Twinkle (Sugandha) Varshney's Blog, page 281

THE LOST by Holly Barbo

THE LOSTBook 5 of the Sage Seed Chronicles
by Holly BarboGENRE: YA FantasyCOVER DESIGNER: JC Clarke @ The Graphics Shed



Long-lost artifacts lure people from a lost population out on a secret quest. At the same time, an unexpectedly strong winter storm forces Erin to take refuge in an isolated cabin. Unbeknownst to her, this was the last known location of the missing items that Kai, one of the lost, is looking for.

Dismayed to find Erin at the cabin, he reacts in the only logical way: Kill any witnesses to protect his people.

With a ferocious blizzard ravaging the realm, will the sages be able to prevent bloodshed? And what would it take to avoid war with THE LOST ones?


Prologue: The Penal colony on Obsidian Island

Bure glared at the old man, his whole body vibrating with his effort to suppress his frustration and be civil. He wanted answers and would prefer not to beat them out of the coot. The guy was older than him but looked tough. “How do you get out of this place? I’ve been all over this valley and I’ve not found even a crevice of a cave or a finger hold to scale the walls. You’ve been here awhile. Tell me!”

The grey-haired fellow met Bure’s eyes with a calm confidence. “I’ve watched you. I know. We all search this valley when we first arrive until we come to the same conclusion. So son, tell me, what part of ‘Once you’re in Obsidian Island there is no getting out’ don’t you understand?”

He chuckled when he saw the flare of rage in Bure’s eyes. “It’s true. There’s no exit. Look all you want. Let me tell you what you found: The walls of this crater are glass smooth and very hard so you can’t chip any climbing grips. The trees aren’t tall enough to reach the top if you climbed them. The stream that feeds this valley starts as an artesian spring in the small lake over there and exits in a seep at the west end of the basin. If it didn’t, this whole crater would be a lake with an island in the middle.”

Bure’s growl interrupted the recitation. “Yeah, well, what about that stone uplift?” He gestured to the huge column of stone rising from the floor of the basin.

The veteran mused, “It’s interesting, isn’t it? A former resident of this place had been a geologist. He said that before Obsidian became extinct it was trying to rebuild itself. That huge stone column is just as smooth and unscalable as all the other walls. It’s high enough that birds perched on the edge are beyond bow range, and even if you could get up there, you still would be out of reach of the outer walls.”

Bure snarled.

The older man shook his head. “It isn’t so bad a place when you accept the inevitable. You’ll see. There are resources to build a life here. We’ve all tried to escape and take revenge against those who sent us here but there’s no way out.” He studied the fuming young man. “So, what did you do? What laws did you break? My guess would be murder.” He watched as the new man clenched his fists.

Now the seasoned inhabitant threw back his head and laughed deeply. “Thought as much. I know the signs. I’ve been in this extinct volcano for nearly thirty years; killed a witch, I did. Murder is against the law on this world and one of the sure ways to end up here.” The old man’s gravelly voice took on a harder edge. “This crater is the exception, so don’t get ideas, son. I may be older than you but I’m fit and can defend myself. I can still kill you if you push me to it.”

Bure’s scoff of disdain was cut short by an unnervingly strong hand around his throat. The older man laughed with a mad glee, “You’ve heard the phrase, ‘I brought you into this world and I can take you out’? It’s very true, son. I’m Kald ... your daddy. So nice of you to provide this little family reunion. Welcome to Obsidian Island.”


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Holly's world is shaped by her love of family, the beauty of the natural world and an irrepressible creative drive. She has always been curious and sees life through questions. These four characteristics color her writing voice and her stories frequently evolve from her asking "What if....?" Her tales tend to have non-urban settings with nature contributing to the plot, building discordant themes inside a seemingly peaceful refrain. My motto: Weaving Alternative Worlds with Threads From Today.




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STEVE WADE MYSTERIES by Iris Wynne

STEVE WADE MYSTERIESby Iris Wynne
Publisher: Soul Mate PublisingGenre: Romantic Suspense or Cozy Mystery
Steve Wade is an ex-cop with an ex-wife and girlfriends he could never commit to. Now he’s a private investigator known for his knack in solving crimes.

This handsome private eye never has a problem finding customers. His newest case involves five frantic Mah Jongg players who are in search of one of their players who disappeared after meeting a man on an Internet dating site.

Wade is reluctant to take the case, believing it to be just another woman not wanting to be found. But the Mah Jongg players are insistent that Marilou did not vanish on her own. In the meantime, they organize a Valentine’s speed-dating gig inviting all the suspects who dated Marilou in an attempt to find her.

As he watches the dinner play out he begins to realize she may not have gone willingly when all the suspects are before him. He even hires his sometime drop-dead gorgeous girlfriend for the event to lure the culprit out into the open. Steve just hopes no one goes home with a potential killer.

Wade has to work fast as the case begins to unravel when lies and betrayal become evident and the truth of what happened to Marilou becomes clear. Will he be able to find the suspect before they choose another victim? This may be his biggest challenge yet.

Marilou Dickson was sitting at the bar, sixty miles away from Toronto on a Saturday night waiting for her date. The only problem was she didn’t know who he was. She got in touch with him on an online dating site and his picture looked great, even though he was much younger than her. A full head of dark hair, straight nose, large hazel eyes and great abs from a previous picture he sent her. She imagined his strong arms wrapped around her as he made love to her. She was tired of being alone as age and beauty were slowly taking its toll while drinking and smoking was becoming an obsession that a good man could help her control.

The noise in the bar was unbearable and she was dying for a cigarette. At least in the old days before cell phones and Internet, you could smoke. The place was packed with pretty girls in floozy outfits, some displaying unwanted flesh. Youth could get away with many things and the sleazier you got, the more attention from the men.

It was like that years ago before marriage and grown kids.

Her phone buzzed which made her spill her drink on her new gold cashmere sweater.

“Damn!” she said.

“May I buy you another drink?”

She looked up and there was her man, looking better in person.

“Hi!” she said tying not to slur her words.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered to her.

