Showing posts with label Cover Reveal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cover Reveal. Show all posts

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Cover Reveal: Ignite the Flame


Title: Ignite the Flame
Author: Susan Griscom
Genre: Urban Fantasy/Romance
Hosted by: Lady Amber's PR
Blurb: 
He can take her anywhere her heart desires, but she can bring him to his knees with the gentle flick of her finger.

When the tragic death of her father brings Addison MacKenna back to the town where she was born, she can't understand the strange sensations that have begun to consume her. Plagued with nightmares of her father's sudden and brutal death, Addie struggles with her anguish and refuses to believe that his demise was accidental.

But that's not the only thing Addie struggles with.

Caught up in the horrors of her latest nightmare while driving to work one day, she's startled beyond comprehension when she almost runs down a man standing in the middle of the road. A gorgeous, stunning man she can't seem to take her mind or her eyes off of. All of a sudden, the impossible seems possible, and it's not clear whether that's a blessing or a curse.

Cael Sheridan may be arrogant and mysterious, but he's also undeniably gorgeous. A member of a secret society, he is sworn to protect the woman he believes to be the daughter of his recently murdered mentor. In the process, he finds it impossible to resist her magnetic sensuality, complicating his efforts to shield and guide her as she learns to manage her newly acquired skills. He's faced with the tough decision of whether to let her in or sabotage their new relationship in order to keep her safe as well as his own heart.

Fate has brought them together, but will it make them stronger or destroy them in the end?

This book is NOT a typical paranormal romance with vampires or alpha dogs. However, it is full of magical abilities from shape-shifting to healing powers as well as teleporting, and it is a sexy, steamy romance with intimate scenes and adult situations.

*Ignite the Flame, formerly known as Whisper Cape



Susan Griscom writes paranormal and contemporary romance. She's hooked on sexy romances and is a huge fan of superheroes and bad boys confronted with extraordinary forces of nature, powers, and abilities beyond the norm mixed with steamy romance, of course.

She loves those days when she gets to sit around in her sweat pants, doing nothing but writing emotionally charged stories about love and violence.

She lives in Northern California in wine country and one of her favorite weekend excursions is wine tasting with the love of her life. Together, she and her romantic husband have five great superhero kids and eight mini-superhero grand kids, so far.

Author Links:
Facebook Author Page: http://www.facebook.com/SMGriscom 
Amazon Author Page: http://amzn.to/2efYV8l
Facebook personal:  https://www.facebook.com/SMGriscom

Buy Links: Ignite the Flame: http://amzn.to/2xQ3Tkv
Reflect the Flame: http://amzn.to/2jKi6JA
Tame the Flame: http://amzn.to/2xmtsrO

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Cover Reveal: Day Reaper







Day Reaper
Night Blood
Book Four
Melody Johnson

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Kensington/ Lyrical Press

Date of Publication: April, 2018

Number of pages: 414
Word Count: 116, 525

Cover Artist: Kensington/ Lyrical Press

Tagline: A dangerous choice for the chance to live.

Book Description:

On the brink of death, Cassidy DiRocco demands that New York City’s master of the supernatural, Dominic Lysander, transform her—reporter, Night Blood, sister, human—into the very creature she’s feared and fought against for months: a vampire. The pain is brutal, she'll risk the career she’s worked so hard to achieve, and her world will never be the same. But surviving is worth any risk, especially when it means gaining the strength to fight against Jillian Allister, the sister who betrayed Dominic, attacked Cassidy, and is leading a vampire uprising that will destroy all of New York City. . .

When she awakens, however, Cassidy realizes the cost of being transformed might be more than she was willing to sacrifice. The overwhelming senses, the foreign appearance of her new body, and the lethal craving for blood are unrecognizable and unacceptable. But if Cassidy hopes to right the irrevocable wrongs that Jillian and her army of the Damned have wrought on New York City, she’ll need to not only accept her new senses, body and cravings, but wield them in her favor.

Irresistible and enigmatic as Dominic is, he no longer has command over the city or its vampires. Only Cassidy has the connections to convince the humans, Day Reapers, and the few vampires still loyal to Dominic to join forces, and maybe, if Dominic can accept her rising power over the coven he once commanded for the past several hundred years, the two of them together might forge a bond more potent than history has ever known. . .

