormclyffe Hall, he is determined to restore the castle to its former glory. His plans are disrupted when a stubborn American shows up on his doorstep hoping to pry into his family’s tragic history.
Jane Seyton, an American graduate student, is convinced there’s more to the tragedy of Stormclyffe Hall than history claims. Ever the scholar, she is determined to discover the truth, even if it means putting up with the arrogant, yet sexy, Bastian.
Although Bastian wants nothing to do with the pushy American, it soon becomes clear that something evil is in the house—and that something is targeting both Jane and Bastian. The two must join forces to purge the ghosts of Stormclyffe Hall once and for all—even as they try to fight a physical attraction between them that grows more and more impossible to deny.


Amazon / Goodreads / Barnes & Noble / Itunes / Kobo          Weymouth, England, 1811
The crash of thunder woke Richard, Earl of Weymouth. The fire in the hearth was low, the embers no longer crackling, and a cold draft pressed in around him as a storm raged outside. Pulling a loose sheet around his hips, he reached across the bed for his wife, who was still weak from bearing him a healthy son a month ago. His hands stopped short as he encountered nothing but the twisted sheets where her body had lain.
An icy tendril of fear churned in his stomach. She never left their bed when it rained. Storms frightened her. Isabelle usually curled into his side, burying her face against his throat for comfort.
Heavy rain whipped against the windows, the fierce staccato a warning to stay inside. Wind whistled through the room, teasing tapestries out, then back against the walls as though bodies moved behind them. A rumble of thunder seemed to shake the stones of his ancestral home, Stormclyffe Hall.
“Isabelle?” he called out. “Love?”
Only the crash of thunder answered.
Lightning streaked past the window and illuminated his son’s cradle.
A sharp cry split the air.
Richard leaped out of bed, the icy floor stinging his bare feet as he rushed to the cradle. Murmuring soft, sweet words, he lifted his son, Edward, tucking him in the crook of one arm, relieved the babe was safe. He never thought he would be the paternal sort, but Isabelle and their babe brought out the tenderness in him.
The town viewed his marriage as a disgrace. Earls didn’t marry the daughters of innkeepers. But Richard hadn’t cared. He loved her and would do anything to have her in his life.
A frown tugged down the corners of his lips. “Where is your mother, Edward?”
Thunder once again rocked the hall. October storms thrashed the castle and nearby cliffs with a wicked vengeance. Trees were split in half by lightning; the edges of the cliff decayed inward, inching ever closer to the castle. Although the storm this night was no different, something felt wrong. A bite to the air, a sense of dread digging into his spine.
As the baby’s long eyelashes drowsily settled back down on his plump cheeks, Richard assured himself that the baby’s linens were dry and Edward was content. He brushed his lips over his son’s forehead and set him back in the cradle.
When he stepped back, glancing out the window that overlooked the sea, his blood froze. A feminine silhouette clambered through the rock outcroppings by the cliff’s edge.
Even from a distance, he knew with a horrifying certainty it was Isabelle.
It was madness to be outside, alone by the cliffs. She knew the dangers, knew the soft dirt around the cliffs crumbled into the sea. Only the year before, a boy from the village had fallen to his death when the ground by the edge gave way.
“Isabelle!” he gasped, the single intake of air burning his chest as though fire had erupted within.
Before he had time to move, the sky blackened, his vision robbed of light.
When lightning again bathed the rocks, Isabelle was gone.
His stomach clenched with a fear so profound, it flayed open his chest with poison-tipped claws.
Shouting for his cloak and boots, he raced from the room. The nurse emerged from down the hall, her white cap askew, and gray hair frizzing out from under the edges.
“Take charge of the baby!” he yelled as he ran past her.
She nodded and hurried to his room.
His valet, followed by several footmen, raced to his aid, carrying clothes. He snatched them and dressed as he ran, his men right behind him dashing through the deluge.
When they reached the cliffs, there was no sign of Isabelle.
“My lord!” a footman by the edge shouted.
Afraid to look, yet unable to tear his eyes away, Richard stared down to where the man’s finger pointed. The black shadow of Isabelle’s cloak caught on a razor-thin piece of rock, fluttering madly like a bat’s wing. Lightning slashed above them, its terrible light revealing a dark smear beneath the cloak’s erratic movements.
Blood. Isabelle’s blood. Had she jumped to her death?
“No!” A crash of thunder swallowed his roar of despair.
He dove for the edge, wanting to follow her into the frothing gray seas. A cloak smeared with blood. All that remained of his wife.
He’d fought too hard to win her love, her trust. They’d suffered through too much together, to be divided now. He couldn’t raise Edward alone.
“No…please, no.” The pleading came from the bottom of his soul, torn from his heart.
She was gone.
Strong arms hauled Richard back from the ledge, pinning him to the earth.
“It is too late, my lord. She’s gone.”
She was his Isabelle, his heart…
Why had she jumped? Had she been unhappy? It couldn’t be that. He would have known, and he would have done anything in his power to make her happy.
“We must find her,” he told the men standing around him.
An older man, Richard’s head gardener, shook his head. “We can’t search in this weather, and her body will be gone by the time the storm ends. But we’ll try to find what we can on the morrow, if you wish.”
“I do,” Richard growled. Despair was replaced with vengeance.
He faced Stormclyffe. Lightning laced the skies behind it in a white, delicate pattern. The centuries-old castle loomed out of the darkness, a defensive wolf with the battlements as its bared teeth.
It didn’t matter that his infant son waited in a lonely cradle, eager for the loving touch of his remaining parent.
Richard was lost.
He wanted nothing to do with the life he’d had, the riches, the earldom. He despised it all. Every blessed memory he ever had that reminded him of Isabelle made him furious. She was gone from his life forever. He could not bring himself to dwell on his son; it only cleaved his chest in two. His love, his heart, was being battered against the rocks below.



