Twinkle (Sugandha) Varshney's Blog, page 6

Hell is the Tie That Binds

Paranormal Romance/EroticaDate Published: October 5, 2018
All is not well in paradise...
Zoey cannot forgive Pack Alpha Ryan for a wrong that hits too close to home. They’ve kept secrets from one another, but it hasn’t kept Zoey from wanting Ryan with the same intensity as day one. The question is, does Ryan still want her?
Ryan will keep his Pack safe above all else. He accepted the position of Alpha, and will now play his part. Even if keeping them safe means he has to get blood on his hands.
In a story of love and revenge, can two flames come together in a time of crisis and lead a Pack and a Coven to victory or will they burn so hot, they destroy everything they have created?






 Excerpt
(Excerpt from an unedited ARC)


Lifting the lid of the washer, Zoey just about gagged. Ryan had thrown his socks into the washer and closed the lid. She let the top slam close. “Ryan Taylor get your hairy ass in here!” She shouted not bothering to even temper her anger. The man had stepped on her last nerve.
“I cannot believe he would leave his stinky as shit socks, with the lid closed for me—”
Zoey had lifted the lid again. This time she breathed through her mouth to avoid the stench, and started to prepare the load for the wash cycle. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ryan leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his wide chest, biceps bulging. Everything about him screamed of the pleasures she denied herself. She may have been able to speak to him nicely if he had spoken. She may have been able to control herself if he had offered to help. She may not have added magik to the socks she drew out of the washer, balled up and tossed at Ryan if...if he had not grinned at her and snorted.
“Wash your own damn socks, wolf. I am not your maid. I am your wife and I have important matters to deal with such as how to keep the Council at bay, fight an evil witch and kill an immortal son of a bitch. Oh yeah, not one but two immortals thanks to you and your band of merry men, fuck you very much.” Yes, I would like to have you fuck me very much.
Zoey stepped to the side and ushered Ryan towards the washer. “What? Is this task beneath the high and mighty Ryan Alpha Wolf Taylor?”
Without a word Ryan walked to the washer, added more white clothes to his socks, the detergent and softener all while keeping the smile on his face. Zoey took a quick step back when the washer started but found herself boxed in between her hot husband and the dryer. Her mouth went dry and her pulse jumped to fight or flight speeds at his nearness. While her body wanted him to lift her up onto the machine and strip her down, her mind still ruled. Nipples reaching for his attention, they both knew she was wet and ready. Her scent would give her away. It was all she could do not to wrap her legs around his waist. Where was her B.O.B. when she needed it? Oh yeah, Ryan made her throw them all out saying he was all she was ever going to need. Well she needed something long, thick and very hard now and he wasn’t available. Zoey turned her head to the side, her hand pressed against Ryan’s unmoving pecs as his nose grazed her neck coming up within a hair's breadth from her lips.
“It’ll all be April fresh in thirty, Darlin’, be back then. Time enough to save the world?”
A growl filled the laundry room, but it wasn’t from the wolf. Zoey growled at the retreating back of the big bad wolf when he tugged a lock of her hair and winked at her all with that damnable smile on his face.
“I am going to kick your ass, Ryan, and save the world in thirty minutes,” she retorted before heading outside to pace. She had plans to make and put into place besides worrying about whether or not the wolf would ever truly apologize.




About the Authors
Hope Daniels:International Best Selling Author Hope Daniels grew up in a small resort area in Michigan where she and her husband still live today. As the third child of four, she had an exhaustive imagination. From straddling the back-porch railing as a wild cowgirl, to saving the world as Wonder Woman complete with homemade bullet stopping bracelets. She was always taking what she read and making it as real as she could, now if she could just find the wolf shifter of her dreams…
Daniels loves to write in multiple genre which includes her short in the Amazon Bestselling Anthology Black Magic (A Women of Urban Fantasy Production), a Contemporary and YA short in the LDLInk Anthologies and a MM Gay Romance in the Encompass Ink’s All You Need Is Love Anthology, titled Always and Forever. She is also the co-author to the Magical Forces series books with Author Alicia Dawn.
Alicia Dawn:Your average 9-5 workalcoholic that took care of every day business. After 10 long years of having no life, outside of home and work, she found Facebook as so many others had. Always having the passion, since she was in the fourth grade, to read and write, she got drawn into the Role Playing world. Living, via roleplay, a place where stories picked up and continued on even after the book was done. This was a whole new world.Loving that the stories, she had devoured and loved to read were now never ending. She became captivated by all the tales that others with the same passion created, and Role Played out on Facebook. Getting drawn into something that she had never done before, but always in back of her mind wished she could do, Alicia started Role Playing on Facebook in 2010, meeting Nikita Jakz along the way, and many other fascinating people.After a year, she decided to be an adventurist and create her own characters. Not unlike what all authors do, when creating those awesome books that she had coveted and devoured when they came out. Joining a group of independent writers. A lot of voices were yearning to be wrote and she got busy working on letting them out!With four books self-published in paranormal and one in young adult, she is working on a new paranormal series with writing partner Hope Daniels.

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La Lividum

The Apothecary Chronicles, Book 1Dark Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, LGBTDate Published: September 15, 2018Publisher: Grace Elizabeth's Creations


It’s been over 400 years since humanity has had to face the fact that the creatures from myths and legends from all over the world are real. Fast forward to current day, and the Dark Fey city of Arrana, built upon the ruins of what was once called Berlin, is a thriving metropolis, and home to its greatest Apothecary – Zelena Minasorcha.
Zelena’s life runs as smoothly as a well-oiled machine, that is until she meets the gorgeous Fey woman, Cyrene. Captivated by her strange aura and otherworldly beauty, Zelena finds herself entangled in Cyrene’s mission to find an ancient artifact. A treasure which has the deadly potential to wipe out Zelena’s entire family.
It’s now a race against time, as Zelena and Cyrene are not the only interested parties, and those others will stop at nothing to take the treasure and use its powers for genocide.
Can Zelena protect her family, and still keep the woman she loves?


