Bewitching Book Tours Magazine December 2013

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine Issue 18 December 2013

Bewitching Book Tours Magazine is a publication of Bewitching Book Tours and Bewitching Books.

Editor: Roxanne Rhoads Design Editor and Layout: Lisa McGeen Contributors include Bewitching Book Tours Authors and Tour Hosts learn more at www.bewitchingbooktours.blogspot.com

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Contents

Let’s Talk Holiday Traditions Season of Seduction Ruler of Demons Feature Christmas at the Gingerbread Café Feature Santa for Holidays Chasing the Star Garden Feature Interview with Marina Myles Jolt Feature The Paranormal and Psychology Review Interview with D. Melhoff ClaraBelle’s Custom Creations Tarot In Fiction Monthly Feature: The Longest Night Christmas in Dogtown Barbara Bretton Feature Dragon Fire Feature Revving Up the Holidays Vampire Seal Novels Exit Feature Interview with Laurie Olerich Lady of the Dead Feature Entangled Publishing Features Christmas Past Bethanne Strasser Interview Santa to the Rescue Second Chance Christmas White Lie Christmas Naughty Nook Alpha Feature Eternal Ever After Ribbon of Darkness Pin Up Feature Why Pin Up Tasty Treats

4 8 10 12 14 16 20 24 28 29 30 33 34 36 40 42 54 68 70 76 80 86 91 92 95 98 100 101 103 104 108 112 114 115 116

Let’s Talk Holiday Traditions by Lisa Mondello Holiday traditions are as different as the people who them dear. Every family has their own traditions that they never stray from each year because it brings comfort long after loved ones have passed on.

Since I have been married and had my own family, my family has their own holiday traditions that are uniquely different than some of the traditions of my youth. Although, some traditions have remained the same.

As a child, my family would have Christmas Eve dinner at home. It was just my parents and my sisters and brother. We would hound my parents all day to open just one gift because we couldn’t wait until the morning.

They would relent, as they did every year, and then we’d sit down for an Italian Christmas Eve dinner that consistent of 5 different fish recipes. Some I looked forward to. Some I always turned my nose up at. (Smelts!

Ugh!) After dinner, we’d quickly clean up the dishes and then meet with the rest of the kids in the neighborhood and go Christmas caroling. (Yes, people really do that in New England!) My neighbors would look forward to this every year. We knew which neighbor was going to have hot chocolate ready for us. We knew who had sugar cookies and chocolate. It was nice singing a song or two, and then moving on to the next house. Even a cranky neighbor would smile and look forward to seeing us.

We don’t do that anymore. Although I am Italian, I married into a German family and my traditions of Christmas Eve dinner have melded with my husband’s. (Read…no more smelts!!) My kids still bug me to open “just one” gift. But instead of Christmas caroling, we watch a holiday movie or some other movie classic.

What about your traditions? Do you do anything different as an adult that you used to do as a kid? What tradition will you never stray from?

All I Want for Christmas is You Fate with a Helping Hand Book One Lisa Mondello Genre: Contemporary Romance ASIN: B005KDG236

Number of pages: 192 Word Count: 40,000 Amazon Barnes and Noble iTunes Smashwords Book Description: Sometimes fate needs a little hand...

Santa Claus is going to have a rough season... Lauren Alexander is raising her daughter alone.

Abandoned by her family for her decision to keep her daughter Kristen, she has done a pretty good job for the last six years. Or she thought she had. That's why she is crushed when little Kristen gives up her wish for a toy or goodie and instead asks Santa for a present for her mother. She wants Santa to bring a Daddy. Delivering Daddies isn't Santa's bag.

But this Santa has a plan...

Kyle Preston knows what it is like to be abandoned too. Luckily he found the support of loving adoptive parents and has turned himself into one of the most successful Real Estate developers in town.

Building a house is easy. Building someone's trust is a whole other story. But with a little helping hand, a little Christmas magic can make all the difference in the world.

About the Author: Lisa Mondello (a.k.a. LA Mondello) has held many jobs in her life but being a published author is the last job she'll ever have. She's not retiring! She blames the creation of the personal computer for her leap into writing novels. Otherwise, she'd still be penning stories with paper and pen. Her first book, All I Want for Christmas is You, was the winner of the Golden Quill contest for Best First Book and to date has had over 750,000 downloads worldwide.

She is currently the author of 15 novels under the name Lisa Mondello and LA Mondello. You can find more information about Lisa Mondello at http://www.lisamondello.blogspot.com www.LisaMondello.blogspot.com @LisaMondello http://www.facebook.com/lisa.mondello.1 Excerpt All I Want for Christmas Is You "You don't have to be afraid. This will explain it all. I promise you." He smiled warmly and Lauren wanted to trust him if only to believe in simple kindness.

With shaking hands, she took the piece of paper, warm from being in the pocket close to Kyle's body. She held it up straight so that she could see Kyle while reading the words on the paper.

"Dear Santa..." she read out loud, then read the next part silently. "Oh, no," she groaned.

"I know. That's just how I felt."

Lauren shot him a skeptical glance. "How did you get this?"

"Kristen gave it to me."

"That's impossible. Mrs. Hopkins just helped her with it this afternoon and-" "And she gave it to me in the Mall," Kyle finished for her.

She looked at him quizzically, still trying to comprehend the course of events leading up to his seizure of her daughter's precious note.

"It's not that hard to figure out, Lauren," Kyle said warmly.

His dark eyes gleamed with the light from the lamppost. He wore no hat to protect his head from the falling snow. Now his hair was filled with powdered flakes, matting it down.

His grin was bright and wide as he informed her, "I'm Santa Claus."

Fate with a Helping Hand Series includes: Book 1 ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU Book 2 THE MARRIAGE CONTRACT Book 3 THE KNIGHT AND MAGGIE'S BABY

Season of Seduction Edited by Angela James, this anthology includes: Five Golden Rings by Jeffe Kennedy Naughty Nicks by Christine d'Abo MĂŠnage on 34th Street by Elise Logan and Emily Ryan-Davis Matzoh and Mistletoe by Jodie Griffin What's on your wish list?

After indulging in twelve naughty nights in Mexico, a woman experiences an erotic epiphany. An adventurous elf has her eye on one very sexy Santa. A married couple hopes to find a very special marine under the mistletoe. And a holiday mitzvah leads a woman to submit to a man in uniform on Christmas Day. No matter your fantasies, this collection of four shorts will add spice and sizzle to cold winter nights.

Stories also available for purchase separately.

About the Author Jeffe Kennedy is an award-winning author with a writing career that spans decades. Her fantasy BDSM romance, Petals and Thorns, originally published under the pen name Jennifer Paris, has won several reader awards. Sapphire, the first book in Facets of Passion has placed first in multiple romance contests and the follow-up, Platinum, is climbing the charts. Her most recent works include three fiction series: the fantasy romance novels of A Covenant of Thorns, the contemporary BDSM novellas of the Facets of Passion, and the post-apocalyptic vampire erotica of the Blood Currency.

Jeffe lives in Santa Fe, with two Maine coon cats, a border collie, plentiful free-range lizards and a Doctor of Oriental Medicine. Jeffe can be found online at her website: JeffeKennedy.com or every Sunday at the popular Word Whores blog.

She is represented by Pam van Hylckama Vlieg of Foreword Literary.

Excerpt : Ruler of Demons by Scott A. Lerner I turned the knob to my front door to find it unlocked. I don’t always remember to lock my door so I was not overly alarmed. On the other hand the dead bird combined with the unlocked door did put me on edge. Since my last supernatural entanglement, I had begun to leave a Louisville Slugger in the umbrella rack by the door.

I slowly opened the door. Nothing appeared out of place, but I grabbed the bat and slowly made my way through each room of my house. I found no sign of intruders.

I decided it was safe and put the bat back where I had stashed it. It was almost seven-thirty and I had still not eaten. Not to be critical, but the wake could have used some snacks and Irish whiskey.

I thought about cooking some traditional Irish delicacy in honor of Mrs. O’Neill but the closest thing I had in the kitchen was a year-old box of Lucky Charms. I kept meaning to get to that. My fear of refrigerators had mostly dissipated over the last year, and I decided to risk a roast beef sandwich. I opened the crisper bin and gathered a container of roast beef, some sliced sharp cheddar cheese, and some Grey Poupon mustard.

I placed them on the kitchen table. I was about to retrieve the sourdough bread from the bread box when something caught my attention. In the middle of the table was a silver pocket watch case. I do have a number of watches, but I don’t store them in the kitchen. I also don’t own a pocket watch.

I picked up the case. On the front was an engraving of three stalks of wheat. The kernels where plated in gold.

Behind the wheat was a large cross, also in gold.

Yellow guilloche enamel covered the entire back side. The engraving there looked to be of a small shield with a sword behind it. The hilt of the sword had two cross guards. Above the shield, a hat with long tassels framed the sword and shield. There was a tiny hallmark on the neck of the case of Minerva as well as a small diamond with initials inside that had been mostly rubbed away. I could tell there were two letters but I could only identify an “S.” This case was expensive and well made. If it had been left here by a robber, then they didn’t fully understand their job. I sat down and pushed the button attached to the neck of the case. When the case opened, I immediately recognized my error; this was not a watch case but a pyx—the silver case priests hold the host in.

I understand that the host is supposed to transform into the body of Christ once ingested, but not until it is placed in the mouth. Inside the case was a puddle of blood. The blood surrounded the tip of a severed tongue like a tiny moat.

Some evil force was trying to get me to lose weight by making it so I would never enter this room again. Then and there I decided I would rather dine out for the rest of my life than risk facing another body part in my kitchen.

Then I noticed something else. Like a Satanic fortune cookie, there was a tiny note inside the pyx, under the tongue. The note was written in brown script as though it was penned using a fountain pen and left out in the sun for a generation. It read, “Silence is Golden.�

I had been sitting in stunned silence for a golden moment when the telephone rang.

Ruler of Demons A Samuel Roberts Thriller Scott A. Lerner Book Description: Human sacrifice and an impending apocalypse sure can throw a wrench in the holiday season.

Only eleven shopping days till Christmas. And less than a week to save the world.

Three nuns--in Chicago, Paris, and Jerusalem--have been killed in a religious ritual. The choice of victims and the macabre details of their deaths indicate that someone is following a recipe provided on an ancient text--a recipe to unleash the forces of hell on earth. The final sacrifice must occur on the Winter Solstice.

Samuel Roberts, a small-town attorney in Urbana, Illinois, knows a bit about the supernatural, having triumphed at least once over the forces of evil. Thanks to a friend who is aware of Sam's little known previous efforts on behalf of mankind, Sam is hired by a big Chicago law firm to take on a sensitive case. His mission? Nothing less than halting the impending apocalypse.

Sam and his good buddy Bob travel first to Jerusalem then Paris in a desperate race to save mankind.

About the Author Author and attorney Scott A. Lerner resides in Champaign, Illinois. He obtained his undergraduate degree in psychology from the University of Wisconsin in Madison and went on to obtain his Juris Doctor degree from the University of Illinois in Urbana Champaign.

He is currently a sole practitioner in Champaign, Illinois. The majority of his law practice focuses on the fields of Criminal law and Family Law. Mr. Lerner lives with his wife, their two children, and their cat Fern.

Lerner collects unusual antiques and enjoys gardening, traveling, reading fiction and going to the movies. Scott's first novel featuring Samuel Roberts, Cocaine Zombies, won a Bronze 2012 IPPY Award.

Christmas at the Gingerbread Cafe Rebecca Raisin Genre: Contemporary Romance Publisher: Carina UK (Harlequin) Date of Publication: November 12th 2013 ASIN: B00GBZ3YD8 Number of pages: 52 Word Count: 17, 750 Cover Artist: Carina UK Amazon US

Amazon UK

Book Description:

Christmas is the season the Gingerbread Café was made for…but owner Lily couldn’t be feeling less merry if she tried. She’s spent another year dreaming of being whisked away on a sleigh-ride for two, but she’s facing festive season alone – again. And, just to give her another reason to feel anything other than candy-cane perky, a new shop across the road has opened…

Not only is it selling baked goods, but the owner, with his seriously charming smile, has every girl in town swooning.

But Lily isn’t about to let her business crumble — the Gingerbread Café is the heart of the community, and she’s going to fight for it! This could be the Christmas that maybe, just may-

be, all her dreams – even the someone-to-decorate-the-Christmas-tree-with ones – really do come true!

About the Author: Rebecca Raisin is a true bibliophile.

This love of books morphed into the desire to write them. She’s been widely published in various short story anthologies, and in fiction magazines, and is now focusing on writing romance. The only downfall about writing about gorgeous men who have brains as well as brawn, is falling in love with them – just as well they’re fictional. Rebecca aims to write characters you can see yourself being friends with. People with big hearts who care about relationships, and most importantly, believe in true love.

https://www.facebook.com/RebeccaRaisinAuthor

http://rebeccaraisin.wordpress.com

www.twitter.com/jaxandwillsmum

http://goo.gl/4GLfYz

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Chapter 1 I was going to lose-again. I gripped the brass handles on the wheel and turned the airship sharply port. The tiller vibrated in protest making the wheel shake and my wrist bones ache. Bracing my knees against the spokes, I tore off my brown leather gloves to get a better feel. The metal handgrips were smooth and cold. My fingers tingled from the chill.

“Easy,” I whispered to the Stargazer. I looked up from my position at the wheelstand, past the ropes, burner basket, and balloon, toward the clouds. They were drifting slowly left in a periwinkle blue sky.

There’d be an updraft as we passed over the greenbrown waters of the canal near Buckingham House. I locked the wheel and jumped from the wheelstand onto the deck of the gondola and looked over the rail.

The canal waters were a hundred feet away. I ran back to the wheel and steadied the ship. If I caught the updraft, it would propel me up and forward and give me an edge.

“Cutter caught it, Lily,” Jessup yelled down from the burner basket below the balloon opening.

“Up he goes,” he added, looking out through his spyglass. The gold polish on the spyglass reflected the fire from the burner.

“Dammit!” I snapped down my binocular lense. I saw Hank Cutter’s red-and-white striped balloon rise upward. At the top, he pitched forward with great momentum, catching a horizontal wind. I could just make out Cutter at the wheel. His blond hair blew wildly around him. He turned and waved to me.

Wanker.

I was not as lucky. Just as the bow of the Stargazer reached the water, a stray wind came in and blew us leeward. The balloon jiggled violently in the

turbulent air. I missed the air pocket altogether.

“No! No, no, no!” I cursed and steadied the ship. I had chased Cutter from Edinburgh across the Scottish and English countryside. He had been off his game all day. I’d had him by half a mile the entire race. With the bottom feeders lingering somewhere in the distance behind us, I’d thought the London leg of the 1823 Airship Grand Prix would be mine. That was until St. Albans, where Cutter caught a random breeze that pushed him slightly in front of me. Cutter had a knack for catching favorable winds; it was not a talent I shared.

“We’re coming up on Westminster,” Jessup yelled down from the basket. “Lily, drop altitude.

Cutter is too high. Come in low and fast, and you might overtake him.”

The airship towers sat at the pier near the Palace of Westminster along the Thames. A carnival atmosphere had overtaken the city as it always does on race day. Colorful tents were set up everywhere. Vendors hawked their wares to excited Londoners and international visitors. I could hear the merchants barking from their tents even from this far above. I fancied I could smell roasted peanuts in the wind.

I jumped down from the wheelstand, ran across the deck, and pulled the valve cord, opening the flap at the top of the balloon. Hot air released with a hiss. I kept one eye on the balloon and another eye on Tinkers’ Tower. At this time of day, the heat coming off of the Palace of Westminster and Tinkers’ Tower would give us a bump. I looked up. Cutter had started preparing his descent. It would be close.

I ran back to the wheel.

“Angus, I need more speed,” I yelled down to

the gear galley, rapping on the wooden hatch that led to the rods, belts, and propeller parts below.

Angus slapped open the hatch and stuck out his bald head. His face was covered in grease, and his bluelense monocle glimmered in the sunlight. He looked up at the clouds and back at me.

“Let’s giddyup,” I called to him.

“You trying the Tower sling?” he yelled back.

“You got it.”

He laughed wildly. “That’s my lassie,” he yelled and dropped back down, pulling the wood hatch closed with a clap. I heard the gears grind, and the propeller, which had been turning nice and steady, began to hum loudly. The ship pitched forward. Within moments, we were coming up on Tinkers’ Tower. The airship towers were just a stone’s throw away.

I aimed the ship directly toward Tinkers’ Tower. Just as the bowsprit neared the clock, I yanked the wheel. The warm air caught us.

“Whoa!” Jessup yelled as the balloon moved within arm’s length of the tower.

The sound of “Ohhs!” echoed from the crowd below.

A mix of warm air and propulsion gave us some go, and seconds later we were slingshotting around Tinkers’ Tower toward the airship platforms. Gliding in on warm air and momentum, we flew fast and low.

Cutter had kept it high, but now he was dropping like a stone toward his own tower. Damned American. I didn’t blame him; I would have used the same move. His balloon was releasing so much air that I wondered if he would be able to slow down in time, not that I would have minded seeing him smash to the ground in a million pieces.

“It’s going to be close,” Jessup yelled as he adjusted the heat pan.

I guided the helm. The Stargazer was temperamental, but we understood one another. A shake of the wheel warned me I was pushing too hard. “Almost there,” I whispered to the ship.

The Grand Prix Marshalls were standing on the platform. Cutter and I had the end towers. I was going to make it.

“Cut propulsion,” I yelled toward the gear galley. On the floor near the wheelstand, a rope led to a bell in the galley. I rang it twice. The propeller switched off.

A soft, sweet wind blew in from the port side. It ruffled my hair around my shoulders. I closed my eyes and turned the wheel slightly starboard, guiding the ship in. Moments later, I heard a jubilant cheer erupt from the American side and an explosion from the fire-

work cannon signaling the winner had been declared.

My eyes popped open. I tore off my goggles and looked starboard. Cutter’s balloon was docked. I threw the goggles onto the deck and set my forehead against the wheel.

The Stargazer settled into her dock. Jessup set the balloon on hover and, grabbing a rope, swung down to the deck. He then threw the lead lines and anchors onto the platform. The beautifully dressed crowd, gentlemen in suits and top hats and fancy ladies in a rainbow of satin gowns carrying parasols, rushed toward the American end of the platform to congratulate the winner.

I was, once again, a national disgrace. Lily the loser. Lily second place. Perhaps I would never be anything more than a ferrywoman, a cheap air jockey.

“Good job, Lily. Second place!” Jessup said joining me. He patted me on the shoulder.

I sighed deeply and unbuttoned my vest. The tension had me sweating; I could feel it dripping down from my neck, between my breasts, into my corset.

“You did great,” I told Jessup. “Sorry I let you down.”

“Ah, Lily,” he sighed.

Angus emerged from below wiping sweat from his head with a greasy rag. He pulled off his monocle.

He frowned toward the American side. “Well, we beat the French,” he said with a shrug and kissed me on the cheek, smearing grease on me.

“Good job, Angus. Thank you,” I said, taking him by the chin and giving him a little shake as I wrinkled my nose and smiled at him.

Angus laughed and dropped his arm around Jessup’s shoulders. They grinned happily at one another.

“You stink, brother,” Jessup told him.

“It’s a wee bit toasty down there. Besides, I pedaled this ship across the entire fucking country while you were up here looking at the birds. That, my friend, is the smell of success.”

I laughed.

“You pedaled the ship?” Jessup asked mockingly. “Like Lil and I were just up here playing cards? If I didn’t keep the balloon aloft, your ass would be kissing the ground.”

“Now wait a minute. Are you saying your job is more important that mine?” Angus retorted.

I could see where this was going. “Gents.”

“More important? Now why would I say that?

Just because I’m the one . . .” Jessup started and then his mouth ran.

“Gents.”

“ . . . and another thing . . .” Jessup went on.

“Gentlemen! Our audience awaits,” I said cutting them both off, motioning to the well-shod crowd who waited for us on the loading platform outside the Stargazer.

I grinned at my crew. “Come on. Let’s go.”

I patted the rail of the Stargazer. “Thanks,” I whispered to her, and we exited onto the platform.

A reporter from the London Times and several race officials stood waiting for me.

“Well done, Lily! Well done!” the British race official congratulated me with a pat on the back.

“Second place! King George will be so proud. One of these days you’ll have it, by God.” I was pretty sure that the last thing I needed was the attention of George IV, the extravagant, unpopular lush. But I bit my tongue and smiled politely.

“Lily, how did Cutter beat you? You led the entire race,” the reporter asked. She was a round woman wearing a very thick black lace collar that looked like it was choking her. Her heavy purple walking dress looked hot under the late afternoon summer sun, and the brim of her black satin cap barely shaded her nose. I noticed, however, that she had a small clockwork fan pin attached to her chest. The fan wagged cool air toward her face.

I pulled off my cap, mopped my forehead, and thought about the question. “Luck,” I replied.

“Lily, that was some move around Tinkers’ Tower. How did you learn to do that?” another reporter asked.

“My father,” I lied.

“Make way, make way,” one of the race officials called, ushering a Marshall forward.

The Marshall looked like someone who lingered an hour too long at supper. The gold buttons on his satin, marigold colored vest would take an eye out if they popped. His overly tall top hat was adorned with a ring of flowers that matched his striking orange colored dress coat.

“Miss Stargazer, congratulations,” he said, shaking my hand. “The Spanish airship is coming in now. Will you please join Mr. Cutter at the winners’ podium?” he asked politely as he guided me forward by the hand.

From below there was a commotion. A man dressed in an unusual costume rushed up the stairs.

The London constables, a full squadron of the Bow Street Runners, chased him. When he got to the loading platform, the man pushed through a crowd of well -dressed ladies and gentlemen, many of whom were

gentry. It was then I could see he was dressed as a harlequin. He wore the traditional red and black checked outfit and a black mask. He scanned the towers until he caught sight of me. He jumped, landing on the tower railing, and ran toward me. A woman in the crowd screamed. Moments later the constables appeared on the platform. The race Marshalls pointed toward the harlequin who was making a beeline for me.

I let go of the Marshall’s hand and stepped back toward the ship.

“Lily,” Jessup warned, moving protectively toward me.

Angus reached over the deck of the Stargazer and grabbed a very large wrench.

Was it an assassin? Christ, would someone murder me for winning second place? I turned and ran toward the Stargazer. A moment later, the harlequin flipped from the rail, grabbed one of the Stargazer’s ropes, and swinging over the others, landed on the platform directly in front of me. Any second now, I would be dead.

He panted and muttered “Lily?” from behind the mask.

“Stop that man! Stop him!” a constable yelled.

“Get out of my way!” Angus roared at the crowd that had thronged in between us.

The masked man grabbed me, tugged on the front of my trousers, and leaned into my ear. The long nose of the mask tickled the side of my face. “Go to Venice,” he whispered as he stuffed something down the front of my pants.

“We got you now,” a constable said, grabbing him, raising his club.

The man shook him off, took two steps backward, and with a jump, leapt off the tower.

Several people in the crowd screamed.

I rushed to the side of the tower to see the harlequin lying at its base. His body was twisted, and his arms and legs bent oddly, contorted into three distinct points. Blood began pooling around him.

“Miss Stargazer, are you all right?” a constable asked.

“A man just killed himself in front of me. No, I am not all right.”

“I mean, are you harmed? Did he hurt you?”

I shook my head and looked down at the mangled body which lay in the shape of a three-sided triskelion. It was the same symbol that was painted on the balloon of the Stargazer.

Chasing the Star Garden The Airship Racing Chronicles Book I Melanie Karsak Book Description:

About the Author: Melanie Karsak grew up in rural northwestern Pennsylvania where there was an abysmal lack of entertainment, so she turned to reading and hiking. Apparently, rambling around the woods with a head full of fantasy worlds and characters will inspire you to become an author. Be warned. Melanie wrote her first novel, a gripping piece about a 1920s stage actress, when she was 12. A steampunk connoisseur, white elephant collector, and caffeine junkie, the author now resides in Florida with her husband and two children. Melanie is an Instructor of English at Eastern Florida State College.

An opiumaddicted beauty.

An infamous poet living in self-imposed exile.

An ancient treasure about to fall into the Blog: www.melaniekarsak.blogspot.com wrong hands.