    Chapter 1

Weymouth, England, Present Day
Blood splashed against white porcelain, the ruby-red liquid spreading outward in a chaotic pattern.
Jane Seyton hissed, clutching her leg. The cut burned like the devil. She slapped a palm over the sliced flesh, but crimson liquid seeped through her fingers. She set down her razor and reached for the shower nozzle, aiming it at the red streaks, washing them down the drain. A thin trail of red still trickled down the tub’s edge, and she blasted with the nozzle again, desperately trying to erase the unsettling sight of her own blood.
She hobbled out of the shower, rummaging through her makeup bag until she found a Band-Aid.
Her room in the tiny inn was quiet, the silence thick and a little unsettling. She hummed to break up the suffocating lack of noise.
It had been a tiring journey from Cambridge to the small, desolate coast near Weymouth in southern England. The White Lady Inn had an almost macabre wooden sign, a silhouetted woman in white standing at the edge of a vast cliffside, her dress billowing out to sea in a cloud of smokelike swirls. It swung above the door and creaked with the slightest breeze. Despite the inn being situated between a lively pub and a quaint grocery store, there seemed to be a zone of quiet within the inn itself. Her room was a drab little place, with a narrow bed and whitewashed walls.
The same family had owned this inn for over two hundred years, passing it down from generation to generation. It was only natural that the place had seen better days and could use a little work. Yet, the awful silence made her skin tingle. She’d hardly slept last night, jumping at every small creak and groan. Taking herself to task, she’d consciously reminded herself that older places made such noises as the wood and stone settled into place.
Today she was driving up to the old castle-like manor house, Stormclyffe Hall, where she was going to meet the owner, the ninth Earl of Weymouth. After several emails back and forth, he’d reluctantly given her permission to tour the grounds along with other visitors but made no mention of getting access to the house’s historical papers. Her dissertation was on the tragic stories of some of Britain’s ancient castles and manor houses, with a particular emphasis on Stormclyffe and its effect on Weymouth. Her committee chair, Dr. Blackwell, had given her two weeks to find sources to supplement her theories on Stormclyffe Hall. Since the last four years of research footwork had been done on this one particular castle, she couldn’t switch the focus easily to another location. If she couldn’t get what she needed, she wouldn’t get Blackwell’s approval and she’d have to start her dissertation, for a PhD in history, over completely.
In order to complete her research, she had to find out what actually happened to the current earl’s ancestors, Richard and his wife, Isabelle, who’d both died under mysterious circumstances. Rumor had it Isabelle had committed suicide. People claimed to have seen her ghost walking the cliffs. Richard had been found one foggy morning shortly thereafter sprawled in his study, a broken brandy glass next to his body. He had apparently drunk himself to an early grave a year after his wife’s passing. The locals claimed the earl’s spirit was trapped within the walls of his castle, restlessly searching for his dead wife, his mournful cries piercing the air on windless nights.
What Jane hadn’t told the current earl or anyone else was the more personal reason for her focus on Stormclyffe Hall. Ever since she’d seen an old photo of it, she felt an almost mystical pull. Lately she couldn’t seem to focus on anything else.
The hall whispered to her on the darkest of nights, with soft murmurs and teasing visions just as she began to fall asleep. Before dawn, she’d awaken, hands trembling with the feel of heavy stones against her palms, her heart racing and lips drawn back in a scream as though she’d fallen from the cliffs herself. What she felt, however, in each and every dream she had lately were hands shoving at her lower back, pushing her over the edge against her will.
The obsession with Stormclyffe had cost her so much already. The months of work on her dissertation were now at risk of being set aside if she couldn’t find primary sources. It would be back to square one if she had to pick another castle and start all of her initial research over again, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Her fiancé Tim had broken off their engagement and ended their two-year relationship, telling her he found her obsession with the castle “creepy” and that he worried she was mentally unstable.
But Jane’s dreams made her wonder if the young countess hadn’t jumped but been pushed by…someone. And that was the root of her obsession. The nightmares were slowly driving her mad, and she knew she had to get to the bottom of what happened to Isabelle if she ever hoped to find peace. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand waking up every night gasping for breath and her bones aching as though they’d been smashed upon saltwater-covered rocks. The last few months she and Tim had been together, her dreams had grown increasingly vivid and terrifying, and they’d woken him up as well.
The beginning of the end.
She would never forget the look on his face, the tightness to his eyes and the way his lips pursed as he’d held out his hand and asked for his engagement ring back. His bags were packed and sitting by the door, and he’d left within minutes of destroying her life and all of her hopes for the future. Their future.
With a little sigh, she smoothed her left thumb over the base of her naked fourth finger. Even after four months, she still felt bare without it. A splinter of pain shot through her chest, and she clenched her fist, avoiding looking at her hand anymore. She rubbed a towel through her hair before blow-drying it. She could have used a flat iron to tame the mess of dark waves, but she’d fried that when she first arrived in England and plugged it into the wall socket with a converter that hadn’t worked properly. She’d never gotten around to buying another one.
Not that it mattered. Given that her academic pursuits tended to involve panels of older, balding male professors in tweed jackets, she rarely bothered with her looks. Her current mission, though, required a more professional touch to her hair and wardrobe. She figured if she looked fashionable and presentable, it might help further her research goals. Easier said than done. She was fully aware she wasn’t the sort of woman men fawned over, but her dissertation depended on access to the earl’s family archives, and she’d get dolled up if it would help make sure he didn’t change his mind about letting her pry into his papers.
The current earl had proved initially reluctant to allow her access to his family history, but when she’d persisted through a deluge of emails and letters, he’d reluctantly said she’d be welcome to tour the grounds along with other tourists once the remodeling was over. That had been four months ago. Stormclyffe didn’t have a website to clue her in on whether the grounds were open to tourists or not, but the remodeling had to be done by now. She couldn’t wait any longer. And she wasn’t going to take no for an answer on getting into those original sources from the current earl.
A smile tugged at her lips.
Sebastian Carlisle, the ninth Earl of Weymouth. A rich playboy with the world at his fingertips. Of course he was tall, with gorgeous, dark blond hair like melted gold and eyes the shade of cinnamon. By all reports, his life consisted of fast cars, leggy models with perfect hair, and wealth beyond imagining. The man was definitely not her type, but she needed to impress him if she was to stay at the castle and work.
Her internet searches also revealed a fair amount about him, aside from his romantic entanglements, and she’d been impressed. With a PhD in history from Cambridge and degrees in numerous foreign languages, he showed a surprising amount of scholarship. Despite his flashy lifestyle, he’d helped push for preservation of historical landmarks throughout Britain and was a member of the Royal Historical Society.
His town house in London was rumored to have one of the country’s best library collections, second only to other collections in aristocratic homes like Althorp, home to the ninth Earl Spencer. Even she had to admit that despite Carlisle’s reputation as the most seductive man in all of England, and he might also be one of the smartest.
She slipped into her favorite pair of jeans and a comfortable pair of black boots before donning a thick, gray, cable-knit sweater. Back home in Charleston, the weather would be light and warm, but the English coast was always cold in late October. Sea spray drifted far into town, sinking into her bones through the walls of the White Lady Inn.
Though it was still early afternoon, the sky outside her room dimmed as the low-hanging clouds drifted off the sea, dragging their vast looming shapes through the town and blocking out the sun’s illumination. A chill seeped through the glass of the window, frosting the edges with dew that pebbled around the panes.
A sudden knot gathered at the base of her skull, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rising. The air inside was now as cold as outside. Her breath exhaled in a cottony puff, and her skin tingled with a strange sensation. Her muscles tensed in response as though her body expected something to happen. If she hadn’t known without a doubt that she was alone, she would have sworn someone was watching her.

Character Name: Bastian Carlisle, The Earl of Weymouth

Character Bio: Lives in Weymouth, England, Present day. Aside from his mother, is the sole heir to the earldom of Weymouth. He has several historical and language degrees from colleges in England and a PHD in history. He loves to learn. He’s also a wealthy English playboy who gets entranced by the bookwork American scholar Jane who comes to his family’s ancestral castle Stormclyffe Hall to research his family’s tragic past.

 

Describe yourself what is your worst and best quality?

 A man should never admit his worst qualities, but I suppose my arrogance. Jane would tell you, I’m an arrogant Brit. She’s write, bless the woman, but you cannot tell her I ever said that. She would never let me live it down. My Best quality would be my sensibility. I don’t believe in ghosts, or any of that nonsense. Jane though, she’s convinced my castle is haunted. I’m far too sensible for that.

What is the one thing you wish other people knew about you?

 I wish that I could be more open with my heart. I wish people would know about my past, losing my father at a young age, and how that has made me hesitant to love. I’m frightened of loving someone only to lose them. Better to live alone than to lose a loved one.

What is your biggest secret something no one knows about?

Bookworms turn me on. I’ve dated plenty of super models from Milan and Paris, but nothing about them affects me the way a certain feisty American graduate student does. It’s the way she pours over those research books in my library, writing her little notes, planning her thesis, and then she looks up at me with those gray eyes and I’m lost.

What are you most afraid of?

Losing Jane. Even though she’s been a part of the my life only a short time, the idea of her not being here, with me. I cannot bear it. And these ghosts she’s determined to believe in…I am starting to wonder if they might be real too and more importantly, they might be after her. She’s had terrible nightmares and I’m afraid for her.

What do you want more than anything?

 To restore my family’s castle and reclaim the honor we’ve lost over the last two hundred years when my ancestors Richard and Isabelle died so young into their married lives. I want Jane here by my side as we redeem the castle and make a life for ourselves.

What is your relationship status?

Currently single… But if I have my way, a certain bookworm will be happily sated in my bed soon.

How would you describe your sense of fashion?

 The best of the best, but not excessive. I like the finest clothes, but I always dress for the right occasions.

How much of a rebel are you?

Quite a rebel, I suppose. I’ve ignored society’s opinion of my family being cursed. I continue to work to restore the supposedly haunted castle. The locals in Weymouth are not too fond of me, since they believe I’m bad like. I’m starting to wonder if they’re right.

What do you considered to be your greatest achievement?

 At the moment? Keeping Jane Seyton from uncovering my family’s darkest secrets from the past. She’s getting close though. I’ll need to distract her with a few kisses in the right places.

What is your idea of happiness?

Going to sleep at night with one woman in my arms, and a smile upon my lips in my family’s castle that is fully restored and no longer haunted by the past.

What is your current state of mind?

  Suspcious. I’ve not seen Jane for two hours and I’m worried she’s stumbled upon something in my library that I need to hide from her.

What is your most treasured possession?

  A pair of my father’s dress shoes. I take them with me everyone. He taught me to dance when I was a boy and that was how he knew he fell in love with my mother. Those shoes represent everything I have lost and hope to find again with someone of my own. Love.

What is your most marked characteristic?

My stubbornness. I’m sure many a woman has cursed it.

What is it that you, most dislike?

Ghosts. I don’t believe in them, yet…something is wrong in my house. Birds keep hitting windows and dying, mirrors keep shattering and my workmen can’t keep anything repaired.

Which living person do you, most despise?

I’ve spent my life not getting close enough to anyone to really despise them.

What is your greatest regret?

 Probably the same reason I’ve not despised anyone. I’ve wasted years avoiding love and growing close to people. It’s no way to live.

What is the quality you most like in a man?

Loyalty. I’ve had a butler remain with me through thick and thin and he was loyal to my grandparents, my parents and now me. He is the best of men.

What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Compassion. A woman who can open her heart to anyone is the best sort of woman.

Who is your favorite hero in fiction?

 David Balfour from Robert Louis Stevenson’s Kidnapped.

Which living person do you most admire?

 My mother. She survived losing her husband, my father, and she didn’t let it stop her from living or from raising me alone.

If you could change one thing about yourself what would it be?

To be more trusting. I need to be more open with myself and with those around me, but it’s hard to trust because I fear losing those I love.

What is your motto?