“What about my drink?”

“Let’s go to my place.” He smiled as his white teeth flashed at her.

She wanted to stay here and enjoy the bar and perhaps dance. She wasn’t ready to go to his place yet. She sighed and smiled up at him.

“Why don’t we just stay here?”

“You’ll get too drunk.”

She grinned at him, thrilled that he should be so concerned about her. Her phone buzzed again. She gave him a shrug.

“Sorry–I may as well answer this or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

She was going to tell him her friends were worried about her, warned her about going out with strangers–blah-blah. She decided not to say anything. She noticed that his hair was an unnatural black hue, almost like a wig. She wouldn’t care less if he was bald–didn’t men understand that? His glasses were tinted unable to really see the color of his eyes. Something in the pit of her stomach was telling her something was off. She answered her phone walking a distance away from him and the bar. He was watching her though, his look almost a leer. Perhaps it was because she was drunk that she thought this. Nevertheless she would not leave alone and go back into an empty house especially on a Saturday night.

“Marilou is that you?” Harriet said, her voice full of concern.

“What’s up, I’m in the middle of a date.”

“Just checking to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine really, you don’t have to worry.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside of Toronto.”

“What!”

“Harriet, I’m a big girl.”

She glanced over at him. He bought a drink and was sipping it rather quickly. He was watching her so she waved to him.

“What does he look like?”

“I don’t know, he’s wearing a dark wig and glasses.”

“Marilou, that is not a good sign.”

Harriet could hear a deep voice asking her friend something.”

“Gotta go Harriet, see you Monday night.”

There was a click and the line went dead.

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Steve Wade is an ex-cop and now private investigator. His reputation for solving crimes is growing.

His newest client is a man charged with a murder he says he did not commit. The convict's sister has evidence that the person he supposedly murdered is alive and living somewhere in Shanghai after an old classmate of hers sees a double of the murdered victim while touring parts of Asia.

Is the murder victim, a woman, really alive and the man charged with her murder innocent?

Steve does not know what to think. Should he believe a convicted killer who was once a drug addict living on the streets? Steve however does not want an innocent man to spend the rest of his life in jail.

It's a dilemma he must think through and to try to prove the convicted murderer's innocence.

She had left her group and her husband in order to go to the Peace Hotel washroom which was one of or perhaps even the nicest washroom she had ever seen. Its decor was all black and white marble with gold faucets matching the gold chandeliers along the walls that lit the room. Each toilet had its own cubicle and a shiny black door. American style—no hole in the ground—to every tourist’s delight.

And that is when she saw her.

Connie stared at the woman beside her who was washing her face. A ghost from the past; a woman who was ostensibly dead four years ago. She blinked back at the woman a few times. She hadn’t seen her in over ten years. She had known her since childhood which was embedded forever as a memory.

And Connie Stern’s memory was exceptional. She was the type of person who never forgot a face.

The woman beside her was tall and slim. Her hair, once a shiny dark hue, was now peppered with gray. But those eyes were the same, an unusual dark green that glowed like emeralds. That was her trademark along with her natural beauty. She was the second child of a famous music producer from Toronto. His five beautiful daughters had lived in Rosedale, one of the wealthiest areas in Toronto. The youngest three were from another marriage, but they all lived together in harmony with the second wife, or so the story goes.

If that was Patricia Gold, she would be in her forties and the woman across from her was definitely that age. Her attractiveness was gone, though, after years of living on the street.

It had been a surprise in the community, to say the least, when she left her husband and children in search of drugs. Connie could not believe it when it happened. She had known Patricia well growing up and never saw a sign of it, of the unhappiness or the addiction to drugs. She did know, however, that Patricia wanted to be thinner so she could model. She glanced at her again. The woman glimpsed back at her briefly as she washed her hands.

Connie thought of Patricia's husband, whom she knew in high school. He was popular and could pick any girl he wanted. When they married, she and Patricia were no longer friends which always happened in a big city. Different universities, new jobs, and location changes all caused people to make new friends. Nevertheless, they were the perfect couple, everyone thought. Connie always had fond memories of her.

Connie put her hands in the dryer, peering over at the woman again. She remembered one of the last times seeing her. It was years ago when she and her own husband were walking their kids in strollers when Patricia and her husband drove by and asked them for directions to the nearest park. Their children were sitting in the back seat, silently staring up at them. It was only Connie who had recognized them but said nothing as her husband rambled off the directions. Too much time had passed for either of them to say anything. Everyone looked different with age anyway. Still, she never forgot a face.

Another time, she had seen her at a bar midtown, around Yonge and Eglinton. Connie and two of her friends had decided to go out on the town without kids or spouses, like old times. She hated it though, missing her husband and children, and was just as happy to be home with them. Let the singles have the single life, she had thought. But she did see Patricia Gold there, all dressed up, looking lovely, holding a drink with another old friend who Connie also knew in high school. Her friend was a runner and to this day would be seen running down Avenue Road as if the devil was trying to catch up to her.

And that was the last time she saw Patricia, until now, that is, if it was her.

She held her breath. “Patricia?”

The woman looked up and turned to her with a frown.

“Patricia Gold, is that really you?”

The woman’s green eyes opened wide along with her mouth. She stared back for a second and then ran out of the washroom, leaving Connie staring back at the swinging door. Connie put her hands down on the white granite sink and wondered, of all things, if the sink was real gold, gold plated or just painted gold. The chandeliers flickered and her reflection staring back at her in the mirror looked flushed and confused. Did she see a ghost or was it a double? She did what the other woman did and rinsed her face. She was wrong—she had hoped—and shook her head trying to ignore what had just happened. She would continue her vacation and carry on as if nothing had happened.

Amazon ✯ Amazon Int'l ✯ Kobo ✯ Goodreads Iris has always wanted to be a writer even before her six-year-old daughter would sneak downstairs and read aloud her stories on the computer as she would type away. Iris has proof of this in an out dated filing cabinet crammed with old manuscripts and short stories in big binders containing historical romance, mysteries, even fantasy.