Twitter: twitter.com/MelanieKarsak Melanie Karsak’s “Chasing the Star Garden” takes the reader on an exciting adventure from Facebook: www.facebook.com/ the gritty opium dens of gaslamp London to AuthorMelanieKarsak the gem colored waters of the ancient world, introducing us to Lily Stargazer, a loveable but reckless airship racer with a famous lover Pinterest: www.pinterest.com/melaniekarsak/ and a shattered past.

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/ author/show/6539577.Melanie_Karsak Lily Stargazer is having a bad day. She just lost the London leg of the 1823 Airship Grand Be sure to request an Authorgraph Prix. To top it off, a harlequin fleeing from constables shoved a kaleidoscope down her pants, told her to fly to Venice, then threw himself from her airship tower. What’s a girl to do? For Lily, the answer is easy: drink absinthe and smoke opium.

Lily’s lover, Lord Byron, encourages her to make the trip to Venice. Lily soon finds herself at the heart of an ancient mystery which has her running from her past and chasing true love and the stars along the way.

An Interview with Marina Myles What inspired you to become an author?

My inspiration came from reading so much. As a child, I loved fairy tales and mysteries - especially Encyclopedia Brown books and Nancy Drew novels. And when I got older I read every single Agatha Christie novel there is. In college, I came across Kathleen Woodiwiss’s The Flame and the Flower. Writing became my new passion and I thought it would be fun to combine romance and mystery in my books. Thus, BEAUTY AND THE WOLF (The Cursed Princes #1) was born.

Do you have a specific writing style?

I like to bounce between the hero and the heroine’s point of view. (But never in the same scene, of course!)

Readers seem to enjoy the duel prospective and the characters’ internal thoughts.

Do you write in different genres?

I’m currently working on a contemporary suspense called AlibI. It’s a departure from what I normally write and I haven’t finished it yet, but my critique partners swear they’re enjoying it so far. Can’t tell if they’re lying!

If yes which is your favorite genre to write?

Because writing in a contemporary time period is so different for me, I’m more comfortable with historical/ paranormal romances. At the same time, it’s fun changing things up.

How did you come up with the title for your latest book?

Every book in the Cursed Princes series is a twist on a classic fairy tale. And since all the heroes in the series are immortals (werewolves, vampires, demons, and ghosts) Snow White and the Vampire made sense.

Do you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?

I’ve done both. Sometimes the title comes to me right away and sometimes it doesn’t.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

I would love readers to come away with newfound faith in a happily-ever-after. True love still exists and can be as magical as a fairy tale!

Of all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?

So far, my favorite character is Lucian Ivanu. He’s the hero in my first Cursed Princes novella, A Warlock’s Dance. (Coming Spring 2014). Lucian is charmingly self-deprecating and far from perfect, but that’s precisely what makes him sexy! Here is my favorite line from him: “Sit back and let me work my magic. I’m a warlock, remember?”

If this book is part of a series…what is the next book? Any details you can share?

There are four full-length novels in the Cursed Princes series plus two novellas (based on side characters from these novels). Here’s the entire list: Beauty and the Wolf ~ The Cursed Princes #1 ~ Hunger and desire can twine into madness… ~ Available at all major retail outlets Snow White and the Vampire ~ The Cursed Princes #2 ~ Which is stronger: fate or desire? ~Coming December 19, 2013 A Warlock’s Dance ~ A Cursed Princes Novella ~ Based loosely on the fairy tale ballet, Swan Lake ~ Coming May 2014 Sleeping Beauty and the Demon ~ The Cursed Princes #3 ~ A mysterious magician. An evil enchantress. And a heroine who’s beautiful beyond compare. ~ Coming August 2014 Christmas at Thorncliff Towers ~ A Cursed Princes Novella ~ Coming November 2014 Cinderella and the Ghost ~ The Cursed Princes #4 ~ He’s willing to do anything to get her back. Even draw her 400 years into the past… ~ Coming February, 2015 Can you share a little of your current work with us?

I just turned in Sleeping Beauty and the Demon to my editor. (Heavy sigh of relief!) The idea for the book came to me through lots of influences: watching the film, The Illusionist, seeing charismatic magicians like Criss Angel and David Copperfield, and the desire to celebrate my life-long love of the classic fairy tale!

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Read. Read. Read. It builds your vocabulary and helps with the natural flow of your writing. Next, learn the craft of writing. Yes, there is definitely a technique to be mastered. Lastly, join a critique group with at least a few published authors. You won’t believe how many things your partners will catch in your work and how much they’ll inspire you to be a better writer.

This has been a thrill. Thank you very much for having me.

Snow White and the Vampire

The Cursed Princes Book Two Marina Myles Genre: Historical/ paranormal romance Fairy tales retold Publisher: Kensington Date of Publication: December 19, 2013 ISBN: 9781601831002 ASIN: B00DV1ITOS Number of pages: 244 Amazon

BN

iTunes

eKensington

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Book Description: Fog and Fascination Alba Spencer thought her past in Romania and the dark magic that haunted it was behind her forever. She is one of the first female barristers now, safe in London.

But London has its dark side, too. A man called the Ripper stalks the midnight streets. There are rumors that her hated stepmother has found her again, suggestions that the nightmares of her childhood are returning.

And with them appears the cursed Gypsy boy she once loved, grown into a man more seductive and more terrifying than she ever could have dreamed…

Dimitri Grigorescu has become a surgeon, a gentleman—and a vampire. The lusts that drive his body are scarcely under control, and even he does not truly know what he is capable of. To fight evil and confusion, Alba must rely only on her wits—and a desire that overwhelms her doubts…

Excerpt from SNOW WHITE AND THE VAMPIRE “I’m very grateful for Teddy’s friendship—and for the opportunity to be introduced to the people he’s acquainted with.” The surgeon lowered his tone.

“People like you, Miss Spencer.”

His words encouraged the spattering of nervous blotches across Alba’s chest. “You’re too kind,” she murmured. “So you find this city a pleasant enough

place to live?”

“Pleasant but for the brutal murderer who lurks in the Whitechapel District.”

“Are you referring to the killer the newspapers are calling ‘Leather Apron’?” she asked.

He evaluated her with interest yet said nothing.

“I understand this monster killed two unfortunates by ripping their abdomens wide open,” she went on, making no attempt to sugarcoat her words since she was speaking with a surgeon.

“Where did you hear that, Miss Spencer?”

“It said so in the penny dreadfuls. Oh, not that I read them frequently…”

Drake raised an eyebrow.

What am I saying? She didn’t normally babble on so, but this man had lit a fire beneath her, though she couldn’t say why.

To her great relief, the doctor didn’t seem to notice her jittering nerves. “Nasty business, preying on those unknowing women,” said. “I can’t imagine a man treating any female that way. After all, women are beautiful creatures to be coddled. Admired. Cherished.”

“That’s a lovely thought.” Alba repressed a girlish sigh. “It’s a shame the killer does not share your school of thought.”

Drake wrapped his hands around his back. “I daresay the police believe this murderer will strike again.”

“I fear that is why fewer people came to your party this evening than Teddy anticipated. The city is gripped with fear.” She paused to take a sip of champagne. “Perhaps we should talk about something more uplifting than murder.”

“Yes.” The surgeon took her glass and deposited it on a servant’s tray. With his hand pressed to the small of her back, he guided her to a quiet corner of the drawing room. As she turned to face him, she could smell hot liquor fumes and the scent of expensive aftershave. Surprisingly, she found that she liked the mixture of aromas.

“Teddy tells me you hail from Romania as well, Miss Spencer. What are the chances of that?”

“Slim, I daresay.”

“You’ve lost a great deal of your accent, but if I had to guess, you are from Bucharest.”

“I am.” How did he know?

His features darkened. “It appears we were destined to meet. And since we have, I’d be fascinated to know more about you.”

Although Alba was taken aback by his boldness, nerves propelled her to continue their conversa-

tion in a blabbering rush. “I came to London when I was fourteen—to live with a family friend who runs the dormitory apartments of the Royal Opera’s corps de ballet. Just this year, I graduated from law school.

That’s where Teddy and I met—at King’s College. Recently, I’ve been assisting Teddy’s father, Harold Rollingsworth, in the hopes that—” “—you will become London’s first female barrister.” Drake completed her thought. Tilting his head to the side, he gazed at her with admiration. “Lovely, intelligent, and a pioneer. You are a rare gem, Miss Spencer.”

The Romanian’s hungry stare closed the small distance between them. Alba’s cheeks burned. We hardly know one another!

Desperate to steer the conversation away from herself, she cleared her throat. “I have yet to wish you a happy birthday, Dr. Griffin.”

“Thank you.” The guest of honor did a cordial bow. “But ‘Griffin’ is merely my professional name.”

Alba frowned. “What is your real name?”

“Dimitri Grigorescu.”

Alba’s limbs froze and the room started to take on a slow whirl. “That’s curious,” she murmured. “I knew someone by that name in Romania.”

“And I once knew a girl named Alba Zǎpǎda,” Dimitri said as a curtain of desire passed over his face.

“You.” His lips thinned into a familiar smile and Alba’s hand flew to her gaping mouth. Curse my poor eyesight! Now that she was this close to him she knew precisely who he was: Dimitri, the handsome Gypsy boy she’d fallen in love with at the tender age of fourteen.

Words escaped her while she gasped for air.

“Life is too short to be without the ones you love,” Dimitri purred. “Don’t you think?”

All at once, memories of the summer Alba spent in the Balkan countryside flashed through her mind: The first kiss she and Dimitri shared amid a field of white poppies.

Simona, Dimitri’s raven-haired friend.

And the terrifying night the three of them spent in a haunted graveyard.

Her blood raced and the room spun in faster circles.

“I’ve been waiting an eternity to return this to you,” Dimiti whispered as he slipped a dried white poppy into her hand.

“But I thought you were dead,” she said before

everything went black.

About the Author: Although Marina Myles lives under the sunny skies of Arizona, she would reside in a historic manor house in foggy England if she had her way. Her love of books began as soon as she read her first fairy tale and eventually led to degrees in English Literature and Communications. Now, with her loyal Maltese close by, she relishes the hours she gets to escape into worlds filled with fiery—but not easily attained—love affairs.

She’s busy being a wife and a mother, but she is never too busy to hear from her amazing readers.

Visit her at www.marinamyles.com http://www.marinamyles.blogspot.com/ www.facebook.com/marinamylesauthor www.twitter.com/#!/marinaauthor http://www.goodreads.com/author/ show/7104310.Marina_Myles

Jolt Excerpt He kept his head down. Like blinders on a horse his stringy hair kept the faces of the people ignoring him from his peripheral vision. He had been out on the street begging all day and now deep into the night. With each step his feet ached from the cold. He placed them as softly as he could, every pace agony.

He was muttering to himself, arguing with the unseen tormentors of schizophrenics everywhere.

“No, no, no! I won’t! You can’t make me!” repeated over and over again.

The rank stench of too many clothes and too few baths surrounded him, an unseen barrier between him and the shoppers and diners rushing home.

He paused for a moment. “Okay! Okay!” he muttered as he approached the entrance to Odessa’s. He brushed the hair from the side of his face and peered in the window. Brown teeth peeked out from behind his salt and pepper beard when he grimaced. He sidled backwards until his back rested on a telephone pole. He wasn’t even forty years old and was worn out.

He jingled the coffee cup at passersby. “Gotta quarter? Gotta dollar? It’s cold out here. Gotta quarter? Gotta dollar? It’s cold out here.” He remained as unseen as always.

He waited. ********** Joel came out of the restaurant entrance. He looked to his right. Cathy’s home and store were only four blocks away. He knew he should feel guilty for what he said to her, but he was only telling her the truth. She had always been jealous of his accomplishments when they were kids. She never recognized the work and drudgery of studying every night. She had been too busy with her nose buried in some novel or glued to the television.

He had worked damn hard. She had everything handed to her on a silver platter.

He turned to his left. His own home was only four blocks away.

“Gotta quarter, gotta dollar, it’s cold out.” The wretched panhandler was at the edge of the sidewalk, leaning against a telephone pole shaking the coffee cup at him.

Joel took another quick step towards a shower and bed and stopped. He turned. Oh man, that guy smelled.

His hand went into his pocket and fingered the change. He peered at the guy. They were probably close in age. What kind of dreams did this guy have when he was 16? And Christmas is coming, right? Cathy had made it all too clear he was a heartless bastard—emotional misfit? He pulled all the change out of his pocket. Up yours Cathy. He bent over to drop the coins into the cup.

The beggar’s hand shot forward like an arrow, fingers clutching Joel’s bare hand.

“You are the light.” The beggar’s black eyes opened wide, stabbing him with their intensity.

“What…” Joel’s hand splayed open from the force shooting up his arm. His feet were rooted to the sidewalk. An avalanche of fire invaded every cell in his body—fire without pain. Time slowed. He could hear the crackling of snowflakes crushed by the falling coins. Microscopic particles of snow glared, iridescent and coursed through his optic nerves. He squeezed his eyes shut. It was too much. He pulled his arm but the beggar wouldn’t let go. He was so strong!

He shut his eyes from the intensity. He saw a brilliance he had never experienced before. Colors cascaded through the spectrum before him. Violet to blue, to green, then yellow. Each one subsuming the other. Then orange, then red.

His entire consciousness was flooded in white. Not a glaring white, a peaceful and total whiteness overwhelmed him. Oh God, it was beautiful. All was one! One was all! Through his clenched eyes a single tear trickled down his face. Oh! And then gone. He was released. The suddenness almost caused him to fall backward. Stumbling for a second, he regained his footing and watched as the beggar fell to his knees, scrambling with bare fingers to claim the coins.

“Mine! Get away. Go see her! You’ll know why. Well, fuck yourself.” The beggar shot him a quick look before resuming his search.

What the hell? Every hair on his body was standing at attention, tingling. He leaned over to touch the beggar’s shoulder, to help him to his feet. What the hell just happened? “See who? Cathy?”

The beggar’s arm swept upward, knocking Joel’s hand away. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” The homeless man stood up, scowled at him and lurched up the street.

He took a step back. Easy Joel, this guy might have a knife. What just happened? He couldn’t chase that guy if he even wanted to. His feet were one with the Earth. What the hell did that mean? It meant something joyful. He closed his eyes again and turned his face to where he knew the stars were watching. He arched his back, his arms stretching out. The single tear joined by others. He opened his arms to embrace the stars and galaxies. They were one with him and he with them. He held the universe in his heart and cried silently.

He opened his hands and felt the stardust in the snowflakes as they landed and melted.

It was all clear now. And it was so simple. How could he have missed it? Yes! His eyes snapped open. “Yes!” He straightened up. He looked at the few passersby who eyed him curiously.

“It’s okay, just had a moment here,” he said. He smiled at them. One nodded back. They all left.

He turned and started walking. Then walked briskly. The hell with it, he started to jog. He didn’t feel his feet slide on the patches of snow. Move it. He began to run back to the lab. Ribsey would have to eat the dry kibble he set out every morning. Sorry buddy.

Jolt Book One K.D. McLean Genre: Dystopia, Paranormal Publisher: Monarch Moments Date of Publication: November 25 2013 ISBN: 978-0-9917995-1-0 ASIN: Number of pages:183 Word Count: 68,572 Cover Artist: Derek Chiodo Book Description: JOLT begins with a touch. A touch that will either send the world spinning out of control, or return it to where it belongs…

Joel Heath PhD, is obsessed to unlock nature’s secret of an alternative source of clean, abundant and cheap energy. It’s the most important research a physicist should be doing. His single mindedness has alienated him from his peers at Queen’s University.

Joel’s potential success is a threat to conglomerates such as Devlin Energy. Phil Devlin has Joel terminated from his position before there are any breakthroughs. Devlin will protect his company’s enormous profits and the influence such wealth buys at any cost.

On a cold December night, Joel encounters a homeless man, Charlie Maracle. Visions of impending global slaughter, triggered by an Oil War have driven Charlie to the brink of insanity. Joel’s simple gesture of compassion is rewarded with a dazzling insight and within hours, the LITE device is created.

Joel learns how ruthless a man protecting an empire can be. Devlin’s private strike team has a mission—bury this device by any means necessary. Their ferocity and speed is overwhelming.

But Charlie has also encountered four others. A young woman battered by a series of crises, a middle aged widow and a fatherless teenage boy. To each of them Charlie imparts a gift. Or is it a curse?

These five people are all that stand in the way of Phil Devlin’s plans one night before Christmas.

About the Author: Katie lives in Canada near Lake Ontario with her partner Desmond. They are living the life that they’ve always dreamed about--writing, editing and collaborating on books. Both are alumni of Queen’s University in Kingston and are frequent visitors to the Tyendinaga reservation, where the novel JOLT is set. She has published a series of adult romance books as well as a romantic comedy, recently released – Funny Business.

For relaxation (what is that?) she and Desmond enjoy walking their neurotic pug, trying different recipes together (Des cooks, Katie helps) and watching HBO movies, followed by immersion in their hot tub. There’s almost nothing better than star gazing in the frigid air while being toasty warm…Well maybe skiing at Mont St. Anne is a close second.

In taking on an epic of the scale of JOLT, Katie has been inspired by the words of Goethe.

“Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid.” http://kdmcleanauthor.blogspot.ca/ https://www.facebook.com/kd.mclean.77 http://www.goodreads.com/kdmclean

The Paranormal and Psychology

By Ann Gimpel Wikipedia defines Paranormal as “a general term (coined ca.

1915–1920) that designates experiences that lie outside the range of normal experience or scientific explanation or that indicates phenomena understood to be outside of science's current ability to explain or measure.” In this rather hard core definition, werewolves, vampires and other mythical creatures do not meet criteria to be considered paranormal. Paranormal refers to one’s experience of unusual phenomenon, rather than the unusual phenomena themselves. I found that out firsthand when I submitted a werewolf short story to a paranormal magazine.

They loved the story, but informed me the topic didn’t fit the paranormal genre.

Psychology is the study of the mind. Because the mind is capable of a great deal, including madness, it’s a pretty broad field.

The two come together in a highly specialized field called parapsychology. Those of you who are old enough might remember a television show called The Sixth Sense. It starred Dr. Michael Rhodes, parapsychologist. A university researcher, he was always hanging about in graveyards, crypts and other spooky places doing parapsychological research and solving mysteries.

The series only ran for a couple of seasons. I think Night Gallery might have bought it for reruns.

I bet if we were all together in a room and I asked how many of you have had paranormal experiences, between a third and half would raise your hands. These types of things are really fairly common. Interestingly, children have far more in the way of inexplicable experiences than adults. This is because, by the time we’ve grown up, most of the magic’s been drummed right out of us. I’m always grateful whenever I go to a science fiction and fantasy convention and see hordes of adults dressed up like their favorite SF/F characters. It gives me hope that imagination is still alive. At Norwescon last year, I had dinner next to a Klingon family. Mom, Dad and two children all dressed to the gills, including blacked out faces and pointy ears.

Aside from Dr. Rhodes, what is the nexus where the paranormal and psychology come together? To address that, we need one more definition. The psychotherapy relationship is one place where clients can experience unconditional positive regard. No topic is off limits. Nothing is too bizarre. I’ve told clients for years that it’s their hour. They can bring up whatever they’d

like. If they want to tell me about their dead Aunt Sara and her nightly visits, that’s just fine. If they almost got into an automobile wreck at exactly the same moment a dear friend died, that, too, is fair game. Part of what psychology does is help people put life experiences into some sort of perspective.

The depth psychologists, like Jung, were intensely metaphysical. He wouldn’t accept anyone as a patient who hadn’t had their astrological chart done. Jung would study their chart, looking for points of concordance between the potential client’s planets and his own. Keep in mind, Jung was an MD. He graduated in 1900 and went to work in an insane asylum long before we had decent medications to quell the severely mentally ill.

The only weapon in his arsenal was talk therapy and he had lots of extremely ill patients who got better. In his later years, as his reputation for dream analysis grew, he was able to focus exclusively on private patients and left the asylum behind.

In recent years, psychology has moved away from the paranormal. As third party payor systems (e.g. your insurance company) have proliferated, no one wants to pay for extended depthoriented analysis. What insurance wants is a highly-structured, time-limited, cognitive-behavioral approach, which works fine for a certain type of client with a particular type of problem.

Unfortunately, no one approach works for everyone. We are all individuals. Some of us are more metaphysically oriented than others. Some of us lead with our feelings. Some with our minds.

What used to be an intimate relationship between therapist and client has morphed into a ménage á trois: you, me, and your insurance company. Probably time to move on before someone kicks the soapbox out from under my feet!

Circling back to the title of this blog post, psychology is the study of the mind. Paranormal refers to something unusual perceived by the mind. Looking at it that way, the two fit together nicely. I’ve found my psychology background incredibly useful writing science fiction and fantasy. I was the kind of kid who thought monsters lurked in the closet. Now they hang out under the bed. Nothing like the dead of night to stoke one’s imagination.

Tell me your paranormal experiences. I’d love to hear about them.

A Review of To Catch Her Death Author: Boone Brux Genre: Paranormal Humor First Sentence: Being a widow wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded.

Review: Lisa Carron, thirty-five year-old single mother of three, lost her husband a year ago in a car accident. She ends up working for the same company he worked for, General Resource Services aka another name you’ll find when you read it.

Nate Cramer, an actual grim reaper meets Lisa on a soul collecting job…only to discover it’s her collecting, much to her clueless surprise on what happens.

Hilarious dialogue and inner thoughts, brilliant story-stars, and Lisa’s point of view carries the story right through to the end. She’s full of it, humorous charm and an attitude that doesn’t fall short.

I needed something to make me laugh, something light, yet kept the promise of entertaining me to the end.

To Catch Her Death does it all, and even the cover art relates what you’ll find inside – good humor and fun reading.

Bravo Ms. Boone, your Lisa and Nate…and the many others gracing your pages, like Constantine (va-va-voom), were spot-on in plausibility, which made the story all the more appealing.

One more thing, Ms. Boone, I hope this isn’t the last of your Reaper stories, I need another paranormal humor fix ;) Soon, please.

Highly recommended if you’re ready to laugh out loud and mean it ;) ~reviewed by Kay Dee Royal

Interview with D Melhoff What inspired you to become an author?

Like most writers, I was (still am) a voracious reader. Picture a kid who shows up to a hockey game with The Hobbit tucked under his armpit, or the pimple-faced teenager who would rather write screenplays and poetry than get hammered at the next high school bush-party.

Make no mistake, I still have a lot of great friends—and my parents and teachers were kind enough to listen to early dribble—but I’m introverted, so most of my inspiration came from the books I was reading when I was young.

How did you come up with the title for your latest book?

Come Little Children came from a completely unrelated poem that happened to suit the tone and the theme of the book. And since fewer things are creepier than children in horror stories, it was a perfect fit.

Is there a genre that you’d like to write that you haven’t tackled yet?

Crime, maybe, like something set in New York in the nineteen-thirties. It’s an oddly specific and strangely romantic era for me, and I’m happy to say I’m already scheming something to do with that world.

Of all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?

I like Camilla (no surprise) because our humor and thought-processes are pretty much identical. When most people are thinking about regular things, like work and school and TV, I’m wondering how long it takes dead bodies to float in the ocean.

If this book is part of a series…what is the next book? Any details you can share?

Unfortunately, Come Little Children is not (currently) planned as part of a series. There are too many other sto-

ries I’d like to tackle before returning to Nolan; however, I will say it’s really hard to stop asking “What happens next?” at the end of your own book. I don’t suppose I’ve stopped myself from thinking up sequels while taking the bus or day-dreaming in the shower, but as of right now, it’s not in the works.

What books/authors have influenced your life?

King had the largest influence on my style growing up, probably because I spent so much time reading his stuff. Otherwise, I’d have to give a lot of credit to various Hollywood screenwriters: Ted Eliot, Terry Rosio, Joe Esterhaus, John August, Shane Black, David Koepp, Andrew Kevin Walker. The tight structure of Hollywood screenplays translates well to any form of storytelling.

When you’re not writing what do you do? Do you have any hobbies or guilty pleasures?

For every hour I spend writing and reading demented stories, I spend another hour on more social activities (perhaps as a subconscious effort to balance out my tortured soul). Broadway musicals, comedy basements, jazz clubs. That kind of thing.

What would your readers be surprised to learn about you?

I’ve pretty much spilled my entire life throughout this blog tour, so there’s not a lot left to share. Everyone knows I collect Pez dispensers now, as well as my secret dream of being a Zamboni driver some day. The rest shall remain a mystery... for now.

