Showing posts with label Contest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Contest. Show all posts

Monday, May 25, 2015

Guest Blog: The End? Really? by Marcia Colette

Stricken
Alexa York 
Book 2
Marcia Colette

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Purple Sword Publications

Date of Publication: 5/6/2015

ISBN: 
ASIN: 

Number of pages: 167
Word Count: 66,020

Cover Artist: Traci Markou

Book Description:

Personal tragedy convinces half-werewolf Alexa York to get away to the town of McCormick, Pennsylvania where she's charged with protecting Dr. Aiden Joss, physician to the supernatural community. Not only does she need the money, she needs the distraction. Unfortunately, she gets it in spades when Joss's personal issues and a myriad of dangerously sick patients make her new job nearly impossible. 

A mysterious disease is running its way through the New York Order of the Amazons and leaving bodies in its wake. The same warrior who had chosen her clan over Joss has asked for him help. Even though the disease is real, Alexa has reason to believe his ex's sincerity is not.

Given the other numerous problems she has to deal with that are outside of her job description, Dr. Joss might be the biggest threat to his own safety. But, protecting him comes first. That’s difficult to do when his efforts to find an antidote put everyone in his remote clinic in danger, including Alexa. 

Available at Purple Sword

Excerpt: Chapter One

Present day. 

I stood on the porch of Dr. Aiden Joss’s luxurious home irate as hell. Someone was supposed to meet me at the airport in Philadelphia. I ended up having to take a cab because all of the rentals were booked from the only airport about twenty-five miles from the small town of McCormick, Pennsylvania. The taxi driver must have mistaken me for an oil baron with the fare he charged. He ended up having to leave me at the front gate because the intercom was busted. Thankfully, being a human hybrid had its advantages. After tossing my duffle over the ten-foot wall, I followed by leaping over. Some security. 

The downpour turned my black, wavy hair into thick tresses snaking down my neck and upper back. Sadly, my duffle bag was just as pitiful as I looked, since it wasn’t waterproof. I’d exercised more care when picking out my purse and laptop bag. 

The front door opened. A tall, bulky man who looked like he missed his calling as an NFL linebacker stood against the golden glow of the interior. His face was criminal-hard, though something in his dark eyes said otherwise. He wore a white shirt and jeans with a brace around his left knee. He blinked. 

“Oh, boy.” He hurried to unlock the storm door and let me inside. “You must be Ms. Alexa York.” 

I struggled getting past him with my wet duffle, carry-on and my drenched clothes clinging to my cold body. “I am. I take it the phones don’t work around here.” 

He took my stuff and set it aside. “The power has been flickering all night. They just got the lights back on about three minutes ago. The phone is Internet, so when the power goes out, everything goes out.” 

I unzipped my sodden jacket. “I get it. No phone, no phone calls. Which is why I was stuck at the airport.” 

He sighed. “Again, my apologies, ma’am. With so much going on, I only had a chance to worry about one thing at a time.” 

I glanced at him before answering. So much going on? The house was quiet and not a soul in sight. What could’ve possibly had him too busy to pick me up when he knew I was coming? Heck, I was here to be his replacement while he was on the mend. If he didn’t want me here, forgetting me at the airport or not sending a car to pick me up worked in his favor. 

He offered his hand to me. “My name’s Sammy. I’m Dr. Joss’s med tech and assistant.” 

“Med tech?” I looked him up and down. “But I thought you were his—” 

He chuckled. “I’m really his assistant. I’m only his bodyguard when I have to be. And given the kind of world that lies beyond those gates, I find myself playing the latter more often.” 

I closed my eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry if I sounded a little crotchety, but—” 

Sammy waved a large hand. “No need to apologize. I’d be a lot more than pissed had I been in your shoes. Speaking of which, let me show you to your room so you can get some dry clothes on.” 

Snorting, I glanced at the puddle forming around my duffle. “Dry clothes, huh. That would be nice.” 

“No worries, Ms. York. I’ll find you something.” 

“It’s Alexa, by the way.” Those close to me called me Lex. We weren’t there yet. 

“Alexa, then.” 

My room was upstairs on the second floor along with five other bedrooms. Every piece of furniture was stained pine and sitting against light blue walls. Thankfully, I had my own private bathroom. When I looked out the bathroom window, light was coming from the woods somewhere behind the trees where it shouldn’t be. 

I sure hoped Dane had told me everything I needed to know about this so-called mission. I would hate to learn something the hard—painful—way. Though that would never be his intention, I also knew his idea of what information was important to know was different from mine. 

Had it not been for Wesley Dane, a full-blooded werewolf friend of my family, I wouldn’t be here to play bodyguard for one of his closest friends. It wasn’t the thousand dollars a day, tax-free money for my services that had brought me here. I needed the distraction more than anything. 

“So, how much do you know about me?” After snuggling into a thick, warm robe I found hanging on a hook, I dried off my hair with a towel and opened the bathroom door. 