When she is not working at her computer waiting for a story to come to life, she is busy dog walking, or organizing a game of Mah Jongg and of course reading.

Iris lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband. Her children live on their own and her parents are relieved to receive a text message from them now and then.

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The Seer's Daughter By Athena Daniels

For her, he’ll break all the rules and cross every line.Author:  Athena DanielsTitle:  The Seer's DaughterSeries:  Beyond the Grave, book 1Genre:  Contemporary Romantic Thriller
 “Thought I told you not to move.” His voice was barely recognizable, little more than a sexy rasp. He motioned to the chair where his utility belt lay. “Do I have to use my cuffs, or will you stay still?”Cuffs? Oh hell, yes! An image of herself, restrained on the bed while Ethan teased and pleasured her needy flesh, flashed into her mind.
To save her, he must let go of everything he ever believed.
Upon returning to her hometown for her grandmother’s funeral, Sage Matthews is terrorized by a series of strange events. She dismisses each eerie occurrence as a by-product of her overwrought emotional state, until it becomes chillingly clear that something not of this world is desperate to get a message—or is it a warning?—through to her…
Detective Sergeant Ethan Blade comes to Cryton, South Australia, to catch a serial killer. When Ethan meets Sage—the latest victim’s beautiful granddaughter—his attraction to her is explosive and inconvenient. He knows she’s not crazy, but Sage’s theory about the murders is unbelievable.
With the handsome detective rejecting her ideas, Sage embarks on the supernatural journey that her grandmother started. What she discovers shatters everything Sage ever knew about herself—and who she really is.
Ethan’s routine case quickly turns personal when he discovers Sage is the killer’s next target. For her, he’ll break all the rules and cross every line. But how can he protect Sage from an evil he cannot even conceive of? Amazon:  US | UK | AU | CAiTunes I Smashwords I Nook I Kobo 
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Athena Daniels lives on the northern beaches of sunny Western Australia, where she writes romantic suspense and paranormal romance.Athena is the author of romantic thriller Desperate and the first two books in the Beyond the Grave series, The Seer’s Daughter and The Alchemist’s Son. The Seer’s Daughter was a Top Pick at The Romance Reviews and was featured in AusRom Today’s January 2016 top-twenty list of “Lust-Have Sci-Fi, Paranormal, and Fantasy Novelists.” Athena has a natural curiosity about the “more” there is in life, and holds several qualifications in metaphysics and natural therapies. She is a neuro-linguistic programming (NLP) practitioner, life coach, and feng shui specialist. To learn more about Athena, or to take a sneak peek at what’s coming next, visit her online or connect with her on social media.
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Daylight Follows by Michelle Dare

[image error] Daylight Follows is a standalone new adult romance.Direction and a sense of purpose for her life evaded Daniella Archer. She was in college, but her classes didn’t hold her interest. She had a boyfriend, but never got butterflies when he was near. Her two best friends were her lifelines, the ones who always stood by her. Then tragedy shattered her world and she sunk into a deep depression. She watched helplessly as the rainy sky mimicked her tears and the dark clouds, her mood.Garrett Ramsey secretly loved Daniella throughout their high school years. When he moved away, he finally put those feelings behind him and moved on with his life, or so he thought. Just seeing Dani again brought all of the feelings he thought were long dead, straight to the surface again. She never saw him as more than a friend, so he didn’t tell her how he truly felt.Two people, two paths, both missing something significant. Storms swirled all around and the blackness of night seemed to last forever. They dared to hope daylight would follow. Amazon US I Amazon UK I B&N I iBooks I Kobo I ARe [image error] Michelle Dare is a romance author. Her stories range from sweet to sinful and from new adult to fantasy. There aren’t enough hours in the day for her to write all of the story ideas in her head. When not writing or reading, she’s a wife and mom living in eastern Pennsylvania. One day she hopes to be writing from a beach where she will never have to see snow or be cold again. [image error] [image error] [image error] [image error] [image error]

A Powerful Voice By Penelope Powell

Contemporary Christian Romance/ Women’s FictionDate Published: Jun 10th (digital) / Aug. 9th (print/POD)Publisher: Anaiah Romance


Gloria Fielder is trying her best to live with sincere faith, but regret for a past decision makes it difficult to live with herself.Justin Case knows first-hand the consequences of bad choices, but he doesn’t believe in burying past mistakes. He openly shares his testimony with the purpose of showing there is hope and freedom for those who come to Christ.Justin is the new worship leader for the church service Gloria attends, and he also leads a new Bible study she knows will help her. To complicate matters, once Justin becomes aware of Gloria’s struggle, he seems intent on drawing her out of her self-imposed shell of guilt and regret. If she trusts him with her secret and her heart, will their friendship evolve into something more, or will it simply be her undoing?