What is next for you? Do you have any scheduled upcoming releases or works in progress?

I’m well into my second novel already, which—fingers crossed—will be out by the middle of next year. I can’t say much, except it’s a summer camp horror story with a new twist. Nothing paranormal in this one, just a really sick (in the head) villain.

Thank you, Roxanne, for the wonderful tour, and thank you to the readers who followed along. If you’d like to stay in the loop with my upcoming projects, feel free to bookmark dmelhoff.com and follow the D. Melhoff page on Facebook.

----------------------------------D. Melhoff is the author of Come Little Children, a supernatural thriller about a family of morticians who are connected to a string of paranormal murders in the town of Nolan, Yukon.

Official Website: www.dmelhoff.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/dmelhoff Twitter: @dmelhoff GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/dmelhoff

Come Little Children D. Melhoff Genre: Horror, thriller, supernatural thriller Publisher: Bellwoods Publishing Cover Artist: Carl Graves Book Trailer: http://youtu.be/nM0QAA607yo Book Description: The Nolan morgue is more than just an ordinary funeral home.

When their newest employee uncovers a supernatural conspiracy connected to a string of child murders, she must use every shred of her intelligence to stop a new breed of serial killer and escape the morgue alive.

About the Author: D. Melhoff was born in a prairie ghost town located an inch above the Canadian-American border. He credits King, Poe, Hitchcock, Harris, Raimi, and his second grade school teacher, Mrs. Lake, for turning him to horror. www.dmelhoff.com www.facebook.com/dmelhoff @dmelhoff

Bewitching Book Tours is now offering custom book swag creations that can be added on to tour packages or ordered separately.

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Some of the silver charms available are: vampire fangs, wolves, witch hats, keys and locks, books, hearts, haunted houses, bats, foxes, hamsas, dragons, sugar skulls, rhinestone skull and crossbones, high heeled shoes, Fleur de lis, masquerade masks, owls and many more.

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The Queen of Swords: The Snow Queen of the Tarot

by Alayna Williams One of my favorite cards in the Tarot is the Queen of Swords. She's depicted as a woman seated on a throne decorated with winged creatures. Her cloak is decorated in clouds, mirroring the storm clouds on the horizon She holds a sword in her had, uplifted, almost as if she's cut herself with it. She's the queen of the domain of air, over the intellect and powers of the mind. A single bird flies in the distance, and we can't really tell if the bird is approaching her or flying away. Her expression is touched by sadness.

The traditional interpretation of the card involves an independent woman of strength. She's a courageous woman, self-reliant. But she is also the queen of sorrow. This card is often associated with loneliness and disappointment. Sometimes, she symbolizes a widow. But she bears her burdens with pride, looking to the horizon where the storm grows.

She always reminds me of the story of the Snow Queen, by Hans Christian Anderson. The Snow Queen is a sad, ethereal beauty wrapped in white fur, accompanied by "snow bees" - other creatures of air. Forever alone in her palace at the North Pole, she steals away a little boy, Kay, from his home. Kay has been poisoned by a shard of evil mirror, and goes with her willingly. The Queen kisses him once on each cheek: once to keep him warm, and the other to make him forget his life. If she kissed him a third time, she knows that he would die.

Gerta, Kay's little friend, searches high and low to find him. Gerta is assisted in her quest by a pair of ravens, also denizens of air. She meets many people and creatures on her way: a robber girl, a reindeer, and a woman from Lapland. She searches endlessly for Kay. Gerta had many adventures before she reaches the North Pole.

The Snow Queen's castle is beautiful, but it's bereft of life. Within, she finds her little friend, Kay, playing on a frozen lake. She frees Kay with kisses - not the Snow Queen's magic kisses, but the real kisses of a flesh and blood girl. She awakens Kay from his trance and takes him home. And the Snow Queen is left alone again with her snow bees.

The Snow Queen is a tragic figure. It's not difficult to imagine that she's lonely in her ice palace, perhaps want-

ing a child or someone to talk to. She's the villain of the story, of course, causing Kay to forget his happy life playing in the streets with Gerta. But she's also sympathetic. One can imagine the sorrow that the years of ice and solitude have worn on her, like the track of a glacier. But she is important to the natural order of things. She brings snow, and is the force of winter itself. She's not heartless - she did care for the little boy. But there's something wistful about her...as if she sees the world through a window and cannot connect with the world quite in the way she wants.

She is, in some ways, like other winter spirits in the world. The Yuki-onna of Japanese myth is a pale woman with black hair who drifts over the snow without leaving footprints. She is said to be the spirit of a woman who perished in snow. She is often seen carrying a child. In some versions of the tales, the Yuki-onna grants safe passage or mercy, leading unwary travelers away into blizzards or saving their lives. She is an elemental force to be reckoned with, but can melt if the man she loves discovers her for what she truly is.

The lesson of the Queen of Swords card is that sorrow and disappointment pass.

They may weigh heavily upon us, but like the storm clouds and the snow, they give way to the kiss of spring.

Interview with Alyxandra Harvey What inspired you to become an author?

I started writing when I was around 9 years old. We were on a family vacation and I was very bored. This is partly due to the fact that one of my older brothers threw my Cindi Lauper tape in the ocean. That may have been a different family vacation actually. But regardless, I was very very bored. So much so that I was annoying everyone with my boredom. In a fit of self-preservation, a friend of the family suggested I write a short story…and then I just couldn’t stop! I was in love! I wrote poetry, short stories and my first (very bad) high fantasy (very bad) novel by hand when I was fifteen years old. I remembering being inordinately proud of my writer’s callus.

Do you write in different genres?

I am mostly published in the YA paranormal and YA historical fantasy genres, but I have also published poetry and short stories (Urban Green Man, Masked Mosaic (Canadian superhero anthology…my story is half about Beserkers and half about zombies and magical polar bears in Toronto, and Tessseracts 17). I also write historical romance.

If yes which is your favorite genre to write?

I love it all but I seem to naturally fall into YA and paranormal/fantasy.

Is there a genre(s) that you’d like to write that you haven’t tackled yet?

I am currently writing a dystopian book and having a blast. It’s not really dystopian so much as YA postapocalyptic? It’s kind of falling between genres.

Of all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?

I don’t really have a favourite but Lucy from The Drake Chronicles was definitely the easiest to write. She jumped onto the page.

What book are you reading now?

I am currently reading “The Lost Sun” by Tessa Gratton. Berserkers, modern day magic, road trips, Norse Gods…what’s not to love?

What books are in your to read pile?

More than I can possibly list. The pile is teetering and endangering the lives of those walk too close. I expect the dog to start barking at it any day now.

If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?

The Bronte sisters, Jane Austen and Mary Oliver.

Do you have a song or playlist (book soundtrack) that you think represents this book?

For A Breath of Frost (The Lovegrove Legacy #1) my playlist included: The soundtracks to Pride and Prejudice and Emma. And “It’s No Good”, Depeche Mode and “What Gets You Alone”, The Divine Fits For The Drake Chronicles: “Trouble” by Lenka “She’s a Genius” Jet ‘My Sweet Prince” Placebo And specifically for The Longest Night (Drake Chronicles E-Novella) “No Light” Florence and the Machine “Drumming” by Florence and the Machine “Heavy in your arms” by Florence and the Machine “Fight Like a Girl” by Emilie Autumn “It’s Time” by Imagine Dragons What is next for you? Do you have any scheduled upcoming releases or works in progress?

The Longest Night is the next E-Novella in The Drake Chronicles. It takes place about 6 years after the last book in the series. It has new characters but there’s lots of Lucy and Nicholas and Quinn and Hunter.

The Winter Solstice—the longest night of the year—is the perfect holiday for a vampire family to gather. But this year, Lucy and Nicholas and Solange and Kieran get unexpected guests. And they haven’t come to deliver presents . . .

And A Breath of Frost comes out on January 7th, 2014. It’s a historical fantasy set in 1814 full of witches, magic, family secrets, goblin markets and boys in cravats.

The Longest Night Drake Chronicles Book Six Alyxandra Harvey Genre: YA Paranormal, YA vampire Publisher: Bloomsbury Date of Publication: Dec 17/2013 Word Count: 20 000 Book Description: The Winter Solstice—the longest night of the year—is the perfect holiday for a vampire family to gather. But this year, Lucy and Nicholas and Solange and Kieran get unexpected guests.

And they haven’t come to deliver presents . . .

Spend your holiday with the Drakes with the ENovella The Longest Night, by Alyxandra Harvey—coming December 2013!

Short Excerpt Her sister would have told her to go for the heart.

Knowing how difficult it was to successfully push a stake through a vampire’s heart, especially when that vampire was conscious, Aggie chose a different approach.

Plus, a staking would get her expelled. And she was already on probation. Again.

She pressed against a tree, trying not to feel how numb her toes were. At least December in New York had coffee on every corner and diner windows fogged with steam. There might be coffee in Violet Hill but it was probably made with chicory root and anyway, she was miles away from town with nothing but snow, trees, and more snow. All this fresh air was unnatural.

Almost as unnatural as sharing space with a vampire.

She knew he was coming. She could feel it. Her heart sped up even as she told it not to. It always did that. Callahan was on his way back home; it was Sunday night after all, and Sunday nights were family night.

Well, they called it family night but Aggie knew a mandatory curfew when she was on the receiving end of one.

She kept her breaths shallow so they wouldn’t mist in the frigid air and give away her position. Yen had once hidden in a garbage dumpster to cover her scent so she could stake a vampire feeding off the homeless guys living in Central Park. A little frostbite was nothing. She had two stakes, Hypnos powder in her cuff, and a steel needle-stake in a holster under her sleeve. She was ready. She’d get him this time.

“Not again.”

Aggie whirled, stake stabbing the air. She narrowly avoided her best friend’s heart and pulled a muscle in her arm for her trouble. “Shit, Paige,” she snapped. “I could have killed you.”

Paige didn’t look particularly concerned. She crunched through the last of her bit of her candy cane.

Her fire-engine red hair was in two braids, woven through with silver tinsel. No one did Christmas spirit quite like Paige. “Who are we not-killing tonight?” She slid Aggie a glance, then rolled her eyes. “Never mind. As if I have to ask. Your nose is going to run if you stay out here much longer.”

Aggie shoved Paige down into one of the bushes and reclaimed her position behind the tree. “Snow down my neck!” Paige gasped. “Snow down my neck!”

“Serves you right. Keep an eye on that part of the forest, would you?”

Paige sighed. “Don’t you ever get bored of this?”

“It’s what we do. We’re hunters. And anyway, Agent Wild said we have to be prepared to fight in any weather.”

“Yeah, she’s also dating one of the Drake brothers. I’d much rather be doing that.”

“Whatever, so she’s not perfect.” The Drake brothers were unfairly hot. There was no sense in denying the obvious. “She has more vampire kills than anyone else at the academy. She’d have taken Callahan out by now.”

“You know, this obsession of yours is bordering on a bad teen movie crush.”

About the Author: Alyxandra Harvey lives in a stone Victorian house in Ontario, Canada with a few resident ghosts who are allowed to stay as long as they keep company manners.

She loves medieval dresses, used to be able to recite all of The Lady of Shalott by Tennyson, and has been accused, more than once, of being born in the wrong century. She believes this to be mostly true except for the fact that she really likes running water, women’s rights, and ice cream. www.alyxandraharvey.com www.twitter.com/AlyxandraH www.thedrakechronicles.com

Short Excerpt: “You are stupid,” Resa told her reflection in the tiny, scratched mirror of the White Castle’s rosepink bathroom. “Stupid, ridiculous, and absurd.”

She’d been wrestling with her curly black hair for a half hour, and the brown eyes that stared back at her from beneath freshly plucked brows and carefully applied eyeliner looked more jittery than sexy. “And idiotic.”

First, it had been almost a week since Chan had asked her to the Saturday night community dance, popping the question almost shyly as they hacked at the bodies of gigantic dead fish.

They’d both been covered in blood and smelled like they’d been rolling in bait, which should have tipped her off that anything in Dogtown reeking of romance, well, reeked.

Second, her potential date had left immediately after asking her out so he could catch an alligator that had eaten somebody’s poodle in one of those backwater houses near the swamp. He burned rubber out of the Madere’s driveway after making sure he had enough duct tape to wrap around the gator’s jaws. Adequate duct tape was not an attribute she’d ever sought in a man.

Christmas in Dogtown Suzanne Johnson Genre: Sweet Paranormal Romance Publisher: Story Vault Date of Publication: December 2012 ASIN: B009RBKTSG Number of pages: 30 Word Count: approx. 11,000

Book Description: A woman who spent years escaping her rural past learns that Dogtown, Louisiana, hides more family secrets than just the recipe for boudin blanc…..

Resa Madere’s on the verge of losing it all. The boyfriend’s gone. The job’s history. Her beloved house is on the brink of foreclosure. She’ll do anything to save it—even spend a long Christmas holiday working in St. James Parish, Louisiana, helping her uncle run the family meat business. But the community of Dogtown, which has been home for seven generations of the Madere and Caillou families, has deep roots and deeper secrets. For Resa, going home is one thing.

Getting out might not be so easy.

About the Author: Suzanne Johnson writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance (under the name Susannah Sandlin) from Auburn, Alabama, on top of a career in educational publishing that has thus far spanned five states and six universities—including both Alabama and Auburn, which makes her bilingual. She grew up in Winfield, Alabama, halfway between the Bear Bryant Museum and Elvis' birthplace, but was also a longtime resident of New Orleans, so she has a highly refined sense of the absurd and an ingrained love of SEC football, cheap Mardi Gras trinkets, and fried gator on a stick. She’s the author of the Sentinels of New Orleans urban fantasy series and, as Susannah Sandlin, the Penton Legacy paranormal romance series.

Website: www.suzanne-johnson.com Blog: http://suzanne-johnson.blogspot.com Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/Suzanne_Johnson FB: http://www.facebook.com/Suzanne.Johnson.author Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5046525.Suzanne_Johnson

The Year the Cat Saved Christmas Barbara Bretton Genre: Contemporary romance Publisher: Free Spirit Press ISBN: 9781940665009 ASIN: B00FEXP44K Number of pages: 80 Word Count: 22,000 Amazon Smashwords BN iTunes Kobo Book Description: Christmas used to be the happiest time of the year in the big house on the hill. But this year when the clock strikes midnight on Christmas Day, it will all be over. Can Sebastian, a wily Maine Coon cat, find a way to bring his people back home or will this holiday be their last?

Previously published as H " ome for the Holidays"in Penguin Berkley's anthology "The Christmas Cat." Excerpt: Prologue The Year the Cat Saved Christmas As a rule, Sebastian endured Christmas with the good grace for which the best cats were known. He never indulged in merrymaking. His self-defined role as elder statesman precluded such a loss of dignity. Instead he held himself aloof and watched with great indulgence as his humans did the strangest things.

Once a year, around the first snowstorm, they opened the front doors wide and dragged in a big pine tree from outside. The same people who scolded him when he came in with muddy paws ignored bugs and dirt and sap and set the tree right smack in the middle of the living room carpet. They hung round, shiny objects from the branches and strung twinkling lights from top to bottom. Then, when that was all done, they placed boxes tied up with bows underneath the lowest branches.

Everyone who came to visit gathered around the tree to sing songs and drink something called eggnog and to give each other presents that weren't half as much fun as catnip or a ball of yarn. All things considered, it was a

most puzzling time of the year.

At Christmastime a cat had to learn how to cope or he'd find himself with a Santa Claus hat on his head and a ribbon around his neck, posing for some stupid holiday card picture that would embarrass him for the rest of his days. The dog and the parrot were perfectly happy to make fools of themselves and wear all manner of ridiculous outfits to make their humans laugh, but not Sebastian. The first person who tried to make him wear snow boots or a bow around his neck would find himself picking kitty litter out of his teeth for a year.

Sebastian did not suffer fools gladly. Christmas was not his favorite time of year. He preferred Thanksgiving, thank you very much, with that big juicy roasted bird on the table and lots of leftovers. When Christmas got too loud and confusing, he retreated to his hiding place in the Girl's room where a cat in his golden years could sleep in peace and quiet until things got back to normal again.

This year, however, something was wrong. There was no tree, no beribboned packages, no friends and relatives gathered around singing songs to torment the ears of innocent cats. The Boy and Girl moped around in their rooms and not even talk of Santa Claus could make them smile. And what worried Sebastian most was that their parents weren't smiling either.

When it all began, the Man slept downstairs on the sofa while she had the big bed all to herself. Sebastian, with the sensibilities of a diplomat, had tried to divide his attentions between the two of them but his twelveyear-old legs weren't what they used to be. The stairs took their toll on his rickety knees and made him wheeze like a bulldog, so most of the time he slept on the landing so he could be near them both.

Finally the time came when he didn't have to do that any longer, because the Man packed his bags and moved to something called a hotel.

The dog refused to believe anything was wrong. The parrot thought Sebastian was making a mountain out of a molehill, but Sebastian knew in his ancient bones that change was in the wind. He had been around since the beginning and he knew how it used to be when they were happy. There had been so much laughter in the little cottage that he couldn't hear himself purr. Now he couldn't remember the last time he'd even seen them smile.

He found himself dreaming about the little cottage where he'd first lived with them and how happy they'd been. It was as if the cottage itself were somehow calling him back home. The Woman used to sing while she cooked dinner and sometimes the Man came into the kitchen and drew her into his arms and they danced around the floor. Sebastian would even get into the act. He'd wind his way between their ankles until, laughing, they would bend down and stroke his fur just the way he liked it. Ah, those were the days....

He'd been young then and fast. A better mouser never lived than Sebastian in his prime. He'd bring his treasures home proudly and place them on the front porch but she never seemed to appreciate them the way Sebastian thought she should. As far as Sebastian was concerned, it didn't get much better than dead mouse.

Sebastian didn't do much mousing anymore and his birding days were a thing of the past. He hadn't gone exploring in longer than he could remember, content instead to stay close to home in case he was needed. Sometimes he thought he caught the mourning doves laughing at him as he lay on the back steps and sunned himself.

He pretended he didn't notice them waddling by, but he did. It was a sad day when a proud cat like Sebastian couldn't catch a mourning dove but time marched on and, like it or not, there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Not long ago a sign appeared in the front yard and every day strange people marched through the house. Sebastian refused to acknowledge their presence as they peeked in closets and peered under the beds. He didn't know exactly what was going on but he knew enough to understand his life was about to change.

He hadn't seen his people together in a long time. The Man hadn't been around much since the sign appeared.

The other day Sebastian had heard his voice through the answering machine and he'd winced as the dog danced about with delight. Poor Charlie just didn't understand the difference between a machine and the real thing. For a minute Sebastian had wished he didn't either. He wanted to believe that his people would be together again and things would be the way they used to, but he was starting to suspect it never would.

When the big long truck pulled into the driveway that morning, Sebastian knew it was all over. He sat in the foyer and watched with growing dismay as the televisions vanished into the truck, along with the piano and dishes and even the paintings on the walls.

A snowy boot nudged his flank. "Move, fatso."

Sebastian aimed a malevolent look in the human’s direction but he didn't budge an inch. It was his house. Let old Snow Boots move.

"Hey, tubs." The brown boot nudged a little harder. "I got a twelve foot couch to move. Get your furry ass out

of my way."

Sebastian considered turning the human's pants into confetti but thought better of it. Instead he leaped onto the sofa with a surprising display of agility and curled up in the corner as if he hadn't a care in the world. He was having trouble catching his breath but he refused to let on.

"Hey, lady!" the human bellowed. "Do something about this cat, will you?"

"Sebastian!" She appeared in the doorway. "Scat! Stay out of the moving man's way."

Sebastian arched his back and hissed. Scat? Since when did she tell him to scat? She'd never embarrassed him in front of strangers before and he didn't like it one bit.

"Bad cat!" Her voice shook as if she'd been crying. "Don't you ever do anything right?"

Her words cut him to the quick. He jumped down from the sofa, landing hard on his paws. Pain shot up his legs and along his back. He was getting too old for gymnastics. He waited for her to come see if he'd hurt himself but she turned away as if she'd forgotten he was even there. That hurt most of all.

"You gonna stand there all day, fatso?" the human asked, aiming that boot in Sebastian's direction one more time. "You heard what the lady said. Now scat!"

Sebastian couldn't help himself. There was only so much a cat could take before he defended his honor. With one graceful swing of his paw, he turned the moron's right pants leg into a windsock and then he marched out the front door, tail held high. Maybe next time the human would think twice before insulting an innocent feline who was just minding his own business.

He strutted out onto the porch and surveyed his domain.

Snow was everywhere he looked: on the porch, the driveway, all over the yard. Sebastian's whiskers quivered with distaste. He hated snow. It was cold and wet and reminded him of baths and other indignities. Maybe if he looked pathetic enough, she would come out and rescue him. An apology would be nice but he wouldn't insist.

He waited patiently, watching as tables and chairs and beds and tables disappeared into the big truck parked in the driveway. It seemed a very strange thing to do and he was pondering the mystery when he suddenly remembered the last time something just like this had happened to him.

The Boy and Girl had been babies then, too little to do anything but sleep and eat and cry. Sebastian would have suggested they leave the babies behind but his people had a strange fondness for the little roundheads, a fondness Sebastian learned to share only after they were out of diapers. In his opinion, litter boxes made a great deal more sense.

He remembered that summer as if it were yesterday. All of their furniture had disappeared into a truck that time, too, only back then there hadn't been quite as much of it, and most of what they had boasted claw marks.

"Don't look so sad, Sebastian," the Woman had said, chucking him under the chin. "You'll love the new house!"

"Wait until you see the backyard, old boy," the Man had said with a laugh. "Slower birds and plumper mice and lots of shady places to take a nap."

Was that the last time they'd all been happy? The Man worked harder than ever and was home less and less.

She worked harder too, sitting alone at the computer late at night while the Boy and Girl slept. Sebastian never saw them curled up side by side on the sofa or dancing in the kitchen or heard them laughing together in their room late at night.

The moving men bellowed something behind him. Sebastian scampered down the icy stairs and darted under the porch, just in time to avoid being flattened by work boots and the big couch from the den. Snow brushed against his belly and made him shiver. He hated the cold almost as much as he hated the three-cans-for-a-dollar cat food his people sometimes foisted on him. At his age he should be curled up in front of a roaring fireplace with a platter of sliced veal and gravy, claiming his rightful place in the family.

Wasn't it bad enough that the Man didn't live with them anymore or that sometimes she cried herself to sleep when she thought no one could hear her? Now they wouldn't even have a home and everyone knew you couldn't be a family if you didn't have a place where you could be together.

The cottage on Burnt Sugar Hill.

For days Sebastian had felt the pull of the old place until the need to see that old house again was almost irresistible. And now he finally thought he knew why: the secret to being a family was hidden within its four walls and somehow Sebastian had to lead his people back home before it was too late.

Mrs. Scrooge Rocky Hill Romances Book One Barbara Bretton Genre: Contemporary romance Publisher: Free Spirit Press ISBN: 9781940665023 ASIN: B00FEXXSCA Number of pages: 240 Word Count: approx. 65000 Amazon Smashwords BN Kobo iTunes Book Description: Single mother Samantha Dean doesn't have time for Christmas. Or romance, for that matter. She is weeks away from opening her own catering business, the most important part of her plan to provide her certified genius daughter Patty with all the wonderful things she deserves.

Except Patty doesn't want to go to a fancy boarding school. She wants a father and when she meets bartender Murphy O'Rourke at her fourth grade Career Day presentation, she knows she's met the man of her mother's dreams!

But can she convince her Mrs. Scrooge of a mom that it was time to give Christmas -- and love -- a second chance?

Originally published in print by Harlequin American Book #2 is also available now: BUNDLE OF JOY Excerpt Mrs. Scrooge Patricia Mary Elizabeth Dean knew all about biology and how marriage and babies didn't always go hand-in-hand the way they did in old movies and television sitcoms. She'd heard stories about the days when a young girl had to leave home if she became pregnant out of wedlock but those days were long gone by the time it happened to her mother Samantha.

Sam had stayed right where she was, safe and secure in her parents' house in Rocky Hill, New Jersey.

She finished her senior year of high school and, nine months pregnant with Patty, she marched up to get her diploma then marched back out of the auditorium and headed for the hospital in Princeton.

Five hours later Patty was born, and it seemed that from her very first breath she had been looking for a man to be her father.

