Blog Tour – Giving the Body by Henry Corrigan

For Bernard Donaldson, the Breaker of Men, anything is possible in wrestling. Long time friends can suddenly turn heel, and even pariahs can make triumphant comebacks. But when Luke Jackson, ex-friend and lover, makes his return, Breaker knows something is wrong. Stronger, faster and better than he has any right to be, Luke is everything the aging Breaker wishes he could be. But the closer he gets to Luke’s secrets, the more he can feel something malevolent closing in. Because when it comes to dreams and desires, nothing is more hellish than the human heart.

About the Author

Henry Corrigan is a bisexual author, poet and playwright who wants to write every kind of story. He knows this sounds pretentious but screw it, he’s going for it. Always an avid reader, Henry started writing poetry in middle school but it wasn’t until he started writing erotica in high school that he really learned the mechanics of writing. What started out as private stories and love letters, soon became publications in anthologies.

To date, he has self-published a novella, Carnal Theory, and written one full length dark fiction novel that he is currently shopping around. He also has the rough drafts of two science fiction books, one horror novella, one play, four children’s books, numerous poems and several song lyrics. Above all, he wants to be known for not staying where he’s been put. To always surprise people, especially himself. Because that’s what makes it fun. The feeling that even he doesn’t know what he’s going to do next.

Connect with the Author online:

Check out my latest articles on Medium: https://medium.com/@HenryCorrigan

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/HenryCorrigan

Friend me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/henry.corrigan.35

Subscribe to my website: https://henry-corrigan-y0m6k8.mailerpage.com/

 

 

18 April – Stormy Nights
18 April – CA Milson Author
18 April – Maria Catalina Egan
18 April – 100 Pages a Day
18 April – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
20 April – Girl with Pen
21 April – 4 Covert 2 Overt
22 April – Writing Dreams
25 April – Introspective Press

 

Excerpt

Giving The Body

Fireworks.

We start every night with fireworks. Even through the heavy curtain I can smell it, the industrially acrid scent mixing with the salty hops of beer and fried foods. My stomach rumbles and Scottie nudges me gently.

“I’ll buy you a hotdog after this is over,” he says, which makes me smile.

“Just don’t let Marlina put any hot peppers on it this time.”

Marlina, Scottie’s valet, slaps my shoulder. “Wimp,” she says, leaning against me like I’m a tree, which for someone like Marlina who’s five-foot-four, I might as well be.

Out in the arena the fireworks die down but not the roar of the crowd. Twenty thousand people stand ready as Scottie’s music hits.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” peals the announcer. “Please welcome the XZW General Manager…Scottiiiiieeeeeee Class!”

Scottie’s music is a chorus of regal horns, like the king descending from on high. I kiss him as he steps through the curtain, Marlina at his side.

They hit the ramp with their noses in the air like they’re snorting cocaine straight outta the clouds. I smile as Scottie twirls his cane with each strut.

By the time they reach the ring, I’ve got my game face on. My sneer stretching ’til it could whip the skin off somebody else’s face. I glance behind me at the crew guys running back and forth and the script helpers making final tweaks, but it’s what I don’t see that worries me.

Luke should be here, and my gut can’t help but worry. If he’s drunk it’ll screw up more than our angle, but before I can think about it too much, my music hits, all shrieking guitars and pounding drums.

Time to be the Breaker of Men.

I walk out to a sea of boos and hisses, which I swallow down like candy. I make a point of snapping at those who reach out for a high-five.

Down in the ring, Marlina puts a hand on Scottie’s shoulder and starts looking for an exit. But Scottie doesn’t run. That’s not who he is and more importantly, that’s not who he plays.

He waits until I’m through the ropes before he steps to me.

“What the hell do you want, Breaker?” he shouts and I have to fight not to smile. Nobody else can put a quaver in their voice and make it crack on the mic.

I hit everybody with my best growl. “Sorry to interrupt the grandstanding of a crippled old man…”

The boos double up now Scottie’s beloved and everybody loves to hate me. Never mind the fact that I’m actually six months older than Scottie. The feeling in the arena is like static sparking between my fingers.

“But I’d like to talk about a sniveling, ungrateful, backstabbing little bitch who got very, very lucky last week.”

A cheer goes up. Some start to shout Luke’s name while others chant ‘Live-and-Primed! Live-and-Primed!’ I give it a three-count before continuing.