Excerpt:

A bird was squawking, and after several minutes of attempting to ignore its repetitive, shrill, bleating, I came to grips with the fact that it didn’t seem inclined to stop on its own. I snapped open my eyes, prepared to reach out the window and stop it myself, with my bare hands if necessary—I’d never heard such an obnoxious bird in my life, not in the city, not on the west coast, not even on my one excursion to visit Walker upstate—and froze. There was no window. And if the vents Bex used to filter fresh air into her underground coven were any indication, there was no bird. Despite the similarity of the vents to Bex’s coven, however, I didn’t recognize the room as the inviting, well-decorated step-back in time that Bex had created, either: no extra furniture for lounging, no scented candles, no Gerbera daisies, and no kerosene lamps pulsing in a hypnotic, romantic beat.
This room contained only sparse necessities: vents for underground air filtration, a bare bulb for light, a door for privacy, and of course, a bed. I was in a strange room in a stranger’s bed, its dimensions and d├ęcor familiar only by its unfamiliarity, and suddenly, the last moments of my memory smashed into my brain like a semi.
            Jillian tearing out my throat. Dominic healing me. The blood and burning. The transformation.
Someone was speaking in the room outside this bedroom’s door, and despite the distance, the scarred door, the cement wall, and my disorientation, I could hear every word being said, and I recognized the voice speaking: Ronnie Carmichael.
“Lysander said he would. There’s no reason to think he won’t, so I don’t think—”
And following Ronnie’s voice was the squawking of that damn bird.
“Exactly. You don’t think,” Jeremy snapped.
“Lysander said that he would try,” Keagan said patiently, his voice nearly drowned out by the bleat of that insufferable bird. “His priority is Cassidy and our safety. He won’t take unnecessary risks, like remaining above ground, away from Cassidy longer than absolutely necessary.”
 “Yes, he said he would try,” Ronnie insisted, but her voice was faint now. “Lysander doesn’t say anything lightly.”
The bird squawked even louder, in time with Jeremy’s audible groan, triggering a memory of Ronnie’s little girl voice and something she had confided in me: I never even knew he thought of my voice as grating. I never knew someone’s annoyance had a sound let alone that it sounded like a squawking bird.
I was right about the bird not being underground, but unlike anything I’d ever heard, the sound wasn’t a bird at all. The squawking was the sound of Keagan’s annoyance at the grate of Ronnie’s whining voice. Unlike Jeremy, Keagan was too well-mannered to audibly express his frustration with Ronnie, but among other vampires, he could no longer hide his true feelings. His unspoken annoyance had a sound—as loud, obnoxious and obvious as Jeremy’s audible hostility—and Ronnie could no doubt hear it, too, despite the calm, reasonable tone of his words.
I could hear it.
I could hear the sound of Keagan’s annoyance.
The weight of the sheets covering my body was suddenly suffocating. I raised my hand to tear them from my body, but someone else’s hand whipped into the air. I gasped at the skeleton-skinny joints of each finger, the knobby protrusion of its wrist and the elongated talons sprouting from each fingertip instead of nails. I ducked under the hand, trying to avoid its attack and swallow the scream that tore up my throat, but the hand moved with me, moving with my intensions, attached to my body. I froze again, for the second time in as many seconds, and raised the hand in front of my face. It looked lethal. With one wrong move, it could eviscerate me. As I ticked each finger, the long talons swept the air as I counted—one, two, three, four, five—and each moved on my command. Like the inevitability of a pending dawn with the rising sun, I realized that the hand was mine. Fear of that hand turned to horror and then to a kind of giddy resignation. Hysteria, more likely.
I had ducked against the attack of my own hand.
A swift peal of laughter burst from my mouth. 
            I stopped laughing just as abruptly. Even my voice was different: guttural and sharp, like shards of glass scraping against asphalt.
            The voices outside my door and the squawking bird had abruptly stopped, too, and in the sudden silence following my outburst, an uncomfortable, aching vise circled my chest. The pain wasn’t physical, but its presence triggered a dull burn in the back of my throat. I had the immediate urge to destroy everything, to pound the cement walls into crumbs with my fists and tear the sheets into ribbons with my nails—my talons—and fight my way free from this prison. I held myself motionless, resisting the urge, and I realized with a belated sort of curiosity that the aching vise was panic. Without a beating heart to pound and without a circulatory system to hyperventilate, I hadn’t recognized the emotion without its physical symptoms, but even so, it felt the same in one way. It felt horrible.
            I took a deep breath to dispel the panic, purely from habit, but the action wasn’t calming. My heart that wasn’t pounding didn’t slow, and I couldn’t catch a breath that I hadn’t lost. The vise around my chest tightened. I squeezed my hands into fists, trembling from the force of my will to remain still and silent. Something sharp pierced my hands, and I gasped, the raging panic stuttering until I looked down at my bleeding fists. My talons were imbedded in my own palms.