One should always be loyal to one’s family.

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Lauren Smith is an attorney by day, author by night, who pens adventurous and edgy romance stories by the light of her smart phone flashlight app. She’s a native Oklahoman who lives with her three pets—a feisty chinchilla, sophisticated cat and dapper little schnauzer. She's won multiple awards in several romance subgenres including being an Amazon.com Breakthrough Novel Award Quarter-Finalist and a Semi-Finalist for the Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley Award.


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Book Blast & Giveaway: What Rough Beast by @AuthorHRKnight @MyFamHrtBookRvw

   BOOK INFORMATION

TITLE – What Rough Beast AUTHOR – H. R. Knight GENRE – Paranormal Mystery PUBLICATION DATE – 9/8/14 LENGTH (Pages/# Words) - 320pp/109,000 words PUBLISHER – H. R. Knight COVER ARTIST – Rebecca Poole

  BOOK SYNOPSIS

Harry Houdini asks Sir Arthur Conan Doyle to help him expose Maximillian Cairo—a spiritualist medium. But the two men underestimate Cairo. He's a master of the occult and the most debauched man in London. Conan Doyle and Houdini get more than they bargained for when they interrupt a magic ritual and accidentally set loose a force for ecstasy and chaos on an unsuspecting Edwardian London.

Soon one of their friends is falsely accused of a grisly murder. Conan Doyle and Houdini are sure the real killer was at the ritual with them. They're faced with a locked-room homicide that baffles even Houdini.

One by one, people in the little group who attended the ceremony feel an insidious influence creep over them. Each succumbs to a burst of creativity, shortly followed by an act of uncontrollable madness.

The proper Victorian gentleman and the ebullient New Yorker must team up to solve the murder and stop the thing they set loose before it completely unravels their ordered world.

   BUY & TBR LINKS

AMAZON KINDLE US – AMAZON KINDLE CA – AMAZON KINDLE UK – AMAZON PAPERBACK – BARNES & NOBLES NOOK – SMASHWORDS

ITUNES – Books > Mysteries & Thrillers > Historical> H. R. Knight

  EXCERPT

Chapter 28 - Encounter in the Fog

As we strolled along the tiny cobblestone lane, there was not a cab in sight. Not that we could see far in the darkness. The damp fog off the Thames had worked its way north to this neighbourhood. A thick patch of it rolled in quickly. In a few minutes, we could barely see across the street.

A little chill ran down my spine. I had a distinct feeling of being watched. I turned to look behind me. The gaslights had become faint glows that hid more than they illuminated. Movement at the corner of my eye caught my attention. There, had something behind us just flitted into the shadow of a doorway? Or was it merely a swirl of mist? I felt alone and quite vulnerable. I was grateful for the sturdy companion at my side. Houdini spoke in a low voice.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I’m getting the creeps.”

We picked up our pace and made south for Euston Road. The fog thickened and thinned around us in pale, cottony patches. We encountered no other soul. At its densest, the fog could have concealed armies. Indeed, it played strange tricks on one’s ears. I thought I heard footsteps shuffling along behind us. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour or the disturbing events we were investigating, but the sound made me uneasy. We continued on even more quickly. Then, suddenly, we were in the clear. We could see the entire block of flats behind us. I paused, and restrained my companion with a hand on his arm. Here was our chance to get a good look at our pursuer. I could not be sure, but I thought I heard a foot scrape the stones of the road before silence surrounded us. I looked to Houdini.

“I heard it too,” he said softy. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back there.”

Why his confirmation filled me with dread, I cannot say. The person behind us was almost certainly a weary pilgrim such as we, eager for his own sitting room and a warm fire.

I saw that Houdini had drawn the sharpened screwdriver out of his pocket and held it like a dagger. We turned to face whoever was following us.

Halfway down the street a single gaslight glowed feebly. At the end of the lane a figure approached. It jogged along the walls of the buildings. I got an impression of a manlike shape with an impossibly lean body and grotesquely long limbs. It loped along in an odd, loose-jointed way. I could have sworn I heard soft, animal-like moans. It was as if some savage beast were hot on our trail. I felt Houdini clutch my shoulder.

“What is it?” he hissed in my ear.

I could only shake my head. It was like no creature I had seen in all my travels. The thing’s unnatural form filled me with loathing. Its huge shadow, magnified by the streetlamp, flitted along the bricks of the buildings.

I stood, my eyes riveted on the gaslight down the street. What would I see when the thing stepped full into the glow? As if in answer to my thought, it paused and sniffed the air. The misshapen head swiveled until it pointed precisely in our direction. Its eyes glittered with a malign emerald glow.

The beast took a step forward. Then an absolutely unexpected thing happened. Just before it stepped full into the light, the creature swarmed straight up the sheer wall. I gasped at the speed with which it scaled the bricks. It climbed until it was lost in the shadows. For a moment, all was silent. Then I heard a sound that chilled me to my soul—the faint sound of claws scrabbling across the roof tiles high above us. And the sound was approaching rapidly.

“Come on,” Houdini hissed, grabbing my sleeve.

We took off down the street at a run. My shoes slipped on the flagstones. I wheeled my arms to catch my balance. On and on we raced. The blood beat in my temples. We careened into abrupt turns and doubled back on ourselves. Soon we were back in another patch of fog. My breath sounded harsh in my ears. At last I felt Houdini’s grasp on my arm as he pulled me to a stop.

I sagged against the cold bricks and gasped for air. Silence surrounded us. My heart pounded in my chest. Had we given our pursuer the slip? The alley next to us was dark. We huddled in its shadows and peeped around the corner. We could barely make out the walls of the tenements that loomed over us. The stones beneath our feet were rough and uneven. The cold air seared the back of my throat as I caught my breath. I scarcely dared look back for fear of seeing something.

Houdini whispered. “I think we lost—”

The unmistakable sound of scrabbling above us cut him off.

“Run!”

The cry echoed off the walls. We plunged into the blackness of the street before us. I was racing at full speed before I realised that it was I who had shrieked the command. Our feet pounded the pavement as we dashed through the darkness. We both flung our arms up to protect from an overhead attack. The thing that pursued us—was it what had murdered Mackleston’s brother?

The street turned out to be a long, curving one with no side alleys. But at the end I thought I discerned a glow of light.

“At... end,” Houdini gasped beside me. “Stop ... set ambush.”

I thought of what the creature above us had done to Reggie and shivered. How could we defend against an attack that could come from any direction? But each breath I drew felt like a stab in my side. I couldn’t run much longer. Not three yards from the end of the street a huge figure loomed out of the lowering fog in front of us. We skidded to a stop and barely avoided colliding with it.

“Here now, what’s the rush, lads?” a loud voice boomed. Two hands the size of hams clutched at our lapels and hauled us into the street. “Let’s get a better look at you,” the voice declared.

We found ourselves under an electric light on Euston Road. The figure looming over us revealed itself as a frowning giant of a policeman. The fog had lowered again. Little droplets had condensed on the brass buttons of his uniform. They glittered like gems under the lamplight. Though I continued to gasp for air, my relief was palpable. As he saw how we were dressed, a look of surprise registered on his face and he loosed his hold on us.

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” he said. Then he noticed the sharpened screwdriver, still clutched in Houdini’s hand. “Now what—”

“Constable,” I panted, “someone or something is after us.” I pointed into the blackness behind us.

Houdini nodded vigorously as he leaned over to suck in air. “Tried to lose him ... chased us a good two miles.” “Oh, he has, has he?” The officer drew his truncheon out of his belt and turned to face the yawning darkness. “We’ll see about that.”

I could not let him face the demon alone. “Whoever he is. .. he’s gone mad,” I warned between breaths. “You must ... get reinforcements.”

The policeman turned back to us and smiled. “One man only?”

“At least wait... until we catch ... our breaths,” I urged. “We’ll accompany you.”

The policeman seemed not to have heard me. His face lit up in anticipation. William the Conqueror’s face might have looked the same as he led the charge at Hastings.

“I hope he tries to resist arrest. I truly do.”

So saying, he picked up a little black lantern from the ground beside him. He lifted it to head height and plunged into the unlit street.

“Like Custer at Little Bighorn,” Houdini muttered to himself. Neither of us had fully recovered, but we straightened up and staggered after the man.

“Wait up!” Houdini called. We chased the watery glow of light from his lantern as it floated through the foggy darkness. Before we had gone six steps, the light appeared to dance wildly. We heard a shout, a feral screech, and finally a shrill scream, like a soul in torment. The shriek rose and fell. Abruptly, it cut off. The lantern fell to the street with a clatter. It glowed brightly for a moment and then winked out. A terrible silence followed.

AUTHOR BIO

H. R. Knight is the pen name of Harry Squires, a critically acclaimed author who writes mysteries—some paranormal, some not—as well as thrillers, and the occasional magazine article. Harry has worked as an insurance underwriter, a software marketer, and a corporate trainer. He attended Journalism School at the University of Missouri and film school at UCLA.