Excerpt
© 2016 Penelope PowellChapter OneTime heals all wounds…unless you deserve to suffer.When the thought from her internal mantra struck, Gloria Fielder froze mid-step. As if punctuating the accusation, an icy wind howled, the force of it wrenching the glass door from her grasp and slamming it against the stopper.“A few more minutes and you would’ve missed us entirely.”Gloria looked up into the unsmiling face of a rail-thin woman standing sentinel over a group of children. Gloria assumed she was the children’s director, as they were all dressed in the festive colors of Christmas, their bright reds and deep greens reminding her of the candlelight service in progress.She hesitated, her gaze shifting to the plaster nativity figures less than ten feet away, the babe in particular so…lifelike. Would it be better to leave and apologize later for having missed the program?“Could you shut the door please? It’s hard to keep everyone’s attention while a draft is blowing through, and it’s almost time for us to begin.” Seeming to barely hang on to her patience, the director’s smile was as tight as her collar.Being late was bad enough, but being made to feel like she was an annoying interruption was well…worse. Gloria shifted to close the door.After an inquisitive glance toward Gloria, a chubby boy with flushed cheeks pulled on the director’s sleeve. “Mrs. Parker, when do we get our candles?”“Patience, Tommy. We need to wait for the lady to go inside the auditorium, don’t we?”Glancing from the boy to Mrs. Parker, Gloria apologized.“That’s all right. We’re happy to wait for you to get settled.” Mrs. Parker’s smile stretched.Gloria glanced back toward the woman, wondering if she meant what she said. She’d grown up in a house where a smile often held duplicity. Committed to stay, she hurried toward the partition crammed with winter coats. She unfurled the red scarf from her neck, then squished it and her coat into the mix.Hushed giggles drew her gaze back to the director, who was busy giving each child a candle with detailed instructions. Everything about them seemed to contrast her. Was it just last year she wore red, putting on a good front? She wasn’t interested in being that person anymore. The clingy dress and all it represented was exiled to the corner of her closet. Proof she was different.The past few weeks had been particularly hard. When something like seeing the babe in the manger shook her confidence instead of giving her hope, she questioned her faith as a believer in Christ. The possibility of seeing someone at this service she’d rather avoid tightened her chest with further worry.“Ma’am, they’re waiting for us to start.” Apparently losing her patience, Mrs. Parker nodded toward the doors going into the auditorium.Gloria tamped down her misgivings, straightened her shoulders, and walked toward the sanctuary. As she edged around the children to reach for one of the doors, a little girl dressed in an evergreen velvet dress took a candle from a basket and offered it to her.“Thank you.” Gloria smiled.The girl’s pink lips curved in reply.Suddenly, blinking back the unwelcome pressure of tears, she turned and eased through the doors. Assailed by the scent of melting wax and pine, she waited for her eyesight to adjust to the soft glow of dimmed lighting, giving her a chance to scan the room for empty seats.Soon an usher stood next to her, his face brightening when he smiled. “Is anyone joining you?” His generous teeth gleamed in the darkness.Just me. She shook her head.He motioned for her to follow him, then pointed to some empty chairs. As she made a beeline for them, his parting greeting followed. “Merry Christmas.”Gloria glanced over her shoulder and forced a smile. She wanted to be merry. Wanted to simply feel peace. Wanted a reprieve from the recording in her head. Some days, the indictment playing over and over—tightening the tendrils of regret—putting her back on the treadmill of if-only. Making forgetting impossible.If time was linear, and the passing of it promised things would get easier, then why hadn’t the grip of shame and sorrow weakened?She settled into a chair as the children from the lobby entered and dispersed down the center aisle, the sound of their voices rising as they moved toward the front, their song offering her a distraction from her turmoil. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to escape into the words.Joy to the World. A feeling she had yet to muster.After several carols and a reenactment of the birth of Christ, the pastor walked up on the stage.Bobby Jordan had thinning gray hair, a solid middle-aged build, and the demeanor and voice of an authoritative grandfather. But that was her opinion now that she knew him. Their first meeting was at her office. His friendly and forthright manner reminded her of the old Southern gentlemen at home. He explained he was a pastor hoping to refer church members who were house hunting, said a friend had recommended her.Her peace of mind wavered at the memory. Fortunately, the uncomfortable connection led to providential results. If she had not been going through such a rough time, and if Bobby had not sought her out, she might never have begun a relationship with Christ. If only she could find a way to reconcile how the two connected without all the bad stuff. She rubbed her forehead.“Thank you children, you may join your parents,” Bobby said.Gloria glanced up as Bobby laid a hand on the shoulder of a little boy after dismissing the others to finds their seats.“This is Johnny, one of our shepherds in tonight’s program. He’s seven. I asked Johnny a question earlier, and I wanted you to hear his response.” Bobby crouched down. “Johnny, what’s Christmas all about?” He tilted a microphone toward Johnny.“Pweth-sents.” The boy turned toward the audience and smiled, the gap in his front teeth sparking chuckles from the crowd.“What’s so great about presents?”“They’we fwee.”Bobby ruffled Johnny’s hair and told him to join his parents. When the laughter trickling through the congregation died down, Bobby stood at the edge of the platform. “Each Christmas, we decorate our homes with nativity scenes and our Christmas trees with lights.”Gloria swallowed, the nativity from the lobby edging back into her thoughts.“We send cards, sing carols, and we exchange gifts.” Eyes down, Bobby paused. “I agree with Johnny. Big or small, presents are special, but are they truly free? Certainly, they’re free to the recipients, but to the giver there is always a cost.” Bobby raised his arms. “But to each one of us, grace was given according to the measure of Christ’s gift. Paul wrote this to the Ephesians. God’s gift of grace. Undeserved favor for us.”Undeserved. That was certainly her. She’d never measured up to expectations, which was one of the reasons why she worked so hard at her job.“As recipients, God’s gift of grace costs us nothing because Jesus paid for it. He gave his life, so we might receive forgiveness. Receive life. In this season of giving, in addition to the wrapped packages we place under our trees, let’s give grace to one another. Offer forgiveness when needed, even underserved.” Then Bobby prayed.As before, the children assembled across the front. Once their candles were lit, they disbursed down each aisle, lighting the candles of people sitting on the end as they went. Music played in the background.Eyes closed, Gloria focused on Bobby’s words. She prayed the message would wash over her. Because there was hope in knowing Christ had already forgiven her. And she could do the same.“Excuse me.”Startled from someone’s touch, Gloria slapped a hand to her chest.A man barely visible, given the darkness and shadows cast by candlelight, leaned closer. “Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you might want to light your candle.” Highlighting his explanation, he lifted his candle. For one brief moment, a striking, masculine face with eyes so dark they glittered like pools in moonlight stared back at her.She swallowed, her heart still pounding from having been disturbed. “Sorry.” She fumbled for the candle amongst her things. Finding it, she held it toward him and tilted her wick toward his flame. A cool, woodsy scent wafted toward her, reminiscent of an autumn breeze. She inhaled the refreshing smell and relaxed a bit.When her candle was lit, the flare illuminated his face once more. He looked up and caught her staring. Embarrassed, she turned away. “Thanks.”“No problem.”When the lights came up, she hit the aisle, determined to get through the lobby then home. The last thing she wanted to do was linger. Not that she didn’t enjoy talking with people afterward, but tonight she felt fragile.