Sammy was still there, though keeping his distance by waiting in the hall. I thought it was weird, but whatever, seeing as this was more his house than mine. “Enough,” he replied. “You’re half-werewolf, which is extremely rare. You’re also married, which means either your husband, who’s a full-blood, or Dane is going to tear Dr. Joss apart if anything bad happens to you. Although, that sort of defeats the purpose of you being the doctor’s bodyguard.” He half-smiled. 

“Are you expecting me to be torn apart?” 

“No.” He chuckled. “But I expect you’ll be put through the wringer.” 

Guest Blog:
The End? Really?

Many authors look forward to typing those words "The End" at the end of their manuscript. The story is over, all loose ends (for the most part) are resolved, and the hero and/or heroine are happy for now. I've always imagined my favorite authors sitting back with a huge smile on their faces and thankful that Fate is on their side, as they've met their ferocious deadline. 

The end has never been "The End" for me. That doesn't mean I don't so things like celebrate my accomplishments in some minor way. I always treat myself to a few days of rest before I start that next story or I have that dessert I normally don't eat. After slaving over a book that has most likely taken me from an emotional high to an emotional low and back to that high again, I deserve something to regain my sanity, right?

For me, even though "The End" has come, it doesn't mean I stop thinking about a story. Thousands of questions bombard me. Do I want a sequel? Do I want to make this a series? Do I want to leave it at one book and explore a spin-off world? Stricken, though you might think it’s a first book, is actually a second book in my Alexa York world. Stripped was published by a different publisher back in 2009 (I think), so this second book is a long-time in the making. That wasn't planned—I swear. And if you're really curious, there was another book that featured Alexa York that was released back in 2006, which was my very first contracted book. That one is in the process of being rewritten for submission to my publisher for a re-release (fingers crossed my editor likes it). Let's face it. I'm Alexa York's biggest fan girl. If all goes well, there will be a fourth book, too. In fact, I'm in the process of writing a story for Alexa's sister Genevieve that will also be an urban fantasy with romantic elements. And thanks to Stricken, I'm toying with the idea of a spin-off series. 

You see? There's really no true "The End", as I suspect is true with other writers, too. Ideas are always churning and molding in our brains until we finally have a chance to put fingers to the keyboard. Series like Women of the Otherworld by Kelley Armstrong took thirteen books. Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse series is another one. Kim Harrison is still forging ahead with The Hollows, thank goodness, though I'm a few books behind and desperately need to catch up. How long has Harry Dresden been around? Woohoo!

Sure, there comes a time when an author has to put "The End" on a series. But as long as readers keep reading, it'll be a while before we authors truly stamp "The End" on our books. As a reader, too, I’m extremely grateful for that. 

Thanks for indulging me!



About the Author:

Author Marcia Colette didn’t discover her love for reading until her late teens when she started reading John Saul and progressed to works by Bentley Little, Stephen King and Laurell K. Hamilton. Her reading tastes convinced her to write paranormals where curses cause people to shift into spiders, psychotic and telekinetic mothers are locked away in attics, and murderous doppelgangers are on a rampage. Let's not forget about the hunky werecheetah coalitions who live throughout North Carolina. As long as she can make it believable, that's all that matters.

Born and raised in upstate New York, Marcia now lives in North Carolina with her mom and beautiful daughter. They’re not raising zombies in the backyard. There aren’t any hellhounds living in the den, only a rabbit and a cockatiel. So where she gets her ideas is as much a mystery to her as anyone else.

The best place to find her--when she's not stirring up trouble--is on her blog where she loves connecting with readers.

www.marciacolette.com

http://marciacolette.wordpress.com/

http://twitter.com/MarciaColette

https://www.facebook.com/marciacolette

http://www.goodreads.com/marcia_colette



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Thursday, May 14, 2015

Blog Tour: Clearer in the Night



Clearer in the Night
By: Rebecca Croteau

Cait’s used to being an outsider. The odd girl out, the one with the alcoholic mother. The one whose sister and father died. The one who might just have telepathy. These things she could manage, could hide just enough to get by. Now a werewolf’s bite forced her outside the whole human race.

Two men -- the one night hook-up who shows up at her hospital bed, and the rescuer worker who may be following her -- seem to know more about her condition than she doe … and about this strange world of magic she’s pulled into. As Cait plunges into this darker reality, painful secrets of her past are churned up and she’s forced to confront her new identity. Torn between the between the sweet and too-hot-to-be-true Eli and possessive, darkly sensual Wes, Cait must decide whom to trust and which side to choose... before it’s too late.

Buy Links:
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Excerpt 

“You shouldn’t have gone. You should have stayed where I could see you.” She was twisting the hem of her cardigan in her hands. The buttons hadn’t been done up right. Her eyes were wide, staring.

“Mom,” I said, approaching her like I approached a kid crying at drop-off time—hands out, and with a soft smile. “I’m sorry you were scared, but I just went for a run, and then I went into town to check in with Sarah, and make sure everything was okay.”

“You could have disappeared. Just like them. Vanished, no trace, and everyone thinking you’re dead.”

I stared at her for a long minute, then reached out a hand and put it on her arm. She jerked it away, and the pictures rattled on the wall again. “Mom. Dad and Sophie are dead. They died when Dad drove his car into the lake.”