Her best friend Susan couldn't understand it at all. "My dad is always telling me I can't stay up to watch Letterman," Susan had complained just last week. "He won't let me wear nail polish or get a tattoo or even think about going to the movies with Bobby Andretti until I'm twenty-one. You're really a whole lot better off with just your mom."

Patty knew her mom was pretty special. Sam was independent and ambitious and she had always managed to keep a roof over their heads and good food on the table, even while she juggled school and work and taking care of Patty. But there was one thing Sam wasn't very good at and that was romance.

Her mom said she didn't have time for boyfriends and dating and maybe that was true but it seemed to Patty that it wouldn't be long before she ran out of time. Patty had heard women her mother's age talking about their biological clocks and how all the good men had been snapped up while they were busy building careers and she hated to think her mom would end up old and lonely with a dozen cats.

Not that Patty didn't like cats but . . .

And so it was that she decided to take over the quest.

There had been a few good prospects but nobody she could imagine becoming part of her family until the day Murphy O'Rourke walked into the classroom to give his career-day presentation, and she knew her search was over.

Murphy O'Rourke wasn't handsome, although his sandy brown hair was shiny and his hazel eyes held a friendly twinkle. He wore a brown polo shirt with a corduroy sport coat that was frayed at the elbows—and Patty couldn't imagine him sewing on those wimpy patches Susan's dad had on his corduroy sport coat. He didn't have a fistful of gold rings or ugly puffs of chest hair sticking out of his shirt, and his voice didn't go all oily when he talked to women. When Mrs. Venturella introduced him to the class he didn't try to be funny or cool or any of the thousand other things that would have been the kiss of death as far as Patty was concerned.

He smiled at them as if they were real live people and said, "Good morning. I'm Murphy O'Rourke," and something inside Patty's heart popped like a birthday balloon.

"That's the one!" she whispered to Susan. "He's perfect."

Susan's round gray eyes widened. "Him?"The girl looked down at the fact sheet in front of her. "He hasn't even been to college."

"I don't care. He's exactly what I've been looking for."

Susan wrinkled her nose. "He's old."

"So is my mother. That's what makes him so perfect."

"I liked the fireman," said Susan. "Did you see those muscles!" The girl sighed deeply and fluttered her eyelashes, and Patty could barely keep from hitting her best friend over the head with her math notebook.

"The fireman was stupid," said Patty. "He didn't even understand the theory behind water-pressure problems encountered fighting high-rise fires."

"Patty, nobody understands things like that except you."

"The nuclear physicist from M.I.T. understood."

"Then why don't you think he's the right man?"

"Because he called me 'little lady' when he answered my question on the feasibility of nuclear power near major urban centers."

"But he was cute," said Susan. "He had the most darling red suspenders and bow tie."

"I hate bow ties."

Susan made a face. "Oh, you hate everything, Patty Dean. I think you're about the snobbiest girl I've ever— " "Patricia! Susan!" Mrs. Venturella rapped her knuckles sharply against the chalkboard at the front of the room. "If your conversation is so fascinating, perhaps you'd be willing to share it with the rest of the class."

Susan's cheeks turned a bright red and she slumped down in her chair. "Sorry, Mrs. Venturella," she mumbled.

Patty found herself staring up at the twinkling hazel eyes of Murphy O'Rourke and suddenly unable to speak.

"Patricia," warned Mrs. Venturella. "Do you have something to say?"

Murphy O'Rourke winked at her and before she knew it, the words came tumbling out. "Are you married?"

All around her the class was laughing but Patty didn't care. This was important.

O'Rourke looked her straight in the eye. "No, I'm not."

"Do you have any kids?"

"No kids."

"Do you—" "That's enough, Patricia." Mrs. Venturella turned to O'Rourke and gave him one of those cute little "I'm sorry" shrugs Patty had seen the woman give Mr. MacMahon, the phys ed teacher with the hairy chest. "I apologize, Mr. O'Rourke. Patricia is one of our advanced students and she has an active curiosity."

"I make my living being curious," he said, then crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against Mrs. Venturella's desk. He looked straight at Patty. "Go ahead. Ask me anything you want."

"On the newspaper business," said Mrs. Venturella, with a stern look for Patty, who still couldn't speak.

"Do you make a lot of money?" Craig Haley, class treasurer, asked.

"Enough to pay my rent," said O'Rourke.

"Did you ever go to China?" asked Sasha D'Amato.

"Twice." He grinned. "And I was thrown out once."

Danielle Meyer held up a copy of the New York Telegram. "How come I don't see your name anywhere?"

"Because I quit."

Patty was extremely impressed: he didn't so much as bat an eye when Mrs. Venturella gasped in horror. "What do you do now?" Patty asked.

"I'm a bartender."

The only sound in the classroom was the pop of Susan's bubble gum.

"Look," he said, dragging his hand through his sandy brown hair, "I didn't mean to misrepresent anything. When you guys called and asked me to speak at the school, I was still a reporter for the Telegram. This is a pretty new development."

"Why'd you quit?" Patty asked. If there was anything her mom hated, it was a quitter. She hoped Murphy O'Rourke had a good reason for giving up a glamorous job as a New York City reporter and becoming a run-of-the-mill bartender, or it was all over.

"Artistic freedom," said Murphy O'Rourke.

"Bingo!" said Patty.

She'd finally found her man. *** MURPHY O'ROURKE had faced hostile fire in the desert war. He had stared danger in the face everywhere from the subways of New York City to the back alleys of Hong Kong to the mean streets of Los Angeles and never broken a sweat.

He'd been lied to, cursed at, beaten up and knocked down a time or two but he'd never, not ever, encountered anything like facing sixty curious New Jersey school kids on career day at Harborfields Elementary School in Montgomery Township.

All in all, it made running naked down the Turnpike backward in a blizzard seem like a day at the park.

They asked him about passports and phone taps. They asked him about deadlines and drug busts and protecting his sources. Those kids had more questions than the White House press corps and he had a hell of a time keeping up with them.

Why had he let his old man talk him into this, anyway? His father had always been big on community participation and had agreed to this command performance a few months before the massive heart attack that laid him low. When Murphy stepped in to take care of things for Bill, he hadn't expected his job description would include a visit to Sesame Street.

Funny how quickly it all came back to you with the first whiff of chalk dust. The pencils and the rul-

ers; the big jars of library paste and gold stars for perfect attendance; blackboards and erasers and the unmistakable smell of wet boots on a snowy morning. Of course today there was also the hum of computers and the friendly LCD glow of hand-held calculators, but except for a few different trappings, it was still the same.

Even though it had been over twenty-five years since he'd been in the fourth grade, he found that a few things never changed. It wasn't tough at all to peg that dark-haired boy in the first row as the class wise guy, or the pretty little blonde near the window as the class flirt. The clown and the jock and most-likely-to-endup-at-trade-school were just as easy to pick out.

But that serious-looking girl with the bright red hair and big blue eyes—damned if he could figure out where she fit in the scheme of things. She didn't ask the usual questions about the glamorous life of a reporter. Instead of giggling when he told his best "I interviewed Justin Bieber" story, she asked him if he'd ever been married. Hell, even after he told her he'd never taken the plunge, she went right ahead and asked him if he had kids, and she never so much as blushed. In fact she seemed more interested in knowing the details of his after-hours life than the details of his headline-making rescue of an Iranian hostage last year.

When Mrs. Venturella introduced the lawyer—"Anne Arvoti, divorce specialist"—Murphy breathed easily for the first time since he entered the classroom. He nodded at Mrs. Venturella, then was making a beeline toward the door when a small hand snaked out and grabbed him by the coat tails.

The red-haired girl with the ponytail. He should've known.

"You can't leave," she whispered, her freckled face earnest and eager. "There's a party afterward."

"I've got a bar to run," he whispered back, wondering why he felt like he'd been caught playing hooky and she was the truant officer.

"You have to stay," she insisted, clutching his coat more tightly. "I have to make sure that you—" "Patty!" Mrs. Venturella's voice sounded to his right. "A bit more respect for Ms. Arvoti's presentation, if you will."

He had to hand it to the kid. Her cheeks reddened but not for a second did she look away. "Please!" she mouthed, turning her head slightly so her teacher couldn't see. "You have to stay!"

Murphy hesitated. He hated schools. He hated school parties. He hated the thought of answering a thousand questions while he juggled milk and cookies and longed for a stiff Scotch. He had to get back to the bar and take over from Jack so the guy could grab himself some dinner. There was a meeting of the Tri-County Small Business Association at 7:00 p.m., then back to the bar for the usual late-night crowd. The last thing he had time for was playing Captain Kangaroo for a roomful of ten-year-olds.

But this kid was looking up at him with such unabashed eagerness that the rock that had passed for his heart for longer than he cared to remember thawed a bit.

"Christmas cookies," she whispered, her blue eyes eager and bright behind her wire-rimmed glasses. "My mom made them."

"It's only December first," he whispered back. "Aren't you rushing things?"

"Christmas can't come soon enough for me. Besides, I have a deal for you Murphy O'Rourke knew when he had been bested and he was okay with it. She was probably a Girl Scout pushing chocolate mint cookies. He could handle that.

"Why not?" he said, shrugging his shoulders and taking a seat near the blackboard. A glass of milk, a few Santa Claus cookies, and he'd be out of there.

An hour, give or take. What difference could one more hour possibly make? *** IT TOOK MURPHY exactly fifteen minutes to find out. The kid was some piece of work.

"Fifty dollars," Murphy said, meeting her fierce blue eyes. "Not a penny more."

"Sixty-five dollars a tray," Patty Dean stated in a voice Lee Iacocca would envy. "Anything less and we'd be running in the red."

Murphy threw his head back and laughed out loud. "I don't think you've ever run in the red in your life.

You're one tough negotiator."

"Thank you." She didn't even blink. "But it will still be sixty-five dollars a tray. My mother is an expert chef, and food doesn't come cheap."

"Does your father have you on his payroll? You're better at this than most Harvard MBAs." He caught the swift glitter of braces as a smile flickered across her freckled face. "My mother will be glad to hear that."

"And your dad?"

She shrugged her bony shoulders. "I wouldn't know. The last time I saw him I was two years old."

"Two?" "Yes," she said. "My long-term memory is excellent and I remember him quite clearly."

Murphy wouldn't have thought it possible but his battle-scarred heart again showed signs of life. He'd grown up without his mother, and he knew that the emptiness never left, no matter how old you got or how successful. "Yeah, well, then tell your mom she has one hell of a businesswoman on her hands."

"Sixty-two fifty," Patty said. "Take it or leave it."

"Sixty-three," said Murphy, extending his right hand and engulfing the girl's hand in his. "Not a penny less."

Patty's auburn brows rose above the tops of her eyeglasses. "Sixty-three? Are you certain?"

"Take it or leave it."

"You're got yourself a deal, Mr. O'Rourke."

Patty gave him her mother's business card and promised that Samantha Dean would be at the TriCounty meeting later that evening to finalize the arrangements. Feeling smug and self-satisfied, Murphy grabbed an extra cookie and headed out toward his car in the rainswept parking lot.

It wasn't until he was halfway back to the bar that he realized he'd just made a deal with a ten-year-old budding corporate shark whose mother might take a dim view of handshake agreements with unemployed gonzo journalists who were now pulling drafts for a living.

And, all things considered, he wouldn't blame her one bit. *** SAMANTHA DEAN stifled a yawn as the New Jersey Transit train rumbled toward the station at Princeton Junction. The railroad car was cold and damp and it took every ounce of imagination in Sam's body to conjure up visions of hot soup and a roaring fire. Before she knew it she'd be home with Patty, the two of them snug in their favorite robes as they watched Monday Night Football.

"One more day," she said to her best friend Caroline. "Twenty-four hours and I never have to ride this blasted cattle car again."

"Speak for yourself," said Caroline, eyeing the handsome businessmen sitting opposite the two women. "I rather enjoy riding the train."

Sam resisted the urge to kick Caroline in her fashionable ankle. "You wouldn't mind a trek through the Sahara if there was a man involved."

"Try it some time," Caroline said, her dimples deepening. "You might find you like it. Men are pleasant creatures, once you tame them."

Sam would rather tame a grizzly bear. At least grizzly bears hibernated six months of every year. She could never find time in her crazy daily schedule for a man, no matter how handsome. She turned and looked at her fluffy blond friend. "Do me a favor," she said, giving way to another yawn. "Why don't we just pretend you gave me matchmaking lecture number 378 and be done with it?" Caroline started to protest but Sam raised a hand to stop her. "It's not as if I haven't heard it all before."

Caroline leaned her head against the worn leather seat. Even at the end of a rainy, cold Monday she looked superb. If they weren't best friends, Sam just might hate the woman.

"You may think you've heard it all," Caroline said, "but I can tell you haven't paid attention. Patty needs a father, Sam." Sam's jaw settled into a stubborn line. "Patty has a father," she snapped. "It's not my fault Ronald

doesn't care that he has a daughter."

Caroline was as stubborn as Sam. "I'm not talking about Ronald Donovan and you know it. I'm talking about you, Sam. About your future."

"My future is fine, thank you. This time next month, I'll be open for business and from there the sky's the limit." For two years Sam had eaten, breathed, slept Fast Foods for the Fast Lane and she was finally on the eve of reaping the benefits of her backbreaking schedule of work and school and motherhood.

"There's more to life than your career, Sam." "Easy for you to say. You already have a career. Mine hasn't started yet."

"There's Patty," Caroline said softly, tearing her limpid blue-eyed gaze away from the man in the gray flannel suit across the aisle. "You should think about her happiness."

Sam's fatigue disappeared in a quick blaze of anger. "That's exactly what I'm thinking about, Caroline. Patty needs more than I can give her waiting tables or typing envelopes. Fast Foods for the Fast Lane is my best hope."

Having a genius for a daughter wasn't your everyday occurrence. Patty was quickly outstripping the ability of Harborfields Elementary School to keep up with her. Unfortunately Patty's nimble mind was also quickly outstripping Sam's financial ability to provide tutors, books, and advanced courses her little girl deserved but didn't have.

Sam had no college degree, no inheritance to fall back upon, no friends in high places. What she had was a sharp mind, common sense, and the ability to turn the simplest of foods into the most extraordinary fare.

With the area around Princeton booming with two-paycheck families and upscale life-styles, Sam realized that all the modern conveniences in the world couldn't compensate for the lack of a home-cooked meal made to order and ready when you were.

From that simple idea came her brainchild, Fast Foods for the Fast Lane and with it the hope that she would be able to give Patty every chance in the world to achieve her potential.

The tinny voice of the conductor blared from the loudspeaker: "Princeton Junction, next stop!"

Caroline, elegant as always in her timeless gray silk dress, stood up and reached for her parcels in the overhead rack. "I should be imprisoned for grand larceny," she said, sitting back down next to Sam, her lap piled high with loot. "Three vintage Bob Mackies and a Donna Karan and I didn't have to empty my bank account."

"I take it business is going well?" Sam asked, collecting her books and papers from the empty seat next to her. Caroline ran an offbeat boutique called Twice Over Lightly, where one-of-a-kind designer dresses could be rented for a night by New Jersey CinderelIas. Caroline's broad smile told the tale. "It's going so well I can afford to wear the Schiaparelli to the TriCounty Masquerade Ball. Jeannie Tremont will be green with envy."

"No," said Sam, searching her briefcase for her car keys. "Absolutely not."

"Absolutely not what?" Caroline asked.

"I am absolutely not going to the Christmas party."

"Of course you are," Caroline said. "Don't be silly," "I hate Christmas parties and I refuse to go to one where all the adults wear Santa Claus masks. I have better things to do with my free time."

Caroline's elegant nose wrinkled in disdain. "Spare me your Mrs. Scrooge routine, Sam. It was old last year."

"I don't ask you to forgo your mistletoe, Caroline," Sam said evenly. "Don't go asking me to run around whistling Jingle Bells."

"You used to love Christmas," Caroline persisted. "You used to start decorating before Thanksgiving," "I used to wear braids and watch Saved by the Bell, too."

"You even celebrated Christmas the year you were expecting Patty and we both know what a rotten holiday that was."

"I was seventeen." Seventeen and filled with hope and promise despite the fact that she was about to become a single mother. She had decorated her parents' house from top to bottom and even lit the dozens of tiny candles that illuminated the driveway on Christmas Eve. Had there really been a time when setting up those tiny white candles outside had seemed so wondrous, so important? "I didn't know any better."

Leave it to Samantha Dean to fall in love with a boy from the right side of the tracks. A high school romance with a girl from Rocky Hill was one thing; marriage to that very same girl was something else entirely.

There would be no marriage, said the illustrious Donovan clan, not even to legitimize the baby Sam carried. And so it was on Christmas Eve that Ronald was whisked away from the temptation and sent west where he ended up in the United States Air Force Academy, on the road to a bright and shiny future as a pilot.

And good riddance.

Sam had done fine by Patty up until now and, God willing, she would do even better once her catering business got rolling.

"You should get out more," Caroline continued, as the train rattled into the station. "Socialize. Christmas soirees are all part of doing business in this town, Sam." "Well, the soirees will have to go on without me, I have ten weeks' worth of work and only four weeks to accomplish it. Trust me: I don't have time for Christmas."

"Everyone has time for Christmas."

Sam laughed out loud. "You don't even have time for the Tri-County meeting tonight."

"That's different. The store is open tonight and Jeannie has the evening off." She narrowed her eyes in Sam's direction. "I hope you're going."

Sam glanced out at the cold rain lashing against the train windows. "Not me. I intend to stretch out on the sofa and watch Sex and the City reruns while Patty tackles nuclear fusion."

"Not a very businesslike attitude, Sam." "I'm not in business yet, Caroline."

Caroline waved her words away. "A mere technicality. You should be out there spreading Christmas cheer. I don't think you're being fair to Patty." Caroline looked altogether too pleased with her logic for Sam's taste.

"Just because I don't turn all warm and mushy when I hear 'Deck the Halls,' doesn't mean I'm going to deny Patty her fun."

"Well, thank God for that," Caroline murmured.

"I would have kidnapped that girl for the holidays."

"Wait until I'm established," Sam said. "In a few more years I'll have plenty of time for Christmas celebrations?''

"I certainly hope so. Christmas is a time for miracles, honey, and there aren't many of them around these days. Who knows? For all you know, your big break might be waiting for you at the Tri-County meeting." Caroline patted Sam's hand. "You just have to believe."

"Oh, I believe," said Sam as the train stopped and the doors slid open. "I believe in peace on earth, joy to the world, and that not even the promise of a weekend in the Bahamas could tempt me to go to that meeting tonight.�

About the Author: Oh, how I hate bios! All of that deadly dull information about name (Barbara Bretton) and date of birth (June 25) and geographical data (born in New York City; lives near Princeton, NJ), marital status (many years married), and hobbies (who has time??). How do you gather up all of those dull, dry facts and turn them into something interesting?

No wonder I tell lies for a living.

I considered weaving a story for you about life on a houseboat on the French Riviera. Or maybe my years as a concubine, hidden away in a golden pleasure palace in the shimmering desert. Then I decided to do the unthinkable and tell you the truth.

When I sold my first book and my life changed forever. I sent in my manuscript on Thursday February 21, 1982 and four days later the telephone rang and I heard the amazing words, "We want to buy your book." How I wish you could have seen me. I was standing by the kitchen door of our North Babylon house, the picture of cool sophistication, as I listened to Vivian Stephens explain the terms of the deal to me. You would have thought I'd sold a first book every single day of my life. Yes, I said. Sounds wonderful. Thank you so much for calling. I look forward to our association. That cool sophistication hung on until I hung up the phone, took a deep breath, then promptly threw up on my shoes.

I was thirty-one years old, unagented, unschooled, unfamiliar with anything to do with the business of publishing. To put it mildly, I was in shock. My husband was working in Manhattan at the time (and finishing up his degree at night) so it would be hours until I could break the news to him. This was too exciting to waste on a phone call. I wanted to see his face when I told him that my dream had finally come true -- and came with a $6000 advance!

He pulled into the driveway at midnight. I was waiting in the doorway, holding a bottle of champagne and two glasses. I didn't have to say a word. He knew right away and the look of joy and pride in his eyes warms me now, years later, long after the advance faded into memory.

A lot has happened to me in the years since that first sale. I've learned that this is a difficult and demanding business (it takes a tough writer to write a tender book) and that I am happiest when I am most ignorant. I've also learned that a good friend, a writer and pal who truly understands, is worth her weight in good reviews and royalty checks.

I fell madly in love with Skye O'Malley in early 1982 and wrote an unabashedly gushy fan letter to our beloved Bertrice Small. By the time Sunny answered, I had joined the ranks of the published and Sunny became friend and mentor, guide and confidant. She has held my hand through broken dreams, disappointments, family illnesses, and accepted my bizarre need to go underground from time to time with great affection and understanding. Over the years I've come to understand the difference between the writer and her work, that loving the book doesn't guarantee that I will love the author. But what a joy it is when you discover that the author of a beloved favorite is even more wonderful and witty and wise than the characters she creates.

So this bio is for you, Sunny, for being the best of friends during the worst of times and -- even more wonderful -- during the good times as well.

And now for the statistics: Barbara Bretton is the USA Today bestselling, award-winning author of more than 40 books. She currently has over ten million copies in print around the world. Her works have been translated into twelve languages in over twenty countries.

Barbara has been featured in articles in The New York Times, USA Today, Wall Street Journal, Romantic Times, Cleveland Plain Dealer, Herald News, Home News, Somerset Gazette,among others, and has been interviewed by Independent Network News Television, appeared on the Susan Stamberg Show on NPR, and been featured in an interview with Charles Osgood of WCBS, among others.

Her awards include both Reviewer's Choice and Career Achievement Awards from Romantic Times; Gold and Silver certificates from Affaire de Coeur; the RWA Region 1 Golden Leaf; and several sales awards from Bookrak. Ms. Bretton was included in a recent edition of Contemporary Authors.

Barbara loves to spend as much time as possible in Maine with her husband, walking the rocky beaches and dreaming up plots for upcoming books.

In the Arctic winter, the sun never rises.

In the Arctic summer, the sun never sets.

In the Arctic, the world is at your feet.

Chapter 1 The Circle Tightens

The candle flickered in the subzero wind but

today she wanted to feel its soothing energy closer and

Anna made no move to protect it. She stopped on the

had it in her glove. She had never liked Fritjof, and

hill in front of Tromso’s three-year high school and

even though she wasn’t glad he had died, she wouldn’t

watched the water of the fjord shimmer below. Even

miss him.

though it was mid-afternoon there was no sun, just the

She turned to face June whose cobalt blue eyes

luminous reflection of the moon. The procession of

were at odds with her otherwise Asian features. June

students continued on without her, leaving only the

and her boyfriend had also been out on the mountain

fading sound of crunching snow in their wake.

when the avalanche claimed Fritjof. “I’m glad it’s not

“You seem as eager to go to Fritjof’s memorial yours too,” Anna said. “I’d really miss you.” vigil as I am,” June said, startling Anna with her sudden appearance.

Anna fingered the oval piece of bright orange coral that she had carried around like a talisman since she was a child. She usually kept it in her pocket, but

“It would take more than an avalanche to kill me,” June said, trying to smile. But Anna could feel her friend’s pain lurking under the surface.

“Hey.” She wrapped an arm around June to comfort her. But as soon as her hand touched June’s

shoulder, a burst of energy exploded from her stone.

The gentle pulsing energy that she had liked so much

Anna ripped off her glove and the piece of coral went was gone. flying. “What the—”

“Can I see it?” June asked.

June spun around, pushing Anna behind her as

Anna nodded, her throat constricted. The

if to protect her from an attack. She scanned the area, stone had always reminded her of her father. Its enerher body tensed for a fight.

gy was something he would have been able to feel

“Who are you looking for?” Anna pressed her too. The only person she had met so far who seemed palm to dull the pain as she glanced around the de-

open to accepting that kind of thing was June. Every-

serted hilltop. “Whatever it was, it came from my

one else got freaked out, or thought she was crazy. So

stone.”

she had learned not to talk about it.

June relaxed her stance. “Are you okay?”

June closed her fist around the stone. “Where

“I think so.” Anna gestured towards the coral- did you get this?” Her voice wavered. colored sparks that crackled in the darkness of the Norwegian winter. “What do you think it’s doing?”