            A door slammed somewhere outside this room, further away than the voices directly behind the door, but I didn’t hear it slam with my ears. I felt it slam from its flat slap against my skin. Never mind that the door wasn’t near enough for me to see, nor in this room, nor the impossibility that I could feel its sound waves, my entire body felt its sting as if I’d been smacked from all sides.
            “Why are you just staring?” Despite the impatience and aggravation in those words, hearing his voice made the aching around my chest both loosen and worsen.
            The clip of his tread across the cement floor stung like the warning barbs of a wasp. I knew the physical pain on my skin was only the tactile manifestation of sounds— first, the door slam, and now, his walking—but that didn’t change the fact that the sounds really did hurt my skin. I tried to rub away the lingering sting and realized my hands were still fisted, my talons still imbedded in my palms, so I just sat on the bed, motionless and bleeding, like someone trapped without an EpiPen, waiting for the inevitable swelling, choking and death: trapped within a body that had betrayed me.
            “Did you have time to—” Ronnie began, but her voice was too small and too fragile not to crumble under the weight of his will.
            “You heard her waken,” he accused. “Don’t you smell the blood?”
            I could actually taste the pungent, freshly sliced, onion musk of their silence.
            The door swung open, and suddenly, inevitably, Dominic entered the room. He didn’t need permission to cross my threshold, not anymore, and he didn’t bother with the perfunctory acts of knocking or requesting my consent to enter. He simply strode inside and slammed the door behind him with a final, fatal bee sting.
            He’d recently fed. I could tell, as I’d always been able to tell, by the bloom of health on his cheeks, his strong, sculpted figure, and the careful calm of his countenance, but my heightened senses could now also smell the lingering spice of blood on his breath and hear the crackle of it nourishing his muscles. From the top of his carefully tousled black hair to the soles of his wing-tipped, dress shoes, Dominic was insatiably sexy, but his physique was an illusion of his last meal. I knew his true form. Upon waking, before feeding, he appeared more monster than man. Although not many people look their best in the morning, Dominic by far looked his worst.
            The way I looked now.
            That thought made my fists tighten, embedding my talons deeper into my own flesh.
Despite his grievance with Ronnie, Keagan, and Jeremy for their inaction, he too just stared, immobile after entering the room, but his gaze absorbed everything. I felt the slash of his eyes slice across my face, down my body, and eventually, settle with dark finality on my fisted palms.
He didn’t move, and that I could tell by the stillness of his throat, he didn’t make a sound, but despite his still, silent stare, I heard the unmistakable rush of wind. There were no windows underground, and in the stagnant stillness of the room—the tension between our bodies like an electric current stretching to complete its circuit—no relief from the heat of his presence. The sound wasn’t wind, it only sounded like wind, but whatever it was the sound of, it was emanating from the only other person in the room.
I blinked and Dominic was suddenly, but no longer impossibly, beside the bed. His movements were just as inhumanly fast as ever, but with my enhanced vision, I could track his movement, see his grace and fluidity. I heard the slide of air molecules parting for him, felt the electric snap of his muscles flexing, and smelled an emotion he wouldn’t allow me to interpret on his carefully neutral expression. Whatever he was feeling was spiced, sweet, strong, and dangerous with overuse, like ginger.
            He reached out and carefully wrapped his palms around mine to cup my fists. His voice was steady when he spoke, but I knew better. The rush of wind emanating from him heightened, the smell of ginger became chokingly poignant, and his heart that didn’t need to beat to keep him alive, contracted just once. I could both hear the swoosh of his blood being pumped through each chamber and taste the silky spice of that sound.
My hands were injured yet his trembled.
            “Relax,” Dominic murmured. “I’m here. I should have been here when you first awakened, but I’m here now.”
            I blinked at him. With him here, everything was somehow simultaneous better and horribly worse.
            “Mirror,” I growled. I tried to form a complete sentence, to demand, Get me a mirror, so I can see the horror of a face that matches these hands! but my throat was too dry. Even that one word rattled from my vocal cords like flint scraping across steel, and the resulting sparks flamed the back of my throat. I sounded dangerous and angry and monstrous. If I had stumbled upon me in an alley, I would have run.
            Then again, I’d stumbled upon Dominic in an alley, and look how that had played out.
            Whether Dominic saw my anger or thought me a dangerous monster now wasn’t revealed by his carefully masked countenance. He stroked the back of my hand with the soft pad of his human-feeling thumb. “You need to calm down.”
            Calm down? I thought. I jerked my hands free from his gentle hold and shook my fists between us, in front of his face. All things considered, this is calm!
            Dominic sighed. “I can’t see your claws from inside your palms, but did you happen to notice their color before stabbing yourself with them?”
            I frowned. I had claws, for Christ sake. Claws. No, I didn’t take note of their color.