She gave me a look of pure and total disgust. “Their bodies were never found.”

“Because our lake is silty and impossible to search. When you swim, you can’t even see your feet at the end of your legs. The coroner said that there was no sign that anyone got out of that car alive, Mom. They died. A long time ago.” I put my hands on her, and she shrugged them off, harder.

“That’s because someone stole them from us, Caitlyn. I thought you knew that. No wonder you’ve hated me all this time. You thought I drove them away, but they were stolen. Stolen from us.” She was smiling now, earnest and lit up from the inside. My stomach, however, was in knots.

Author Bio


Rebecca, Ree to her friends, lives with her family in the wilds of New England. She is owned by two cats, and enjoys discovering the various ways that one can enjoy string. She is fueled by coffee, and strong autumn breezes.

Author Links
Pinterest: ReeCroteau
Google+: ReeCroteau
Twitter: @ReeCroteau


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Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Guest Post and Spotlight: 2 Worlds 2 Men


BLURB:

Jocelyn and Neely are having a perfectly pleasant dinner at the Sheep Heid Inn when it happens: Jocelyn suddenly finds herself sitting across the table, not from Neely, but a strange man dressed in medieval garb. This man is no apparition. His eyes, the deepest brown, clearly look on her in intimacy; his touch causes her pulse to rise.  Jocelyn realizes two things: from his clothes, he is clearly an aristocrat, and that she, Jocelyn Stewart, seems to be in some sort of romantic relationship with him! Minutes later Jocelyn returns to Neely, in the present day, weak and terrified. Together they begin to unravel the forgotten past and find themselves facing the reality of medieval Scotland. A strange world steeped in folklore and superstition; where life begins and often ends with the sword. 

As Jocelyn travels back to medieval times she learns that the man she keeps seeing is no other than Sir Colin Campbell of the powerful Campbell Clan. When Jocelyn is with Colin, she wants never to leave his side; then she returns to the present and cannot imagine herself with anyone but Neely. Jocelyn struggles with a choice. 

Which man will gain her heart when both offer such different love? She is in love with two different men in two different worlds.


Excerpt:

Jocelyn looked around for the driver who was supposed to be waiting for her arrival with a sign. She had hired someone to pick her up because, as an American and first-time visitor to Scotland, she had figured it would be less stressful.

She didn’t see the driver anywhere; then, just as she started feeling nervous, she saw a man holding a sign with her name on it. And what a man he was! He was broad shouldered, strong and had dark brown hair with reddish tints. He exuded masculinity like some cologne, and even across the airport, she thought she could smell it. Smoothing her unruly hair, she started to walk over to him.

The man, seeing her approach him, took a step toward her. “Are you, Jocelyn?”

When he spoke her name, she found herself frozen in place unable to respond. She’d heard this voice before; she knew this voice. This man spoke her name exactly like the dream she had had all those years ago! She had been stirred awake in bed by a voice of a man, who spoke her name with a Scottish accent. His voice was gentle and low; as if he wanted to gain her attention, but not cause her alarm. Jocelyn had clutched the sheets to her chest and stared out into the darkness of her bedroom almost feeling his intimate presence beside her. She lifted her hand up to her ear having sworn his warm breath had brushed her skin. Jocelyn remembered she had turned her head, anxiously, toward the pillow next to her and almost thought she would be looking into the eyes of a stranger; yet she had not been frightened. This man, his voice, somehow comforted her.

Now, she stood in the airport and caught her breath as she faced the man before her. Her eyes searched his face for something; though what it was she wasn’t sure. Jocelyn felt her heart beating so fast she was certain the man could hear it as memories flooded her mind of that night so long ago when he or someone spoke her name in the darkness. Was that the reason for her vacation to Scotland? Was she unconsciously trying to find the man?


“Have you always been a fan of Paranormal?” 
By Joy Frawley

As a kid I remember being inspired by Paranormal stories, such as C. S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I was totally smitten with the idea of walking into a wardrobe that led to another world filled with strange creatures and adventure. What child wouldn’t want a talking lion as a friend and protector? However, I had no idea that one day I would write my own Paranormal adventure with Two Worlds Two Men. 

For me, the attraction with Paranormal stories is that we can be transported into a completely different realm. There are no limits or boundaries to imagination. When we read a standard modern day story we can somewhat predict what kind of lifestyle the characters live such as housing, foods, and the workplace. We often have those same habits or features in our own lives. When reading Paranormal the reader breaks free of probabilities or the ability to necessarily know what is going to happen next. In Two Worlds Two Men the reader goes back and forth between modern day Edinburgh and medieval Scotland. Most of us, myself included, do not have firsthand experience in the lifestyle of a woman in the medieval Highlands so that aspect alone leaves the reader somewhat uncertain what features he/she will read next. I find that exciting. Paranormal is fun on both sides, both as a reader and a writer, because our imagination is one of the most unique aspects of humanity. Having an outlet like Paranormal books gives us all an opportunity to stretch that imagination to whatever limits we allow ourselves. What do you feel like today? A bit of futuristic space travel or maybe a trip back to King Arthur’s court? Whatever your poison may be you can rest assured you will find that passion quenched in a Paranormal book. 


AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Joy Frawley is an author and writer of the upcoming romance novella; Two Worlds, Two Men due to release on October 2014 by Resplendence Publishing. Joy lives in beautiful Traverse City, Michigan relishing in living the life of the classic “townie” with her two dogs Piggs and Diggs. 



Buy Links:




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Saturday, April 18, 2015

Artist Spotlight: Eric Armusik

Self Portrait by Eric Armusik

Eric Armusik and his beautiful wife Rebekah Armusik have been one of my greatest inspirations that made me pick up art and writing once again. Now I am asking you to pick up your phone and/or mouse and vote for his dark and fabulous artwork in an online self-portrait contest. 

As most of us in this culture know, many artists and authors who delve into Gothic works are not Gothic themselves. This dynamic duo are indeed the genuine thing. So please show your support and help his dark light shine.


Artist Bio:

Born in 1973, fine artist Eric Armusik grew up in the northeastern coal region of Pennsylvania. Once one of the largest coal mining operations in the county, his hometown was a landscape riddled with the depressions of post-industry. In contrast to the blight was a diverse ethnic community strong in faith. What the community lacked in public art and museums it made up for it with churches on each city block. It was there that Eric had his first experiences with art, staring at the walls and ceilings at church on Sunday. The traditions and academic realism of Catholic religious paintings and artwork made a permanent impression that continues to influence his work today.

From an early age it was evident that Eric had artistic talents and at the age of 10 he won an art competition "Why I love living in the Wyoming Valley" that included students from all of the surrounding schools and his drawing of the Swetland Homestead was exhibited in the Franklin First Federal Building in downtown Wilkes Barre. His talents continued to win him numerous competitions and in 1990 he was awarded for his Contribution to the Arts by Wilkes University where he attended their Upward Bound program. In 1991, Eric attended Pennsylvania State University, where he earned a B. F. A. in painting, with and a minor in an art history focusing on Baroque art. In 1995 he received the Margaret Giffen Shoenfelder Memorial Scholarship for the Arts and finished his art history minor abroad for a semester in Todi, Italy. During his art classes there he drew from original paintings, architecture and sculptures by the old masters such as Michaelangelo, Bernini, Caravaggio, Rubens and Donatello. The rare opportunity to study masterworks by Baroque painters Caravaggio and Artemisia Gentileschi had a profound effect on the quality of his work and focused the inspiration he experienced as a child. After years of learning the techniques of the old masters Eric honed his skills at the Philadelphia studio of renowned international realism artist and portrait painter Nelson Shanks, Studio Incamminati. Today Eric's paintings have established him as one of today's strongest purveyors of traditional figurative painting. In 2010 he won the Chairman's Award for the Sixth International Art Renewal Center competition out of 1700 submissions from over 30 countries worldwide. Eric conducts several workshops in traditional painting each year and has attracted students from around the world that come to study with him.

Eric's work has been featured in such galleries and museums as the Salmagundi Art Club and the National Arts Club in New York; Allentown Art Museum; Philip and Muriel Berman Art Museum, Ursinus College; Monsoon Galleries; Hoyt Institute of Fine Arts; State Museum of Pennsylvania; and Reading Public Museum to name a few. In 2003, Eric was selected to represent the United States in Florence, Italy at the Biennale Internazionale Dell Arte Contemporanea where he exhibited several of his paintings. His paintings are in the permanent collections of Howard Tullman, The Trenton City Museum, Lehigh Valley Hospital and several churches private collections worldwide. His artwork has been prominently featured in publications like The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Chicago Tribune, American Artist Magazine, American Art Collector, Victorian Homes, Old House Journal, and ArtMATTERS.

Eric is married to his soulmate, Gothic novelist Rebekah Armusik , and they have three beautiful children.


2 WAYS TO VOTE: 

1)  Click the link: http://bit.ly/1NKCu02
Check your inbox or junk mail folder to confirm the vote - VERY IMPORTANT or the vote does not count!!!

Or if you get an error for any reason there is a little more indirect way to vote but it works:

Then hit VOTE NOW
Scroll down and enter "armusik" in the search window
Vote for my painting
Check your inbox or junk mail folder to confirm the vote - VERY IMPORTANT or the vote doesn't count!!


WORKS OF COLLABORATION OF THIS DYNAMIC DUO
Covers by Eric combined with the darkly talented words of Rebekah.





Thursday, April 2, 2015

Book Blast: Charlatan's Magic

CHARLATAN'S MAGIC
by Patrick Bran

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLURB:

Love, Trickery, Murder. All are abundant in the Jewel City. Ben is a schemer and a pickpocket. He knows the city well...and he is torn. Does he betray the woman he loves? Does he have a choice? Will he follow his heart, firmly in the grasp of the beautiful Athena, or give in to the unsavory life he knows?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt Two:

Athena ran for the door, aching to be on the other side where it could hide her. They would hear her weeping for certain. She rushed through and slammed it shut, just as the pain in her eyes became too much to bear.