About the Author


Merciella Heartstorm is an Australian author of speculative fiction featuring LGBTQIA+ characters with real stories that focus on more than just the romance! She lives in Western Australia with her beautiful wifey who’s also her submissive. She has two incorrigible furbaby cavvies and a transgender chicken. That’s a story for later though!She identifies as asexual, panromantic, and proudly feminist. In her perfect world, everyone would be free to be themselves, and all would be treated with equal respect. Humanity may not live in it yet, but everyone has a say in what the world becomes. Everyone does what they can, and together we all move that little bit closer.When she’s not busy weaving rich tales of fantasy and science fiction, she’s finding some other way to create things of beauty whether drawings, sculptures, or fairy gardens! She is an active member of her kink community and can be seen at the occasional Nefarious event. When not creating, she’s having some downtime dominating submissive men who get a thrill being under her heel. With mutual consent, naturally!Her dream is to be a full-time writer and creator of her arts so she can bring a little fantasy to the world, and most especially, to those who need it.If you love her books, share them far and wide, so she can continue writing them full time!



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COME TO ME by Sierra Cartwright

 When Nate Davidson learns there’s a bounty on Wolf Stone’s head, he shoves aside the hurt and bitterness of the past and volunteers to serve on his protective detail. Trouble is, their well-respected commander doesn’t want any help. Their first angry kiss reignites a passion that time has not diminished, and the stunning addition of the beautifully submissive Kayla Fagan to their relationship changes their dynamic in sexy ways they never could have imagined. But as a hitman closes in, Kayla and Nate want more from Wolf. They want him to share his deepest secrets…and his love. Wolf’s wounds run deep, and love is the one thing he’s incapable of offering.

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USA Today Best-Selling Author, Winner of the 2015 Best BDSM Book of the year (Bind), 2015 Reader’s Choice Best Erotic Romance (Bind), 2015 Golden Flogger (Crave), 2014 LASR Book of the Year award (In The Den), 2013 Best BDSM Book of the Year award (Over The Line), Golden Flogger Award 2015 nominee for her books Command, Bind, and Brand.Sierra was born in Manchester, England where she spent her early years traipsing through castles. After living in Denver for a number of years, the internationally acclaimed author now resides in Galveston, Texas. She loves the way history blends with Southern manners (being called “sugar” is an experience unto itself).She invites you to join her on a sensual journey where the limits are explored and expanded. Website I Facebook I Pinterest I Twitter

Silent All These Years

Mystery / SuspenseDate Published: September 13, 2018 A broken daughter’s search for the truth unwinds a spiraling journey of panic, lust, and murder in this manipulative thriller from debut author T. A. Massa. Melanie Stewart has just been left ten million dollars by a man she never knew. Should she accept the money? What if it means her mother, Marilyn, who died when she was only three years old, was murdered by the man who left it to her?Melanie is trapped with crippling anxiety after the loss of her mother at a young age and the fatal stabbing of her fiancé on the night of their engagement.
When she discovers she has been written into the will of Roger Andrews, a name linked to the mysterious death of her mother, Melanie must trudge down a path of buried memories, reliving painful heartache, all while attempting to restart her life and trust a new admirer, Jake Andrews, Roger’s grandson.

Told from the alternating perspectives of Melanie’s investigation and Marilyn’s last weeks leading up to her death, the clues unravel one by one, leaving you guessing until the final climax. Who should Melanie trust? What happened to Marilyn all those years ago?

SILENT ALL THESE YEARS: A Novel is a Standalone Fiction Mystery Suspense Novel.


 


EXCERPT

 Monday morning arrives with its habitual plans for obligatory adulting, snickering with sadism as all the humans bow to its alarm. Wake up and perform. Wake up and face me. Wake up and be someone. After a tear-filled drive home to Austin Saturday night, my body and mind crashed—hard. I spent all of Sunday under my sheets trying to sort out the events of my life-changing weekend. It was painful, and the worst part? Jake Andrews. The inheritance is strange, both alarming and frightening, but that part I believe I can handle. I’ll just decline the money and lock it back in the past. But not Jake. No, he messed with my head and with my heart. How was he able to insult me, seduce me, and make me feel alive again all in one night? And he says he remembers me. He remembers my past…a past I’ve forgotten. Does he have clues? Clues that I need? As I blow-dry my hair for work, the Xanax calming my nerves, I’m haunted by my aunt’s warning to stay away from the Andrews family. But why? All Marilyn did was work for them. She didn’t date any of them. No one seduced her or took advantage of her. There was no screwing Jake Andrews like I did. I’m mortified.And Nathan… Oh Nathan! I grab the picture of the two of us on my bathroom vanity and squeeze it to my chest. Grief grabs hold of me, punching me in the stomach, and I want to throw up. What have I done? I forgot him. Friday night, I was so lost in Jake that I forgot my soul mate. I’ve betrayed him, betrayed our perfect love. Familiar wetness drips down my cheeks. I’m torn in half. As much as I want to forget that horribly sexy asshole of a man, his touch is etched everywhere on my body. He’s surrounding me, pinning me against the wall, holding me against his body, freeing me but suffocating me at the same time.  I throw down Nathan’s picture and give up on my hair. “Forget it!”