            “I’ll take that as a no,” he said, still gentle, still careful, and so fucking infuriating.
            A comforting flood of hot anger blast-dried my shock and sorrow. I spread my fingers, tearing said claws from my palms and ripping wide my self inflicted wounds, but I didn’t take the time to note their color. I swiped at Dominic.
            My movements were lightning. Dominic’s movements were just as fast; he leapt back, dodging my claws. I lunged off the bed after him. A familiar sound rattled from deep inside my chest, a sound I’d heard emanate from Ronnie, Jillian, Kaden, and Dominic, a sound that coming from them had raised the fine hairs on the back of my neck. Now, that sound came from my throat. I was growling.
            Dominic summersaulted out of reach. I watched his movements, fascinated by the strength of his muscles as he leapt into the air, his coordination as his legs tucked and his arms caught his knees, and his athleticism as he stuck the landing and raised his hands to block my advance. He was the epitome of power and grace under pressure, and with the enhanced ability of my heightened senses, I could actually see it. He wasn’t just a blur of movement but a perfectly choreographed symphony of muscle, control, and honed skill. I watched, and unlike the jaw-dropping awe of impossibility that Dominic’s physical feats would normally inspire in me, I was just inspired.
            I attempted to mimic Dominic’s movements with a matching forward summersault of my own, but instead of landing on my feet, like I’d intended, like Dominic had stuck so effortlessly, I landed in an awkward, bone-jarring, heap, flat on my back.
            Dominic leaned over me, his mouth opened with concern, surely about to ask me if I was all right. My pride was more injured than my body, and the hot embarrassment fueled my anger, as every strong emotion could fuel my easily provoked temper. Taking advantage of his concern and close proximity, I raked my claws down the front of his shirt.
            Buttons severed from their threads, but before the pops of their little plastic heads hit the floor, Dominic was airborne again, back flipping away from me before my claws could do any real damage. I lunged after his leaps and twists and rolls, milliseconds behind his acrobatics, but even without the advantage of his fancy gymnastics, my body’s newfound abilities were astonishing. Each muscle contraction burned beneath my skin, but not like human muscles burning with fatigue. Mine sparked to life, twitching with power and reveling in unleashed speed and strength.
I’d never been particularly athletic; my entire life, even before being shot in the hip, my skills were better served in an intellectual capacity—interviewing witnesses and writing articles. After being shot, my physical abilities had shriveled to the point where I could barely walk. Now, I could not only walk, I had the potential to fly. I was a force in both body and mind, and the limitlessness of those abilities after being physically limited for so long was intoxicating.
            Time suspended. Our battle raged in the timespan of a blink, but within that blink, we fought and danced and completely trashed the little utilitarian room in what felt like years—a lifetime of limitations revealed and obliterated with every movement and newly discovered capability. Our movements were lighting, the evidence of our devastation scattered across the room—Dominic’s torn clothing, upended and smashed furniture, pillows gutted and their insides fluffed over the rumpled comforter and upended mattress—the cause unseen.
I made a move of my own instead of following Dominic, cutting him mid-leap and smashing him face-down into the box spring. He was vulnerable for the split of a millisecond, me at his back, my razor claws splayed across his shoulder blades, his neck bared as he craned to look over his shoulder at me, and I had him. If I chose to, with a swipe of my hand, I could sever his head from his body. My claws were sharp, his skin was soft, and unlike any other physical battle I’d waged in my life, I had the advantage.
            My body’s speed and strength were new to me, but the feelings of rage and intoxicating addiction were not. I knew those emotions intimately; they had been the very core of my personality and shaped a person who, despite my former physical limitations, had unbeatable mental strength, evidenced by my winning battle against Percocet addition and an ability to entrance vampires as a night blood. Memories of addiction and the bone-deep reasons I’d fought to overcome it, kept me grounded when I would have taken advantage of Dominic’s weakness. I nearly let the strength and power overwhelm reason, but I knew when to stop. I knew when the need and heat felt too good to be good. The rage reminded me that despite the claws sprouting from each fingertip, despite the fact that I might look like the devil and have the strength of God, I was the same flawed person I’d always been.
I was still me, and despite his flaws, I loved Dominic.
I jerked my hand from his back, ripping fabric with my movement but not skin, and fell to my knees.
Dominic summersaulted over me. He landed at my back, but I didn’t turn to face him. He knew I’d resisted the opportunity to kill him. Our battle was over, but mine had just begun.
He fell to his knees behind me, wrapped his arms around me, holding my hands, cradling my body, and it was only then, with the steady press of his cheek against mine, that I realized by the solid stillness of his arms holding me that I was shaking.
I burst out weeping. The sobs wracked my body and bathed my cheeks.