“It’s all so stupid,” she sobbed. “Just a long day.”

There would be more of the same tomorrow. Sometimes it got to be too much. When father was alive there was always someone there to take on the burdens. She loved her brother, but Nikolas was not that man.

She thought of Ben, the stranger sitting with Nikolas in the other room. It was his tune on father’s lute that had brought the tears. For a moment she thought she might look over and see father sitting at the hearth. She had glanced that way, but of course…

The two were not so similar. Ben was tall and thin where her father had been stout. Nikolas got his boisterous laugh from father, yet she doubted Ben could speak above a whisper. It must have been his kind eyes that brought on the memories.

Athena struggled to control the sniffling aftermath of her tears. She felt an itch in her ear, a soft sound she couldn’t make out through the door. Was it music? Yes. She opened a crack and listened. Her eyes closed as she leaned her head against the doorjamb. She could almost see Ben’s fingers on the strings. He had merely been toying with the instrument before. He had been holding back.

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Bio:

Patrick Bran spent much of his early life moving around. He traveled from the Middle East to Antarctica by way of the US Army. When he returned home to Washington State, Patrick quickly began what would become a lifelong involvement in theatre. His work in stagecraft eventually took him to Washington DC, where he built scenery for a nationally-renowned regional theatre. When progress demanded it, Patrick left the scene shop and took the reins of the theatre's young web presence, a job he has been doing for more than a decade. Patrick still lives in Washington DC with his wife and two daughters. He writes fiction and gets his best ideas from ancient history, myth and the legends of the past.



Links:

Twitter: @PtkBran

Amazon Buy Link: http://amzn.to/1BxFHOu


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Tuesday, February 3, 2015

Virtual Book Tour: Heir of the Dog

Link to follow tour: http://bippityboppitybook.com/heir/ 

Title:  Heir of the Dog 
Series & Number (or Stand Alone): Black Dog # 2 
Genre: Urban Fantasy 
Heat Level (sweet to erotic): sensual 
Author: Hailey Edwards 
Pages or Word Count: 213 
Publisher: Self-Published 
Publish Date: 30 January, 2015 
Purchase (pre-order) Links

AmazonB & NiTunesKobo



BLURB:

When the wrong fae answers her summons, Thierry finds herself saddled with a royal pain bent on making her life difficult. Well, more difficult. Her ex is back in town, her best friend is heartbroken and to top it all off, the Faerie High Court has issued her a summons.

Black Dog is missing, and the only hope of negotiating a truce between the light and dark fae vanished with him. Eager to avoid another Thousand Years War, the High Court reached out to the one person they believe can track him down–the daughter who shares his curse.








Quinn’s startled bellow when my magic threaded through his veins to his heart was deafening.

My ears rang as much from his screams as the collapse of his charm. Moonlight filtered through the fading tendrils of darkness, casting faint light between the squat buildings sandwiching the alley. 

Glittering bones, each one picked clean and most gnawed to splinters, littered the street. Tossed aside like trash to rot among the wet newspapers and crumpled soda cans. Hard to know who or what left those behind. They weren’t troll kills. That much was for certain. They weren’t fresh kills, either. 

Trolls were opportunistic. The odds Quinn had squatted in another fae’s territory were high. Yet another use for that blackout charm. Tack it up, say a Word to activate it, and the charm did the rest. 

Power that rich could make any spot with a kernel of darkness blossom into an abyss.   

One corpse, the girl whose disappearance tipped off the conclave about our rogue troll problem, sprawled in a heap of broken limbs. The toothpaste trick didn’t work as well on humans as it did on fae. Poor kid. I hated breaking bad news to parents who actually cared whether their children lived or died.

The troll’s wheezing forced my attention back to him. Enough stalling. Time to finish this.

“By the power vested in me as a marshal of the Southwestern Conclave, I condemn you to death for your crimes against humanity.” I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached and braced against the coming pain. “Your soul will now be extinguished and your remains claimed by the Morrigan, as is your right as a subject of House Unseelie. If you have sworn fealty to another deity, and if you wish your remains to be an offering to them, speak their name now or forever hold your peace.”

I took his silence as consent and willed a pulse of magic through the runes contacting his skin. A heartbeat later, searing heat cut across my jaw, a scalpel-sharp ache zigzagging past my temple and over my scalp. Razors slashed under my skin with every wicked slice my magic dealt O’Shea.

I hated this part, the severing of a soul from its host, the trimming away of the fat of life and the cauterizing of immortality. Fae were built to weather eternity. Few grasped true death in any context.

But we were all tangles of muscle and bone, flesh and blood, heads and hearts, weren’t we?

We could all die if the time was right. Sometimes we did even if it wasn’t.

I held O’Shea’s terrified gaze while the top layers of his skin peeled away from muscle like ripping off an old bandage. I owed him that. I was ending a man’s life and could damn well look him in the eye while I did it. The vicious teeth of my magic savaged his soul, rent the tatters of his self and devoured it whole. 