About the Author
  Tiffani lives near Austin, TX with her husband, three kids, three dogs, and all her cats. She spends her days helping her husband with his company, running her kids around town, caring for the house, and trying to figure out what to make for dinner.She is a lover of all stories.She enjoys reading, writing, blogging, and going to the movies (especially on opening day!). Her background is in marketing and entrepreneurship and she is addicted to learning new things.She manages a Lifestyle Blog at Pages & Lace covering books, movies, design, style trends, and her favorite products. Check it out today!Her debut novel, Silent All These Years: A Novel, releases September 13, 2018. She has started her second novel with hopes of publishing in the Fall of 2019.Contact LinksWebsite
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Saved By Luke

Western RomanceDate Published: September 12, 2018

When Hannah Daley left her family’s ranch, she had dreams of happily ever after with her rodeo star prince. Fast forward ten years and she finds herself trudging along a snowy deserted road trying to make it back home.  Broken, tired and a little embarrassed she had let a spring snow storm get the better of her she was relieved to finally see a pair of headlights approaching her. If only she could convince the driver to give her a ride to the ranch and manage not to get killed by a mass murderer.
Luke Blackstone had been sent on a mission to retrieve the prodigal daughter of Colt and Mary Daley. Her flight had landed in Cheyenne hours previously and there had been no sight of her. All they knew was she had rented a car at the airport with cash.  When he saw the shadowy figure hunkered down in a thin hooded jacket, he figured it would the impertinent and impetuous rancher’s daughter.  Head strong and never thinking about much of anything but herself, she wouldn’t have even considered her parents’ worry knowing she was out in this mess.
Hannah and Luke had always butted heads and tossed barbs at each other. It was no different when she found herself working for her father’s new foreman. He was a pompous jerk and she wasn’t about to let him chase her off now that she was back home.  Besides, she had nowhere else that was safe for her to go until her divorce was final and she was free from the prince turned pig.
Luke knew that Hannah had a propensity for getting herself in trouble and he was going to do everything he could to keep her safe. Even though he’d like to turn her over his knee and give her the spanking of a lifetime to teach her a lesson. But he was a gentleman, and for some reason saving Hannah was something he didn’t mind doing.

About the Author

Teresa Keefer is an indie romance author who has been reading since she was 4-years old. Teresa also writes erotica under Autumn Drake and will be releasing her first political thriller in early 2019 under the name of Ann Nevada.
Teresa holds an MBA in Human Resources and has been in the human resource profession for over 25 years. A woman with many interests, she balances out her life by gardening, cooking and studying spiritualism.


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River of Shame

MysteryPublished: Presale, August 1 / Release Date: September 12Publisher: Tirgearr Pubishing Company

Something evil has taken root in Ashland, Oregon. And with it, an uneasy feeling sweeps down on Detective Winston Radhauser. If someone doesn’t intervene, that evil will continue to multiply until the unthinkable happens.
While on vacation with his wife and their newborn son, Detective Radhauser receives a call from Captain Murphy--a high school kid has been branded with a homophobic slur and is hospitalized in Ashland, a small town known for, and proud of, its diversity. And this is only the beginning. White supremacy, homophobia and racism are one thing. But murder is something else.
Radhauser will do whatever it takes to find the perpetrators and restore his town’s sense of safety. With such hostile opposition, can he succeed and will justice be done?


About the Author

Susan Clayton-Goldner was born in New Castle, Delaware and grew up with four brothers along the banks of the Delaware River. She has been writing poems and short stories since she could hold a pencil and was so in love with writing that she became a creative writing major in college.
Prior to an early retirement which enabled her to write full time, Susan worked as the Director of Corporate Relations for University Medical Center in Tucson, Arizona. It was there she met her husband, Andreas, one of the deans in the University of Arizona's Medical School. About five years after their marriage, they left Tucson to pursue their dreams in 1991--purchasing a 35-acres horse ranch in the Williams Valley in Oregon. They spent a decade there. Andy rode, trained and bred Arabian horses and coached a high school equestrian team, while Susan got serious about her writing career.
Through the writing process, Susan has learned that she must be obsessed with the reinvention of self, of finding a way back to something lost, and the process of forgiveness and redemption. These are the recurrent themes in her work.
After spending 3 years in Nashville, Susan and Andy now share a quiet life in Grants Pass, Oregon, with her growing list of fictional characters, and more books than one person could count. When she isn't writing, Susan enjoys making quilts and stained-glass windows. She says it is a lot like writing--telling stories with fabric and glass.

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Stop Being Invisible

Non-Fiction / Speaking & Communication / High Functioning AutismDate Published: September 12, 2018



Stop Being Invisible - Overcoming Communication Barriers comes to us from Dr. William Lane, global educational consultant.  He has spent over 35 years providing educational services, first working in public education as an elementary, middle and high school teacher and school administrator; and then later as a university professor and department chair of special education programs.  He has dedicated his life’s work to educating students and improving their opportunities for success in life.  Having experienced firsthand the pain of missed opportunities that were a direct result of his limited ability to communicate effectively from childhood until well into adulthood, his passion about this subject shines through as he very effectively communicates in this book how to improve not only the quality of your communications with others, but also your resulting experiences in life.
His “WHY” to answering his calling to not only work on changing his own communication challenges, but to focus his work on improving the struggles of others, occurred one day when during a conversation, it was brought to his attention that people often jokingly referred to him as a “weatherman.”  Thinking it odd, he questioned what was meant by that name. He was told that people avoided talking to him because usually, the only time he contributed to a conversation was when he asked about how the weather was.  He realized that he was choosing to participate in conversations by becoming a “non-participant.”  Whether in the role of boyfriend, husband, dad, brother, uncle, cousin, friend, coach or any of the many other roles in life he had assumed, few people had been able to understand his non-communicative style.
The response was not kind, but it did become a major wake-up call.  This powerful and descriptive one-sided revelation of how others felt about having him as part of their conversations made him realize that it was time for drastic changes.  He is no longer called “the weatherman,” and has gone on to guide many others with communication barriers to adopt effective communication skills resulting in the deeper connections that come from great conversations.