Dominic’s arms tightened. He stroked my hands and murmured promises into my ear that I knew better than to believe, promises that no one could keep, but having him hold me, his lips moving against my ear and the familiar tone of his voice resonating like a blanket cocooned around my body, was comforting anyway. I sobbed harder at first, relieved that he was here, that I wasn’t alone, that he’d experienced this, too, and had survived and eventually thrived. Buoyed by the knowledge that I, too, could survive and eventually thrive, I calmed. My weeping slowed, the sobs wracking my body lessoned, and my tears eventually dried.
I relaxed into Dominic’s embrace—my back flush against his chest, his arms cradling my arms, our fingers entwined. His breath fluttering my hair wasn’t winded, and I noted with a detached sort of astonishment, that neither was mine. I was suddenly struck by a wary sort of certainty that my new, debatably improved physical form would continue to astonish for a very long time. I stared at our entwined fingers—his perfectly formed human hands still larger than my emaciated fingers but not nearly longer than my elongated claws—and I pulled into myself, embarrassed that he was touching them.
“Don’t,” he murmured, tightening his hold. “Some aspects of the transformation might take some getting used to. You’re already becoming accustomed to your heightened senses and increased strength, which is impressive. In a few days, you’ll land that summersault, I assure you. And eventually, you’ll look into a mirror and recognize yourself, but for tonight, let me be your mirror.” He raised his hand and urged my face to the side to meet his gaze. “Let me show you how beautiful you are.”
My physical appearance wasn’t the only aspect of the transformation that shook me, but when he cupped my cheek in his palm and ducked his head, pressing his lips to mine, I kissed him back. My lips felt foreign against the long protrusions of my fangs, but his lips were soft and the texture of his scar familiar. His Christmas pine scent enveloped us, and with my enhanced senses, I felt its chilled effervescence simultaneous heat and create goose bumps over my body. I turned in his arms, angling for more access, and a rush of blood filled my mouth.
Dominic stiffened.
I jerked back, startled by the blood coating my tongue, a taste which wasn’t entirely unpleasant, was in fact, not unpleasant at all. The blood was absolutely delicious, which was also startling, not to mention disturbing. Dominic had a gash across his lower lip, and I realized that I’d cut him.
I swallowed the blood in my haste to apologize and choked.
Dominic covered my lips with a finger and shook his head. His thumb swiped back and forth over my cheekbone as we stared at each other, and before my very acute eyes, I watched the intricacy of Dominic’s body heal. The split sides of his lip filled with blood, and that blood pooled in the crevice of his cut, coagulated, scabbed, and flaked to reveal new, shiny, pink skin. That skin darkened to a faint thread, and if he’d still been human, the healing might have stopped there, but his body healed the scar, too, until his lips bore not one sliver of evidence of my clumsy lust. What had once seemed to occur instantaneously and magically was now a simple bodily function, but I suppose, that in itself was a kind of magic.
I touched his lips, grazing my fingertips carefully over the perfection of his newly healed skin to the divots and pucker of the permanent scar gouging through the other side of his lower lip and chin, a reminder of his human lifetime, and for me, a reminder of the few things we had in common. Although looking at the skeletal, talon-tipped hand touching him—the hand that I controlled but didn’t resemble anything I recognized as mine—we had much more in common now than I’d ever anticipated having.
He touched my lips with his fingertips, mimicking my movements with the human-looking version of his hand, and I couldn’t help it. Despite the impossibility of this situation and the state of my hands and what I could only imagine was the state of my face, I smiled.
“Sorry,” I murmured. Dominic’s blood had moistened the scratch in my throat, so it didn’t feel like my vocal chords were raking my esophagus with razor blades anymore. “I’m not myself this morning.”
Dominic grinned—full and genuine and lopsided from the pull of his scar—and the warmth and affection in his expression widened my own smile. I let that warmth soak into me, filling my unfamiliar body with hope, reminding me that I could survive. That I wanted to survive.
“No one looks or acts their best upon waking, not even you when you were human.” Dominic reminded me. “Not even me.”
I sighed. “I will miss working on my tan though,” I said, only half-jokingly. The feel of the sun’s warmth on my skin had become a safe haven after discovering the existence of vampires. Having become one, I supposed the necessity was moot, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t miss it.
Dominic grunted. “Many things about you will never change despite the transformation, including your ability to enjoy the sun and your stubbornness it seems.”
I raised my eyebrows. “My stubbornness won’t cure a fatal sun allergy.”
“Look at the color of your claws,” Dominic said dryly.
Despite my said stubbornness and the urge to resist looking at my claws just to defy him, I looked. The skeletal appendages coming from my body were long and knobby and honestly grotesque, a monster’s hands with four-inch, lethal talons sprouting from their tips.
And those talons were silver.
Dominic was right, as per usual, and unfortunately, so was our dear friend, High Lord Henry. I was a vampire, but I wasn’t allergic to the sun.
I was a Day Reaper. 