“Don’t know.” June crouched down to get a

Anna’s attention flicked back to June. She never wavered. “I found it in the mountains. Years ago. Why? What is it?”

better look. Her hand hovered as a bright green light

“A trigger.”

flashed around the stone.

“A trigger for what?”

“Don’t touch it,” Anna said sharply. Her stone had always had a special energy, but never coral-

June returned Anna’s searching look. “I have no idea.” She handed the stone back.

colored sparks. Or green flashes of light.

“So how do you know it’s a trigger?”

“It’s okay now.” June pulled her hand back.

“Look for yourself.”

Anna knelt next to June. The stone was dark and lifeless and she felt a sudden pang of loss. She

“I just feel it.” June picked up the candles that lay forgotten in the snow. “If you’re okay, we should go.”

Anna picked up her discarded glove and froze.

prodded it gingerly with her good hand, but felt noth- In the middle of her left palm was a star-shaped scar. ing. She picked it up. It was just a pretty bit of coral.

She stretched her hand to get a better look. It was

about the size of a dime. She touched it. Like an echo under the fading pain, she could feel the energy of her

June re-lit the candles again and handed one to Anna. “Ready?”

stone pulsing faintly in her palm.

“Here,” June said, offering Anna a candle. She stopped mid-motion. “What is it?”

Anna hooked her arm through June’s. “I think so.” They walked silently through town and across the bridge that straddled the green-black fjord.

“I don’t know. The stone…” She held out her palm. “Look.”

“Do you think it’s over?” Anna eyed the Arctic Cathedral that sprawled like slabs of a fallen glacier on

June dropped the candles and took Anna’s hand the other side of the fjord. It was lit up like a temple of in hers. Gently, she ran her fingers over the slightly raised ridges of the scar. “A Firemark,” June said as if

light.

June shook her head. “It’s only just begun.”

talking to herself. “But how…?”

“What’s a Firemark?” Anna examined the scar.

It was almost silvery in the moonlight.

June looked up, her fingers still on Anna’s palm. “It’s like a living connection between two people. But… there was only the stone.”

“That’s enough.” Khotan’s voice snapped like a whip across the barren land of Ngari in western Tibet.

“You’re not going to kill her. I will.”

The wind howled in agreement. Rakan bit back

“It always felt alive,” Anna said, sure that June the urge to argue with his father whose shaved head would understand. She touched the Firemark one last

and barrel chest marked him as an Old Dragon. But

time before putting her glove back on. It was warm and Khotan’s massive physique belied his diminishing smooth.

power and Rakan knew that his father wouldn’t survive

June shook her head. “But even if it felt alive, it a fight with the female dragon they had finally located. shouldn’t have left a Firemark.”

Anna shrugged. “Maybe. But I like it.” Anna

He had felt her power when she had set off his trigger just a few hours before. And she was more powerful

closed her hand around the Firemark. It felt like she

than any other dragon he had ever met. Rakan clenched

was holding her stone. She smiled. She’d never lose it

his fists. Blood for blood. It was the Dragon Code. And

now.

he would be the one to honor it.

“You need to start a new life here,” Khotan

Rakan slid his long black braid over his shoul-

said, his hand like a claw of ice on Rakan’s bare

der. “How you fight is just as important as how you

shoulder. “I will end the old.”

win.”

His tone of voice, more than his touch, sent shivers down Rakan’s spine. But before he could question his father, a flicker of red caught his attention and his older half-sister, Dvara, materialized on the sparring field. Except she wasn’t dressed to fight.

“I’d rather stay alive,” Dvara said. “But you can die honorably if you want.”

“Neither one of you will fight anyone,” Khotan said. “Remember that.”

Rakan bowed his head. There was no point

She was wearing a shimmering red gown that

arguing about it now. But Dvara lifted her chin defi-

matched the color of her eyes and her black hair was

antly. “Kraal was my father. I will avenge his death.”

arranged in an intricate mass of twisted strands.

“It’s too late to teach Rakan anything.” She made an unhurried motion towards the targets at the

Khotan growled and stepped towards Dvara, dwarfing her with his size. He held her gaze until she dropped her eyes. Rakan shook his head, wondering

other end of the field. One by one, they exploded with why Dvara always tried to challenge Khotan’s authorher passing hand.

ity in an open confrontation that she was sure to lose.

“We weren’t practicing,” Rakan said calmly.

Khotan was the guardian of her rök, her dragon heart

“Although if we had been, you’d need to start again.

and the seat of her power, and she had no choice but

You used a trigger. You didn’t manipulate their struc- to abide by his will. ture on a molecular level.”

“Who cares?” Her Maii-a, the pear-shaped

Their mother, Yarlung, appeared without warning. “I will speak with Rakan’dzor.” She crossed

stone that every dragon wore to practice manipulating her arms over her white gown that sparkled with matter with, sparkled like an angry flame at her throat. “They’ve been demolished. And that’s all that counts in a fight.”

flashes of turquoise. “Alone.”

She waited, immobile, until Khotan and Dvara bowed and dematerialized, shifting elsewhere. As soon as they were gone, her face relaxed and she turned to Rakan, her nearly blind eyes not quite find-

ing his. “I always knew you would be the one to find

the scales around her head and down her throat glis-

her,” she purred. “You have the strength and the will of tened like wet opals. Without warning, a bluish-white my bloodline. And the time has come for you to use

fire crackled around him like an electric storm. His

it.” Yarlung tilted her face to the wind. “Kraal gifted

mother’s turquoise claws sank into his arms and pain

me his poison before he died. Neutralized, of course.”

sizzled through his flesh. The fire disappeared and

“But no one can neutralize dragon poison.”

Rakan collapsed to the ground, grinding his teeth to

“Kairök Kraal was a great Master. His death is

keep from screaming in agony.

a loss for us all.”

He would not dishonor his family.

Rakan struck his chest with his fist. “Paaliaq

“No, you won’t,” Yarlung said in his mind.

will pay for his death with her own.”

Rakan’s head jerked up in surprise.

“Yes. She will. And you will help me.” A faint smile played on her usually austere face. “I will mark

“You have just become my most precious tool.”

Her voice hummed with pleasure. “You will not fail

you with his poison so that we can communicate when me.” necessary.”

“Khotan and Dvara have a full link, isn’t that enough?”

As suddenly as the contact had come, it was gone. And so was his mother. Rakan didn’t like it. Not her disappearance. That was normal. Yarlung had al-

“You don’t expect me to rely on second hand

ways been abrupt. But he didn’t like hearing her in his

information, do you?” snapped Yarlung. She paused

mind. It was something only dragons who were joined

and spoke more gently. “Or are you scared to carry

under a Kairök, a Master Dragon, could do. Few drag-

Kraal’s poison?”

ons were able to survive the rush of power that hap-

Rakan knelt down in front of Yarlung. “I will do whatever it takes to kill Paaliaq.” His voice cut through the arid cold of the Tibetan plateau.

Yarlung’s eyes flashed momentarily turquoise

pened when their röks awakened without the help of a Kairök. But Rakan had.

He gritted his teeth and stood up. If sharing a mind-link with Yarlung was necessary to kill Paaliaq,

and Rakan stepped back as she morphed into her drag- then he would learn to accept it. on form. She was a long, undulating water dragon and

He held his arms out to examine the dragons that had appeared where his mother’s claws had dug

He leaned towards her. “Especially when I have the honor of accompanying a lovely lady.”

into his biceps. They were long, sinuous water dragons like Yarlung. But they were black, the color of

“You’re not accompanying me. You’re dropping me off.”

purity, the color of Kraal. Rakan watched the miniature turquoise-eyed dragons dance on his arms until

“Precisely.” He pulled up in front of the house that pulsed with music, revving his engine one last

they penetrated under his skin. He felt a cold metallic time. He jumped out of the car and got to her side just shiver deep inside as they faded from view.

A rush of pride exploded in Rakan and he raised his arms to the frozen winter sky, the pain like

as she was opening her door. He offered her his arm.

“And since I’m a gentleman, I’ll accompany you to the door.”

a blood pact marking his words. “I will avenge your

Anna ignored Ulf and struggled to get up

death, Kairök Kraal. The Earth will become our new

while the dress she had decided to wear did its best to

home and your Cairn will once again prosper.”

slide all the way up her thighs. Ulf moved to steady her as she wobbled in the high heels she wasn’t used

“You can drop me here.” Anna glared at her mother’s to wearing but she pushed him away. Her shoes boyfriend who reminded her of his namesake: a wolf. slipped on the icy snow and she grabbed the railing, Ulf turned the car into Siri’s driveway and

wondering why she had decided to wear them.

flashed his all too perfect smile. “Not unless you want

“It would be easier if you’d accept my help.”

me to carry you in. Your shoes aren’t practical for

“I don’t need your help,” she said, walking up

walking in the snow.”

the stairs. When he followed anyway, she turned to

Anna snorted. “You’re one to talk. You’re the face him. “Don’t you have anything better to do?” one driving a sports car in the winter.” And she didn’t

“As a matter of fact… no,” said Ulf. He

feel like having her teammates from the handball

straightened his white silk scarf that didn’t need

team see it.

straightening. “Ingrid won’t be off work until elev-

Ulf threw his head back and laughed. “I only take it out for special occasions. Like New Year’s.”

en.”

The evening was cold and Anna regretted wearing a dress. “You’re not coming in.”

“We can stand out here, if that’s what you prefer,” said Ulf, looking up at the sky.

Randi opened the door. “Anna! Finally,” she

“Ulf has a date,” Anna said. She blocked the door after Siri and Randi disappeared inside. “With my mom. Or have you forgotten?”

“Sweet little Anna.” Ulf reached out to touch her cheek with his leather gloved hand.

squealed. She threw herself at Anna. “I didn’t know

Anna slapped it away. “Get away from me.”

you were bringing someone.”

“You’re so adorable when you’re angry,” he

“I’m not,” Anna said. “He’s leaving. Now.”

said with a laugh. “Call me when you want me to come

Randi glanced at Ulf who was leaning elegantly for you.” against the railing in what could have passed for a

Anna resisted the impulse to slam the door and

golden boy fashion shot. “Is that your boyfriend?”

closed it calmly instead. The living room was packed

Randi asked hanging onto Anna. She looked Ulf up

with people dancing. She rubbed her forehead and

and down. “Is that why you didn’t come earlier?”

walked over to the dining room table that was laden

“Let’s go in,” Anna said, trying to get Randi back in the house.

Ulf slid an arm around Randi’s waist. “Perhaps I can help.”

“Oh sure,” Randi said. She giggled as she leaned into Ulf. “You have a nice… car.”

“Leave her alone.” Anna pried Ulf’s wandering

with food and drinks instead. She’d never understand her mom’s taste in men.

Siri came and nudged her shoulder. “Where’s the guy you came with?””

“Gone,” she answered, rolling her eyes.

“Finally.”

“He didn’t look your type,” Siri said with a

hands away from Randi who was happily wrapping her shrug. “But you never know.” arms around Ulf’s neck. “Randi, knock it off.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Randi pushed away from Ulf. “He’s yours. I forgot.”

“He’s not. He’s my mom’s boyfriend. And he’s a jerk.”

Siri’s hand hovered over the massacred choco-

“I’ll take her,” said Siri, steadying Randi. “That late cake. “That’s a mess.” way you guys can come in and take your coats off.”

“Tell me about it.” Ulf was by far the worst of them. “There’s music. You should be dancing. Or her mom’s recent boyfriends. He was a liar and a ma- aren’t there any nice guys?” nipulator. But her mom never saw beyond a pretty face.

“Anna never thinks there are any nice guys.

But I see a few.” Siri raised her glass and headed

Siri dropped her voice. “Have you seen June?

Is she coming?”

across the room that had started to get crowded now that a slow song was playing.

“No. She went away with her boyfriend and

“What are you doing here?” Anna playfully

his family for the vacation. Why?” Anna asked sharp- punched her cousin who was built like a rugby player. ly, not liking Siri’s look of relief.

“You graduated last year. You’re not part of the team

“I was worried that maybe she didn’t feel wel- anymore.” come. And I felt guilty. I mean… I’m really sorry

“We told the guys that we’d be back,” said

about Fritjof.” Siri paused. “But I’m starting to won-

Red, nodding to where his best friend, Haakon, was

der why I thought some of his ideas were good. I

surrounded by half the boys’ team. “But we can’t stay

know you never liked him. But… I thought he was

– we promised the girls we’d go to a dinner party.

right. About June being different and the need to keep And they’ll kill us if we’re late.” Red and Haakon had our race pure and all that.” Siri looked away. “I’m

dominated the court with their size and skill for the

embarrassed I let myself believe any of it.”

past three years, but neither of their girlfriends

“He was persuasive, I guess.” Anna tried not to rub it in, but she was happy that at least one friend was coming back around.

“Maybe. But I really am sorry.”

played.

“I’m surprised they even let you out of their sight.” Anna waved a finger at her cousin who had the same ultra blond hair and pale blue eyes as she

“Tell June after the break.” Anna put her glass did. “I’ve hardly seen you at all this vacation.” up to Siri’s. “She’ll understand.”

“I know. We’ve been busy. But I’m here

“Why are you girls being so serious?” boomed now.” The music picked up again. “Dance?” He took Anna’s cousin, Red. He put an arm around each of

her hand and then dropped it as if he had been stung.

He grabbed her wrist and turned her palm up, reveal-

ing the star-shaped Firemark. “Who did this?” he

“She’s too busy with her political games to

growled, his face turning the telltale shade of red that

think about it.” Dvara snorted. “She’s never had time

had earned him his nickname.

for us anyhow.”

Anna pulled her hand out of his and closed her fist. “No one.”

Rakan looked up from the intricate wire sculpture he was making. “Maybe she just wants to make

“A mark like that can’t just appear.”

sure you won’t throw yourself at Paaliaq in a hothead-

“Why do you care what did it?”

ed rage.”

“What do you mean what did it?” Red gripped

“I’m no fool.” Dvara leaned over the table to-

her shoulders. “You were the one…?” Red’s voice

wards her half-brother. “I won’t attack until I’m certain

trailed off, but his eyes bore into hers as if he was try-

to win. But I will attack. Unlike some I know.”

ing to peer into her mind.

Anna pulled back, breaking the contact. “What are you talking about?” She hadn’t said anything about

Rakan stood, towering over her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sit,” Khotan said from his high-backed bur-

what had happened on the hill and June had left town

gundy chair at the head of the table. “Both of you.” He

right after the vigil.

waited until they complied. “The only reason you’re

Red laughed, but Anna could still feel his anger going instead of one of us is because Paaliaq won’t like a tightly coiled snake. “Nothing,” he said. “Let’s

recognize you. Unfortunately, neither one of you is ex-

dance.”

perienced enough to trap Paaliaq on your own.” Kho-

Dvara paced around the massive table that filled the stone hall of Khotan’s lair. “Why are we waiting? Paaliaq has had more than enough time to hide again.”

tan looked from one to the other. “You’ll have to work together. Remember that.”

“But why did she set off one of Rakan’s old triggers?” Dvara hit the table with her fist. “It makes

“That is for Kairök Yarlung to decide,” Khotan no sense. Even a newborn whelp would have felt what said, using Yarlung’s official title as the head of their Cairn. As Kraal’s mate, she had taken over after his death.

it was before touching it.”

Khotan created a burgundy colored fireball that floated in front of him. “Either she isn’t Paaliaq, or

she’s luring you into a trap.” The stone walls reflect-

ventured near the lake. They were refreshingly alone.

ed the warm glow of the fireball. “This isn’t a game.

And free.

And I wish we didn’t have to send you.” Khotan’s

Dvara, a compact fire dragon with only the

face went blank for a split second as it always did

shortest of wings, dug her claws into the ground. She

when he spoke mentally with another dragon.

raised her jewel-like vermillion head and joined her

“Yarlung bids us come to Lhang-tso,” he said, stand-

voice to the others’.

ing up. “Now.” Khotan disappeared without a sound, the fireball still suspended in midair.

Yarlung approached the edge of the lake and morphed into her human form. She signaled for them

Dvara followed in her stepfather’s trail, leav-

to do the same. Flashes of turquoise glinted off her

ing Rakan to arrive last on the silver shores of the in-

metallic white dress. Rakan knelt next to his father

tensely blue lake that was Kairök Yarlung’s home.

and Dvara, his right fist on the center of his chest

They faced the lake in their dragon forms. Khotan, an where his rök pounded in excitement. air dragon, rose on his burgundy hind legs and bellowed their arrival.

“Rise. It is time,” Yarlung said, her voice snapping like thunder. “If the dragon who set off

The blue-white coils of Yarlung’s water drag- Rakan’s trigger is Paaliaq, I will savor her death.” on form undulated majestically in the center of the

Yarlung paused and then spoke again, more quietly.

crescent shaped lake. Rakan had always felt a sense

“If not, I will bind her to me by taking her rök wheth-

of awe in front of his mother’s abode. Something

er she wills it or not. But I believe she is Paaliaq. Too

about its starkness, the pungent salty flavor of the

many things confirm it. Including the presence of a

wind that rolled off the lake, the beauty of the con-

male dragon who can only be her mate, Haakara-

trasting red hills that surrounded it in the thin air of its manoth.”

4,500 meter high perch had always made him feel

The wind howled across the lake.

like he was in the presence of something profound.

“From what our scouts have been able to gath-

He smiled and rocked back onto his own hind legs,

er these past three weeks,” Khotan said, “she has cre-

stretched his majestic coral wings and added his

ated the illusion of being an untrained whelp and goes

greetings to his father’s. Neither animal nor plant life

by the name Jing Mei. But don’t be fooled by her inno- lung had declared that he would keep his and remain cent appearance.”

independent. But learning to control his rök had been

Yarlung’s nostrils flared. “If she even begins to harder than he had let on. Starting with when he had suspect who you are, she’ll kill you. Pretend you’re

morphed for the first time not knowing which of the

untrained. Take your time and get close to her. But not three dragon forms he would take. But even after he too close. Only one member of her Cairn is left and she knew he was an air dragon, his rök’s wild power had will want to possess you both. Starting with

nearly overwhelmed him. It wasn’t until Khotan had

Rakan’dzor. She has always preferred males.”

taught him to control his emotions that he could morph

“But the Code forbids blood relatives to have the same Kairök,” Rakan said.

Yarlung snorted. “Paaliaq has no honor. Never

without fear of involuntarily killing himself or his family.

Khotan walked over to Dvara, his fluid black

forget that.” She turned to Khotan. “Give Dvara back

pants snapping in the wind. They stood still, facing

her rök. Paaliaq will be suspicious if she doesn’t have

each other as equals even though Khotan loomed over

it.”

Dvara’s delicate figure. Khotan began a low chant in “But the risk…” stammered Khotan.

Draagsil, the ancient language of the dragon race. He

“Is of no consequence. Do it. Now. And then

lifted his arms to the sky, his bare chest glistening like

bind her to you as Kraal taught you.”

armor. Energy crackled and began to circle him. It

“No,” said Khotan. “It’s too dangerous.”

spun faster and faster until Khotan was nothing more

“Have you become so frail that you can no

than a shimmering mirage in front of Dvara. A faint

longer master even that?”

Khotan bowed his head. “May your will be

drum-like beat began, steadily increasing in tempo as it grew louder. Suddenly, the wind died and the beating

done,” he said, saying the traditional formula of sub-

stopped. A mass of pure vermillion energy licked Kho-

mission to a Kairök. But Rakan could feel his father’s

tan’s hands like the flames of a fire. The energy con-

anger.

densed in a flash of vermillion light, leaving a bright Dvara tilted her chin and gave Rakan a look of

triumph. She had wanted her rök back ever since Yar-

red stone in Khotan’s palm. Dvara’s dragon heart.

Khotan held the egg-shaped rök to the sky be- with Kraal’s neutralized poison and bind you to me in fore releasing it to hover above Dvara’s head. It glit-

a partial link?”

tered like a crown jewel. “My will has been done.

“I do.”

You are now your own master. May your will be one

“And do you understand the consequences of

with your rök.”

A red flame moved up Dvara’s gown, circling

this act?”

Yarlung growled her impatience, but Dvara

her body until it reached her rök. The rök ignited in a didn’t take her eyes from Khotan’s. ball of wild energy. It spun around her in an uncon-

“I do,” Dvara said solemnly.

trolled frenzy. It was going to kill her. Rakan sprang

“What consequences?” thought Rakan, glanc-

forward, desperate to catch Dvara’s rök before it was too late, but Khotan stopped him. “No. Their reunion

ing at his mother. But she ignored him.

Khotan morphed and sank his claws into

can’t be interfered with. It must run its course. For

Dvara’s bare arms. Rakan watched, horrified, as Dva-

better or for worse.”

ra writhed by the edge of the lake in a mixture of rap-

The rök lurched. Rakan stood ready to inter-

ture and agony. A black winged air dragon with bur-

vene if things got worse. Whether he was supposed to gundy eyes danced on each arm before fading under or not, he wouldn’t stand by and watch her die. A brilliant flash of intense vermillion encompassed Dvara, knocking her to the ground.

her skin.

“Go now,” Yarlung said, her words lingering for just a moment after she disappeared.

Yarlung snorted in contempt. “Tend to her.”

“Rakan…”

Khotan knelt next to Dvara and touched a

“Yes, Father?”

hand to her forehead, healing her with his energy. She latched onto Khotan, her red eyes echoing the wildness of her rök.

“Come,” Khotan said, helping her to stand.

“Do you accept of your own free will that I mark you

“If you need to contact us, send a message through Dvara.”

Rakan nodded, confused. Didn’t his father know that Yarlung had marked him too?

Khotan disappeared. It was time.

Dragon Fire About the Author: Dina von Lowenkraft Born in the US, Dina von Lowenkraft has lived on 4 continents, worked as a graphic artist for television and as a consultant in the fashion inPublisher: Twi- dustry. Somewhere between New York and Paris she picked up an MBA and a black belt. light Times Dina is currently the Regional Advisor for Books SCBWI Belgium, where she lives with her husband, two children and three horses.

ISBN: 9781606192917 ASIN: B00ECNEZ6G website: http://www.dinavonlowenkraft.com/ Genre: YA fantasy romance

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Dina-vonNumber of pagLowenkraft/551209381555837 es: 340 Word Count: 116,200 Cover Artist: Renu Sharma BN Amazon ARe

http://www.goodreads.com/author/ show/7123641.Dina_von_Lowenkraft Twitter: https://twitter.com/vonlowenkraft Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/vonlowenkraft/

Book Description: Some choices are hard to live with.

But some choices will kill you.

When seventeen-year-old Anna first meets Rakan in her hometown north of the Arctic Circle, she is attracted to the pulsing energy that surrounds him. Unaware that he is a shapeshifting dragon, Anna is drawn into a murderous cycle of revenge that pits Rakan and his clan against her best friend June.

Torn between his forbidden relationship with Anna, punishable by death, and restoring his family’s honor by killing June, Rakan must decide what is right. And what is worth living – or dying – for.

Excerpt By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.

An Excerpt From: REVVING UP THE HOLIDAYS Copyright © A.S. FENICHEL, 2013 All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc. Giada saw the light in the small window of the shop door. The last thing she expected to see when she walked in was a sea of motorcycle parts spread from one end of the room to the other. Isaac stood with his back to her and ran his fingers through his dark hair as he stared down at the array.

She should have cleared her throat or something, but she couldn’t help admiring his tall, lean body or the way his shoulders stretched the polo shirt.

“My God, what have you done?”

He turned, looked at her and his faced completely changed. From the intense face of a man with a problem, he transformed in an instant with a smile that had her blushing right down to her panties. Did his face light up that way just for her? No, he probably did it with everyone, or at least all the women he saw. Charm had never been in short supply with Isaac Backman. She was glad to see that hadn’t changed.

“Mark saved my old bike. I’m just fixing it up.” He walked over to where she stood at the door.

“Fixing it up? It looks as if you’ve completely destroyed it.” He stood very close to her. How was it possible that after all of these years, he still made her weak in the knees?

“Looks can be deceiving, Giada.”

“I… Sadie sent me out here to tell you that your mother is here and you should join the party. They’re waiting on you to light the menorahs.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?”

Of all the things she expected him to say, that was not even close to one of them. “Why?”

“Why?” “I mean, don’t you think you should spend some time with your family? Why would you want to have dinner with me?”

“Really? You don’t know why?”