“Now, this bitch, used to be something special. I thought I saw…” I hold up my thumb and forefinger. “A sliver of talent there. So, I did what any good owner would do. I took it home, I fed it, I trained it. I brought it to the top of the food chain. And what do I get for my trouble?”

People are starting to clap now. Signs with Luke’s picture get held up high. Another two-count and then I scream right in Scottie’s face.

“I get a super kick to the back of the head!”

The crowd goes nuts and now even Scottie and Marlina are smiling.

“I want him. Do you hear me? I want Luke Jackson! Now what is the general manager, gonna do about it?”

Scottie looks me up and down and sniffs, like I don’t have a good six inches on him.

“Listen Breaker, I shouldn’t have to explain this to you, but you’ve always been a little slow, so I’ll make this real easy.”

I snarl at Scottie but he just keeps on rolling.

“I don’t owe you any favors. You don’t have any friends. And you definitely,” he taps me in the chest with his cane. “Don’t get to make demands of me. So why don’t you take all that dead weight and go find somebody who gives a-”

My hips clicks as I kick Scottie in the midsection, but my boy sells it just like we planned. I start hammering on his back with my forearms while Marlina tries to pull me off. Hauling him up onto my shoulders makes my back creak, but I do it anyway because the Death-Valley Driver is what I’m known for.

Quick as a rocket, Marlina hits me with the same padded, sequined fist that brought her five championships and I roll with it, being sure to drop Scottie in a way that doesn’t hurt him.

Marlina makes to run but I’m too big to be done yet. I grab her by the throat and start bellowing in her face. Scottie comes off the mat swinging his cane, but I grab him by the throat too and that’s exactly when Luke’s music hits.

Luke’s music is all frenetic beats, like the musicians were ripped on speed and playing ’til their hearts gave out.

Luke comes charging down the ramp, his manager Mr. Best right on his heels and I only have to look to know Luke’s straight as an arrow which kicks all the worries right out of my head.

I let go of Scottie and Marlina and turn as Luke baseball slides beneath the ropes.

Before he’s even on his feet, I level a haymaker at him, but Luke sidesteps it easily, almost too easily. Bouncing off the ropes, he comes flying back and hits me with a dropkick that I sell even though I have to grit my teeth as I hit the mat. Even rolling to the outside, little sparklers of pain shoot up my spine.

Luke follows me and we begin to brawl right in front of the fans. Clotheslines, chops, a chair-shot for each of us but it’s how fast Luke is moving that almost scares me.

We’ve been brawling for at least a minute and he’s not even slightly out of breath. His abs fucking ripple as he grabs the ring bell and charges me.

I barely have time to duck. The edge scrapes my cheek as it passes. If he’d hit me, my head would be up in the rafters by now.

After that though, there’s not a thing out of place. The refs and security people show up right on time. Luke and I end up on opposite sides of the ring, shouting at each other and the crowd eats it up.

I let security drag me away, but even as I make the ramp, I can’t decide whether I’m happy, surprised, or jealous at how well Luke is moving. The urge to talk to him is strong but by the time I make the curtain, Luke’s long gone and Mr. Best along with him.

Scottie and Marlina wave me over to the locker rooms and I follow, stopping just long enough to wish the tag teams up next luck in officially starting the show.

The night moves on.

Blog Tour: Coming Soon: Women’s Orgasm Erotica by Henry Corrigan

Multiple orgasms? Oh, yes!

What does it feel like to climax? Coming Soon: Women’s Orgasm Erotica offers wild and thrilling tales of female sexual pleasure that explore that question in a variety of wondrous ways. From a fetish that will appeal to any book lover and a waitress who’s seduced by her very attractive customers, to the thrill of artificial intelligence that knows exactly how to please a woman sexually, you’ll discover how delightful it is to come and come again. Read about women who like to watch, and others who love to get naked and show it all off.

With 20 erotic stories by popular authors such as Ella Dawson, Katrina Jackson, D. L. King, and Donna George Storey, you’ll be turned on with every page. Whether they’re enjoying multiple orgasms, playing with sex toys, attending a sex party or taking a thrilling business trip, the characters in Coming Soon savor every moment of their arousal. Edited by the award-winning Rachel Kramer Bussel, these sexy scenarios range from sex with strangers to the deepest of intimacy among couples, all while reaching the peak of erotic fulfilment.