Excerpt
Chapter 1: WHAT IS COMMUNICATION?
“Communication—the human connection—is the key to personal and career success.”
—Paul J. Meyer
Communication is the transferring of information from the speaker (message sender) to the listener (message receiver). The word “communication” is derived from the Latin word “communis,” meaning to share. (A special thank you, Mrs. Levitt! Students who were fortunate enough to have Mrs. Levitt as an English teacher, know exactly what I mean.) Communication is a two-way process that involves at least one sender in a manner that allows for message delivery that is clear and successful, and by at least one listener who receives and understands.
Of the two parts of the communication process (sending and receiving), the sending of the message was never the difficult part for me because I rarely cared to send any messages. Instead, I expected others to send the message to which I would choose to respond or ignore. A vast majority, in fact, ALL of the messages that were sent, I chose to ignore.
The  
receiving and understanding of the message being sent was the difficult part of the process for me. Whether I was choosing not to want to receive the message (“Why do I care about what you are saying/What is its significance to me?”, or sarcastically thinking “That is REALLY nice”…or being able to understand the message being sent (“What are you talking about?”) all were contributing factors to mine and others opinions that I possessed a “failure to communicate”.
This failure to respond appropriately was probably rooted in my low self-esteem (as previously referenced). My thought process was, why would anybody be interested in anything I would have to say? Or, thinking that the answers provided by others would be better than mine so why should I bother them with my response? It’s just a thought on my part as to a reason you may have chosen to ignore communications.
As I reflect back on this past problem, it seems like the reason for the failure of this successful transferring of information occurred because one or more of the participants was not stating the purpose of their communication to me. In other words, “why was this communication occurring”?
For me, had the speaker explained the purpose of the communication, or at least alluded to its purpose, this may have provided me a reason to listen. In the same way, a memo includes a subject or RE: line that identifies the topic or intention of the memo. Had the message sender started the conversation with statements similar to those stated in the example below, they would have been providing me with a purpose of tuning into or participating in the conversation.
For me, the use of these “attention-getting statements,” introducing the topic, if you will, would have brought new meaning, an alert so to speak, for my needing to more carefully focus my attention to the message being sent. Instead, my feeling of having no rationale to care about a conversation supported my thoughts that I could just opt out of any and all communications.
On many occasions, I was too distracted by the myriad of other activities going on to focus on what one particular person was saying. These distractions included the conversation of other people nearby, the music on the radio, etc. When I finally did realize that I was being included in a conversation that was occurring and that I should be tuned into, I had no clue what was being discussed and, therefore, had no interest and could not see how the conversation required my participation. Entering into the middle of conversations about which I had no idea of the topic was something I chose not to do.
Making “attention-getting statements” to gain their students’ attention is a common practice for many educators. Here are just a few samples of the many that can be used: “One, two, three, eyes on me” “Hocus Pocus-Everyone Focus,” “Who is ready to rock and roll?”
For me, I found it most beneficial when people would start their conversation with statements similar to these:
“I want to share this (funny, interesting, serious, etc.) story with you”
“What I am going to tell you is important!”
“It is necessary that you understand what we are going to be talking about because….”
“You need to listen carefully to this next…”
“Here is why you need to listen to what I am saying…”
“I want to know what your thoughts are…”

OR, if someone noticed that I was not paying attention to a conversation and made an attempt to draw my attention back to the topic of the conversation and also provide a quick recap of the conversation like; “Bill, our conversation is about Japan and we were wondering if you would share some of your experiences since you were over there for four years.” Statements like these would have made it easier for me to see the rationale for my participation, help me participate in a “partially missed” conversation, or resume an active listening role in the communication process.
About the Author


Throughout Dr. Lane’s thirty-five-year educational career, his passion has always been providing information, practice, and support to individuals with special needs.
He believes that everyone, in their own way, can become a contributing and productive member of society and that effective communication is the most important of all life skills.   Improved communication skills improve the quality of life for all, not just individuals with special needs.
Dr. Lane is a proficient, dynamic, and sought after public speaker and speaks to audiences around the world.  His focus is educating individuals, families, and educators on the “awesome power” of effective communication skills.  He inspires his audiences to practice, discuss, and encourage others to improve their communication skills, while demonstrating practical ways to understand, retain and apply the skills he teaches.
Once these skills are understood, retained (through practice and reflection), and utilized, those who apply the life skills that are taught will feel more confident and better able to CONNECT with others in a variety of circumstances and setting


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Saving Phoebe Murrow Resolution

Women’s FictionPublisher: Upper Hand PressDate Published: September 2016

Inspired by the tragic story of Megan Meier, who committed suicide following a cyber-bullying incident, Saving Phoebe Murrow follows DC lawyer Isabel Winthrop as she struggles to balance work and the responsibilities of being a mother and wife. She does everything in her power to keep Phoebe safe but fails when the mysterious Shane appears on Facebook and flirts with her teenage daughter.


This novel, which has won three separate awards (most recently a 2018 National Indie Excellence Award), explores the devastating impact social media can have on teenage girls along with the difficult, yet delicate relationship between mothers and their teenage daughters through five different points-of-view.