Pleasant warmth suffused my limbs, sating the darker part of me who stared at carnage a little too long, watched each death a too closely and enjoyed a soul-induced high just enough to shove me spinning down a shame spiral only one person could stop. 

I wish Shaw was here.

No. No, I didn’t. Sure he might pull me out of my guilt tailspin, but that meant talking to him, and if he got me on the phone, I knew what he would want to talk about. Us. Except there was no us. Not anymore. 

The troll’s pupils had faded to milky white. He was an empty shell suspended by an intricate web of misery. Magic knifed under his flesh, jolting his corpse, seeping out his pores until his skin released with a wet kiss of sound and puddled at his ankles where the pinky-white folds withered into a dried husk. 

What remained was a meat and bone sculpture of troll musculature ready for disposal. Time to ring the dinner bell.

Before gloving my hand, I tugged a quarter-size silver medallion from my shirt by its chain and palmed the cool metal. Rubbing a rune-covered thumb across the triskele stamped into its center, I summoned the Morrigan.

A breeze smelling of wood smoke and embers ruffled my hair. A pulse of black magic beat in the air before me. The ball of swirling mist drifted on the breeze. That…wasn’t right. 

A carrion crow swarm that blotted out the sky then swooped to encircle an offering in a cawing black feather tornado complete with glowing ruby eyes? That was more her style.

This was something else—someone else. But who had the balls to claim her feast in their name?

I lowered my hand to my side where its luminescent threat remained visible.

“You summoned the Morrigan.” A thickly accented voice throbbed across my skin.

“I did, and you aren’t her.” The cadence of those words shivered through me. “Who are you?” 

“Whoever you want, a stór.” His chuckle was worse, all buttery rich and inviting. Dangerous.

“I’m not your darling.” I raised my left hand. “By whose authority have you answered my call?”

A moment of silence passed. “I am the Morrigan’s son.”

“The Raven,” I breathed. 

Her son and heir, Raven, an Unseelie prince. A prickle of unease quivered along my nape. A prince in the mortal realm. What on earth had lured him here? And did the conclave know? They had to, right? The prince must have used a tether to get here, and for visiting dignitaries, that required permission from the Faerie High Court on his side and the Earthen Conclave on this one. 

Straightening my shoulders, I gestured toward the body. “Then you are welcome to your feast.”

“Who do I owe for this offering?” Amusement throbbed in that nebulous swirl of magic.

“Thierry Thackeray.” Not my Name, but a name nonetheless. 

“Tee-air-ree.” He dragged out each syllable as if savoring the sound on his…well, he had no lips in this form.

“Let me grab this…” I knelt and rolled up the troll’s skin, “…and I’ll leave you to it.” Tucking the proof of death under my arm, I saluted the magic blob. “Enjoy your feast.”

Eager to put Raven behind me, I turned on my heel and strode toward the mouth of the alley, tugging my glove back in place. His mother tended to rip off limbs and gnaw on them like chicken wings instead of, oh, I don’t know, someone’s arm. I shuddered and kept on walking. However her son chose to dine, he was doing it alone. 

“I will savor every bite.” His voice dogged my heels. “Go bhfeicfidh mé arís thú.”

Until we meet again.

Heir of the Dog: Copyright © 2015 by Hailey Edwards used with permission.


Author Bio: 

A cupcake enthusiast and funky sock lover possessed of an overactive imagination, Hailey lives in Alabama with her handcuff-OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA carrying hubby, her fluty-tooting daughter and their herd of dachshunds.

Her desire to explore without leaving the comforts of home fueled her love of reading and writing. Whenever the itch for adventure strikes, Hailey can be found with her nose glued to her Kindle’s screen or squinting at her monitor as she writes her next happily-ever-after.


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Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Blood Assassin Review and Excerpt


Blood Assassin
The Sentinels # 2
By: Alexandra Ivy
Releasing December 30th, 2014
Zebra

Blurb

They are the outcasts of humanity. Blessed with power. Cursed by fate. Driven by passion. The Sentinels have returned…

OUT OF THE SHADOWS

At six-foot-three and two-hundred-fifty pounds, Fane is a natural born guardian. A flawless mix of muscled perfection and steely precision, he has devoted years of his life to protecting a beautiful necromancer. But after she found love in the arms of another, Fane has been a warrior adrift. He swears allegiance only to the Sentinels. And no woman will ever rule his heart again…

INTO THE FIRE 

Not only a powerful psychic, Serra is that rare telepath who can connect to minds through objects. When the daughter of a high-blood businessman is kidnapped, Serra agrees to help. But when she stumbles onto a conspiracy involving secrets sects and ancient relics, her life is in mortal danger—and Fane is her only hope. Is the warrior willing to risk his body, his soul, and his heart, for Serra? Or will one last betrayal destroy them both?

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21535284-blood-assassin?from_search=true

Buy Links:  Amazon | B&N | iTunes | Kobo

Excerpt:
“True.”  Fane tried to dismiss the problem from his mind.  Soon enough he would be in the seclusion of the monastery and the dangers of the world would no longer be his concern.  Right?  “It sounds like you have it covered.  I’ll send you more warriors when they’ve completed their training.”