He has studied Okinawan karate and Chinese boxing. Current hobbies include dog training, classical guitar, cooking, and collecting obscure, cheesy horror films from the 1930s & ‘40s.

Having traveled all over the world, he’s developed a preference for countries that produce good wines.

He shares a home and a life with his wife Susan, who publishes unconventional paranormal romances. They own, train, and show Belgian Sheepdogs. Occasionally the dogs are kind enough to give Harry and Susan hope that they may someday be in charge of the pack.

They all live at the beach in Southern California.

AUTHOR FOLLOW LINKS

AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE – WEBSITE / BLOG – TWITTER

GIVEAWAY PRIZE

$25 Amazon gift card

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Book Blast, Giveaway & Interview: Frontier Resistance by @RaeYesac

 

Frontier Resistance

Frontier

Book Two

Leonie Rogers

Genre: Science Fiction, Young Adult

Publisher: Hague Publishing

ISBN: 978-0-9872652-8-9

ASIN: B00MTACKWK

Word Count: 133,000

Cover Artist: Emma Llewelyn

Book Description:

The much awaited sequel to Frontier Incursion.

The Garsal have landed and Frontier has changed forever. Now Shanna and her friends must master their new gifts that will enable them to seek out the alien invaders before they enslave her world.

On the plateau the Council under Tamazine (the Senior Councillor) allies with the Starlyne race. Only united do the Scouts, their starcats, and the Starlyne have any chance of surviving, but Tamazine's distrust of the alliance creates a fatal weakness.

Below, the Garsal plot. They need a new pool of human slaves to expand their empire, but first, they must locate the humans already on Frontier and subdue them. Time is running out for both invader and settler, and the outcome hangs in the balance.

Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/tvymDYRwj6Y

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SHANNA ran. Insectoid limbs scythed through the vegetation behind her, and red beams slashed past on either side, scorching as they grazed her skin. Her feet seemed mired in mud, and her pack dragged her backwards, overbalancing her towards the six-limbed creatures that dogged her steps. She flung her head frantically from side to side, desperately seeking her starcats. Where were Storm and Twister?

Ahead of her, she saw Allad stumble and fall, the tall scout’s body a smoking ruin as the beams sliced across him. Satin snarled and leapt at the invaders, only to perish in turn. Where were the others? What had happened to them? Still alone, Shanna struggled on, forcing one leaden leg after the other. She tried to discard her pack, but the straps refused to loosen, and then she stumbled over the first body. Storm. His fur was burnt and his eyes staring, and she burst into tears, sobbing as she ran, wanting to do nothing more than stop and cradle him, yet unable to do so for fear of the aliens hunting her. The tears threatened to blind her, but a voice, screaming from ahead, spurred her on.

Her breath was like fire in her throat, and now she could hear the sounds of offworld footsteps only seconds behind her, while a mound in the vegetation ahead told the tale of another body. Frantically she tried to change her course, but her heavy legs refused to turn and she almost fell as she tried to hurdle the still form. A plaintive “No!” burst from her lips as she recognised the familiar cadet insignia and name on the sleeve of Verren’s bloodstained uniform.

The first clutch of an alien limb on her pack almost threw her backwards. Sobbing to breathe, she forced the words out. “Get away! No!” Drawing a ragged breath she tried to turn, but chitinous limbs restrained her. She fought them, but they dragged her back inexorably until she was stranded on her back, held down by the hard alien carapaces, unable to move. She flailed her arms desperately, but they were too heavy. And then she woke, disorientated, lathered in sweat, and panting.

For a moment she panicked, still unable to move and not understanding where she was until a plaintive hum jerked her into the present, and the weight upon her resolved into the anxious faces of two starcats, tidemarks glowing dimly in the darkness. Her muscles lost their terrified tension and she let her head collapse back against the unfamiliar softness of a pillow.

“Storm? Twister?” Relief flooded over her, and one of the feline bodies moved, and then she was able to lift her arms to caress the silky heads. Soft purrs sounded, and she felt the huge cat bodies curl gently around her, providing sorely needed comfort.

For a few moments she just lay there, but the vivid images from her nightmare remained - or rather, the real images of the last year replaced them, devastating in their rawness. Arad’s tear streaked face as he sat with Breeze’s still form vied with the sound of the alien vehicles destroying the beauty of her home world, grinding relentlessly towards the plateau that housed her people. Images of sliders, swarming towards her as their sensitive antennae quested for living flesh, mixed with a jumbled montage of cliff faces scarred by alien aircraft and flashes of the fear she’d experienced when they’d rescued the human slaves from their Garsal captors.

Then came more images - her brother, Kaidan, standing on the front lines with his bow; Verren binding gaping wounds in the aftermath of the battle; Ragar and Zandany sending their starcats to stand guard on the alien prisoners, and Taya and Amma, standing as stunned as she had, before the glowing Starlyne she’d thought was only an animal but had now proved to be so much more.

Her breath caught in her throat once more. She was inside a Starlyne habitation - she’d gone willingly, because of two images sent by the creatures as they’d communicated with the human beings of Frontier. The first image had shown her the origins of her starcat friends. Within the Starlyne memories, she’d seen a tiny feline creature, newly arrived on a crashed starship and accompanied by a human child, yet frolicking in friendship with a Starlyne youngling in a sunlit glade. The second image had featured Storm, Twister and herself as the hope of both human and Starlyne, and it had engendered a burning desire within her to know more about their intentions and her place within their plans. Surely the fate of colliding worlds could not rest with her and her two starcats? The sweat on her body chilled suddenly, and she convulsively grabbed at the two huge heads next to her. Ear tip tidemarks cycled soothingly as if her cats knew what she was feeling, and slowly the overwhelming emotions were submerged once again by physical exhaustion, and she descended back into the blackness of sleep.

***

A soft chime sounded and Shanna raised her head, rubbing her eyes. Two warm, furry bodies rumbled, purring as she rolled over on the unfamiliarly soft bed and pushed herself upright. As she did, the tenderness of her recent bruises made themselves painfully evident. A dim light emanated from the smooth walls around the room, and she could see her classmates stirring sleepily around her, their starcats stretching and chirping, tousled heads slowly appearing.

After she’d gone back to sleep, her dreams had continued to be full of confused nightmares and disjointed emotions, cycling from one to another in a constant whirl, but she suppressed the lingering fears born of her unconscious mind ruthlessly in case they overwhelmed her ability to function. Storm turned knowing eyes on her, but she distracted herself by scratching his head and hoping that her nightmares hadn’t disturbed anyone else.

As she lay there, she remembered the moment from the day before, after they had left the pungo grove and followed the Starlyne into the wilderness of Below, when Teacher had paused after several hundred metres of silent travel to speak to them all.

“Your fellows will join us,” had come the silent words, along with an image of Nelson, Perri and Barron. The group had exchanged startled glances, and the Starlyne spoke again. “We can speed their healing, and you are needed as a complete unit. Barron will bring a starcat cub for Arad. He has already been chosen.” With that startling comment, Teacher turned again and began to glide silently through the trees, her glow illuminating the vegetation.

The patrol had followed almost automatically. Their subsequent trek through the vegetation of Below had been completely free from predator encounters, which Shanna had found oddly eerie. After several hours of walking, the Starlyne had led them into what appeared to be a natural cave. Twenty metres into the winding tunnel, the rough granite walls had become smooth, then after an S-shaped curve the walls began to glow softly, providing a dim illumination that enabled the Patrol to see where they were walking. The starcats padded softly beside their human companions completely unperturbed, while their partners walked wide-eyed, glancing warily around them. Shanna had run a hand down each cat’s silky head, and tried to avoid the sudden tremble of apprehension that ran through her body. Teacher had conveyed them without words through the tunnels, winding through a complex maze of many branchings that had made Shanna so dizzy she wondered if she’d ever find her way out again, before showing the Scouts and cadets to their current quarters ; two large sleeping rooms, each with an adjacent bathing facility, and a large communal room between, furnished with long low tables and a yielding floor dotted with large cushions. They’d all washed rapidly in the bathing pool, before falling exhausted into the large beds provided. There had been little conversation, and Shanna had felt as if she were in a strange and alien dream.

Now, as she stretched luxuriously, wriggling from side to side, Shanna took another look around the sleeping room. The bed was low and fashioned from what appeared to be a solid piece of polished wood, which was topped with a vaguely organic looking mattress. The bedding looked bizarrely normal and smelt faintly of something freshly aromatic. As she moved around, easing herself out from under her cats, she noticed that the surface under her was oddly yielding, almost conforming to the contours of her body. She yawned widely again, scrubbing her eyes with her hands before running them over her hair, feeling oily wisps sticking out everywhere. Looking around for her pack, Shanna noticed for the first time that there appeared to be small storage compartments built into the walls of the room, and that while she had slept, somehow her pack had ended up tucked neatly into one of them. With a sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, noticing that she’d apparently taken the time to change into a singlet top and shorts before falling asleep. She must have been exhausted not to remember changing.