Excerpt
Monday, November 10, 2008
At the end of the day, as Isabel stepped through the large glass doors of her law office, a strange thing happened. Outside in the cold, she suddenly felt trapped in a bright cone of light. As if some alien spaceship were training its eye on her.
Uneasily, she gazed into the dark November sky. There was the culprit. A smiling gibbous moon. Or was it smirking, maybe even mocking her? Yes, she thought, that would be more appropriate. Work had become insanely busy, though in its own strange way that kept her mind from dwelling on her recent topsy-turvy personal life.
Which included that awful teen party at Sandy Littleton’s, an event that had ruined the weekend. Phoebe drunk, and when Isabel brought her home, Ron found their daughter’s wobbly walk vaguely amusing. In front of Phoebe, they’d kept a united front. But later, in the bedroom Ron told Isabel she was being too harsh on their daughter.
‘She’s thirteen, Ron.’
‘Almost fourteen,’ he’d said.
She really couldn’t understand Ron’s blasé attitude toward the drinking that Sandy had allowed, encouraged even, nor could she understand Phoebe’s recent obsession with some boy named Shane. They’d met on Facebook, of all places, and he’d promised to show up at the party, then hadn’t. Ron had attributed Phoebe’s drinking to her disappointment over this no-show, as if that made it okay. Not okay, definitely not.
Nor did she like the fact that Phoebe had never actually met this character Shane, that all of her communication with him had been online. Who was he anyway? Again, Ron thought it was no big deal! ‘That’s the way kids communicate these days,’ he’d said.
In the end, Isabel had caved, and Phoebe was only denied use of her computer and phone for a day. Mostly because she feared the possibility of the ninth-grade kids teasing and taunting her as so many classmates had the previous year. Now, she was eager to get home to find out how Phoebe’s school day had gone. She hoped there had been no fallout from the Saturday night fiasco, though of course Phoebe didn’t know what her mother had done. Kids could be incredibly cruel.
Isabel strode hurriedly to the underground garage. The wind, gusting up Pennsylvania Avenue, tossed stray bits of paper into the air, bouncing them about inside tiny swirling tornadoes. She flipped up the collar of her raincoat.
Traffic seemed unusually heavy, though rush-hour congestion in DC was routine, and cars were backed up as far down Pennsylvania as Isabel could see. As she inched along in her BMW, she mused on the few recent signs of behavior that Ron, her husband of sixteen years, had exhibited only once before. It had been two presidential campaigns ago, to be precise, after he’d been on the road for several weeks covering John McCain’s bid for the Republican nomination. In early 2000. At home, Ron had turned sour, testy, distant. She’d attributed his mood to work. He’d wanted to be on George Bush’s campaign trail, in the company of the sudden darling of the Republicans and his attendant court of megawatt reporters. Traipsing after McCain, Ron saw himself as nothing more than second string. She’d tried to soothe him, and he’d come around, at least a little.
But then she discovered the true source of his discontent. One night she picked up the phone to call her mother and stumbled on Ron speaking with a woman in an unmistakably amorous tone. Making plans. Her insides had grown watery. Their relationship suffered a blow. She’d been on the verge of calling it quits. If not for five-year-old Phoebe and their infant son, Jackson, she might have. No, she would have. She wouldn’t suffer another betrayal. She’d made that clear. And Isabel was a woman of her word. Actions had consequences.