About the Author

Though her roots are buried deep in the hills of Middle Tennessee, she now lives in Indiana with her family and serves in her local church. She loves to entertain, give life to old things, antiquing, reading and of course writing.Like the things we experience, she believes good Christian fiction can inspire and change someone’s perspective, and hopefully point them to Christ.
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THE DRAIG SERIES by Lisa Dawn Wadler

THE DRAIG SERIESby Lisa Dawn WadlerPublisher: Soul Mate PublishingGenre: time travel romance
Rescuing the man tied to a tree seemed like a rational decision. Claire is a smart, capable bookkeeper who happens to work at a martial arts academy. She has no idea the door she walked through to save the bound man would leave her trapped in 13th century Scotland. She is unable to regret the night of passion shared with Ian, even though it happened with the threat of death just outside the door. She pretends to be content with Ian’s friendship, knowing his people must come first. Compelled by honor and tormented by desire, is being his woman, while he marries another, enough?

Ian, Laird of the Draig Clan, is a man trapped by fate. Forced by necessity to marry a woman he has never met, her dowry is essential to save his clan. However, he is in love with the woman who saved his life and then spent one night in his arms. Duty prevents Ian from being able to marry Claire as custom, honor, and his heart demand. Drawn to her, believing they share the same desires and dreams in life, he finally offers her the only option available, a place by his side and in his bed.

Claire and Ian are bound together in love and then ripped apart by deception and a plot to destroy the Draig clan. Facing the final battle alone and unarmed, Claire saves them all. The ultimate challenge is forgiving Ian for sending her away.


Claire closed her eyes. “No, Ian.” Scooting back away from him, she sat up, forcing his body to give her space as her shaking hands tried to put her gown in order. “We should have never . . . this should have never happened. I need to go.” She rose to her feet only to nd him blocking her way. He wrapped his arms around her.

Ian spoke with the passion burning within in him. “Please, Claire, hear me. There is a way. You and I were meant to be together. Dinna deny that you feel it, too. ‘Tis nay only passion that binds us, it runs far deeper for us both.”

Not wanting to hear what he had to say, yet unable to move away, her head rested against Ian’s chest. Claire pleaded with him. “Please don’t do this. We both know what you need to do.”

Holding her tightly, Ian responded, “Aye, we do. But we can still be together.” Claire stiffened at the words. “Hear me before you assume. There are many in my position that have wed solely for gain. These men have done as needed, as I will do. Yet they have also kept what they wished to have, the woman who stirs their heart. I am trying to ask you to be this, the woman who is with me because of the love between us. We can build a life this way. It would be us together every day and every night. You would be mine.”

Ian’s words were barely spoken before Claire pushed him away. “You are asking me to be your . . . your . . .?”

Ian retorted quickly, “Dinna speak the word you reach for. It would never be that way between us.” His hands reached for her but were left with only air.

Backing away from his reach, she knew what he meant. Claire also knew that it was wrong in so many ways. How does he not see it? How does he not see the root of it? A strange yet welcome feeling of calm passed over her as she saw what Ian was missing. She willed herself to speak. “You don’t get it do you?”

Ian tried to close the gap between them only to have Claire back away. Ian stopped moving. “What I see is a way for us to be together.”

Claire laughed even as the tears began to fall. “You’ve never ever met her, this Mairi. What if . . . Ian? What if she is someone you could be happy with? You don’t even know.”

“It does nay matter who she is or what she offers, ‘tis obligation and no more.” Ian replied as his gaze searched her face.

She heard her voice from so far away. “But you don’t know. It could be a good marriage. I will not be in the middle of something that could be.” Claire’s sobs clouded her words. “I can’t take that risk, and I won’t. If you could be happy, I would only be in the way. Eventually things between us would change.”

Ian stepped closer. “Claire, she will never be you. You are everything to me. Dinna you see? In all ways I treat you as my own. You sit at my right at every meal. ‘Tis my dagger you use to cut your meat, the dagger that marks me as laird. ‘Tis your company I seek each day and every night. You wear the best I have to offer. I heed your council in all matters. We spend our evenings together before the re sharing and enjoying one another. I love you, Claire, and I ken that you love me.”

“And somehow that isn’t enough.” With all of the pain and anguish carried in her, Claire cried out, “It would kill me, Ian. She is going to be your wife. I know full well she will give you a family, the heirs you need. It would kill me to be waiting for you, knowing you were with her. Even if you despise her, it would tear me up inside.” Ian’s brow wrinkled as he absorbed her words, and she saw her meaning take hold. “I’m not that person, Ian. I can’t be that person. And if you love me, you won’t ask me to live like that.” Not waiting for more, afraid he would try to change her mind and that she would let him, Claire grabbed her skirts in hand and finally ran.

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In an attempt to save the world from destruction, physicist Major Samantha Sykes opens a door in time. Her plan to travel into the past to change the future has unexpected consequences. Trapped in 11th century Scotland, her mission is complicated by the love she never knew she was seeking.

Laird Faolan of the Draig clan has one desire: to claim the woman who fell through time and make her his. He will do everything in his power to convince Samantha that she belongs with him for all time.

Opening the door in time brings Samantha and Faolan together. Fate, destiny, and responsibility are at odds. The forces that brought them together may be their undoing.

Will their love survive Samantha’s journey back to her world to save time, or will the centuries that stretch between them tear them apart?

Faolan turned in the chair before the fire and stared at her with cold, dark eyes. Even bathed only in shadows from the fire, she could see that the warm chocolate gaze she remembered from the afternoon had been replaced by hurt and anger. Like a coward, she looked away and noticed the flames from the fire. The logs held the same pattern as the ones that burned in her hearth. Even hurt, he had left her the gift and made sure she was comfortable.

Samantha closed the door without facing the exit. Her hand held out the branch. “I wanted to thank you for this and for every other item you left on my pillow. It was only tonight I realized they were from you.” She stumbled through an apology. “Every single one made me smile.”