“What do you think we’re meant to be doing?” asked Amma through a yawn, as she climbed out of the bed next to Shanna. “I think I need to bathe again ; I was so tired last night that I seem to have missed a few bits, and I think I might have bled on the pillow.” She rubbed at a bloodstain with distaste. Shanna smiled stiffly, feeling the puffy side of her face crinkle uncomfortably, and investigated with a careful fingertip.

“I wouldn’t mind another scrub myself, and then perhaps we can get Verren to stick our damaged bits back together.”

“Did someone say my name?” Verren lifted a tousled head from under his bedding and yawned widely at the two girls.

“Yes, that was us,” laughed Amma, “we’re a bit battered still. Can you do a bit of a repair job when we’re clean and dressed?”

Verren struggled to a sitting position and stretched stiffly, before swinging his legs gingerly over the edge of the bed and leaning his elbows heavily onto his knees.

“I suppose so.” He yawned again. “Give me a few more minutes.” He waved a sleepy hand at the two girls, who busied themselves in their packs.

“We’ll grab the bathroom then,” said Amma. “Shan, do you want to give Taya a poke? We’ll get the three of us out of the way, and then they can have it.” Shanna grimaced slightly, but rounded Verren’s bed and approached Taya, who was sitting up in bed and examining her now grossly swollen left ankle.

“Bath Taya? Amma and I thought the three of us might snaffle the bathing room first, and then Verren’s going to patch us up.” The other girl looked up and nodded tiredly.

“Can you give me a hand up?” Surprised, Shanna nodded and hauled the other girl to her feet. Taya winced as she placed weight on the leg and hobbled a few steps with Shanna’s support. From her bed, Spinner watched carefully and then poured himself off it, easing his large body under Taya’s other side with loving gentleness.

“That looks nasty!” Shanna dropped to her haunches, and ran an eye over the swelling and the purpling bruise. “How on earth did you walk on that yesterday? Verren, I think you need to take a look at this now!” She and Spinner carefully eased Taya back onto her bed as Verren pushed himself resignedly to his feet and, squatting down, gently eased the swollen ankle onto his knee.

“Show me how much you can move it, Taya.” He frowned as Taya slowly moved the ankle up and down, then side to side, wincing as the movements pushed into pain. He gently probed the ankle with his fingertips, then grasped the heel and tested the ligaments. Taya gasped in pain as he drew it forward. “Well, that’s good,” he said, and gently placed her foot back on the floor.

“Good?” gasped Taya, “that nearly killed me!” She narrowed her eyes at Verren.

“It means you still have some ligaments attached,” replied Verren. “If it hadn’t hurt, you would’ve been in much more trouble! It’ll take a little while to settle down, but if we strap it, it’ll feel a lot better, and then you’ll need to do some specific exercises. It’ll be some weeks until it’s properly right, but once you get over the next few days, you should be on the mend. When you’ve had a chance to get clean, I’ll strap it. Shan, help her to the bathing room, and Taya, make sure there’s not too much hot water on the ankle or the swelling will get worse.” He yawned again, and began rummaging through his pack.

Shanna supported Taya over to the bathing room while Amma sifted through the other girl’s pack for some clean clothing. Their four cats purred their way towards the warm bath, dipping their paws into the water with pleased hums. Multicoloured tidemarks rippled in happy rhythms. Shanna supported Taya while she shed her clothing.

“Can you just slide in Taya? And then we’ll prop your foot on the edge.” Shanna and Amma lowered the injured girl to the edge of the pool, and she slid gracefully into the water at the shallow end, flipping around and propping her foot on the raised edge, before sinking back into the water with a grateful sigh.

“Thanks, guys,” she even smiled briefly at Shanna, which made her more uneasy, and the three of them began a thorough scrub, shaking out their hair and using handfuls of soapleaves to lather themselves thoroughly.

“So what do you think will be happening today?” asked Shanna. Amma shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

“After the last few months, I’m not sure anything would surprise me.”

Taya wrung out her hair, and tossing it back, began to lift herself out of the warm water, wriggling her toes carefully.

“Who’d know? Two days ago, we thought Starlynes were animals ; special animals but still animals, and now we’re having a bath inside, I suppose you’d call it one of their houses ... ” She shook her head dazedly, and Shanna found herself nodding in agreement. “Well, time to get dressed, and let the others in to get clean, although I think I could stay here all day. Spinner!” Taya called her cat who had been happily lounging on the edge of the pool, paddling his paws in the warm water. The other three stirred themselves, padding over to Taya and after allowing her to use them to balance on while she dressed, assisted her out of the bathing room - Spinner and Spider on each side, while Storm and Twister carefully pushed the door open and held it back.

“Finally!” Ragar greeted the three girls as they exited the bathing room. “Zandany’s just about gone back to sleep waiting for you!” Zandany stretched and yawned as he levered himself off his bed.

“You all smell much better,’ he grinned, standing back to let Taya hobble to her bed again. She lay down, elevating her ankle with a sigh of relief, and carefully began to comb her long dark hair.

The three girls exchanged smiles, even though Shanna felt slightly awkward about Taya’s sudden camaraderie. Picking up her own comb she ran it carefully through the snags in her hair, wincing as the comb stuck in a particularly large tangle. As she tugged the comb through the strands, she resolutely decided it was time to find out what had caused the sudden change of heart.

“Taya?” Shanna’s tone was hesitant, and the dark haired girl lifted her head and looked up with a raised eyebrow. Shanna pulled the comb out of her hair, placed it on her bed and gathered her courage. “Why are you being nice to me?” Across the room, Amma’s head lifted with a sudden jerk, and she dropped the sock she was putting on.

There was a long silence, while emotions chased themselves one by one across Taya’s face. Some of the old hatred flickered briefly, followed by a dull rising flush, then her shoulders sagged and her face crumpled, while a surprising tear slid down one cheek. Taya ducked her head and scrubbed at her face. There was complete silence in the room; Amma sitting statue-like on her bed. Shanna slowly dragged her comb through another tangle while holding her breath, and the four cats were uncharacteristically silent.

The tableau was broken as Spinner gently nudged Taya’s hands with his nose, ruby tidemarks glinting softly. She raised her face, and Shanna was horrified to see a torrent of tears pouring down the other girl’s face. She made an involuntary movement towards Taya, but stopped mid-movement as Taya cleared her throat noisily and scrubbed her hand across her face again, drying the tears on her trouser leg.

Clearing her throat, Taya set her shoulders back, and turned to look over her shoulder at Amma.

“Come and sit over here. I’m only going through this once. It may as well be now, and then you can tell the others.” She sniffed, looking much younger than Shanna had ever imagined that she could. Amma wasted no time, and carrying her boots and socks over to where Taya sat on her bed, settled herself on the floor next to Shanna. The four cats settled down at their partners’ feet, as Amma and Shanna exchanged puzzled glances.

“It was two years ago that it began,” said Taya. She wiped a final tear from her cheek and shook her dark hair back. “My father is a stone mason, and my mother works as an artificer for the council. I was with my father at a quarry east of Watchtower, waiting for him to arrange delivery of an order of stone for one of his projects.” She paused, and deliberately pushed her hair off her face again. “The owner had a starcat ; a large male called Phantom, with deep violet ear tip tidemarks.” She raised a hand as Shanna leaned forward, stopping the younger girl’s sudden exclamation. “I know ; he’s one of the cats bred by your parents.” Shanna went to speak again, and Taya impatiently hushed her, some of the animosity returning to her face. “He was the first starcat that I’d met up close, and I found him absolutely fascinating. For an hour he allowed me to stroke him, and I was flattered that he seemed to like me so much. Well, Dad finished up his business, and we hopped back into our wagon and headed off home to Watchtower.” She paused and cleared her throat, tears glinting in her eyes again, but defiantly rubbed her hand across her face and continued.

“We were only on the road for about fifteen minutes, and I was telling Dad all about Phantom, when it happened. We’d been laughing and chatting about how great it would be if we could have our own cat, when Dad stopped laughing. His face went white and he was staring at me.” Taya paused, her eyes looking into the distance. “He couldn’t even speak, and I was looking around frantically, wondering if some predator was about to pounce. I was saying: ‘Dad, Dad, what’s wrong?’ But he just kept looking at me, and then he reached forward with one hand, and it was shaking so much that I thought he was ill.” Taya’s face was crumpled, and her voice was quivering when she finally managed to continue. “He, he, f-finally managed to hook one f-finger into m-my hair, and pulled it over my sh-shoulder so that I could see it. And there it was…glowing. Exactly the same shade and pattern of Phantom’s tidemarks.”