When Phoebe entered her Cleveland Park home, an elegant Victorian where she’d lived her entire short life, she could feel the void of human vibration. She hated coming home to an empty house. It depressed her. ‘Hagrid,’ she called out. ‘Where are you, kitty?’ At least their housekeeper, Milly, had left the light on in the foyer.
She’d had a tough day. Shortly before lunch, her once best friend Jessie had hissed accusingly, ‘Your mother called the cops on my parents, do you know that?’ Followed by: ‘Do you get what a b-i-t-c-h she is?’ Phoebe had stared at her mutely. Had her mother done that? It was true on Saturday there’d been drinking at Jessie’s party, but afterward Phoebe had been with her mother and she hadn’t heard her make such a call. It would completely suck if she had. So embarrassing. Not to mention that her relationship with Jessie had been on the precipice of a thaw.
Phoebe switched on all the lights in her path – ‘Hagrid, here kitty, kitty!’ – and stopped in the kitchen. If Milly had been home, she would have offered her some cookies and milk, and they could have had a chat. She loved their housekeeper Milly, her reassuring grandmotherly manner. But it was probably best that she not have cookies. No, cookies were the enemy. Had her mother been home, which she rarely was at this time of day, she’d probably have given her carrots.
Phoebe rummaged through the fridge, found a couple of plastic-wrapped cheese sticks, grabbed those along with a small bottle of carrot juice and trudged up to the third floor, her heavy backpack weighing her down. As she ascended, one thought brightened her mood. At last she’d be able to talk to Shane. Well, sort of talk. On Facebook.
She’d finally be able to ask him the question that had plagued her since Saturday night. Why hadn’t he shown up at Jessie’s party? He’d promised, and she’d waited. And waited. Then, on Sunday, because she’d been caught drinking, she was denied use of her computer, her phone, basically all forms of communication, and she hadn’t been able to contact him.
Now, at last, she’d discover what had happened, and even more importantly she’d remind him of her birthday party, only five days away. She and Skyla were turning fourteen and they’d invited the entire ninth grade, plus Shane, who lived … well, she didn’t know exactly where he lived, but his handsome Facebook visage hovered in her mind. That mischievous dimpled smile that separated him from all the other boys she knew. Even Noah.
In her room, Phoebe flopped onto her bed, burrowing her back into a mad pile of pillows and favorite stuffed animals; she flipped on her computer, then logged on to Facebook. It had taken some doing, but her mother had finally agreed to let her invite Shane even though he went to Walter J High, a public school about twenty minutes away in Bethesda, and was only a Facebook friend. Phoebe knew she’d mostly agreed because there, at the party, her mother could meet him in person and oversee their encounter.
Still, excitement and relief descended on her at the thought that, finally, she’d meet the real live sophomore boy who’d picked her and friended her. Who said he really liked her and was ‘dying to hook up’ with her. Whom she’d set her sights on after several weeks of private chats on Facebook. He was the single bright spot in an otherwise bleak Monday.
Her eyes darted to her private messages on the lower right-hand side of her Facebook page. Five awaited her. And, yes!, one from Shane.
 Eyes affixed to the screen, she read, I don’t want to see you. Ever. Her hopeful smile faded into a frown. Ever?
Phoebe read the message a second and third time. What was Shane talking about? Her stomach dipped. She checked for the little green dot that indicated he was available to chat, but it wasn’t lit. She stared at his name in the right-hand column of her Home page and prayed he would log on. Her mouth felt dry. I don’t want to see you. Ever. ‘Ever?’ Why was he saying that? What had she done? And her birthday party only a few days away.
Phoebe’s glance zigzagged across the room, her attic hideaway, landing first on her childhood saddle and riding gear, then on her Victorian dollhouse with the hidden box cutter, and, finally, on the wall to her right, where the lime green and purple bulletin board hung chock full of photos and memories. She’d pinned Shane’s Facebook photo in the middle of all the other memorabilia. He had gorgeous wavy hair and green eyes that blazed with self-confidence.
The green dot popped on next to his name. Her fingers typed as fast as they could: Why are you saying that? You’re joking, right?
She held her breath.
Not joking.
            A tiny gasp escaped her lips. Shane, what are you talking about? Again, she waited.
            Your mother called the police on Jessie’s parents … you tattled about the booze at the party. And then the Littletons were arrested.
            I did not tattle, she thought briefly, but that was replaced by the bitter realization that Jessie may have been right: her mother had called the police. Had she? Panicked, Phoebe wrote: I didn’t say anything to my mom, I swear.
So why’d she go inside the Littletons?
I don’t know, I guess she was looking for me.
            That’s so lame.
            Her thoughts swirled as she wrote. You weren’t even at the party, so how do you know all that stuff?
            No response. She waited, barely breathing, then his reply appeared. Don’t you worry how. I just do.
            She was hardly paying attention to these strange words; she could only think how much she wanted to see him, talk to him, get him to kiss her, to understand this was all a terrible mistake. What should she say? Finally, she wrote: Why didn’t you come to Jessie’s? You promised.
I didn’t because I heard you’ve been messing around with Dylan.
            What? Who told you that?
Instead of private messages, his response now appeared on her Facebook Wall, where everyone could see what he was saying: I don’t tell on my friends.
            She wrote back a private message: It has to be Jessie, but if it is, she’s lying.
            Again he posted his message on her Wall: You’re calling Jessie a liar?
            And now, to defend herself, Phoebe switched to making her responses public too:  No, I meant if she said that about me, she’s not telling the truth. Why don’t you believe me?
Again, several moments passed before an answer appeared: I don’t trust you. I heard you said Jessie was fat and no boy wants her, especially Dylan. That’s bitchy. Nobody likes bitchy girls.
            Tears sprang to Phoebe’s eyes. Why was he making things up? That’s not true, she wrote. I never said that!! Please let’s talk. On the phone? In the four weeks they’d been communicating, she’d never heard his voice. All their exchanges had happened right here, on Facebook. He’d suggested that hearing the sound of one another’s voices would be a wonderful surprise when they finally met. And to save it for that special day.
            But then this from Shane: I get it, your mom hates Mrs. Littleton, so you hate Jessie.
            She stared at the words. That’s sooo not true. I swear, she wrote. Though in fact she knew her mother didn’t care for Jessie, and probably not Mrs. Littleton either. This was happening because of her mother. All because of her mother. She glanced at the dollhouse. Through the blur of tears, she saw Shane’s green dot disappear.
Her gaze fixed on his name. If only she had his cell number. She began rubbing her arms, her fingers absently running over scars and recently healed wounds. ‘No, no,’ she muttered softly. She typed a private message: Shane, please believe me. I didn’t say anything. Whoever told you I did was lying.
            She waited for him to respond, her breath catching. Her eyes flicked to the box cutter’s hiding place and lingered there for several moments before returning to Shane’s photo. He was the cutest boy who’d ever friended her, and a year and a half older than she. His dimpled smile grinned at her from the bulletin board. He looked amazingly like the guy in Twilight, though without the ghostly pallor. Why didn’t he believe her? Why would he believe Jessie? Had someone else said something? Yet, who could that be? Skyla? How could things get so messed up? Phoebe saw her dream of Shane as her boyfriend slip away.
Why had her mother called the police on Saturday night? This was all her fault. About to retrieve the blade from the dollhouse, she snatched her cell phone instead and angrily tapped her mother’s number.