About the Author:

Melody Johnson is the author of the gritty, paranormal romance Night Blood series set in New York City. The first installment, The City Beneath, was a finalist in several Romance Writers of America contests, including the “Cleveland Rocks” and “Fool For Love” contests. 

Melody graduated magna cum laude from Lycoming College with her B.A. in creative writing and psychology, and after moving from her northeast Pennsylvania hometown for some much needed Southern sunshine, she now works as a digital media coordinator for Southeast Georgia Health System’s marketing department. When she isn’t working or writing, Melody can be found swimming at the beach, honing her newfound volleyball skills, and exploring her new home in southeast Georgia.





LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/melody-johnson-20ab7334    

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Wednesday, May 31, 2017

Cover Reveal: Magnus's Defeat


 

MAGNUS'S DEFEAT cover reveal

4"    

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Title: Magnus's Defeat Series: Sons Of Judgment, #3 Author: Airicka Phoenix Genre: Urban Paranormal Release Date: JULY 12, 2017
   
He swore to end her.   All Magnus had to do was pick up a package and get his brother’s child back. A simple task that any Caster worth his salt could have done in his sleep, except nothing had been that simple for him in years.   For centuries, Magnus relished in the slaughter and annihilation of the demon race. Ridding the world — and hell — of every last one was an oath he was determined to keep. But Magnus had his own gnawing beasts devouring his soul with memories of a past he was powerless to change.   Zara was something else. She was beautiful and powerful, and the very definition of evil. Yet everything about her called to him, beckoned him to forget his nightmares and vengeance. She could fix everything if he would just submit, but she was the very thing who had ruined him in the first place and Magnus submitted to no one.   But Zara proves to be much more than just the source of his agony. She’s a key to ending the war, a power that can tilt the scales and save them all, or will she be the reason he loses everything?   She may end him first.
 