She shook her head. She knew her eyes must be the size of saucers. I may swoon. Do women still swoon? Some might, but Giada didn’t. She stilled her emotions.

He stepped closer and leaned down until his lips were next to her ear. “I’ve had a crush on you since we were teenagers. I may still have a crush on you. I’d like to get to know you better. Have dinner with me.”

Her heart pounded so hard, she couldn’t believe she’d been able to hear him at all. But she’d heard every softly spoken word and she found herself nodding her acceptance before she could make herself speak.

“I get home at six-thirty. Can we make it seven?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Not on that, I hope.”

His laughter shot directly from his lips to the already wet space between her thighs.

Revving Up the Holidays A.S. Fenichel Book Description: Workaholic Isaac hasn’t been back to his hometown since his father’s funeral two years earlier, pushing his family away because of a painful secret. Hanukkah and a forced vacation lure him back to Atlanta, where he’s reunited with his two lost loves—an old motorcycle and his sister’s best friend Giada.

While rediscovering his passion for both the bike and the woman, Isaac rebuilds his heart.

Giada has lost her Christmas spirit since returning home to care for her dying parents. Left alone, she struggles to return to her successful teaching career, choosing instead to stay in her hometown. Only the unexpected return of her high school crush Isaac brings any joy to the season.

The transitive nature of Isaac’s visit and Giada’s fear of abandonment keep them from sharing their whole hearts, but certainly not their bodies. Their desire for each other is hotter than flames on a menorah and they take advantage of their limited time together by burning up the sheets. But once their secrets are revealed, their hearts will do all the thinking.

On the Edge of Humanity A Vampire Seal Novel Book One S. B. Alexander Genre: Paranormal, Urban Fantasy Publisher: S. B. Alexander Date of Publication: 12/27/2012 ISBN: 9780988776203 ASIN: B00ATVDEHQ Number of pages: 320 Word Count: 120,000 Cover Artist: Streetlight Graphics Amazon Apple Kobo BN Book Description: Sixteen-year-old Jo Mason is lost in a world where traipsing from one foster home to another is normal. She hates her life, she hates school and on most days, she hates living. If it weren’t for her twin brother Sam, she might already be dead.

Her normal world shifts one hundred and eighty degrees when she discovers her own blood tastes like candy and her eyes change colors like a mood ring. On top of that, her eyesight seems to be failing when she spies an otherworldly man, sporting bloodstained canines, who is trying to strangle a cop. The developments are shrouded when Sam goes missing between Anger Management class and History class.

She’s called to the principal’s office to meet Lieutenant Webb London, a Navy SEAL who is part of a secret

team of natural-born vampires. His mission is to protect the twins from an evil cartel, but he’s too late. With Jo now under his protection, his team searches for Sam. However, finding and rescuing Sam from the evil cartel may be the easy part. Jo learns she carries a dormant vampire gene that, if activated, could save him. As her normal world fades even more, pushing her closer to the edge of humanity, Jo must decide if her human life is more important than her twin brother.

With time as her enemy, she struggles to make a life-changing decision for both her and Sam.

Excerpt A fire raced through my limbs as I sat in the principal’s office trying to process this new information.

The word was caught in the back of my throat.

Until a week ago, I had never picked up a

Webb had said the word vampire and not just vam-

book about vampires or anything related to one. They

pire, but ‘natural-born vampire.’ What the hell did

just plain freaked me out. Now the images of the

that mean?

books in the funeral home were swimming before me.

I desperately wanted to run—to find some-

I even had two of the books in my backpack, which

where to hide. I squeezed my eyes shut—tears threat- was sitting around here somewhere. Between the ening to spill. I needed Sam. Where was he?

books, the fanged man outside the hospital room and

A hand fell on my left arm, followed by a vel- hearing Webb speak about vampires as if it were the vety voice that whispered something I couldn’t quite

most natural thing in the world, I pinched myself,

make out in my ear. His hot breath accelerated my

making sure I wasn’t dreaming.

pulse, causing the blood to surge through me— awakening my limbs. I twitched.

“Vampire,” Webb intoned. “Jo, you’re not a vampire yet. Right now, you only carry the gene.

“Jo?” Webb whispered.

Those of us who are born with the vampire gene are

I looked up and met his gaze. He lifted his

normal mortals up to the time we choose not to be.

hand off my arm, and leaned back against the desk.

However, at the age of sixteen or thereabouts, your

He tilted his strong jaw and peered at me through mile body will start to go through what we call vampire -long lashes. I shifted my gaze. Tripp stood to Webb’s puberty in preparation for the change.” He dipped his right with his hands cupped just below his belt.

My mouth was dry. I swallowed, taking in a gulp of air. “What do you mean by natural-born…?”

head, gesturing at Tripp.

What the heck was vampire puberty? I wanted to scream and laugh all at the same time.

“For example, Jo,” Tripp started to say.

Tripp. “He craved blood to the point it became a drug

He speaks. His voice was deep but with a gen-

for him.”

tle tone.

Blood, a drug? My brain couldn’t wrap itself

“For me, my gums started hurting when I was

around that idea. Were there drug dealers who sold

fifteen. I reached puberty early. Then, at seventeen, I

blood? Plus, he just described me. My eyes were

discovered I liked the taste of blood,” Tripp explained

changing colors, I craved blood and my gums had

as he nodded at Webb.

started aching a few minutes ago. I didn’t know if I

Like Webb, Tripp didn’t look a day over twenty should be relieved that I wasn’t crazy or panicked by -one. His sandy blond hair was cut short with the sides the idea that I had a thirst for blood—or even worse, shaven just above the ears.

that I might be a vampire.

“One of the first things that usually happens is

“You said I wasn’t a vampire yet. Will I be?” I

your eyes change colors. You’ll notice this when your

held my breath, not sure I wanted to know the answer.

emotional state alters in some way. But all this depends My inner voice kept telling me to get out of here, as far on your genetic make-up.” Webb flicked his head at

On the Edge of Eternity A Vampire SEAL Novel Book Two S. B. Alexander Genre: Paranormal, Urban Fantasy Publisher: S. B. Alexander Date of Publication: 10/7/2013 ISBN: 9780988776227 ASIN: B00FPA6EW8 Number of pages: 460 Word Count: 142,000 Cover Artist: Streetlight Graphics Amazon

Apple

BN

away as possible.

Book Description: New vampire Jo Mason had never imagined life with fangs, or drinking blood as her main meal. She has, however, dreamed of her first kiss, her first date and her first high school dance—but for a new vampire, none of those firsts come easy. Humans now tempt her appetite for blood and the Plutariums, a rogue team of vampires, want revenge against her family.

When her human friend Ben Jackson asks her to the May dance, Jo struggles to abide by vampire law. She isn’t sure if she wants to kiss him or taste his blood. She’s even more confused by the mixed messages coming from Vampire SEAL Webb London. The way he looks at her makes her want to jump off the nearest cliff and into his arms at the same time. Her guy problems, however, become the least of her worries when the deadly ones take center stage.

The Plutariums abduct and drug her. She wakes alone with Ben, stranded on an abandoned yacht in the middle of a storm-tossed ocean. Worse, she struggles to keep her bloodlust sated and it will be a battle to see who survives.

Webb’s footsteps pulled me out of my stupor. I opened my eyes to see him striding down the hall. His long, crescent-moon lashes framed his cobalt eyes that glistened every time he stepped under a hall light. He placed his hand in his pants pocket and withdrew a set of keys. Fingering through the clump of metal, he readied one in his left hand. He stopped, inserted the key into the deadbolt and twisted. Before he could open the door, I pushed him out of the way and beelined it for the bathroom. I wanted to barricade myself in and never come out.

I slammed the door behind me and locked it. I grabbed a small cup off the sink, filled it with cold water and downed it. I took several more drinks, then dropped the lid on the toilet and sat down. My tear ducts opened and the waterfall began. I couldn’t stop crying.

“Jo.” Webb knocked on the door. “Are you alright?”

“Go away.” I grabbed several tissues and blew my nose.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“I said, go away.” I shuddered several breaths inbetween sobs.

Why the hell did he want to come in? Did he want to talk? Ha! Now that would be funny if the irritating vampire wanted to talk. What was he going to do?

Give me advice on boys?

“Please, I want to make sure you’re alright.” His voice had a soft timbre to it.

Why was everyone concerned about me? It wasn’t as if I were the queen of the compound. I was far from it.

“Jo?” He pounded on the door.

“You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”

“Not until I make sure you’re—” I flipped the lock. The door swung open with an ominous creak.

“See, I’m fine. Now go away.” I blew my nose again.

He stepped into the small space, and I scooted backwards, even though I wanted to lean into him, to nestle in his embrace and have him tell me everything would be okay. He took another step forward. The bewitching intensity of his soul-stealing blue eyes kept me from moving. I couldn’t look away. Was he trying to compel me? He raised his hand and wiped away my tears with the pads of his thumbs.

Suddenly, my mouth became dry. He was touching me, was close to me. I had no way to get around him.

I closed my eyes. My face was hot. My nose was running like a waterfall, and I couldn’t stop crying. I was a complete mess.

“There’s no need to cry. You’re father is doing what’s best. Look at me,” he whispered.

I couldn’t pry my eyelids open. If I did I would crumble even more. I was in the middle of an emotional breakdown. I wasn’t about to bare my soul to a vampire who made my insides twist with excitement, let alone talk to him about Ben. I was so thankful he couldn’t read minds.

“Hey there.” He lightly rubbed my scarred cheek with the back of his fingers. “Open. Let me see those stunning eyes.”

My stomach did somersaults. More tears spilled. I couldn’t wrap my mind around his words, his voice, his touch, and his scent. Confusion snaked through me. First Ben and his sweet scent, and now Webb.

While his scent didn’t make my throat burn, it sure

did a number on the butterflies who were having a field day inside me. What the heck was happening to me?

I opened my eyes slowly, blinking away tears, and met his gaze. He searched my face like he was cataloguing every pore, every hair, and every facial detail. His gaze finally landed on my lips and my pulse jumped.

Damn the vampire.

His presence radiated strength and power.

My hands started shaking. He had to hear my heart racing and sense my anxiety. Or was it excitement?

What did he want from me? He had my mind in a jumbled mess, not to mention my arms all goosebumped.

He moved even closer, which I didn’t think was possible.

I couldn’t breathe. Oh my God! He dragged the backs of his fingers over my scar, once again. “You know the man who did this to you will pay.” His voice was soft, breathy.

I really didn’t want to hear about my scar. It was the last thing on my mind and a horrific reminder of a night I never wanted to remember ever again.

“Breathe.” He leaned in and his hand disappeared behind me.

I stilled, my heart beating uncontrollably. What is he doing?

He grabbed the band out my hair and my freaky mane tumbled down, falling around my shoulders. He grabbed a few strands and placed them behind my ears.

Darkness threatened the edges of my vision as his fingers tangled through my hair.

He lowered his head and whispered, “Life will get better. I promise.”

Shock hit me at his words, his promise. How could he be sure? Did he know something I didn’t? Could he read the future? Was that one of his special powers? I wanted to scream. I was standing in a small bathroom with a imposing creature who unnerved me, confused me, and made my pulse race with delight all at the same time. Was Sam right? Was there fire between us?

I shivered, and Webb wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him. His heartbeat pounded in my ear as my body melted into his. This can’t be happening.

About the Author: For those of you who know me, you know the ‘S’ stands for Susan in S. B. Alexander. I chose to use my initials since there were a few Susan Alexander authors out there.

The one thing I like about reading a book other than the story is reading about the author. Who is he or she?

And, how did they become a writer?

For me, it’s always been a passion to write a book. I love to transport myself into other worlds—ones where vampires and the fantastical exist. Where life is the playground for the impossible.

I created fantasy worlds at a young age as a way to deal with life. Yep, I had imaginary friends and talked to myself a lot. I was always creating, thinking, drawing and writing. I believe words are the key to opening the door to extraordinary places with amazing characters that tell a great story.

My life has had a colorful journey. After high school I decided to forgo college. I enrolled in a business program and graduated in ten months with a certificate that allowed me access to Cooperate America. But, somehow the idea to enter into an unknown world at nineteen-years-old was daunting. Instead, I decided if the world was my playground why not join the military, and so I joined the Navy. The four years in the military was a great foreground to learn about life and the world around me. But, as the cliché says, Life goes on.

I traded the military for college. I became a High School Math Teacher and loved it before deciding to revisit the one thing I was frightened of—Cooperate America. I’ve held many roles in the cooperate arena from sales representative to sales manager, but I never lost my passion to write.

When I’m not working my full time job, and plotting my next novel, I love to play golf with my husband, and spend time with my two dogs.

Exit Shane Filer Genre: YA, General Fiction, Contemporary Publisher: Biblio Publishing ISBN: 978-1-62249-142-1 Number of pages: 222 Word Count: 58,000 Cover Artist: Ekaterina Zagustina

Slowly Dermot begins to draw Briar into his ever-soexciting world, but who is leading whom on their slow descent into crime? Duel periods of Briar’s life intertwine like a rope around her neck as her lost year begins to overtake the present. It leads her to the answer to one very simple question: “Is it what I always feared — am I losing my mind?”

Book Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=wedQg_Y7dHE Author Interview Video: http://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=WpANm1NRvkU

Book Description:

Excerpt G i r l T a l k

"Did you know I spent the whole of my fifteenth year in my room?"

“Did you know I spent the whole of my fifteenth year in my room?”

Briar’s impromptu, mid-afternoon confession stirs up distant memories of the lonely time she spent trapped in her home; suffering agoraphobia — fear of open spaces.

I sit in the trashed corner booth of an empty Indianapolis diner sipping Coke through a red and white striped straw and watch the reaction from my two friends.

We’ve been here, Melodie, Justine and I, talking, eating, and drinking for hours and we’re all in adShe’s free, but the year's isolation has left serious per- vanced stages of serious twenty-something afternoon collapse. It’s reached the time where you run out of sonality disorders; disorders which will resurface as she relates her own story, and that of those in her orbit; trivial, conversational-type things to talk about, so you say something deep and personal instead.

Melodie, a pretty valley girl who Briar desires to be, Justine, her oldest friend, who has her own dark secret, Melodie lifts her head from the table and flicks and Dermot, a man who thinks he's the reincarnation ash haphazardly from her cigarette in the direction of of Robin Hood — stealing from the rich to give to the an overflowing ashtray. “You’re kidding?” she asks. poor.

Now it’s six years later.

“No, she isn’t,” Justine says. We’ve been friends since school, and she knows me very well.

“Oh yeah,” Melodie says. “I always hated that old, fat, red, pervert too.”

Elbows all over the table I cup my palms around my chin and explain. “I suffered from agoraphobia. That’s what my doctors said. It sounds awful, but all it means is that I had an irrational fear of being in places or situations from which escape might be difficult in the event of a panic attack. So I avoided those situations. During my Dark Ages I left my bedroom only to eat and go to the bathroom.

“I suffered a lot of phobias back then,” I explain further. “I would become possessed by a desire to clean the bathroom. The bathroom and I would literally be covered in Comet cleanser. But then I stopped.”

“Why?” Melodie asks. “Did your cleaning phobia go away?”

“Not exactly. I ran out of Comet.”

“Basically I was worried about death. Abandonment. My health. My mother’s safety. The house Sunlight is pouring in through the diner’s wincatching fire. Food poisoning. Earthquakes. The envi- dows and Justine keeps glancing anxiously out there ronment. That kind of stuff.” to the street. Am I boring her, I wonder? Anything’s possible — she has heard this one before.

I tell Melodie and Justine all these things, and when I open my mouth the words just flood out, like It’s only then that I suddenly notice the sunI’ve been wanting desperately to speak them for so glasses she wears at a lopsided angle on her face hide long. They sit and listen, perhaps too tired or too hot a large bruise around her left eye. It’s a horrible purand bothered to do anything else. I tell them about the ple thing that’s yellowing at the edges like rotten first time it happened... the first time I had a panic fruit. attack. When I was thirteen. One Saturday in a mall. I can remember the smell of doughnuts and ice-cream, “Oh there’s Addison,” she says suddenly. “I’d and ferns. I remember ferns. And the sound of a radio better go. I’d better not keep him waiting.” playing that dumb Spandau Ballet song — “True” — boy do I hate that song!

Following her gaze, I see her boyfriend climb from his red Chrysler LeBaron convertible. Addison “I was standing around, just hanging out with Healy has tanned skin and swept-back dark hair, and a bunch of my girlfriends, and this boy from my class, I’ve never liked him. He’s far too handsome — one who I had, like, this incredible crush on, came up to of those people who’ve never known what it’s like to me and said “Hi!” be alone — because there’s always someone new throwing themselves shamelessly at him. Someone “Those girls pushed me forward. I could hear who’s never had to appreciate the smallest signs of them giggling behind me, saying ‘Briar’s in love’ and affection. all that junk, and my body froze like a statue. I felt hot and sweaty. My heart was racing. I felt this numbJustine scoops up her purse, quickly excuses ness in my hands and this tightness in my chest like I herself, and rushes out to meet him. Leaving a threecouldn’t breathe. I had this need to breathe in more quarter full Coke bottle sitting behind on the table, air, this need to escape. I just ran out.” she’s gone almost before I can register it. She’s gone.

“Shit!” Melodie says.

I watch them get into the car. She’s talking.

Explaining herself. Addison seems agitated; gesturing wildly and I read his lips: “What fucking time do you call this? I told you to be home at three!”

“Shit,” I agree. “My doctor said later that this overwhelming sensation of terror is similar to the fight or flight response inherent in all animals, including humans. No one seems to know what causes panic Eventually he throws up his arms in frustraattacks, but there are a lot of tell-tale signs that I had tion and drives away. I turn back to Melodie. right from an early age. I always used to cling to my mother’s leg. I was afraid of Santa Claus.”

“Why does she stay with that asshole?” she

asks after a long pause. “He hits her, don’t you know?” diner out onto the pavement.

“No?”

I can only nod yes.

“How do you think she got that bruise on her

“Can I come too?”

face?”

“She said she fell against the... Fuck!” I hadn’t noticed... well, come to think of it, I have seen signs, but I’ve never put two and two together. Sometimes I wonder if I am so wrapped up in my own problems that I fail to see the suffering of others around me?

“So what happened with you, Briar?” Melodie asks, toying playfully with the straw in her bottle.

“With me? Oh, after my first panic attack I returned to school and everyone laughed and talked about me, so I stopped going. Slowly I found it harder and harder to leave the house. After a while I gave up entirely.”

“When I did eventually emerge from my room, a week shy of my sixteenth birthday, it wasn’t like a beautiful butterfly emerging triumphantly from her chrysalis, but instead a tired gray moth treading cautiously into the light.”

“My doctor once speculated that my year’s hibernation was due to an irrational fear of growing up, but that’s not right! If I really didn’t want to grow up there are much more reliable methods: sleeping pills, guns, razorblades...”

“God, so how did you, like, get out of it?”

“My brother. My brother helped me. Helped me help myself, I guess.”

“Is this Jeff — twenty-seven and still living at home?”

“No, it’s Paul — twenty and away at college.

You haven’t met... oh shit!”

“No! I’ll see you later!” Melodie is super beautiful. When I first saw her, I wanted to see her again. I hardly ever see really beautiful females. I see pretty ones, hot ones, but hardly ever see a woman that just makes me turn my head and think ‘wow she is stunning.’ I think that people who are attractive just want the world to see something other than their looks. They want other aspects of their personality to shine through. I hate boring people. I hate boring guys. I feel like sometimes if I just be really quirky it will compensate for my lack of looks. Of course this never works.

About the Author: Shane Filer writes novels and comics.

He lives in New Zealand with a very old Tonkinese cat. He likes oranges, orange juice, and orange furniture — in fact even the color orange.

Why? Well, because it's the best color, of course. While he believes that being a grown up is not all it's cracked up to be, he still enjoys ruining his appetite before dinner, and staying up past his bed time. www.shanefiler.com www.facebook.com/shanecfiler

And I suddenly remember: Paul’s arriving www.twitter.com/shane_filer home today and I said I’d go with Mom to meet him at the airport. As the afternoon dissolved I’ve lost track https://www.goodreads.com/author/ of time.

show/7365723.Shane_Filer

“Is he cute?” Melodie asks as we slip from the

Interview with Laurie Olerich What inspired you to become an author?

I spent years doing the practical things I thought I was supposed to do. I finished a degree, got a secure job, and saved money for emergencies. One day I realized I was frozen in a rut and bored out of my mind. Since I’m a single mom, grabbing a backpack and traveling around the planet was out of the question. I tried to find an escape in books but nothing scratched the itch. I didn’t quite like fantasy and traditional romances only reminded me that I wasn’t dating. Thrillers were too compact and over too soon. I wanted a new world to explore and live in for a while. So I decided to create my own world and adventures. By the time I was halfway through with Primani, I was hooked. Writing is the great escape!

How did you come up with the title for your latest book?

I wanted the characters to have a unique name that reflected their roots. Primani is an old Latin word that means roughly “soldiers of the First Legion.” I could have just called them guardians, soldiers, mercenaries, or something similar, but Primani has a mysterious ring to it. Sean, Dec, and Killian are older than they seem--the Primani in general are an ancient group. I hope the name hints at that.

Is the book, characters, or any scenes based on a true life experience, someone you know, or events in your own life?

Yes! A lot of the outdoor scenes come from my own experiences. I lived in New York for years and spent tons of time in those mountains hiking, skiing, and setting up bonfires. The bear and the bonfire is a true story. Domino, the Dalmatian, is a compilation of three of the Dals I’ve owned over the years. I wish I could claim to have known someone like Sean, but sadly, he’s all imagination!

What book are you reading now?

Possession by J.R. Ward.

What is your current “work in progress” or upcoming projects?

I’m so excited to say I just sent Stone Angels to my editor. This is the third book in the series and really wraps up the mysteries I’ve built across Primani and Call the Lightning. Readers may notice this story switches back and forth between Mica’s and the male characters’ points of view. It was fabulous writing from the guys’ view! They hide so much of themselves from Mica in the first two books. In SA, you really get to know them.

Can you share a little of your current work with us?

Absolutely! Without spoiling the plot, I’ll say that all of the characters come to a crossroads they don’t see coming. Each must choose and choose wisely. Interconnected like never before, each decision can destroy someone they love. I think I’ve tortured them all just a little bit! Here’s a little nugget: His eyes swiveled sharply to mine and I caught my breath. Brilliantly blue and intense on a good day, they were nearly black now. Flat and cold…and lost. The dim light cast eerie shadows across his cheekbones, making him somehow harder, more dangerous, feral.

“Don’t push me, Mica. You won’t like where it takes me.” His eyes traveled over my face and lingered on my mouth.

I licked my lips and looked away. What was he thinking? Once upon a time, I knew. Now, his face was blank, giving nothing away.

Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?

Diana Gabaldon is my favorite author. I love that her books take me across years and continents while keeping Jamie and Claire’s relationship as the one constant in the stories. I get really bored with traditional romances.

Her books sweep me up in a whole world of people and the focus isn’t always on Jamie and Claire. I also love her sense of humor that comes across in her writing. She’s been a huge influence on my style.

Who designed the cover of your latest book?

My very talented friend, Angela Bauer, designs and produces all of my cover art and marketing materials. She’s gifted and always comes up with beautiful designs that capture the essence of my work. I am truly blessed to have her support!

Do you have any advice for other writers?

Keep focused and keep writing! I’ve met several people who say they’ve started a book but haven’t finished it.

My advice is to set aside a block of time each day (or whatever you can manage) to lock yourself in with your computer. I find that it’s easy to lose my train of thought if I take too much time off. I end up having to re-read the previous chapter to remember what I was doing. This is hard and takes up valuable writing time. So if you want to finish that book, make a date with your computer and don’t stand it up!

Primani Book One Laurie Olerich Genre: Paranormal Romance/Urban Fantasy ISBN: 978-1492124849

Number of pages: 432 Word Count: 99,582 Cover Artist: Angela Bauer Amazon Kindle Amazon Print Book Description: Mica Thomas is Sean O'Cahan's worst nightmare. Part angel, all Primani, he's a ruthless protector with unusual talents. Jaded by the weakness of humans, he takes a hands-off approach to his charges. His job's to protect her. That's all. But Mica's got other ideas. He's strong, but she's stronger. Will his one moment of weakness destroy them both?