Isabel’s iPhone released its symphonic chime. Without taking her eyes off the road, she grabbed the phone. ‘Hello?’
            A frantic voice shouted into her ear: ‘Mawm, you’ve ruined everything! You called the police on the Littletons! How could you? Now Shane thinks I lied and he won’t see me. Ever!’
            Phoebe’s attack caught her by surprise. ‘Calm down. What are you talking about?’ Isabel said, although her daughter was right. She had called the police. She’d felt duty-bound. Irresponsible parents feeding young teens alcohol! But how had this ridiculous Shane found out?
Phoebe’s response came in the form of loud panicked sobs.
‘Phoebe? Sweetheart, talk to me.’ Isabel kept her voice even despite the sudden onslaught of guilt. ‘Exactly what did he say?’
            Between sniffles, she managed, ‘That he couldn’t trust me because obviously I must have told you about the drinking. And you know that’s not true! And then he claimed that I said Jessie’s fat and no boy would ever like her.’
            ‘Did you? No, I mean—’ Isabel cast around for the appropriate thing to say.  ‘Phoebe, darling, are you there? I know you wouldn’t say that. Where did he get such an idea?’
            ‘Mom, what difference does it make? I like him and now he says he won’t see me! Not at my birthday party! Not ever!’
            Isabel recognized the panic in Phoebe’s voice. For the past year, she’d been flying into emotional overdrive at the drop of a hat, but she was also sensitive, overly sensitive. For an instant, Isabel saw the wounds on her daughter’s arms, self-inflicted cuts that made her want to cry. The whole thing actually did sound like a mess. But how had it happened? This guy was only a Facebook friend. ‘Honey, I’ll be home in ten minutes. I’ll make you some hot chocolate and we’ll sort this out. Okay?’ She knew it might take her as long as half an hour, but she’d get there and calm her daughter down.
Why wasn’t Ron home yet, she suddenly wondered. He’d be there shortly, she reassured herself, unless some assignment had delayed him. She’d call him.
            ‘This is horrible,’ Phoebe moaned.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ Isabel said soothingly. ‘Just get off Facebook, okay?’
Once home, she’d explain the truth to Phoebe. She would explain how sometimes you have to make difficult choices, stand up for your beliefs, and that you can’t worry about what other people think. Is that what she’d tell her? And then there was this mysterious Shane character; she’d been wary about him, apparently for good reason. Who was he to treat her daughter this way? Maybe now, for once, Ron would listen to her. That’s when she remembered he hadn’t called her all day.
She waited for Phoebe to say something, but there was silence on the other end. ‘Phoebe, honey, talk to me.’ She had to keep her on the phone. Then she heard her weeping miserably. ‘Phoebe, sweetheart, I’m sure he’ll see you. It’s just a misunderstanding.’ The sounds of distress suddenly grew distant then stopped.
            ‘Phoebe?’
            She glanced at the phone and saw that Phoebe had disconnected the call.                 
The latticework of cuts on the inside of Phoebe’s pale arm, and many more on her thigh, swirled into Isabel’s mind as she finally reached 22nd Street and sped north, aiming for the entrance to Rock Creek Parkway near Dupont Circle. She had to get home, but traffic in the nation’s capital – oh hell, the light was turning red. She stepped on the gas.
Seconds later, a siren wailed behind her.
The furious lights of a police car blinked in Isabel’s rearview mirror. ‘Oh, God, not now.’ She looked for a place to stop on the one-way street, hoping the siren was intended for someone else.
But the vehicle stopped behind her. ‘Damn it,’ Isabel moaned. In her side mirror, she watched the policeman’s eyes sweep the length of her new convertible BMW, probably making a judgment about her. He sauntered up to the window in that idiotic, languid way some cops have of showing off their authority. If ever she needed to exhibit self-control, now was that time.
            She rolled down the window, drew on her lawyerly restraint and explained to the man an abbreviated version of what had just transpired on the telephone with her daughter. Surely he’d understand her need to hurry. Seeing his bemused expression, his complete lack of interest, she went on to describe Phoebe’s high-strung personality, and then against her better judgment and sense of privacy told him of her tendency to cut herself when under extreme emotional distress.
But he just stared at her. ‘You ran a red light, lady,’ he said, ‘I need to see your license and registration.’
            Isabel fished through her purse, finally managing to locate the documents. ‘Please, officer, I’m telling you the truth.’
            He took the items from her, glanced at them, said, ‘Be right back,’ and strolled to his vehicle. She watched him retreat in her mirror. She picked up her cell phone and tried Phoebe again. After five rings Phoebe’s voicemail switched on.
            ‘Hi,’ her sweet young voice said. ‘You know what to do … so do it.’
Isabel felt the same alien anxiety she’d experienced earlier. I have to get home. With one more backward glance at the police car, she cut the lights, put the BMW into gear and eased into traffic. She drove toward the P Street entrance of Rock Creek Parkway, only a couple of blocks away. Never in her entire life had she done anything like this.
As the smiling gibbous moon shone overhead, she kept looking in the rearview mirror, but saw no sign of the police. Her foot pressed harder on the gas, one eye fixed on the odometer. She could kick herself for what she’d done on Saturday night. Calling 911 had been spur of the moment. She always said you shouldn’t act in the heat of anger. Still she’d been right to do it. Damn that Sandy! Now she had to explain it all to Phoebe. She tapped their home number and waited for someone to answer. Despite two more calls to Phoebe, plus one to Ron, no one picked up. Damn it!


Phoebe fought back her tears. She was struggling to make sense of the fact that her mother had called the cops. Now she knew for certain that Jessie and Shane had been right. But Shane had also accused her of having been complicit in Mr. and Mrs. Littleton’s arrest. Why can’t you just admit it, he’d said. And yet there was nothing to admit, she hadn’t told her mother! Worst of all, he was no longer interested in meeting her and he WASN’T coming to her party! She’d NEVER get to know him. She’d never be a ‘10’ in his eyes! And now everyone would HATE her for what her mother had done.
She fetched the box cutter and began marching around the room. What could she say? How could she defend herself? She ran her thumb across the blade’s sharp edge, then returned to her computer on the bed and laid the box cutter beside it. She would announce that she was sorry, very sorry, but she couldn’t be held responsible for her mother.
Before she typed a single word, there in broad daylight, posted on her Facebook Wall, she saw that all sorts of people were slamming her. Messages from girls and boys, some she hardly knew. A couple she didn’t know at all. What a loser. Glad you’re not my ‘friend.’ Several accused her of tattling to her mother about the drinking and called her mother ‘sick’ for calling the police.
Oh, please, not again, Phoebe thought, she couldn’t take another year like the last one. She just couldn’t, and this was definitely worse.
How low! You are such a piece of trash!
The words on the screen became a grating noise in Phoebe’s head. She closed her eyes and covered her ears. This can’t be happening. Make it stop. Please! And where was her friend Emma? She knew she could count on her. But the slights and insults kept coming.
Her hand flew to her mouth when she read: The world would be better off without you. Don’t you know that? She might have expected something this cruel from Skyla or some of the others, but not Shane. No, not Shane.