“Dammit, Fane...”  Wolfe bit off his words as the atmosphere in the gym abruptly changed.

Both men turned to discover what had happened.

Or rather...who...had happened.

“Shit,” Fane breathed, a familiar ache settling in the center of his chest at the sight of the beautiful female who sashayed into the room.

Serra Vetrov had the habit of changing the atmosphere in rooms since she’d left the nursery.

Hell, he’d seen men walk into walls and cars drive off the road when she strolled past.

An elegantly tall woman with long, glossy black hair that contrasted with her pale, ivory skin, she had lush curves that she emphasized with her tight leather pants and matching vest that was cut to reveal a jaw-dropping amount of her generous breasts.

Her features were delicately carved.  Her pale green eyes were thickly lashed, her nose narrow and her lips so sensually full they gave the impression of a sex kitten.  

Although anyone foolish enough to underestimate her, was in for an unpleasant surprise.

Serra was not only a powerful psychic, but she was a rare telepath who could use objects to connect with the mind of the owner.  Over the years, she’d used her talents more than once to find missing children or to track down violent offenders.

On the darker side, she could also use her skills to force humans, and those high-bloods without mental shields, to see illusions and could even implant memories in the more vulnerable minds.

Still, it wasn’t her dangerous powers that made grown men scramble out of her path.  Serra had a tongue that could flay at a hundred yards and she wasn’t afraid to use it.

Wolfe sent Fane a mocking smile.  “It appears I’m not the only one who listens to the grapevine.  Good luck, amigo.” 

Turning, he strolled toward the cluster of Sentinels who were watching Serra cross the gym like a pack of starving hounds.   

Bastards.

###

Serra kept her head held high and a smile pinned to her lips as she marched past the gaping men.  She was female enough to appreciate being noticed by the opposite sex.  Why not?  But today she barely noticed the audible groans as she took a direct path toward her prey.

She felt a tiny surge of amusement as the thought of Fane being anyone’s prey.

The massive warrior was two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle and raw male power.  He was also one of the rare few who was completely impervious to her ability to poke around in his mind.

Which was a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because it was impossible for a psychic to completely block out an intimate partner, which was a distraction that would make any lover cringe.  There was nothing quite so demeaning as being in the middle of sex and realize your partner was picturing Angelina Jolie.

And a curse because Fane was about as chatty as a rock.  His feelings were locked down so tight Serra feared that someday they would explode.

And not in a good way.

Or maybe it would be good, she silently told herself, gliding to a halt directly in front of his half-naked form.

There weren’t many things worse than watching all emotions being stripped away as you approached the man you’d loved for the past two decades.

Especially when she was a seething mass of emotions.

She wanted to grab his beautiful face in her hands and kiss him until he melted into a puddle of goo.  No.  She wanted to kick him in the nuts for being such a prick.  

Maybe she’d kick him and then kiss it better.

To make matters worse she was on a lust-driven adrenalin high.

Just standing next to his half-naked body coated in sweat made her heart pump and her mouth dry.

God.  She was so fucking pathetic.

Accepting that her companion wasn’t going to break the awkward silence, she tilted her chin up another notch.

Any higher and she was going to be staring at the ceiling.

“Fane,” she purred softly.

His dark gaze remained focused on her face, resisting any temptation to glance at her skimpy vest.  Of course, if it hadn’t been for the rare times she’d caught him casting covert glances at her body, she might suspect he hadn’t yet realized she was a woman.

“Serra.”

On the way to the gym she’d practiced what she was going to say.  She was going to be cool.  Composed.  And in complete control.

Instead the fear lodged in the pit of her belly made her strike out like a petulant child.

“You’re leaving?”

He gave a slow dip of his head.  “I’m returning to Tibet.”

The fear began to spread through her body, her hands clenching at her sides.  “Did you ever intend to tell me?”

“Yes.” 

“When?” she snapped.  “On your way out the door?”

“Does it matter?”

Oh yeah.  He was definitely getting kicked in the nuts.

“Yes, it damned well matters.”

He remained stoic.  Unmoved by her anger.  “What do you want from me?”

She lowered her voice.  It wasn’t that she gave a shit that they had an audience.  Living in Valhalla meant that privacy was a rare commodity.  But she had some pride, dammit.  She didn’t want them to hear her beg.

“You know what I want.”

Something flared through the dark eyes.  Something that sliced through her heart like a dagger.

“It’s impossible,” he rasped.  “I’ll always care for you, Serra, but not in the way you need.”

She should walk away.

It’s what any woman with an ounce of sense would do.

But when had she claimed any sense when it came to this man?

Instead she stepped forward, bringing them nose to nose.  Well, they would be nose to nose if he didn’t have six inches on her.

“Liar.”

He frowned, the heat from his body brushing over her bare skin like a caress.  Serra shuddered.  Oh god.  She’d wanted him for so long.

It was like a sickness.

“A Sentinel doesn’t lie.”