Still Faolan only stared, so she continued, “You left the hall today before I was finished. While it’s true that the safety of the men has to come first, that had no bearing on what almost happened between you and me. There is no way I would or could ever think about, I mean I wouldn’t . . . From the moment we rode onto your lands, my men have been safe. I’ve known that. So you and I have had nothing to do with them.”

Faolan looked away from her, and Samantha saw the dagger in his hands. Not held in threat, but his concentration seemed focused on the metal. He nally spoke while his hands toyed with the weapon. “What would have happened earlier if we had nay been disturbed?”

Samantha felt the sadness in her voice for what had been lost. “We would have had a perfect afternoon.”

Faolan rose to his feet and placed the dagger on the table. While he made no move to walk, he turned to face her. “I would have claimed you as my own. I would have kept you in that meadow until you agreed to enter my gates as my wife.”

“Then we would be there arguing, which ends the idea of a perfect afternoon.”

Her humor had no place in the confrontation, and she knew it as soon as the comment left her mouth. Faolan marched to stand in front of her. “Why is it more preferable for me to use you for quick pleasure than to ask you to stand by my side for all time?” He demanded.

The eyes that glared held no warmth and threatened to pierce the little control she still had. Boomer was right; Faolan deserved the truth, and she hated it.

Her hand reached up to touch his face, and Faolan stepped backward out of her reach. Tears pricked at the rejection. She mustered her courage. “I don’t have all of time to offer you.” Samantha told him everything she had explained to Boomer and finished with, “There is virtually no probability that I will return.”

The withheld tears fell when horror crossed his features. In the last few days, she had cried more than she had in the last five years. The emotions brought to the surface by involvement in life brought joy and pain. Unfortunately, the night before her would bring the strongest pain. Love had no place in her limited time, and she knew it.

“You are amazing and wonderful, and if I could be with you, I would without any hesitation. I can’t do that to you. Find a woman who will be here and love her.” Her words choked on a sob. “I know that your family is essential to making the future better. Continue this line and know that I wished I could have been here with you.”

Samantha wiped the tears with the sleeve of her gown, though more fell to take the place of ones erased. She added, “I’m close to finding my way back. I can feel it.” She paused to clear her throat. “In the morning, I’ll start to finish what I began five years ago. I only ask that the men can stay here if they choose. Only Boomer comes with me.”

Without a word, Faolan closed the short distance and pulled Samantha hard against his chest. Her face buried in the warmth of his chest as she cried and let out the anguish of goodbye. His hand held her braid while the other soothed her back, and she savored the last embrace.

When her sobs slowed, Faolan said, “I go with you.”

Her head shook. “You missed the part where your line needs to continue, and that means you stay here.” She left out that there was no way she would bring him into the misery left in her time.

The deep inhale could be felt as could the resignation at the exhale, and Faolan didn’t argue. When he spoke, he offered, “Your men are home here.”

“I know,” she whispered against his chest.

Samantha offered no resistance when he lifted her chin and shifted her body to find her eyes. “While you said a great many things, I dinna hear the word impossible.”

“Please don’t.” At his sweet thought, another tear fell.

His lips brushed her forehead, and he replied, “Spend the last of your days as my wife.”

She closed her eyes at the request. Samantha whispered, “Then what? How long will you wait for me to return when you know I won’t? I can’t do that to you.”

Faolan’s thumb wiped the moisture from her cheek. “Then I vow nay to wait.”

Against her wishes, the chuckle left her throat. She opened her eyes and found warm ones on her. Samantha said, “It’s probably for the best if I say goodbye.”

Samantha knew it would happen. Faolan lifted her face enough to place his lips against hers. Every brush sent tingles through her body. As his tongue sought entry, she complied. It began soft and sweet and carried an air of innocence. Then he demanded more as he pulled her body against his and kissed her with no control.

Faolan pulled away abruptly, he whispered, “Give me this night.”

The smile broke free on her face. It shouldn’t have surprised her that goodbye didn’t work. Samantha placed her hands on his cheeks and felt the soft stubble that graced his face at the end of each day. Her rational mind knew it would only make leaving harder. Yet the side of her Faolan had brought to life wanted him, wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by such an amazing man. She nodded. “Just now, Faolan. It’s all I have to offer you.”


Amazon-kindle ✯ Goodreads Lisa began writing after reading yet another romance novel where the heroine needed a man to rescue her from physical harm. While a firm believer in the strong alpha-male hero in any story, she wondered what would happen if that hero met a woman who was able to take care of herself physically. Using her several years of Tae Kwon Do training and mixing in time travel, her multi-award winning debut novel, The Draig Series was born.

Lisa lives in the Chicago suburbs and is married to her high school sweetheart. They have two children and one very spoiled dog.

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SECOND SHIELD II by Stacy Eaton

SECOND SHIELD II by Stacy Eaton
Genre: Romantic Suspense - Police Procedural Content Warning: 18+ Language and Sexual Situations
Six weeks after the biggest case of her life, Sgt. MacKenzie “Mack” McCallister receives information that changes her future. With the man she loves on the opposite side of the country, Mack isn’t sure she can do it on her own.

Special Agent Andrew Cooper is dealing with the hardest thing he has ever had to face, and in order to do it, he must shelve his feelings for Mack and pray that she will be there when he returns.

As time passes, Mack focuses her attention on the serial killer investigation and forces thoughts of Drew out of her mind. When emotions are running high, Drew returns, and everything in Mack’s world is turned upside down.

It will fall to Drew to figure out the missing pieces of the serial murder investigation, but will he be able to do it before he loses Mack forever?

I was about halfway down the hallway when Mack walked out of the unit door with someone and turned the other way. She was with Chris Carley, and he jerked her arm to a stop and towered over her.

“You’re not going,” he stated firmly.

“Get the hell out of my way, Chris. This has nothing to do with you. That is one of our guys out there that was shot, and I’m going out to the scene.”

“Mack, babe, do we know if the shooter has been caught? I don’t want you out there if he hasn’t.”