Taya paused, and then deliberately pulled a lock of hair forward over her shoulder, and before Shanna and Ammas’ astounded eyes, the lock of hair began to glow in the familiar rippling patterns of a starcat’s coat. As they watched, the rest of her hair took on the pattern, gently twinkling and shining iridescent ruby against the background of brown so dark it was almost black. As Shanna and Amma sat, silently astounded, Taya went on.

“My father was horrified. He kept telling me to stop, and eventually he began to shake me, and shout at me. He became more and more angry when I couldn’t make my hair stop glowing. Eventually I had to climb out of the wagon because he was hurting me.” Her eyes were haunted. “I ran in the end, and hid in the bush. He shouted and shouted for what seemed like hours, but I stayed hidden deep in a patch of pungo trees, until eventually he stopped shouting, and began to plead for me to come out. I was frightened. I’d never seen my father like that. He was so angry with me!” Again Taya wiped tears from her eyes, hair glowing incongruously brightly, reflecting off the drops rolling down her cheeks.

“When I finally crawled out of the bush, he was sobbing, down on his knees at the edge of the road, begging me to come out and come home. Even then, he could barely look at me. When I finally came back to the wagon, he made me wrap my hair up in an old cloth, and then run from the wagon into the house when we got home. He wouldn’t look at me or talk to me the whole way there. I ran into my room, and looked into the mirror. My hair was like this,” she held up a strand, “glowing in Phantom’s patterns, except that now, it glows in Spinner’s patterns.”

“But Taya, how come we’ve never seen your hair do that before?” Amma broke in.

Taya looked at the two of them.

“When my mother found out, she was furious with my father. She came into my room, and just looked at me, then after covering my hair with a scarf, she took me to see Master Cerren. In her position as an artificer, she’d heard enough about him to know that he might be able to help. I felt like a freak, and I was sure that if people found out about my hair they’d react like my father had.” She looked around then, and nodded sadly to herself. “We’ve all spoken about the physical changes in the population. No-one worries about the little ones, but it’s different when things are so obvious, and it wasn’t only the visible changes with me. When we reached Master Cerren’s office, my mother ushered me inside and pulled the scarf off my hair. By that time, I was exhausted and shaking. I just stood there, while Master Cerren looked up at me.” Amma put a hand on Taya’s arm, and Shanna found that her own hand had involuntarily risen to her mouth.

“For a few moments he said nothing, and then asked the two of us to sit down. His old cat, Prince, strolled over to me, and nudged me with his head. My hair immediately changed colour to match his tidemarks, and then the clock over the mantelpiece stopped ticking. It was quite loud, so the sudden silence was very obvious, and then, to make things worse, all the lamps went out.”

“But, but ... ” Amma was unable to get any further.

“Amma, it was me. Master Cerren was calm, as was my mother, and after the initial surprise, they tested me with a number of devices in the Masters’ offices. I was a freak. Lamps went out, mechanical devices ceased working around me, and my hair kept changing colour and pattern ; I literally glowed in the dark.”

Shanna took a deep breath.

“But you must have learned to control it, because none of us had any idea!”

Taya nodded.

“Master Cerren worked with me for several days before I was able to change my hair back to its original colour. He talked me through what was going on, and tried to convince me that it was just a simple change, in fact perhaps an enhancement of our genes as a result of our time here on Frontier ; you know what I’m talking about ; we’ve been over it time after time since we first found the Garsal aircraft. And now, we find out that the Starlynes have been tampering with us the whole time we’ve been there ; and it’s probable that I’m not really a freak. It took me months to get everything under control properly, and then I began Scout training.” Taya’s hair dimmed to its natural colour, and then the walls around them began to pulse in Spinner’s tidemark patterns. Shanna blinked several times in disbelief.

“Taya, was it because of Phantom that you hated me so much?” Shanna’s voice trembled, and she had trouble meeting the other girl’s eyes.

The dark haired girl grimaced.

“Partly ; I’d spent so much time trying to learn to control myself and stop glowing in the dark, or extinguishing lights and seizing mechanical equipment, and then, all of a sudden, there was the possibility of ending up with one of your family’s starcats ; and one of those had provided the catalyst for my abnormalities to make themselves known. The truth be told that it wasn’t just the starcat that bothered me, but that you were so much younger than the rest of us ; and so normal! And then you turned up with two cats, and every time I was near you and those two cats, it became harder and harder to stop my hair changing. There was something about the combination of Storm, Twister, and yourself, and the constant nearness of Spinner, that seemed to erode my self control. I was continually struggling to avoid showing everyone how different I was, and the closer I got to Spinner, the harder the struggle became. Shanna, you were everything I wanted to be, and you were way too young! And way too normal! Every time I turned around you were there, doing it better Even now, it’s easier to change the wall colours just because you’re near me. Even one of your cats near me makes me edge closer to losing control!” A trace of the old resentment flashed across Taya’s face.

“But Taya, I didn’t know! I didn’t mean to make anything difficult for you ; and I wouldn’t have a clue why the boys and I make things tougher!” Shanna was almost crying, and she cleared her throat, frantically trying to control her emotions.

Amma put her other hand on the younger girl’s arm, and gripped it gently.

“Shan, this isn’t your fault, and Taya, your abilities are not your fault either ; like you said, they’re most likely to be one of the changes that the Starlynes have facilitated.” She looked grimly at the other two girls. “And who knows what they’ve done to the rest of us? I, for one, intend to ask some very direct questions!” She tied her bootlace with a firm tug, and looked firmly at the other two. “And one more thing Taya, are you sure that you can only fade with the assistance of Spinner?” Amma’s voice was accusing.

The other girl looked slightly guilty.

“Every time I tried without Spinner I could feel my control slipping, and I knew that you’d all find out about me, so I pretended that I needed Spinner to help me ; that way I could stop my hair glowing, but still fade. It made me so angry that everyone thought that learning to fade was such a great thing, but that I still needed to hide what I was.” Her voice trailed off. Shanna looked at the ground as she wondered what to say.

“Well, that was interesting!” Ragar’s voice startled the three girls, and they realised that he and the other two young men had probably been listening for some time. “Do we really need the new wall decorations Tay?”

Taya gave a start, and the walls returned to their previous soft glow.

“Sorry, forgot I’d done that.” She ducked her head, looking at the floor in some embarrassment.

“You know,” said Verren thoughtfully. “Here we are ; in quarters provided by an alien race, knowing they’ve been fiddling with our genetic makeup in ways we don’t understand, but ready to learn whatever they teach us, to deal with yet another alien race ... and one of us has learnt to vanish, another glows in the dark and turns off equipment, so who knows what they’ve done to the rest of us? It’s not really what I signed on to Scout training for! I think my head’s about to explode!” He flopped heavily on to his bed. “Someone tell me if I start growing tentacles!”

There was a collective laugh at the bizarre nature of their predicament, and some of the emotion in the room eased to a more manageable level as the cadets went back to finishing their dressing, and tidying away their belongings, just as if what they’d heard was an everyday occurrence.

Shanna’s head buzzed with Taya’s revelations. The root of all of the older girl’s animosity was now bare for her to see, and there was a small hope that their relationship might really begin to change for the better. After all the frustrations of the last months, Shanna wasn’t quite sure how to proceed though, and as she tied her bootlace and tucked her trouser leg back down, she sighed internally yet again. A thought struck her.

“If Master Cerren knew about you, Taya, and how to help you learn to control things, there must be others who have changed and required help! Who and where are they?”

“Part of the answer is here.” Spiron’s deep voice caused a sudden cessation of activity in the room, and the cadets turned as one to the adjoining door where the Patrol First was standing. He opened one hand and a soft glow, similar to Taya’s hair, outlined it and radiated from his palm, finally appearing to hover like a ball of light above it.

For a longer excerpt visit http://haguepublishing.com/sample/FrontierResistance.html

Did you always wanted to be a writer? If not what did you want to be?

When I was four I wanted to be a lift driver. You know, the person who stood in the lift and Pressed The Buttons! I thought that was the height of ambition, because no-one was allowed to press the buttons except the lift driver. Sadly there are no lift drivers any more.

When did you first consider yourself a “writer”?

I first considered myself a ‘writer’ when a school teacher handed me back homework with the words ‘talented’ and ‘What can I say?’ written on the work. Those words have stayed with me for many years, providing that boost to keep me writing. I think of that teacher very fondly.

How long did it take to get your first book published?

From writing the first word of Frontier Incursion, (Book 1 in the Frontier Series) to the publishing date, was about five years. Over that time, I did a number of rewrites, had moments of self doubt, sent it off to several agents and queried a few publishers, and like all authors had a fair few knock backs.

Do you do another job except for writing and can you tell us more about it?

Instead of becoming a lift driver, I became a physiotherapist. So instead of pushing buttons all day, and whizzing up and down in a lift, I treat injured people, and help them back on the road to recovery. I can do all kinds of clever things with strapping tape, and my injured characters always have well thought out injuries, and appropriate, injury specific treatment when they’re injured. (And they never, ever, treat an acute joint injury with heat.)