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HAVE YOU READ BOOKS 1 & 2?

   

OCTAVIAN'S UNDOING ***99C***

 

AMAZON | B&N | iTUNES | SIGNED PAPERBACK   Add on GOODREADS

 
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GIDEON'S PROMISE

 

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Airicka Phoenix is a multi-genre author of over twenty-five bestselling novels starring strong female leads and sexy alpha heroes. She started her journey after never finding the type of books she wanted to read. Her love of tortured souls and forbidden romance carried her into writing her own hard-earned happiness. Currently, she lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her babies and can be found hard at work on her next project.  
For more about Airicka, visit her at airickaphoenix.com   ___________   FOLLOW AIRICKA’S NEWSLETTER for updates, new releases, sneak peeks, and more. (no spamming. Promise)   AIRICKA’S NEWSLETTER  
For more about Airicka and the realm she rules with an iron fist--and tons of chocolate--visit her at: AirickaPhoenix.com
   

Monday, May 15, 2017

Cover Reveal: Two By Two


Coming 31st May 2017 from the Kismet line of After Glows Publishing:   Two by Two Blurb: A match made in… outer space. When things at Absolution, the bar on space station The Salvation take a turn for the strange, witch Penelope Hardacre is thrust into the wacky world of matchmaking. Without the meddling of bar owner Geraldine’s alternate personality, it should have all been so easy. But, weres with weres, vamps with vamps, fairies with fairies… Penny’s ordered to pair them all without choice. Is she willing to compromise all of her morals to maintain her safety from Gerald, and what should she do with her best friend Vincent—the kind of fanged best friend who makes her feel safe and loved…and jealous? Onboard The Salvation, two by two won’t be quite what Noah had in mind. Here is the beautiful cover, designed by Bound 2 Be: Excerpt: She steeled herself against another sneeze until her eyes watered, then she shook her head. The creeping, crawling irritation under her skin brought a wave of reminders of spells gone wrong because of the distraction of a sudden itch or sneeze she couldn’t stifle. “Not at all. I can’t imagine you’d know the difference between a therapist and a hooker because I have no doubt your claims of experience—no, expertise—as a lurve machine are much exaggerated.” She plucked the lemon wedge from the edge of his glass and bit into the flesh as she wrinkled her nose again. His gaze danced over her face, and his eyes flashed with either amusement or danger…or desire. She shivered a little in the warm room. “Just let it go, silly girl. Sneezes are like orgasms. An unstoppable force—though hardly a…delight.” He watched another drip making its way back to his drink from his nail, apparently bored with their conversation. But she knew better. “Whatcha drinkin’, my vampire friend?” She cooed the words as she twirled her hair around her finger in a playful gesture designed to annoy him as much as he’d irritated her, and nearly let loose a giggle as his expression turned sour. “My drink.” “Which is…?” His eyes flared red for a second at her words. “Something you wouldn’t like.” “Perhaps you mistake my love of tomatoes.” She kept her flirtatious tone in place and leant to rest her hand on his arm. He bumped his fist against the table. “Keep your voice down, angelcakes. Can’t a man abide by his principles in peace?” Glancing out at the dark sky and the pin-prick stars stretching into the unknown distance, she sighed. “A man, Vincent? I thought you’d got over that pipe dream.” “I am a man.” He ground out the words. “You’re a vegan vampire, trapped on an old heap of a space station for maybe the rest of your days. That’s a long time.” She spared a look for his tomato juice. “Although maybe not quite so long if you were to give in to your basic instincts and get rid of anyone who annoyed you—which is everyone. At least then you’d be alone with your indignity and plant-based thirst-quenchers.” He let loose a short, mirthless laugh. “Just me, you, and tomatoes. And you’re a witch who can’t do magic without sneezing and breaking out in an itchy rash.” He shrugged at her, his grin rueful. “What a pair we make.” What a pair indeed.
One last thing: The Salvation has been opened up as a multi-author world. To play on board The Salvation, please check the details on this page. :-) Thank you.
 