I came to a stop ten feet away when I heard him call her babe.

“I don’t care, Chris. I’m going, now get the hell out of my way.”

Chris grabbed her face and held her still, and my heart skipped a beat. “Mack, the doctor told you last week you needed to slow down. Honey, you shouldn’t be going out there. This isn’t good for you.”

Honey? What the hell was I witnessing? And what was wrong with Mack that she needed to be under medical care?

“Chris, I get it,” her voice lowered, “but I have to be out there.”

“You’re not going,” he repeated firmly.

“Listen, Chris, you are not my husband or my boss, so get the hell out of my way.” She tried to sidestep him, but he held her firm.

“Mack, please, stay here. I can’t afford to have you get hurt. Think about this, please.”

He leaned his forehead down on hers as my heart stopped in my chest. What the hell did he just say?

“Chris,” she pulled back and touched his face in an intimate way, “I get it that you’re concerned, but I have to go. It’s my job. If it was one of your guys, nothing would stop you. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Fine, but I’m going with you.” He leaned down and placed a kiss on her lips the moment before Jose rushed out the door and almost knocked into them. He spun around to avoid them and saw me, his jaw dropping in shock.

“Drew! What the hell are you doing here?” Jose called out, and Chris’s eyes flipped up over Mack’s head and slammed into mine. A look of pure shock crossed his face as he took me in. Mack spun away from Chris to face me and that was when the wrecking ball slammed into my chest; all I could see was her very large stomach.

“What the hell?” The words slipped through my suddenly-dry lips.


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Detective Sergeant Mackenzie McAllister leads a team of police investigators. When the new kid, Drew Bradley, joins the squad Mack is bound by duty to show him the ropes. The chemistry between them is immediate, but with Mack being twelve years older, she fights becoming entangled with the young sexy detective.

Drew enters the unit, not only to help with the investigation they are conducting, but to find out what is really going on inside the walls of the unit. Working with the intense and strict Sergeant Mack is invigorating, but between the need to protect her and his second shield, he is at a loss and falling hard.

Together they will uncover the evil from within, and try to deny the passions that rage between them. Who in her unit is trying to keep her from finding out the truth? Who will take a life that will draw them closer? And what are the secrets hidden behind the shield?

NOTE: This book does contain a cliff-hanger.


Stacy Eaton began her writing career in October of 2010 and as each year goes by, she releases more and more novels. Stacy recently took an early retirement from law enforcement after over fifteen years of service, with her last three in investigations and crime scene investigation. Stacy resides in southeastern Pennsylvania with her husband, who works in law enforcement, and her teen daughter who is working toward her second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do and on the choral and cheerleading squads at school. She also has a son who is currently serving in the United States Navy. Stacy is very involved in Domestic Violence Awareness and served on the Board of Directors for her local Domestic Violence Center for three years. She continues to volunteer with them when she has time.


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Remembrance of Blue Roses By Yorker Keith

Literary FictionDate Published: April 2016


Remembrance of Blue Roses follows a man and a married couple in New York City, whose intricate relationship oscillates among friendship, love, love-triangle, and even obsession. Its romantic ambience is interwoven with classical music, opera, art, family legend, and international affairs, illuminating the lives of international civil servants at the United Nations and the UN peacekeeping mission in Sarajevo, and those with direct experience of the Israel-Palestinian conflict and the Holocaust.Mark, the narrator and an American, works for the United Nations in New York as a personnel officer; his friend, Hans, German, also works for the UN as an economist; and Yukari, Japanese and Hans’s wife, is a professional violinist. One day Mark encounters Hans and Yukari in a museum. As Hans enjoys opera singing and Mark is into painting, the three foster their friendship through classical music, opera, and art. Mark resists feeling drawn to his friend’s wife. One evening over dinner, they discover that their families were acquainted generations ago. This bonds them together. During the summer, inspired by the beauty of Yukari in her light blue dress at the UN garden, Hans and Mark secretly plant blue roses there for Yukari. The blue roses later blossom sumptuously. The three enjoy their blue roses, the symbol of their friendship and bond.The story becomes complicated by the involvement of two other women: Mark’s ex-wife, Francine, a Swiss, who is remarried to another of Mark’s friends in the UN, Shem Tov, an Israeli; and Mark’s high school sweetheart, Jane, to whom he was briefly engaged. Francine encourages Mark to be happy with Yukari, while Jane now wants to marry Mark. Yukari becomes pregnant with Hans’s child and happily settles into her role as expectant mother. Mark, Hans, and Yukari celebrate New Year’s Eve at the height of their friendship and happiness. … Then a series of tragedies shatters their joy and alters their future forever.... Then a series of tragedies shatters their joy and alters their future forever.Praise for Remembrance of Blue Roses:"A skillful tale that explores relationship nuances and redemption." -- Kirkus Reviews"Yorker Keith’s Remembrance of Blue Roses is a slow-burning, passionate literary novel that speaks to the romantic in all of us. ... A precisely-written, well-crafted literary work that illuminates the many facets of love, obsession and, ultimately, redemption." -- Chanticleer Book Reviews"A deftly crafted, multi-layered, compelling read from beginning to end, Remembrance of Blue Roses establishes novelist Yorker Keith as an extraordinarily gifted storyteller." -- Midwest Book Review"Readers who enjoy a sophisticated and well-written book about the complexity of human relationship will definitely enjoy Remembrance of Blue Roses." -- Readers' Favorite