What is the name of your latest book, and if you had to summarize it in less than 20 words what would you say?

The name of my latest book is Frontier Resistance, Book 2 in the Frontier Series. In less than 20 words? Here goes: The Garsal have landed, and the world is in peril. Can Shanna and her starcats save her whole world? Phew - that was difficult!

Who is your publisher? Or do you self-publish?

My publisher is Hague Publishing (www.haguepublishing.com) a specialist Science Fiction and Fantasy publisher, based in Western Australia

How long does it usually take you to write a book, from the original idea to finishing writing it?

It takes me about a year to write a book. I usually know what the beginning is, where the end is, and a few bits and pieces that have to happen along the way, and then I start, and write from beginning to end. Sometimes I write things that ‘just happen’ that I didn’t know about when I started.

What can we expect from you in the future?  ie More books of the same genre? Books of a different genre?

I’m currently working on a few different ideas. I have a couple of adult science fiction books in mind, (my current books are YA sci-fi) and there’s another story as well that keeps demanding my attention. It involves a talking wombat that sleeps on the end of a bed, so I guess you’d call that fantasy!

What genre would you place your books into?

My two published books are young adult science fiction. They’re pretty soft science fiction, and are character and adventure driven stories that have big glow-in-the-dark starcats in them.

What made you decide to write that genre of book?

I’ve always loved to read fantasy and science fiction, and when I saw the first image of the story in my mind, I knew that the action was taking place on a different planet. I tend to write from the pictures inside my mind. They come complete with backstory and lots of little details.

Do you have a favorite character from your books? And why are they your favorite?

The problem with me is that I have too many favourites! I really like Shanna, my main character, because she’s not a passive person. She’s always in the thick of the action and discovering new things. She’s also very clever and an amazing trainer of starcats.

Having said that, I have a real soft spot for Nosey the starcat cub. Starcats are huge, glow-in-the-dark cats (100kg) who live and work with their human partners but still like to sleep on the bed. In Frontier Resistance, one of my minor characters needed a new starcat because his had been killed in the battle with the alien invaders. I have a cat called Nosey, and he snuck his way into the story and hijacked a little bit of it for himself. (I disguised him by turning him into a girl.)

How long have you been writing?, and who or what inspired you to write?

I’ve been writing since I was a child. Somewhere there’s a book of poetry published by one of my great aunts, with one of my early poems tucked away in it. I’ve always liked to write, and I was fortunate enough to have two highschool teachers who were particularly encouraging to me. I dabble in poetry, have discovered that I love to blog, and really enjoy creating stories.

Do you have a certain routine you have for writing? ie You listen to music, sit in a certain chair?

I have a few things I like to do when I write. As I’m sitting here, typing the answers to these questions, I’m in my favourite chair in our loungeroom with my laptop. I’m also buried under about five kilograms of Nosey cat. Sometimes when I need to escape both the cat and the internet, I wander off to a cafe not far away. The lovely owners allow me to tuck myself away into a corner, drink coffee, stare into space and type furiously for hours. They’ve even been known to drop off a free coffee and a biscuit as they pass by my table.

Do you read all the reviews of your book/books?

I do read quite a number of the reviews. I’m on Goodreads and several Goodreads people have mentioned that they love it when an author ‘likes’ their review. There’s all kinds of etiquette around what authors should and shouldn’t do with reviews. Many authors suggest not looking at them at all, but I like to learn from them. It’s interesting (and occasionally painful) to see what people think worked or didn’t work. I appreciate reviews, because as a writer, I need to keep learning. Reviews are one way of helping that process along. My own personal rule is to never comment on a review other than ‘liking’ it.

Do you choose a title first, or write the book then choose the title?

I write the book first and then choose the title. Sometimes choosing the title is harder than writing the book!

How do you come up with characters names and place names in your books?

I often invent character names by rearranging syllables and sounds and just seeing what they sound like. Because I’m primarily writing speculative fiction, I can call my characters pretty well anything I want to. Sometimes I play with words when I’m writing about places. In the Frontier Series, I’ve given the three moons names from a local indigenous language as a salute to the place where I first had the idea for the story.

Are character names and place names decided after their creation? Or do you pick a character/place name and then invent them?

Can I say that I do it all at once? Most of the time the picture in my mind comes with a label. I know that sounds weird, but as soon as I get the gist of the character, the name seems to just happen. Place names are usually thought about a bit more - I see the image, ponder on the location and then name it.

Do you decide on character traits (ie shy, quiet, tomboy girl) before writing the whole book or as you go along?

Once again it’s a bit of both for me. I have a pretty good idea about my main character before I write the whole book, but I’ve realised that my minor characters quite often develop minds of their own as I write them and head off to do their own stuff.

Are there any hidden messages or morals contained in your books? (Morals as in like Aesops Fables type of "The moral of this story is..”)

I’m not sure you’d call my messages hidden, but there are a few messages. Frontier is a planet whose human population has developed a truly egalitarian society. There is no sexism. You’re valued for your skills and achievements, even if they’re a little weird, such as Shanna’s ability to vanish at will. No-one cares whether you’re beautiful (or not) either. They do care whether you can do your job, and how good you are at doing it. Survival has a way of making sure that superficiality is a long way down the list of desirable traits.

Which format of book do you prefer, eBook, hardback, or paperback?

I just love books. We have six bookcases, two kindles and four Kindle apps in our house. I’ve become a fan of the eBook in the last three or so years, and each year I love them more. Our daughter, despite loving her Kindle, tells me that she adores the smell of paper books and that nothing will ever replace it, but I love the way that my Kindle holds hundreds and hundreds plenty of books, so that I’m never without a book at the doctors surgery or while on a train or aeroplane. I love the fact that it doesn’t concuss me if I accidentally fall asleep reading a one thousand page story.

What is your favorite book and Why?  Have you read it more than once?

How difficult is it to decide on just one? I think my absolute favourite book is probably The Lord of the Rings Trilogy. I read it at least once a year, and am always swept up in the story just as if I’ve never read it before.

Do you think books transfer to movies well? Which is you favorite/worst book to movie transfer?

Some books transfer well to movies, and some movie makers transfer books well to movies. Some do it appallingly badly. My favourite book to movie transfer is probably Swallows and Amazons. I remember seeing it as a teenager still in love with the books and just loving it. It was everything I’d imagined the story to be.

My worst book to movie transfer is absolutely and utterly Starship Troopers by Robert E. Heinlein. I remember watching the movie in complete disbelief. Although it’s apparently? meant to be a parody, I just couldn’t ever watch it again. All I can say is that when a movie takes a character mentioned briefly in the first chapter of the book, and whose only activity  in the whole story is dying, changes their sex and turns them into the love interest, you know that something’s gone sadly wrong along the way.

Your favorite food is?

I’m a bit of a carnivore. I really like rack of lamb! Cooked nicely pink inside…Yum!

Your favorite singer/group is?

I’m fond of all kinds of music, so it’s probably easier to ask what I don’t like. I really don’t like rap, or screamo. (Screamo makes my throat hurt just listening to it.) I enjoy movie sound tracks and musicals the most, but I probably don’t have an absolute favourite. I just love music that moves me emotionally.

Your favorite color is?

BLUE!

Your favorite Author is?

Once again I’m struggling to find just one. My favourite/s are CS Lewis, Brandon Sanderson, Terry Pratchett and Anne McCaffrey.

 

 

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Originally from Western Australia, Leonie now lives in NSW in the Upper Hunter. She is the author of “Frontier Incursion” (YA Speculative Fiction) published in October 2012 by Hague Publishing, and also works part time as a physiotherapist. She dabbles in poetry, and has had a short story published in Antipodean SF.

Frontier Resistance, part two of the Frontier Trilogy was published on the 3rd of October 2014, and she has also finished the first draft of the concluding book. They’re full of glow-in-the-dark cats who like to sleep on the bed, alien invaders, and a planet out to kill the unwary.

She has a past life as a volunteer firefighter and State Emergency Service member, and once trekked almost six hundred kilometres with eight camels and several other human beings. She is married with two late teen kids, two dogs and two cats, one of whom frequently handicaps her ability to use a laptop computer.

Twitter: @RaeYesac

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

Wordpress blog: www.leonierogers.wordpress.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6542929.Leonie_Rogers

Book Blast & Giveaway: HER CHRISTMAS COWBOY by @Adele_Downs @MyFamHrtBookRvw

BOOK INFORMATION

TITLE – HER CHRISTMAS COWBOY AUTHOR – Adele Downs GENRE – Contemporary Western Romance PUBLICATION DATE – November 7, 2014 LENGTH (Pages/# Words) – 11,500 word Lunchbox Romance PUBLISHER – Boroughs Publishing Group

     BOOK SYNOPSIS

Tragedy brought them together, but joy met them on the other side.