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Thursday, May 4, 2017

Cover Reveal: Sanyare



Title: Sanyare: The Rebel Apprentice
Author: Megan Haskell
Genre: Fantasy Adventure
Cover Designer: Deranged Doctor Design
Editor: KM Editorial and Laura Taylor
Publisher: Trabuco Ridge Press
Expected Release Date: June 12th, 2017
Hosted by: Lady Amber’s PR
Blurb: 
To save millions of lives, she may have to sacrifice the ones she loves…

Rie is on the run from the wrath of elvish kings. As her enemies grow and the assassins close in, she must bring a traitor to justice to save herself. But to keep one step ahead, Rie may need to leave her friends and the man she loves behind…

Her only chance of survival may lie in a hidden colony of water fae off the Florida coast. When the Fire Queen approaches with a vengeance and innocent people die, Rie faces an impossible choice: give herself up to save her loved ones or watch as the entire human realm is completely annihilated…

Sanyare: The Rebel Apprentice is the third book in the Sanyare Chronicles, a series of breathtaking fantasy adventure novels. If you like headstrong heroines, mythological creatures, and a hearty dose of magic and mayhem, then you’ll love Megan Haskell’s thrilling series.

Megan Haskell is the author of the dark fantasy adventure series, The Sanyare Chronicles, and Program Director for O.C. Writers, A Network of Published and Aspiring Authors. She lives in Orange County, California with her husband, two young daughters, and one ridiculously energetic dog. You can find her on her website at www.MeganHaskell.com, www.OCWriters.Network, and Facebook.

Author Links:
Twitter: @meganphaskell or www.twitter.com/meganphaskell

Buy Link:
The Last Descendant: http://amzn.to/2pxknss
The Heir Apparent: http://amzn.to/2pYpLX4

Get Your FREE copy of Pixie Tamer!
To get your FREE copy of Pixie Tamer, the short story prequel to Sanyare: The Last Descendant, PLUS three excerpts from the novel featuring Rie's tiniest allies, sign up for Megan Haskell’s newsletter at www.meganhaskell.com/newsletter-subscription.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Surprise Reveal: Octavian's Undoing


Airicka Phoenix OCTAVIAN'S UNDOING Series: Sons of Judgment Genre: Urban Paranormal

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No good deed goes unpunished. Riley Masters learns this the hard way when she finds a wallet and decides to do the right thing. But returning it will cost her much more than she bargains for. Abandoned by her mother, raised by an indifferent father, Riley has accepted the fact that she would be alone always. She has no idea that a single act of kindness would propel her into a world where creatures that shouldn’t exist guard the human race from the demons that lurk in the shadows. That it will cost her the lives of those she loves while unearthing a destiny she never imagined with a man who is forbidden to love her. She finds passion, romance and the family she’d been searching for her entire life, but at what cost and what is she willing to sacrifice to find answers and happiness? Octavian Maxwell has always known his place. He is a Caster, a Son of Judgment. His job is to protect the mortal world from the creatures plotting to destroy it. Instead, his world is shattered when a human girl walks into Final Judgment, a girl he has been searching for his entire life, a girl he is forbidden to ever touch. Being with her will break the oath he’s sworn to never love a mortal. But his heart has already found its mate and it refuses to let go. Final Judgment . . . a place undetected, a gateway to evil and a legend that will undo everything anyone has ever known about our world.
 

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Airicka Phoenix is a multi-genre author of over twenty-five bestselling novels starring strong female leads and sexy alpha heroes. She started her journey after never finding the type of books she wanted to read. Her love of tortured souls and forbidden romance carried her into writing her own hard-earned happiness. Currently, she lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her babies and can be found hard at work on her next project.
For more about Airicka, visit her at airickaphoenix.com ___________ FOLLOW AIRICKA’S NEWSLETTER for updates, new releases, sneak peeks, and more. (no spamming. Promise) AIRICKA’S NEWSLETTER
For more about Airicka and the realm she rules with an iron fist--and tons of chocolate--visit her at: AirickaPhoenix.com

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