Excerpt
I have heard a wise man say that love is a form of friendship, and friendship a form of love; the line between the two is misty. I happen to know that this holds true because I have roamed that misty line. Time has passed since then, but I cherish the memory of the blue roses in grace and perpetuity — our blue roses. It all began with a fortuitous encounter.* * *On a fine day in early April 1999, I was sketching in the sculpture court at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I felt hesitant working in such a public space, but this was a homework assignment for the art class I was taking. The object of my sketch was a sculpture of an adorable young woman, a nude, reclining on a moss-covered rock surrounded by an abundance of flowers. The smooth texture of the white marble sensually expressed her lively body, which shone with bright sunlight beneath the glass ceiling of the court. My drawing materials were simple, just a number 2 pencil, an eraser, and a sheet of heavy white drawing paper. The assignment was to capture the skin of a figure in as much detail as possible. I had almost completed sketching the woman’s body and was working on the rock and flowers. I was not doing badly, I thought, for a small crowd of museum visitors had gathered around me, showing approving faces and nods.“Ah, this is excellent!” one man exclaimed.I recognized the voice and turned to see Hans Schmidt, standing amid the crowd wearing a big grin.“What a surprise!” he continued. “I didn’t know you had such an artistic talent, Mark. How are you?” He came forward and firmly shook my hand.I greeted him, then pointed to my drawing. “I’ve been working on this for a while. I wasn’t sure how it would come out. But it’s coming along all right, I guess.”“I don’t know much about drawing, but this looks great.” He gestured enthusiastically to a young woman next to him. “What do you think?”“It’s pretty.” Her voice sounded like a bell.“This is Yukari, my wife.” He guided her toward me, his hand lingering at the small of her back.I swallowed. I knew Hans was married, but this was my first time to meet his wife. Hans’s wife is Japanese? How lovely she is. Hans, you devil, you’re a lucky man!  “Pleased to meet you.” I gently shook her small refined hand. “I’m Mark Sanders. Hans and I are good friends.”Hans’s wife appeared to be in her late thirties, or late twenties? I could hardly tell, because Japanese women often looked much younger than their age. She was willowy, of medium height, with a fine complexion, dark eyes, straight nose, and shiny dark brown hair that hung to her shoulders. For a Japanese woman, she had a touch of a Western woman’s body, the round breasts and a curvy waist. Despite her conservative dress, she reminded me of the nude I was sketching — though I quickly banished the thought.She gazed directly into my eyes with keen curiosity. “Do you come here often to sketch? It’s really nice.”“Well, yes,” I answered, “I visit this museum often. But to sketch? No, this is the first time. You know what? It’s so embarrassing.”I dabbed some sweat from my forehead. We three burst out laughing.“Hans, I’m almost done. Can you come back in ten minutes or so?” I said. “Then we could go to the terrace for a cup of coffee.”“Sounds terrific,” said Hans. “We’ll be walking around the sculpture court. When you’re done, just join us.”Hans took Yukari’s arm and started moving leisurely toward other sculptures. She smiled at me and went along with him. Hans tried to hold her closely at her waist, but she discretely slipped away. I didn’t understand what it meant. I presumed that as a Japanese woman she was timid to show open affection.I hastily added finishing touches to the figure, rock, and flowers. Since the figure had been almost completed, the rest went quickly and easily — or so I felt after having seen Hans and Yukari.* * *            I had known Hans for some time because both he and I worked at the United Nations New York Headquarters as international civil servants. He was German, aged forty-two, tall and slim, with blond hair, high forehead, and grey eyes. He had a Ph.D. in economics from the University of California at Berkeley, and worked as an Economic Affairs Officer in the Department of Economic and Social Affairs of the Secretariat, which was the administrative body of the UN. His job there was to maintain and operate a global econometric modeling system, called EGlobe.            We had originally met in a French language class. Being at the UN, we were required to be proficient in at least two of its six official languages: Arabic, Chinese, English, French, Russian, and Spanish. In my case, I added French to my native English. My French was hardly adequate, though, so I was working my way through the seven-level French program.            In level six I met Hans, who had just started the program from that level. We ate lunch often together in the cafeteria and practiced our French. His grasp of the language was much better than mine. Also, since he used computers heavily for his work, and since I had a good friend, Shem Tov Lancry, an Israeli, in the Information Technology Services Division of the Department of Management, I introduced them, so Hans was able to receive technical advice from Shem Tov.             I packed up my drawing materials, and we three went to the balcony above the Great Hall of the museum, where drinks and desserts were served while musicians played chamber music. We each ordered a glass of red wine.


About the Author
Yorker Keith lives in Manhattan, New York City. He loves literature, theatre, classical music, opera, and art. He holds an MFA in creative writing from The New School. His literary works have been recognized four times in the William Faulkner - William Wisdom Creative Writing Competition as a finalist or a semifinalist.
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Live Wire by Amber Lynn Natusch

Sapphira is a ticking time bomb.
Two years ago, she lost control of the unstable energies within her and caused a horrific supernatural incident. Since then, she and her family have lived in constant fear of another—and her freedom seems only a distant memory.In Huskers Grove, Iowa, a darkness looms. A great and faceless evil. An evil that wants Sapphira. Can she master her abilities to save the ones she loves or will she fall victim to the enemy that seeks to take what is rightfully hers? About the BookLive Wireby Amber Lynn Natusch
SeriesBlue-Eyed Bomb #1 (Caged Series Spin Off)
GenreAdultUrban FantasyParanormal Romance
PublisherIndependent
Publication DateAugust 30, 2016
   About the SeriesLive Wire is the first installment in the Blue-Eyed Bomb series, a new spin off in the Caged universe.The Caged Series - First Book is FREE!                         The Unborn Series - Available on Kindle Unlimited!   
About the AuthorAmber Lynn Natusch is the author of the bestselling Caged, as well as the Light and Shadow series with Shannon Morton. She was born and raised in Winnipeg, and speaks sarcasm fluently because of her Canadian roots. She loves to dance and sing in her kitchen—much to the detriment of those near her—but spends most of her time running a practice with her husband, raising two small children, and attempting to write when she can lock herself in the bathroom for ten minutes of peace and quiet. She has many hidden talents, most of which should not be mentioned but include putting her foot in her mouth, acting inappropriately when nervous, swearing like a sailor when provoked, and not listening when she should. She’s obsessed with home renovation shows, should never be caffeinated, and loves snow. Amber has a deep-seated fear of clowns and deep water…especially clowns swimming in deep water.
To learn more about Amber and her books, visit www.amberlynnnatusch.com.Author Links         This promotion is brought to you by Pure Textuality PR.