She snorted at the ridiculous claim.  “Maybe not, but you can twist the truth until it screams.  And the truth is that you’ve always used your duty to Callie as a shield between us.”

His fists landed on his hips, his eyes narrowing at her accusation.  “My duty was more than a shield.”

Okay.  He had a point.

His bond with Callie had been very real. 

But that didn’t mean he hadn’t hidden behind his obligation as a guardian.

“Fine.”  She held his gaze.  “And now that duty is done.”

He was shaking his head before she finished speaking.  “My duty to Callie is done, but my duty to the Sentinels remains.”

She clenched teeth.  It was true most Sentinels never married.  But it wasn’t against any rules.

Niko had just returned to Valhalla with a wife who promised to be a valuable healer, and Callie had recently married Duncan who’d recently become a Sentinel.

It might demand compromise and sacrifice on both sides, but it could be done.

So why was Fane so unwilling to even give it a try?

“I assume that’s going to be your new excuse?” she forced between gritted teeth.

Without warning his expression softened and his fingers lightly brushed down her bare arm.

“Serra, I don’t need an excuse,” he said, the hint of regret in his eyes more alarming than his previous remoteness.  She was used to him pretending to be indifferent to her.  Now it felt like...goodbye.  Shit.  “I’ve never made promises I can’t keep,” he continued, his tone soft.  “In fact, I’ve been very clear that you should find a man who can give you the happiness you deserve.”

For one weak, tragic moment she allowed herself to savor the brief touch of his fingers.   Then her pride came galloping to her rescue and she was jerking away with a brittle smile.

She would endure anything but his pity.

Hell no.

“Very generous of you.”

He grimaced at her sarcastic tone.  “I know you don’t believe me, but all I’ve ever wanted was your happiness.”

“And you assume I’ll find it in the arms of another man?”  She went straight for the jugular.

The hesitation was so fleeting she might have imagined it.  “Yes.”

She leaned forward, infuriated by her inability to read his mind.  Dammit.   Just when she needed her talents the most she was flying blind.

Was this how humans felt?

This maddening helplessness?

It sucked.

“It won’t bother you at all to know that I belong to another?”

“I will be...”  He took a beat to find the right word.  “Content.”



Author Info
ALEXANDRA IVY graduated from Truman University with a degree in theatre before deciding she preferred to bring her characters to life on paper rather than stage. She currently lives in Missouri with her extraordinarily patient husband and teenage sons. To stay updated on Alexandra’s Guardian series or to chat with other readers, please visit her website at www.alexandraivy.com.


Author Links:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads


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Review -
4.5 Bloody Stars
Readers may never view Monks in the same light after reading this series.

The tension and heat between Fane and Serra has been building up since the very introduction of this series'. A love that has been denied out of asense of duty by only one of the parties, the just may have have reached her breaking point and on the verge of putting any and all advances to an end and move on. As many of us know and have learned the hard way, the greatest joke in the Universe is when you attempt to decide what your own fate shall be. A point brutally driven home when another sect of Sentinel's come out of the shadow's, Assassins. Trained by the Monks to feel no emotions and to use their abilities in the most lethal of ways. And one has Serra within his scope range.

Serra Vetrov is one of the few high bloods fortunate enough to have not only one set of parents to love her, but two. Her birth parents brought her to the sanctuary of Valhalla knowing that would be the safest place for her, yet still remaining in her life and letting her know at every available opportunity how much they love her. An incredibly strong and talented psychic, and just as beautiful as she is lethal, Serra has never had to go wanting for much. When she comes across a Guardian whose mind she cannot penetrate and just so happens to be the Guardian of her adoptive sister, Callie, its both lust and challenge at first sight that quickly manifests into love.  And now that the bond between Fane and Callie is broken, nothing should stand in the way of them being together. Nothing but Fane himself, and Tibet.

Fane refuses to give in to the attraction he feels for Serra. Knowing that as  a Guardian his duty should come above all else, at least that's the excuse he continues to give himself. He knows that being a Guardian places him in constant danger and doesn't want Serra to ever be placed in the middle of it. Never really thinking about the fact of her being a high blood automatically places her in danger no matter who she's with. A point that is driven home when she's kidnapped. And nothing in Heaven or Hel will stand in his way to find her. Only when he does it won't be a simple matter of snatching her away and bringing her back home. 

Serra is being held by an Assassin, one who will not let her go until she completes the task he needs her to do. One that will tug at her own heartstrings, and she may have done willingly had he only asked. But now her life is hanging in the balance and there is nothing Fane or anyone else can do to save her. Though there isn't much Fane will not do in attempt to at least try. 

Full of magic, suspense, violence and more than a few heated love scenes, Blood Assassin is a must read for non-squeamish PNR fans. A powerful psychic that can and will use her brain as a weapon, a deadly assassin out to save the love he loves at all costs, a high blood in stasis that could cause an all out war if her powers are unleashed, and the world's most powerful Guardian out to save the woman he loves, and an Epilogue that will leave readers wide eyed and gasping makes for a powerful action packed novel that will have readers longing for more.
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