Mica doesn’t believe in quaint notions of fate and destiny. She’s a live-in-the-moment kind of girl until she’s attacked and left for dead. When Sean and his friends appear out of thin air to rescue her, Mica knows there’s more to them than they’re saying. Secrets and lies pile up but she can’t walk away from him.

As the clock ticks, Mica is drawn deeper into the Primani world until there’s no way out.

Tick-tock. Time is running out. What happens when it does?

Short Excerpt: It was about time to go out. Ricki and Dani were coming over to get me in a little while. I was finishing my hair and looking at my face critically. Was my nose crooked? I peered closer at my reflection. Mm, maybe it was okay. All traces of bruises were gone. The heart shape of my face was back and my lips were full from good genes instead of blood clots. I looked at my eyes for changes. Wide and tilted up at the outside, they shone dark blue in the mirror. They still had a shuttered look to them. I wasn’t quite healed. I forced a happy smile that would reach my eyes. Ugh! That’s worse. I look like a crazy person. Better to keep the smile small. I would just hope no one paid much attention to my eyes.

A movement caught my eye in the mirror. I spun around but the room was empty. Carefully, I snatched up my hairspray and crept around the corner. If someone was in here, they would get a rude surprise. I was armed this time! But I didn’t hear anything and I didn’t really sense anyone else. I must have imagined the dark-haired boy in the hall. At least it didn’t look like Scott Flynn. Maybe I needed a dog.

The party was huge. We were out in the country at Dani’s friend Angel’s house. Her parents had gone skiing and left the house to her. We were glad to keep her company…all 100 of her best friends. I hadn’t been to a party since my going away party last summer. After my mom’s funeral, I stayed with my sister until I finished school.

It was horrible but my friends helped a lot. They kept me busy on the weekends and then threw a huge drunken bash for me before I left in June. It was the party to end all parties. I came very close to losing my virginity that night but was saved the trouble by the police after the neighbors complained. Marc was devastated.

Poor baby!

It had been a long time since I had been to a party. I was ready to have some fun tonight. I kept trying to push that half-seen face from my hallway out of my head, but he kept intruding anyway. I was making my way from the pool house back inside when I saw him again.

I stopped in my tracks and stared. Whoa!

Who are these guys?

I’ve never seen them before. There were two ridiculously gorgeous guys standing in the shadows near a covered walkway. They were talking intently to each other and seemed to be scanning the crowd for someone. There’s no way they were partying. No possible way--they were way too intense. They reminded me of Secret Service agents, but without the suits. Instinctively, I crouched behind a snow-covered shrub and watched them. The taller one seemed to be chewing out the shorter one. The shorter one was listening and nodding his head. He looked unhappy. I couldn’t help but stare. It was him!

He had short hair and a hard face. It was too strong…too mature for a teenager. I could see his cheekbones from here. I couldn’t make out his eyes though. He looked as if he was about to kick someone’s ass or take over a small country. He stood tensely, listening to the other one. His shoulders were squared back and tugged against the t-shirt he was wearing. Taking advantage of my invisibility, I let my eyes wander over the rest of his body.

Glancing down at his arms, I did a little swoon and kept going. Sadly, his good parts were hidden in the shadows. Oh, yum!

He was hot. But what was he doing here? Was he really in my house earlier? That’s impossible.

“Find her!” The wind shifted and the harsh words drifted clearly. The taller one gestured towards the house. He had the same military look to him, but he was bigger and much more intimidating. He was more bulky in the shoulders but had a lean torso and a nice butt. I imagined he had amazing abs. Yes, he was gorgeous but looked mean. There was something about the set of his jaw that said he’d take no crap from anyone. What were they doing here? A small shiver went down my back and I started to look for an exit.

“Mica! There you are! We’ve been looking for you. Come back inside. Someone found a karaoke machine.”

Tyler’s voice interrupted my spying. Smiling impatiently, he reached out to grab my arm and I flinched. He held out a hand and said, “Hey, my bad. I’m sorry, dude!”

The strangers zeroed in on me like I was standing in a spotlight. Both sets of eyes pinned me to the ground and I froze like a baby deer. While Tyler babbled about karaoke, I watched them watch me. Both stared so intently that I was afraid I would burst into flames. They seemed to know me. How was that possible? Who were these guys? The big one said something to the shorter one and they started moving my direction. The big one moved like he was stalking prey. I yelped and bolted back to the house. I was striving for a dignified retreat but knocking people out of the way kind of ruined it.

“What’s with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Tyler skidded to a halt beside me.

I laughed shakily. “Did you see those guys?”

“What guys?”

“The two guys who were standing across from us outside! You didn’t see them? They were coming over to us.”

Tyler looked down his long nose and said, “Dude, I didn’t see anyone but you standing behind a bush. I think you need another beer.” He put a new beer in my hand and clinked his bottle against mine in a toast.

I stayed inside the rest of the night and kept close to my friends. I kept a lookout for the ‘secret agents’ as I nicknamed them. I didn’t see them again. Maybe I had imagined the whole thing? It seemed so real though. It was really late when it was time to go home. Ricki was pretty wasted so I was driving. I wasn’t exactly sober and my dad would kill me if he knew I was driving. But hey, I had a new philosophy: I would die when it was my turn.

In the meantime, I would live life how I wanted and we’d just see how things turned out. Aric and Dani walked us to the car and helped Ricki into the backseat. Aric made sure she had a seatbelt on and asked me how I was doing.

“Oh, I’m fine. I don’t feel buzzed at all. Don’t worry about us.”

He looked dubious and told me to drive slowly because the roads were slippery. I only had to drive about 30 miles to get us home. Ricki fell asleep before we turned onto the main highway and it was unnaturally quiet. I turned on the stereo and sung disjointedly to a Lady GaGa song that I barely knew. Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I yawned. The miles mocked me as we crept along in the snow. I wasn’t even sure we were really moving…My feet were freezing so I turned the heater on. Before long, the car was toasty warm and so were my eyes. Blinking to stay awake, I shifted forward to lean on the steering wheel and focus better on the road. Not one of my better ideas. The woods were dark around us and the falling snow obscured everything. It was like driving in a black and white tunnel. My eyes closed and I blinked hard again. The snow was so pretty bouncing off my window. It was mesmerizing…I was drifting off to sleep when the car started to slide and abruptly stopped. The bump jolted me awake and I looked around in astonishment. I wasn’t alone. I wasn’t even driving. I was in the passenger seat.

“What the hell? How did you get here?”

The Secret Agent Man from the party looked at me with snapping eyes. “Are you crazy? You almost died back there! Do you know how close you came to wrapping this car around a tree?” His hands flew as he yelled and I cringed away from him. Taking a deep breath, he held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Calm down; I’m not going to hurt you,” he hissed impatiently and wrapped his big hand around mine before I could protest.

About the Author: Laurie Olerich is the author of the new Primani series. Part urban fantasy, part romance, part paranormal...Three things she can’t live without! Laurie spent most of her life in the Northeastern United States and in Western Europe. She now lives in San Antonio, Texas, with her son and Dalmatian duo, Domino and Rambo.

Desperate to escape the heat, she lives vicariously through Mica and her Primani by setting their adventures in the mountain coolness of New England and the rainy days of London. Before throwing caution to the wind and diving into a writing career, Laurie dedicated 20 years to her country by serving in the United States Air Force. Much of her time was spent around men with guns and cool toys...this explains her obsession with both.

An Interview with Gretchen S.B. What inspired you to become an author?

I don't know really. I was creating stories as far back as anyone can remember. I've always loved the idea of entertaining people and enjoyed creating a world and inviting people in for a visit. When I was growing up I wanted to be an actress. It was not until I was in late high school that I began writing the stories I told down and taking them serious in anyway.

Becoming an author would not take root and become my passion until I was in college. I made a joke about how funny it would be if a friend of mine became a cop. I started describing the scene and even after I finished telling him about it the scene continued going in my head. I wrote it down when I got off the phone with him. Those few pages would eventually become a whole world and a paranormal thriller series.

Do you have a specific writing style?

I have writing quirks more than style. For instance I work best when I have sticky notes up all over the wall (separated by series by strips of yarn, of course) Each one has a separate note on it, some will even be attached to other sticky notes. I am told the notes seem absolutely nonsensical at first glance. I also will have notebooks or word docs with all the notes on a series when a wall of sticky notes is not plausible.

Is there a genre(s) that you’d like to write that you haven’t tackled yet?

I would love to right a straight up mystery thriller, with no romance and nothing paranormal. But I find this incredibly difficult. I love creating and playing in my own worlds so much that I have trouble playing by the rules of the real world. I also love happily ever afters. I do not like reading books that do not end happily. This means I find myself thinking, 'hey what if there was this person they find attractive‌' There have been several cases over the years were I catch myself writing a genre that I did not start out with.

Lady of the Dead for instance did not start out as a romance. It was going to be a paranormal thriller, but as I was writing I found myself wondering, 'what if the king falls for Gwen while he is in Seattle?' Suddenly it was a romance. Which would then lead to an entire romance series.

Of all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?

I become partial to different characters in each book / series I write. When it comes to the Night World, I have to say Sin is my favorite. She says what she is thinking and can provide comic relief without meaning to. Yet her thought process always makes perfect sense to me.

Poet is a close second though. I love the fact that he keeps so many secrets that no one truly knows him. He originally was going to be a bit of a prankster and that would be it. But as the book went on I saw that Poet just wasn't happy being that simple.

If this book is part of a series‌what is the next book? Any details you can share?

Each of the Night World books will have different main characters, but the same overarching plot.

Though it will probably be another year before in comes out (I hope sooner) the working title for the next book is Viking Sensitivity. So, for those who read Lady of the Dead that gives you a general idea of what the next book will be about.

What book are you reading now?

I have a million books in my reading queue. Currently I am partway through: Anatomy of Love by Helen Fisher (An anthropology book about the human mating dance) Survivor in Death by J. D. Robb (A futuristic romantic cop thriller and part of the In Death series) River Marked by Patricia Briggs (Urban Fantasy by an author local to me. It is in the Mercy Thompson series) What books/authors have influenced your life?

I would have to say Laurell K Hamilton and Sherrilyn Kenyon were big influences on me. They create their worlds so completely that I could fall right in to them. Laurell K Hamilton was the first author whose books I ate through as fast as I could get them. I love the humor and style of her work. Sherrilyn Kenyon's Dark Hunter series has roots in real world myths. The History and Religious Studies graduate in me adores that. There is also a quirky humor to her books that I identify with.

Can you share a little of your current work with us?

I am currently working on two stories that I am hoping to publish within the next six months. The first is a book called Berman's Wolves. It is an Urban Fantasy about the aftermath of a science experiment that turned several hundred students into Werewolves. Since the experiment the government broke the students up into groups for testing. The book takes place years later after the government officials have stepped out of the picture. Or so it seems.

The second story is an Urban Fantasy about a homicide detective who is handed a case that opens his eyes to a paranormal world he did not know existed. He not only has to stop the murder spree but come to terms with the fact that the world is not as simple as he always thought.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

The biggest challenge in my writing is that my laptop was stolen about two months ago. I had 30+ sto-

ries at various stages of the writing process saved on it. I knew my USB drive did not have everything but when I went to check, it turned out to have backed up a shortcut to my writing folder but none of the contents. I was devastated. My work from the last ten years was gone forever.

Due to having shared several of my stories with friends over the years I was able to salvage about 30% of my work. I was also lucky that Lady of the Dead was at the editor, so the completed manuscript wasn't lost. Almost all of my notes are gone. So the biggest challenge I face as a writer is trying not only to get passed that loss but in trying to recreate as much of my work as I can.

What would your readers be surprised to learn about you?

I do not know if this is truly surprising but I have both Ghostbusters movies memorized. As in I can quote along with the entire more. I have had people stop what they were doing and come sit next to me just to watch and see if I truly know all the lines. I used to watch the first movie all the time as a very little kid and I believe Ghostbusters 2 was the first movie I ever saw in theaters. They are still in my top five favorite moves. So I guess you could say that it has been a lifelong love affair.

Lady of the Dead Night World Series Book 1 Gretchen S. B. Genre: Paranormal Romance ISBN: 9781311214874 Number of pages: 262 Word Count: ~93, 000 Cover Artist: Gretchen S. B. Book Description: A Lady of the Dead only comes along once in a century. Gwen knows this makes her valuable but she hates the constant supervision of her Warrior guards. Her increasing power has gifted her some independence until rumors of war spook her guards enough to report to the King Cesar has been King of North America through several wars and rebellions. When one of his generals informs him these new rumors involve the Lady of the Dead he flies to Seattle himself it investigate, posing as his second-in-command. The instant attraction he feels to Gwen becomes increasingly hard to ignore.

Will Cesar be able to protect Gwen while battling his lust? Will Gwen stay with her warrior guards or will Cesar’s dominating nature push her to switch sides? Hidden alliances begin to surface in Lady of the Dead.

Lady of the Dead Excerpt When Gwen finished eating, she closed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair. She felt every person at that table go on guard. Gwen almost laughed; they were so protective of her, even when it wasn’t something they could protect against. Taking deep breaths, Gwen lowered her head and slowly rolled out her power into the Spirit World around her. She was trying a technique Oracle showed her, exiting her physical body to reach farther away. Since it was a new skill, Gwen struggled with it. It had taken four tries this morning to finally get it right. This time she headed north. She didn’t know the area too well so Gwen concentrated on the directions she took. The last thing she needed was to get lost outside her own body, where she couldn’t defend herself.

After several minutes, Gwen passed over a school playground in a residential area. A huge shadow creature hunkered down on all fours watched a group of teenagers who stood on the opposite side of the fence.

Gwen could feel the malice vibrating from the creature. He was strong but bound to the schoolyard. He seemed to be weaker in the waning sunlight that still illuminated his surroundings.

Gwen landed on the far end of the fence, away from the teens but careful to keep the fence between her and the creature. Once she began hovering near the fence, the thing slowly turned its head to look at her.

Gwen gasped and fear flooded her system.

Its head was twice the size of hers and round. Its jaw protruded slightly and when it smiled evilly at her, she could see every single one of his teeth were razor sharp. His eyes were narrow and the irises black.

The body was bulky and almost disproportioned. Gwen knew if this thing stood on its hind legs it would be somewhere around eleven feet tall. She couldn’t stop the fear coursing through her.

It moved much faster than Gwen expected it to, crossing the yard in under ten seconds. He moved like a gorilla, putting weight on his knuckles and swinging his back legs forward. He didn’t stop until his face was up against the fence. He straightened slightly so his face and Gwen’s were only feet apart. His breathing was ragged with excitement. Gwen knew her fear rolled off her and this creature could feel it, but she stood her ground. She could feel the spells put on him and the playground. He couldn’t get to her as long as she was on this side of the fence. But he was still damn scary.

“What brings the Lady of the Dead to my corner of the world?” His voice was inhumanly low and high at the same time.

Gwen’s fear spiked, he knew who she was.

That voice laughed at her.

It was one of the scariest things Gwen ever heard, and she automatically shuddered. “I’m looking for information about some men.”

It gave her an unblinking stare. “You are not yet strong enough to force answers from me. I can smell your fear and weakness.” It sat down on its haunches. “I also smell your determination, and that interests me. I may or may not answer your questions.”

Gwen wasn’t quite sure how to take that. This thing was clearly evil, but it might help her. She knew she needed to tread lightly because without a doubt he had an ulterior motive.

“There are three rogue Warriors that may be in the area. They may be trying to start a war.”

The thing’s pointed ears twitched and he interrupted her. “What kind of war?”

Gwen fought to keep her voice steady. She knew the effort was pointless since he knew she was terrified, but she needed to try for her own sake. “We believe an all out one in this kingdom.”

Its breathing slowed and he closed his mouth, staring at her for several beats. “No, they will fail.”

The answer was so abrupt Gwen actually blinked. “What?”

It smiled at her again and Gwen’s fear rose. “The Warriors you speak of, I know of them. Though they are not stupid enough to try recruiting me, they may have recruited Basilix, an enemy of mine. He is too strong for them to handle. Eventually he will eat them, or use them. It is hard to tell with Basilix. These Warriors you seek have been making alliances will all manner of Night Worlders. Now run along back to your body, little girl.”

One giant clawed paw contorted through the chain link fence and slashed across Gwen’s stomach. She screamed as pain shot through her and the shock from it broke her concentration, sending her shooting through

the Spirit World back to her body.

The crash back in was jarring and made her feel like she had been hit by a bus. Her stomach burned so bad she screamed. She was only dimly aware of a hand over her mouth. The pain was stealing her consciousness. She barely heard Sivia’s muffled voice from far away.

“Lucia, quick, mask her and clean the blood. We need to get her out of here.”

Pain consumed her and the world appeared to go a dull red. Gwen swore she could hear that creature’s voice laughing. Then there was silence.

About the Author: Gretchen happily lives in Seattle, Washington where she spends her time creating new characters and situations to put them in. She also enjoys cheering on her local sports teams, even though it sometimes seems they are allergic to winning.

She has loved reading and telling stories as far back as she, or anyone else, can remember. Currently, she loves to read the same genres she writes. She also loves exploring her home state. At the end of her adventures she unwinds by curling up on the couch, knitting while catching up TV shows. www.Gretchensb.com https://twitter.com/GretchenSB https://www.facebook.com/pages/Gretchen-S-B/540293959350712

Christmas Past Susanna Fraser Entangled Ever After Release Date: November 25, 2013 Book Description: Time-traveling PhD student Sydney Dahlquist’s first mission sounded simple enough—spend two weeks in December 1810 collecting blood samples from the sick and wounded of Wellington’s army, then go home to modernday Seattle and Christmas with her family. But when her time machine breaks, stranding her in the past, she must decide whether to sacrifice herself to protect the timeline or to build a new life—and embrace a new love—two centuries before her time.

Rifle captain Miles Griffin has been fascinated by the tall, beautiful “Mrs. Sydney” from the day he met her caring for wounded soldiers. When he stumbles upon her time travel secret on Christmas Eve, he vows to do whatever it takes to seduce her into making her home in his present—by his side.

Amazon

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Excerpt: “What is that thing?”

His voice shook a little, she thought. But not much. He was an officer and a gentleman, so he couldn’t let himself freak out over something new and strange. If he was scared, he hid it well. She admired that. As a time traveler, she tried to live by the same kind of code.

“A carriage, sir,” she said. “And a broken one, at that.”

“No, Mrs. Sydney,” Captain Griffin said in a tone that reminded her of Professor Krakowski in lecture mode. “Itappears to be a carriage, externally. Inside is something very different. I saw it. I may not understand the evidence of my eyes, but I’ve never been given to hallucinations. And,” he added with a musing, distant look that called her mentor even more strongly to mind, “if I were to suddenly take leave of my senses, I doubt very much I should hallucinate something I’d never imagined existed before.”

Disguise had failed, so she must distract and deflect. “I don’t see why not,” she said. “After all, isn’t that how strange religions start?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But you’re no angel, are you? Although,” he allowed, “you’re tall and golden enough for one.”

She shook her head. There had been concern among the review board that at 5’11” she was too tall a woman to go more than a hundred years into the past. Time travelers were supposed to blend in to their destinations. “No,” she said. “Anyway, I’m shorter than you.”

He smiled. It wasn’t fair how the expression made him look even hotter, with white teeth straighter than anyone born before orthodontics had a right to in a soldier’s sun-browned face. “Not by much. But stop trying to distract me. I know what I saw.”

She crossed her arms and tried to look lofty. “What if I told you it was none of your concern and refused to say more?”

Now he grinned, a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Then I should be obliged to found a strange religion based on my suppositions. How do you think I would do as a mad preacher, ma’am? On Christmas Eve, I saw the most celestial vision …”

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. “You’re far too rational a gentleman to do anything so mad,” she said.

“True. But—hang it all, Mrs. Sydney, you must tell me something!” Now his voice shook, and she could hear the fear and amazement he’d been working to hide. “You cannot expect a man to see a light that glows bright as sunlight without a flicker of flame or a—a portrait frame that changes its contents with the touch of a fingertip, and walk away and never think of it again.”

She bit her lip and fought to control her shaking breath. Maybe she could’ve passed off the electric light as some new and improved oil lamp, but he’d seen her iPad. What could she do now? She couldn’t think of a single lie that wouldn’t make everything worse. The Protocol made no allowances for this, but he’d already seen too much to be distracted or deflected, and wasn’t it safer for such a curious man to know the truth? Who knew how badly he’d destroy the timeline with his guesses if she left him ignorant.

“It’s my time machine,” she said in her own accent, “my broken time machine. I was—I will be born in 1987. I came here from America in 2013.”

About the Author: Susanna Fraser wrote her first novel in fourth grade. It starred a family of talking horses who ruled a magical land. In high school she started, but never finished, a succession of tales of girls who were just like her, only with long, naturally curly and often unusually colored hair, who, perhaps because of the hair, had much greater success with boys than she ever did.

Along the way she read her hometown library’s entire collection of Regency romance, fell in love with the works of Jane Austen, and discovered in Patrick O’Brian’s and Bernard Cornwell’s novels another side of the opening decades of the 19th century. When she started to write again as an adult, she knew exactly where she wanted to set her books. Her writing has

come a long way from her youthful efforts, but she still gives her heroines great hair.

Susanna grew up in rural Alabama. After high school she left home for the University of Pennsylvania and has been a city girl ever since. She worked in England for a year after college, using her days off to explore history from ancient stone circles to Jane Austen’s Bath.

Susanna lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband and daughter. When not writing or reading, she goes to baseball games, sings alto in a local choir and watches cooking competition shows. http://www.susannafraser.com/

http://authorsusannafraser.blogspot.com/

https://www.facebook.com/susanna.fraser

https://twitter.com/susannafraser

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4133822.Susanna_Fraser

http://www.pinterest.com/susannafraser/boards/

What inspired you to become an author?

Trixie Belden!! In 2003, the Trixie Belden series was re-released, and I remember doing some research. I’d read all the books growing up and loved them. When I found out that poor Trixie had survived 40 years of stories without ever leaving her teens, I wished more for her.

First book I ever wrote was her story--some of that wonderful, old-fashioned Fanfiction. I haven’t sold that story, but I have sold the second story, the one belonging to her younger brother. So, who knows? Maybe someday, I’ll get to share my version of her story, too.

Do you write in different genres? If yes which is your favorite genre to write?

I’ve written Vintage--WWII, paranormal, young adult, and suspense….actually I have a few early-American historicals, too. But I love the contemporary genres--mostly suspense. I’m such a sucker for that heroic rescue--think Keanu Reeves in Speed.

Is the book, characters, or any scenes based on a true life experience, someone you know, or events in your own life?

In the first scene of Letters From Home, Zach is racing to get to the heroine before she leaves on deployment for a year. He misses her by minutes. And he stands there with the crowd, straining his eyes to find her, see her amidst all the military personnel. Everyone dressed the same.

The first time I was reunited with my husband, I stood in a crowd like that. I hadn’t seen him in months. And they all looked the same. I swear, I scoured and strained with a pounding heart, trying to see him. It took me at least an entire speech to finally find his face. The relief pounded through me, and I didn’t look away until all the pomp was complete and the soldiers had been dismissed…okay, lie. Except for holding our not quite one-year-old and keeping her quiet! But that part didn’t make it into the story. Just the emotion of panic…maybe he wasn’t there. Maybe he’d been detained. Maybe something was wrong. Which is ridiculous, of course, be there’s no telling the heart what the brain knows.

If this book is part of a series…what is the next book? Any details you can share?

This book wasn’t sold as a series, but I’d be surprised if another story didn’t come from it.

Lena’s sister definitely has a story worth telling!! I almost couldn’t get her to shut up. :D Ac-

tually, I’ve never written a book that didn’t have tendrils of story coming from it. Every person we meet is another story to be told…another life worth loving. So, yeah. I’m hoping to keep my hands to the keyboard for a looong time.

What book are you reading now?

I went to a writing workshop recently and met another author who recommended another author.

Heather Ashby is also a military spouse, and she is also retired Navy, so I picked up her book, Forgive and Forget, which I’m finding hard to put down. The tension is high and the stakes are unbelievably LARGE. Just my kind of book.

What books/authors have influenced your life?

Okay, I’m going to admit something here… My romance reading life began with Susan Elizabeth Phillip’s and her so-awesome ability to tell Cal and Jane’s story in Nobody’s Baby but Mine.