Isabel maneuvered the car along the curves of Rock Creek Parkway. She pressed harder on the gas pedal, allowing the speedometer to climb well past the speed limit, half an eye on the road, she kept the other on her iPhone. ‘Hell’s bells,’ she said aloud, fumbling with the icons, touching the wrong one, banging ‘end,’ then striking another. Finally, she tapped Ron’s name again and listened to the phone’s endless ring.
‘Damn it,’ she said viciously, ‘answer the fucking phone.’
A feeling of dread lodged itself in Isabel’s gut, and a sense of foreboding and darkness galloped through her mind. One moment it was the certainty that something bad had happened to Phoebe, and in the next the irrevocable fact that only minutes earlier she’d escaped the policeman, who couldn’t be far behind.
She looked into the rearview mirror every few seconds, knowing that when he or another cop caught up to her there’d be hell to pay. How would she talk her way out of this? Could she be disbarred? She only knew that she had to get home and make sure Phoebe hadn’t resorted to anything drastic. Anything, God forbid, irreversible. Then she remembered something she’d read on the Internet about cutting: the worst thing of all about self-injury is that it is strongly connected to later suicide attempts and death by suicide. No, no, no, she told herself. NO!
Concentrating, watching the car lap up the road, she chased the thought from her mind.
Once more, she tried the home number. But no one answered. The gibbous moon continued to stare down at her with its mocking smile.



About the Author

Herta Feely is the author of numerous short stories and memoir published in literary journals and anthologies. She received two fellowships for a novel in progress, the James Jones First Novel Fellowship and an Artist in Literature from the DC Commission on the Arts & Humanities, and an American Independent Writers award for a personal essay.
Now an editor, writing coach and ghostwriter at Chrysalis Editorial, a company she founded, Herta has worked with hundreds of writers helping them to perfect their writing as well as find agents and publishers for their work. She has ghostwritten three memoirs, all of which have been published. On occasion, she also reviews books for the Washington Independent Review of Books.

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Infinite Blue by Natalina Reis

Title: Infinite BlueAuthor: Natalina Reis
Publisher: Hot Tree PublishingGenre: Standalone Gay Shifter RomanceRelease Date: September 8, 2018


Blurb
Winged heart. Wild soul. Eternal Lovers.
When a shifter and a human are bound by fate, neither man knows if their connection will be enough to save not only their growing love, but their lives.

Shahin Halcón has been taught that if and when he meets his soul mate, he’ll know immediately. Always the rebel, he doesn’t believe it until the day he crosses paths with Cai, a full-human.

Plagued by unsuccessful relationships and heartache, Cai Banes’s life is quiet and unexciting. When he meets young and wild Shahin, his life is turned upside down, and he's not sure he likes it.

But neither can deny the powerful pull that draws them together.

Old secrets and ancient myths about cross-species relationships plague their romance and threaten to put their happiness and life at risk. Will their love for each other be strong enough to survive?

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Author Bio

Author of We Will Always Have the Closet, Desert Jewel, and Loved You Always, Natalina wrote her first romance in collaboration with her best friend at the age of 13. Since then she has ventured into other genres, but romance is first and foremost in almost everything she writes.
After earning a degree in tourism and foreign languages, she worked as a tourist guide in her native Portugal for a short time before moving to the United States. She lived in three continents and a few islands, and her knack for languages and linguistics led her to a master’s degree in education. She lives in Virginia where she has taught English as a Second Language to elementary school children for more years than she cares to admit.
Natalina doesn’t believe you can have too many books or too much coffee. Art and dance make her happy and she is pretty sure she could survive on lobster and bananas alone. When she is not writing or stressing over lesson plans, she shares her life with her husband and two adult sons.

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Beast by Lisa Edward

Title: Beast
A Twisted Tale SeriesAuthor: Lisa EdwardGenre: Fairytale/Romance
Cover Design: Robin Harper, Wicked by DesignRelease Date: October 10, 2018


Blurb
Life had always been good to me, and I made sure to keep it that way. My mom had given me the only tool I’d need to succeed—manipulation. Add to that the fact I was beautiful, confident, and rich, and I was on my way to having it all.
My name is Annabelle, and I was the stereotypical head cheerleader, dating the star quarterback. The school was mine, and I couldn’t wait to be crowned prom queen.
One night, my world changed forever. All I believed my future would hold was ripped from my grasp in a ball of flames. I lost my identity, my boyfriend, and my friends. Suddenly, I was the monster nobody wanted around.
A scarf hid my true identity, and I was left staring at the beast in the mirror. My appearance now matched the ugliness I once had inside, but I’d do everything I could to prove I still had some beauty buried deep within.
Sometimes, you have to lose who you are to become who you were meant to be.

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Lisa Edward is the author of the Songbird trilogy, the novels Ripped and Broken, the novella Duty of Care and a contributor to the collation of short stories in Hook & Ladder 69, and Bleed Blue 69.

While Lisa has called Melbourne Australia home for her entire life, she has lived and worked in England, and travelled through most parts of Europe and the United States. She loves nothing more than spending time with her beautiful daughter, or curling up into the early hours of the morning with a great novel.
By day, Lisa works in the analytical IT field, so relishes the opportunity to foster her creative side through writing. Her deep appreciation for literature was nurtured from a young age, being taught to respect books and get lost in their stories. She enjoys reading honest and realistic novels that are relatable, thought provoking, and leave a lasting impression. She can't write without music playing, using the emotions from different songs to invoke those of her characters. Lisa takes inspiration from her own life experiences, the people around her and those she has met in her travels.

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