Daisy Phillips has a choice to make: return to Pennsylvania and the Christmases she once knew, or stay in Texas and find a new way to celebrate the holiday--with the handsome cowboy who brought joy back to her life.

The heartwarming sequel to the Amazon-bestselling Lunchbox Romance, Kissing Her Cowboy!

  BUY & TBR LINKS

AMAZON KINDLE – SMASHWORDS – ALL ROMANCE EBOOKS

EXCERPT

Clearly, the man had no concept of his effect on her.

When Daisy pulled up to Trey’s house and saw him standing at the base of the steps to greet her in nothing but low slung denims and work boots, she’d found it hard to breathe. Suddenly, Jack Frost and his Pennsylvania winter lost their appeal. Who needed snow when a smokin’ hot cowboy waited for her? Welcomed her? Wanted her?

If she hadn't come to Houston, she wouldn't have met the handsome ranch hand who filled her dreams night after night. Trey had become her single compelling reason to work through her personal pain. That and the fact that she’d never give up police work. She’d find a way to succeed, one way or another. It was hard for a cop to be flexible, since theirs was a structured world, but she was trying her best to adapt to her new environment.

Daisy took a bite of her chicken salad while Trey munched his roast beef. They ate in companionable silence while Big Blue grazed beyond. Trey took a swallow of bottled ice tea and then spoke. “Would you like to spend Christmas Eve together, here? Maybe help me trim the tree?”

Daisy’s spirit lifted again with the invitation, though she tried to stay cool. She and her sister Rose had already been invited to Christmas dinner with Trey’s family, and she’d promised to bring homemade pumpkin pie and oven fresh bread. Rose was making apple pie and a side dish.

Daisy hadn't expected to spend Christmas Eve with Trey too, but she was glad he asked. “Sure. I’d like that.” The heaviness around her heart broke free and her mood lifted. She imagined the two of them in an embrace, making love beneath the twinkling lights of Trey’s Christmas tree, and realized she was…happy.

It had been so long since she’d known the feeling it took seconds to realize what had come over her. She smiled and savored the moment. Trey made her happy. Spending Christmas with him was the best gift the season could bring.

There would be no snowfall in Texas. Or winter’s chill. No downhill sledding, hot cocoa, or ice covered boots. There might not be snippets of holly gracing the table, but there would undoubtedly be mistletoe. With that final thought, Daisy leaned over and gave Trey a deep, gotta’ get-back-to-work kiss.

He smiled at her, and just like that… Daisy found her Christmas spirit.

  AUTHOR BIO

Adele Downs writes best-selling contemporary romance inside the office of her rural Pennsylvania home. She is a former journalist, published in newspapers and magazines inside the USA, UK, and Caribbean.

Adele is an active member of Romance Writers of America and her local RWA chapter where she serves as a past-president. She has written several articles for RWR magazine (Romance Writers Report) and has presented workshops for writers.

When Adele isn’t working on her current project, she can be found riding in her convertible or reading a book on the nearest beach.

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BOOK INFORMATION

TITLE – Devotion SERIES – The Seductors Series AUTHOR – B L Wilde GENRE – Erotica PUBLICATION DATE – 12th September 2014 LENGTH (Pages/# Words) - 60K PUBLISHER – Me COVER ARTIST – Jo Matthews

   BOOK SYNOPSIS

Falling in love is never easy, but when you’re a Seductor who has fallen for your target, it’s impossible.

Now that Jade has learned the whereabouts of the powercore made by Oliver’s company, her mission is almost over. The chances of being able to stay with him at the end of her contract are slim and she knows that. Would her organization really keep their word? When has a Seductor ever been able to stay with their mark?

When disaster strikes near the end of her assignment, Jade is faced with the biggest decision of her life—she must choose between her heart’s desire and doing the right thing for the sake of the world. Her choice may just be the catalyst that sets her free.

What happens when the truth comes out? Will Oliver be able to let her go this time? Or will their love for each other be enough to finally bring The Seductors down?

One thing is for certain—devotion will seal their fate

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   EXCERPT

I loved spending time in Macon with Oliver and his family, but I was glad once we got back to New York. I had him all to myself, and as selfish as it sounded, I loved it when we were alone. New York held the most memories for me with him. “I think your uncle is warming to me,” I mused as we sat eating the dinner that Mrs. Davis had prepared for us. “He actually wished me a safe trip when we left this morning.” “It’s definitely progress,” Oliver chuckled. “Now that we’re back in New York, you need to tell me what you want to do for your birthday. It’s only a few weeks away.” “Well, we are fucking on my desk at work for sure. You promised me,” he winked, licking his lips. Damn him! He was too sexy for words. “You’re sex crazed,” I giggled, shaking my head. “What about going out to dinner somewhere? We could go away for a weekend, too.” “A dirty weekend away?” I threw my napkin at him. “What?” “Stop thinking about sex!” “That’s difficult. I happen to have an incredibly sexy girlfriend that I want to fuck all the time.” “Oliver!” “If you think about it, you’re the reason I’m sex crazed. This is your entire fault, Jade.” “Oh, that’s right—blame it all on me,” I laughed, taking a sip of wine. “Do you have any idea how happy you make me?” “No, but I know how happy you make me.” “I’m not hungry anymore.” Oliver suddenly had that look in his eyes again. The ‘I’m going to rip the clothes from your body and fuck you’ look. Instantly, I had to hold my legs together. It looked like he was going to try a prove a point. “You’ve hardly eaten. I hope you’re not coming down with anything,” I replied, innocently. “I’m not coming down with anything, but I certainly will be going down on something tonight.” “Oh, God,” I whimpered, choking on my sip of wine. “All this sex talk is making me horny. I’m going to give you a thirty second head start, then I’m planning on making you cum as many times as I can on my staircase. There are thirty four steps total. I’m thinking that’s at least ten orgasms I’ll be able to give you, maybe more, until I throw you on my bed and slide my cock inside you.” I couldn’t move. I sat there gawking at him. Ten orgasms. I couldn’t handle that! “Run Jade, I mean it. I’ll start on this table if I have to.” I stood up and ran. My heart was pounding hard in my chest. Why was I running anyway? I wanted Oliver to catch me. I managed five steps on the staircase before he caught me from behind. “That was a feeble attempt to try and get away. Anyone would think you wanted me to catch you,” he whispered into my ear, sucking on my earlobe as his hands moved to undo the buttons on my jeans. “I’m going to drive you crazy, Beautiful. I hope you’re ready.” I couldn’t answer; his hands had already slipped inside my jeans and I was lost. Oliver began to put pressure on my sex through my panties. Why didn’t he just push my panties to the side? It was so frustrating. “Do you like that, Beautiful? I can feel your panties getting damper. How many pairs have I ruined now?” “Too many to count,” I panted, gripping the banister for support as he sped up the movement of his hand. “W…What about Mrs. Davis?” “She’s staying with a friend tonight. We’re all alone.” I could hear his smirk as he planted kisses down my neck. Starting to climb already, I knew my first orgasm was quickly approaching. “That’s it, Jade, give it up. I want to hear you let it all out.” I came, groaning out a string of nonsensical words, trying to hold myself up as I came undone. “I’ll give you a minute this time to compose yourself and run.” “Are you being serious?” I gasped, still clutching the stairs. “I can hardly stand!” “A minute and a half then,” he smirked, tilting his head. “You can manage a few more steps, Jade.” I wasn’t sure I could. “Just put one foot in front of the other.” “Alright, Mr. Cocky.” “Interesting choice of words.” I rolled my eyes and began to take a few unsteady steps, but it was difficult when I was still in a state of bliss. “You’re making this too easy,” he chuckled, pulling me so I was facing him. He backed me against the railing, gazing down at my chest. With one swift tug, he pulled my top over my head. “I’ll never get enough of undressing you,” he mused, running his fingertips across the top of my breasts and then into my bra, stroking my aching nipples. While his one hand continued to tease my sensitive skin, his other went south and slid right inside my panties. “Fuck, I got you well and truly worked up, didn’t I?” He ran his fingers through my slick folds, and I had to bite my lip to fight the pleasure. I had no control over myself when it came this man. “Shit, I can’t wait to fuck you. I can feel my cock already leaking at the thought.” “Ugh, Oliver, you can’t say stuff like that to me!” “Is gets you excited. I know you love it when I talk dirty.” He slid his fingers inside me and began another excruciating pace. “Do you know what I’m going to do after this?” he whispered, biting down on my left nipple through my bra. I couldn’t help but cry out—it felt amazing. “I’m going to strip you naked and taste you. You know I love eating you out.” I wasn’t going to survive the night, but if this was how it ended, death by an Oliver orgasm was the way to go.

AUTHOR BIO

B.L. Wilde is a British author obsessed with many things, including heated love stories. Fully supported by her husband, she can often be found at her desk working on her next project.

Her journey into the world of erotica began when she started writing online stories over five years ago, and she hasn't looked back since.

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