From there, I started in on Nora Roberts, Elizabeth Lowell, and Christina Dodd. Maybe that’s a bit cliché, but I just want to tell a story like they do. That being said, there is one author/blogger in the last year or two who has really helped me break out. Rebecca T. Dickson, who doesn’t know me from a hole in the wall, btw, keeps telling me to shut-the-fuck-up and write. And I think I love her for it. She demands that I put aside my fears and worries. Anytime I read her blog, I am struck by my weaknesses and forced to rise above them. :D So, huge thanks to her.

Can you share a little of your current work with us?

I stepped out of the norm on my current ms. My hero is 42 and my heroine is late 30s…and they’re married! I know, so old! So ew! But I love this story, a lot. Nathan is former military who runs a securities company with his wife, but he’s going blind…not only that but a man he took down ten years ago is back, looking for revenge. When I started the story, I just kept imagining what it would be like to lose something as vital as your vision. And since I have a son who is blind, it wasn’t that hard to do. Plus, I knew that even blind, this guy could take care of himself and overcome the obstacles that seemed so insurmountable.

Is there anything you find particularly challenging in your writing?

Filling in the blanks. I tend to write fast-paced and shallow. I usually have to go back and get into people’s heads. I know what’s in there, but it’s not so easy for me to get it on the screen at first.

What is next for you? Do you have any scheduled upcoming releases or works in progress?

Next? I’ll be thrown into edits for a story I sold to Boroughs Publishing Group. Okay, it’s true. I LOVE THIS STORY, too! It’s about a wounded warrior trying to put his life together when she shows back up. Women!...the monkey wrench in every man’s carefully laid plans.

Watch for it to come out later next year. :D

Letters From Home Bethanne Strasser Entangled Flirt ISBN: 9781622663835 Book Description: An Army doctor, Lena Rodriguez has always been too busy with school or the Army for romance. But the letters she received during deployment have captured her heart. Back home for the holidays, she awaits Christmas morning to meet the man who has turned her life upside down.

When Zack Benson watched his best friend's sister Lena leave for Afghanistan, he knew he had to tell her he loved her. So he sent her anonymous love letters. Now that she’s home, he realizes he's made a tactical error. Lena has fallen for the man in those letters but still thinks of him as a brother. He has to convince her otherwise because if he succeeds, he’ll get the best Christmas present ever. But if he fails, he could lose her for good.

About the Author: I strive to live my dreams.

A couple of years ago, my husband took that step and joined the Army. An accountant by trade and finally fed up with a life that aggravated and frustrated...always reaching for the almighty dollar, he came to me and said, what if I join the Army?

Sure! Please, join the Army. I want my happy husband back. :D I took my cue from him.

Though writing has been a part of my life for a long time, my drive had settled in to an easygoing 55 mph. Not too fast, not too slow, with an occasional burst of speed to thrill me.

I write romance--suspense, contemporary, and an occasional paranormal. My stories are full of life, family, and love. I write a lot. I have a lot to share. I love stories that encompass the world. You can find me reading just about any genre of romance, but my favorites are fastpaced suspense, where life is on the line and love is the only saving grace. I want a book that makes my heart pound and my pulse race.

Website: http://www.bethannestrasser.blogspot.com

SANTA TO THE RESCUE by Adele Downs A sweet firefighter contemporary romance novella New Release! From Entangled Publishing Summary: Firefighter Jamey Tucker knows three things in life to be true: An honorable man doesn't go back on his word, never hurts a woman, and lasting love isn't a myth. But with his recent move to a new job at the Appleton Fire station, the long hours don't offer hope of finding the love he’s looking for.

When Jamey meets beautiful pediatric nurse Heather Longhurst after hearing her sing Santa Baby in a supermarket aisle, he offers her a promise he discovers he can't keep. Heather has been betrayed by men in the past, making it hard for Jamey to gain her trust. Determined to find a way to win her heart, Jamey uses firefighter engine-uity and Heather's favorite song to prove he's got Christmas spirit she can believe in all year.

Only .99! Amazon Kindle Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/Santa-Rescue-Entangled-Flirts-ebook/dp/B00G1IM260 Only .99! B&N Nook Buy Link: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/santa-to-the-rescue-adele-downs/1117194515?ean=9781622663811 Excerpt: She laughed out loud this time, and the sound of her voice rang through the air, pure and clear. He could listen to that voice for hours. “These are for my kids at the hospital. I’m an R.N. at County. We’re decorating the pediatric ward. And spoiling the children too, a bit. I’m baking cookies for our holiday party on Saturday.”

She held out her hand for a handshake. “I’m Heather Longhurst.”

Jamey introduced himself and took her hand. He told her what he did and where he worked. Her skin felt soft against his palm, though her grasp conveyed confidence and strength.

He cocked his chin. “What kind of cookies?”

“Chocolate chip, of course. Is there any other kind?”

Jamey shook his head. He could almost taste melted dark chocolate and smell the aromas of fresh baked flour, eggs and sugar filling her kitchen. His mouth watered. He hoped she couldn’t hear his stomach rumble. He hadn’t eaten in over fourteen hours. “No ma’am.”

Heather returned a lopsided grin. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Southern Indiana, born and raised.”

She moved out of the way of an elderly couple trying to pass with their half-filled shopping cart. Jamey moved too and they strolled together toward the exit. “I’ll make a plate of cookies for you, if you stop by the hospital to pick it up.” She said.

Jamey smiled at her, his heart lifting at the turnaround in his day. “That’s the best offer I’ve had since I moved to Appleton.”

“You’re new in town?”

“Been here almost three months.”

“Glad to meet you, Jamey Tucker. See you about one o’clock?”

“I’ll be there. Count on it.”

“I will.” She smiled back and their gazes locked. His mood soared with the realization she was flirting with him. The day had definitely taken a turn for the better.

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

Adele is an active member of Romance Writers of America and her local RWA chapter where she serves as past-president. She has written several articles for RWR magazine (Romance Writers Report), the trade journal of Romance Writers of America, and has presented workshops for writers. When she isn’t working on her current project, she can be found riding in her convertible or reading a book on the nearest beach.

Visit Adele Downs at http://adeledowns.wordpress.com Like Adele Downs on Facebook! https://www.facebook.com/authoradeledowns Follow Adele Downs on Twitter! @Adele_Downs

Second Chance Christmas Ellen Butler Entangled Flirt ISBN: 9781622663804 Book Description: Prominent DC attorney Emma Taylor is pulled away from a promising date the week before Christmas to pick up her ex-fiance from the ER after a bar fight. She's in no mood to re-open old wounds, but it’s Christmas and she can’t just leave him alone and injured.

Eight hundred eighty-four days. That’s how much time has passed since Major Colton Evans made the biggest mistake of his life. Even after two tours of duty and too much shrapnel in his leg, it’s still the loss of Emma that haunts him. And if he can win her back, he’ll take any chance.

When she insists he stay with her during the holiday, they put out enough sexual electricity to rival the most decorated house on the block. But will it be enough to light the way to a future together?

About Ellen Butler I am an old, new writer. In other words, old to writing, new to novel writing. My history includes a long list of writing and editing for dry but illuminating professional newsletters and journals, and windy papers on public policy and political science. The leap to novel writing is simply a creative outlet for my over active and romantic imagination to run wild.

My genre is Women’s Fiction and Romance. I like to provide strong female characters, romance, and suspense in my novels. I work hard to envelop you in the story, to make you root for the heroine by laughing with her or yelling at her when she makes mistakes.

Website: http://www.ellenbutler.net/ Blog: http://www.ellenbutler.net/blog/ Facebook https://www.facebook.com/EllenButlerBooks Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/8183693-ellen

White Lie Christmas Christine Bell & Riley Murphy Entangled Flirt ISBN: 9781622664191 Book Description: The holidays are here, and Leah Latrelle has made a mess of them. When her out-of-town parents’ concern over her non-existent love life threatens to interfere with her father’s health, she invents a boyfriend who quickly turns into a fiancé. Her family is thrilled, and they change their Christmas plans last minute to meet their future son-in-law. Now Leah has no choice but to come up with the goods. She needs a man, fast. When her friend and business partner, Mick, offers himself up as a sacrifice, she’s all over it. He’s handsome, dependable and available for the job.

What could go wrong?

Tis the season, and Mick Kilpatrick can’t say no to a damsel in distress. Especially when that damsel is his luscious business partner who has been the object of his reluctant desire for the past year. He hasn’t pursued anything because being a dad is still priority number one. A sexy woman like Leah will only distract him from what’s really important and he can’t have that.

He’ll pretend to be her fiancé, but when it’s over, everything will go back to normal. Sure, he’s fantasized about her once or...a million times but that doesn’t mean he’s in love with her. Does it?

About the Authors: Christine Bell Christine Bell was born and raised in Connecticut, where she spent most of her childhood outdoors catching salamanders, frogs and colds. When she wasn't terrorizing Mother Nature, she was curled up under the covers with her nose in a book. As an adult, she's stopped stalking amphibians, but still loves books. When she isn't reading, she likes to spend her time people-watching. In fact, she's probably watching you RIGHT NOW .

She's also pretty obsessed with writing YA books, but if she had to pick another profession she would be a ninja...or a Professor of the Dark Arts.

Website: http://www.christine-bell.com/ Blog: http://chrisbwritin.blogspot.com/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/_ChristineBell Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Christine-BellChloe-ColeAuthor/150917174953849 Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4466856.Christine_Bell Riley Murphy Hmm… about me. You know? I had a whole list of things to talk about. How I’m an artist, a university graduate, I was a stay-athome mom who’d been president of condo associations, home owners associations and PTAs, but once the kids were grown, I became an entrepreneur who built and ran two successful businesses….and right there I stopped. What does all this stuff have to do with my writing career?

Oh sure that was the external fuel that got me to this point in life, but it’s the internal stuff that matters, right? So, about me? Here’s what’s important. I’m a wife, a mother, a daughter and a sibling in that order. I’ve been married to the same man for twenty-five years and I still get a thrill when he walks in the room. I have two children who -if they weren’t my kids- I’d be proud to call them friends. I have an elderly parent who lives with me now and I feel fortunate to be in a position to gracefully accept the responsibility of my mom’s care. And I have siblings. All of whom understand the journey I’m on and support it.

In a nutshell? My life has always been centered around the people I love. Just as my writing is centered around the characters I adore. I’ve waited a long time to for this and I can’t tell you how happy I am to be here.

I hope you like my guys as much as I do. They really are so bad – they’re good!

Website: www.AuthorRileyMurphy.com Blog: http://www.badboyscanbefun.com Twitter: https://twitter.com/Riley__Murphy Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/riley.murphy.9469

Alpha The Scattered Dark Series Book Two Fierce Dolan Genre: erotic horror, hardcore paranormal erotica, BDSM Publisher: Fierce Desires Date of Publication: 23 October 2013 ISBN: 978-0-9860165-6-1 ASIN: B00G4V1ETU Number of pages: 53 Word Count: 15,857 Cover Artist: Fierce Dolan Amazon Book Description: When domme Alaine Dunham meets beautiful, young werewolf Seth, she dreams of training him to be the perfect bottom to fill her Alpha needs. She quickly finds that gentling the wild wolf is one thing; subduing the rebellious human is another. Tensions mount as the full moon pushes them to consummate their bond before relationship concerns are soothed.

After a strange book falls into Alaine's hands she begins to doubt her relationship, her instincts, and the moon.

Book One, Journal of a Lycanthrophile , is free on Amazon starting December 2

Alpha by Fierce Dolan

Chapter 1

A wolf. Alaine Dunham didn’t have to see him for that familiar life force to course through hers, for her body to ache to be near his—the telltale signs. Several years had passed since those sensations last sizzled up her spine, thudded behind her ribs, pooled hot and wet at her cunt, and she relished them. Scouting him from her vantage point on the stage, seeing his wild allure, got her even hotter.

The dark man clutched the hand of Hostess Kisha. Her rainbow-plaited head bobbed, a kaleidoscope beacon glinting under the strobing lights as she squinted and guided them through the fray on the glittering dance floor. The shifter pressed through the crowd with his shoulders squared and jaw jutted forward. A lock of wavy black hair obscured his eyes. His swagger betrayed that he was young, anxious, needy, though the power that emanated from him told her he was not newly made. Dancing clubbers parted and stared in his wake.

Alaine jumped down from the stage and waited for him to find her, as he most certainly would. She busied her trembling hands by slapping a cat-o-nine against her thigh. The welts that rose on her skin distracted her from the aching want between her legs. Licking her lips, she sighed and slowed her slamming pulse. If she was half the top she and the patrons of Malice in Fundaland thought she was, he’d be trained to knot in no time. Finally, a worthy conquest.

Shaking her ponytail down her back, she pulled her shoulders up and greeted Kisha.

The waifish hostess clasped Alaine’s hand and kissed her cheek, conservative affection considering they had tribbed all afternoon, culminating with the caramel-complexioned beauty creaming on her face around sundown. Fraternizing amongst staff was forbidden, so they kept their bennie trysts secret. Smiling, she tucked a colorful ringlet behind Kisha’s ear and nodded to the lovely man.

“Mistress,” Kisha started, “this is Seth. He’s a regular on the scene, though it’s his first time in Malice.” His gaze roved over Alaine as the smaller woman spoke. “He asked for you.

He knows the best when he sees it.”

“Ah.” She resisted the urge to rap his thigh with the flail handle. “I’m booked out several nights. Hostess Kisha can get you on the books for another evening.”

The wolf’s piercing gaze met hers, though his long lashes fluttered and his voice wavered. “Nice to meet you, thanks. For now, I’ll watch.”

About the Author:

Erotic mezzofiction writer, Fierce is imagination shapeshifted as a scribe taunting blank pages and carpal tunnel, neither of which are much use for deadlines. Close allies are impeccable timing and a trusty masseuse. Being a switch I/ENFP doesn’t hurt. For kicks Fierce has other personas across several genres, tends to fill in “Other” on surveys without explaining, and chooses the finality of the Japanese Tamagotchi.

www.fiercedolan.com

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Interview with AC James What inspired you to become an author?

I was always a reader. I still am a reader. And I think most authors start out that way. I couldn’t imagine not writing.

Do you write in different genres?

I write different heat levels but I tend to write paranormal romance and BDSM romance for the most part.

How did you come up with the title for your latest book?

The book was actually called the Hellfire Club but then I decided that there was more to the story and thus the Ever After series was titled. Eternal Ever After just fit better.

Do you title the book first or wait until after it’s complete?

I’m actually terrible with titles. Just ask my critique partner! I’m constantly saying what do you think of title x or title y. So I tend to title a book once I’m done writing it.

Is there a genre(s) that you’d like to write that you haven’t tackled yet?

Eventually I’d like to write a contemporary romance but the right story hasn’t called to me yet.

Of all the characters you’ve ever written, who is your favorite and why?

I have a particularly soft spot for Victoria. She’s not even the heroine of the story but she’s a

very strong character. You learn a lot about her in the erotica prequel, Cursed Ever After.

Holly, who is the heroine of Eternal Ever After, was really easy to write. I hope readers connect with her as much as I do. Her story isn’t an easy one either.

If this book is part of a series…what is the next book? Any details you can share?

Well like I said… I don’t title things until the end but I’m currently writing book two.

Luna and Victoria are going to play a really big part in it. That’s about all I can share for now.

What book are you reading now?

I am currently reading and reviewing Summer Sins by Kathy Kulig. If you like hot Contemporary BDSM Romance, you need to read this one. It won’t disappoint!

What is next for you? Do you have any scheduled upcoming releases or works in progress?

A German version of Cursed Ever After is coming out soon. The second book in the Ever After series will be coming out late spring or early summer. I’ll also be doing a reading at Lady Jane’s Salon in New York on January 6th for readers in the tri-state area. For readers that are too far away or that can’t make it, my dear husband will be taping it for a live video chat with me via ShinDig in February.

Eternal Ever After Ever After Series Book 1 A.C. James Genre: Erotic Paranormal Romance Publisher: Wandering Impulse Press Date of Publication: 11/23/13 E-Book: 978-0-9911485-0-9 Print: 978-0-9911485-1-6 ASIN: Number of pages: 307

Word Count: 88K Cover Artist: Ramona Lockwood Amazon Book Description: His past holds a secret…

Arie Cush has a secret that he thought he’d left behind. When his past follows him to Chicago he must protect someone that reminds him of all the painful memories he’s tried so hard to forget. But when every touch from her sets his heart and body on fire—he finds it hard to maintain his aloof façade.

That becomes her nightmare.

Holly Ellis has secrets of her own. An encounter with the handsome stranger who frequents her coffee shop reveals a vampire with baggage. Even though it might be more than she bargained for, she can’t resist the one person who understands her. But her life is in danger and a supernatural threat could reveal the underground world of vampires to humankind in this Gothic Cinderella re-telling.

Inside Scoop: This story contains bondage, anal play, a M/F primary romance with mild F/F situations.

Warning: This book is fictitious. The bdsm portrayed in this story does not portray the lifestyle. Vampires will be vampires. They don’t exactly stop to discuss a scene, pain thresholds, and there is no aftercare involved. Trust is an intrinsic part of the lifestyle. Use due diligence and research before deciding to make fiction into reality.

Heat Level: This book is a steamy romance. It’s the development of a romantic relationship that contains more explicit language and sex. The sex is not an inherent part of the story, character growth, or relationship development, and if removed you still have an amazing plot.

Excerpt:

“If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink.”

–Holy Bible: King James Version

PREFACE I never guessed that I could die with a sea of faces surrounding me, all cheering for my death. A woman wearing a jacket dress made of brocade only laughed louder when blood splattered the low square neckline. Where is Arie? I scanned the crowded club but all I could see were pale faces, some half covered by masks.

My time had come and I prayed she would finish me off quickly. The warm trickle of blood ran down my neck and chest, saturating the corset bustier of my gown. It seemed like a shame to ruin such a pretty dress. Strangely, I felt relieved the bodice was black and not a light color that would show a stain.

The fear of dying or more accurately, the fear of not existing, scared me stiff. Perhaps if I had satisfied this existential anxiety with faith I wouldn’t jump from panic to ambivalence. I should be angry at everyone who simply watched. They must think the gruesome display is part of the entertainment for tonight. After the bloody burlesque show I could hardly blame them.

Holly, I gave you the chance to leave. The telepathic transference hardly seemed relevant at this point. I knew if I’d never gone to the Hellfire Club, I wouldn’t be facing death now. Still, if my death meant the killings would stop it seemed justifiable.

“No!” I could barely hear Arie scream above the cheering voices clamoring for attention. The constant drone defies my effort to form coherent thoughts. I looked up and could see him on the balcony. When I blinked he had disappeared into the throng. I could feel the blood continue to trickle down my neck as she drained me. Dizziness threatened to pull me under. The audience applauded her brutality. I crumpled at her feet, looking up at her smile as thin as paper.

Blood. So much blood. My blood.

I didn’t want this to be the story of my death but this part is only a fragment of a narrative as old as time. Its voices fill the shadows with whispers of legend. We are told that the damned cease to exist and those absolved from sin are given eternal life. The damned can never be saved. They walk the earth in an eternal hell. I fear it will be my curse if death doesn’t claim me instead.

About the Author: A.C. James—author of erotic paranormal romance and erotica featuring bdsm. Wife, mother, sushi lover, and storyteller extraordinaire. She resides in northeast Pennsylvania drinking large vats of coffee while taming two toddlers by day and writing by night.

Ribbon of Darkness The Trouble with Elves Book 1 Decadent Kane Genre: Erotica Publisher: Breathless Press ISBN: ASIN: Cover Artist: Fiona Jayde Book Description: Before Ribbon had a chance to get used to the idea of being an elf, she ran into Draven who's body jingled her bells. Unfortunately, he's the spy sent to haul her and her family back to the North Pole on Santa's orders.

Draven North has had one task for the last twenty-four years: find the Winters family and bring them home. He wasn't expecting their only daughter to deck his halls. No matter how hot and sassy he found his roguess, he had to take her back before the darkness devoured the Pole and Christmas magic along with it. But was it already too late?

Short Excerpt: "Draven! You sly holy Knight. Sneaking up on a helpless Sylvan Elf such as I. You know I'm an emotional creature. Where have you been?" Maple asked the minute Draven materialized in her leaf hut. She was a strong survivalist, living among her clan. Their independ-

ence was an attribute to their species. Her golden hair contrasted with her tanned skin and defined feminine muscles. He recalled the last time those thigh muscles wrapped around him, it had been too long.

"My dear, Maple." Draven bowed in apology for startling her. "Please forgive my intrusion. I'd hoped you'd like to see me as much as I'd like to see you. For my work keeps me busy much of the time, it's hard to schedule a time to come."

Maple's hands pulled Draven upright. "I've missed you terribly." Her light green eyes fluttered their lashes. He adored her bold antics, but knew she'd never be his true mate. Only a Claus Elf could mate for life. She knew that, but pretend was fair play in their coupling.

Draven drew her in tight around him and crushed his lips to hers. Pushing his tongue past her parting lips and lapping at the sweet taste of syrup. She bit his lower lip and pulled back. "Are you happy to see me or is that a candy cane in your pocket?" Her hand cupped his cock through his jeans and squeezed. He narrowed his gaze on her.

"Candy canes have no business here." He ripped the brown leaf dress from her body causing a gasp to escape her lips. He'd give anything to hear that sound come from Ribbon.

Damn his brain. His cock only grew harder at the image of the rogue elf and her black hair sliding over her shoulders.

About the Author: If I had to describe myself, it would be in a word that has infinite meanings with a complexity which falls off the tongue.

A word made up of many elements, is deceptive in appearance, and creates an illusion from the imagination.

My word would be Phantasmagoric.

FB: https://www.facebook.com/DecadentKane Blog: http://decadentkane.blogspot.com/ Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/23398789-decadent-kane

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Why the Pin Up Files?

By Roxanne Rhoads

Several people have asked why I decided to include information about models and photographers in a magazine about books and authors.

For one I wanted to expand what the magazine offers, open it up to a new group of readers. I wanted to do something different, something the other book magazines don’t do.

Two, I have friends and acquaintances that are models and burlesque performers. They’ve introduced to me to the business, to the model world and to a lot of photographers. I wanted to offer them some appreciation, because I am a fan, and showcase them in a new promotional spotlight.

But the real reason I added the Pin Up Files section to the magazine is because the models and photographers are part of the book world as well- because they are the part of an often overlooked aspect of a book- the cover.

Which is funny because the cover is the first thing most of us see when it comes to a book, the cover can make or break a book’s success. The cover can be the final factor in whether or not someone decides to purchase a book.

But yet how many people think about everything it takes to create a cover.

I know some people will think about the designer, they are finally getting more credit for their designs which is fabulous (and I am not undermining them, I have much cover artist love) but do many people think about the model that posed for the image or the photographer that took

the photo?

Probably not, with so many stock photo sites selling tons of photos the photographers and models are never really mentioned or credited.

This is my way of crediting them because they are the foundation of which book covers are built on. Without the models and photographers, the cover designers would have nothing to work with and the authors would have plain, boring covers.

So please take a moment and read through our Pin Up Files, you may see some of these models on a future book cover- and those images may have been taken by one of the photographers we may feature or mention in this magazine.

And please check out a few of my own images- I had the chance to model as Mrs. Claus to my husband’s Santa at a holiday group photo shoot hosted by model Ginger Kewl.

It was nice to meet some of the photographers and models I see and chat with on Facebook. I even got firsthand experience at being a model. Not really my thing but it was fun to give it a try.

Photos by Scott Gould https://www.facebook.com/SGPHOTOGRAPHY Santa Robert https://www.facebook.com/santafortheholidays

Tasty Christmas Treats Roxanne Rhoads Genre: Holiday erotica Publisher: Eternal Press ISBN-10: 1897559909 ISBN-13: 978-1897559901 ASIN: B003V8BHZA Paperback: 26 pages Book Description: Kelly has had a long day working in her upscale adult boutique. She's ready to kick off her heels and spend some quality time with her husband, Marc, which just might include activities involving candy canes, ribbons and bows that would make even Kelly blush!

But just as things are spicing up, an emergency phone call from one of Kelly's employees interrupts the festive fun. Kelly's troublemaking, oversexed cousin, Chrissy, is up to no good, and wreaking havoc in Kelly's upscale sex shop.

Can Kelly convince Chrissy that her store is not a brothel before the cops shut it down? Will Kelly and Marc ever get to finish their passionate Christmas rendezvous?

Available at Amazon in ebook and print