Grab your copy here…

Bookshop (supports independent bookstores)    Love’s Sweet Arrow (independent romance bookstore)

Powell’s (independent bookstore)    Amazon (all available countries)    Barnes & Noble

Books-a-Million    Chapters (Canada)

Ebook

Kindle (all available countries)    Nook    Google Play    iBooks    Kobo

About the author

I want to write every kind of story. I know this sounds kind of pretentious but screw it, I’m going for it. I’ve always been an avid reader and started writing poetry in early grammar school. I think there are a lot of people who will say that they wanted to be Stephen King at one time or another, and the same holds true for me. I wanted to be Stephen King, Anne Rice, Ray Bradbury and Rod Serling, but it was in erotica where I really learned the mechanics of writing.

What started out as private stories and love letters, soon became publications in anthologies, the most recent of which being Cleis Press’ Coming Soon: Women’s Orgasm Erotica, which is due out 7/13/21 http://mybook.to/comingsoonprint.

To date, I have self-published a novella, Carnal Theory, and written one full length dark fiction novel that I am currently shopping around. I have the rough drafts of two science fiction books, one horror novella, one play, four children’s books, and I-don’t-know-how-many poems and several song lyrics. I meant what I said at the very beginning. I want to write every kind of story. (Except maybe westerns. I can’t watch two men stare at each other for ten minutes without screaming “Somebody shoot somebody already!“) I want to be known for not staying where I’ve been put. I want to always surprise people, especially myself. Because that’s what makes it fun for me. The feeling that even I don’t know what I’m going to do next. 

Connect with me online

henrycorrigan.blogspot.com    Twitter: @HenryCorrigan    Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/henry.corrigan.35

02 Aug – Romance Reviews Today
02 Aug – Stormy Nights
08 Aug – Girl with Pen
09 Aug – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
10 Aug – Dawn’s Reading Nook
11 Aug – Writing Dreams
12 Aug – CA Milson Author
13 Aug- Room With Books
18 Jan – Brantwijn Serrah

 

 

Excerpt From “I’m Her” by Henry Corrigan

The bathroom she’d chosen was small but serviceably spare, wrapped up in the smell of industrial lemon. When the knock finally came, Catherine’s heart thudded as she threw open the door.

Wordlessly Dave or Pete or Brian slipped past, taking his place atop the toilet. Locking the door behind them, Catherine smiled at this stranger with his blue shirt and hungry grin.

They stared at each other for a long moment and then, with slow, conscious movements, began.

Catherine lifted her skirt as he unbuckled his belt.

She slipped her fingers into her underwear as he stroked

himself, his cock held tightly in his fist.

She teased herself slowly, stirring the soft hairs with her palm, gliding a finger between her lips, drawing out the warmth like a friend called out to play.

Dave or Pete or Brian bit his lip and stroked more quickly now, growing harder by the second. With deft fingers, Catherine slipped her underwear off and spread her thighs wide. Slipping a finger insider herself, she gasped and rolled the hood of her clit gently, sending light straight up her spine.

Soon enough the smell of lemon faded, replaced by the musk of their exertions. Her thighs were quivering, and his cock was

hard and red.

He’d brought condoms, but she made him use her own, squirting a dollop of lube into the palm of her hand. Straddling his thighs, she grasped him, the first time they’d ever really touched.

He sighed as Catherine lowered herself down but for her it was uncomfortable at first. Her inner muscles, too long unused, rebelled at his thickness, leaving her hissing as she rocked against him, back and forth.

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes, listening to the sounds beyond the door. The whisk of luggage wheels and conversations, the thousands of people walking by. None of them would ever see her like this, her bare ass clenching as she rode this stranger, her breath coming in frantic gasps as he went deeper every time.

With a shudder Catherine rocked forward, now flush against his hips. She sighed and let her head fall back, the sensation not quite orgasm, but the pleasure of being filled.

Like a Phoenix…

There’s a funny thing about time… it doesn’t always behave the way you think it should. In fact, it has a strange way of doing whatever it feels like. This site provided me with another great example. I could’ve sworn I’d posted here sometime in the past year… but it turns out that it’s been over two years. I guess 2020 can be largely excused. After all, it was an unusual year. That still leaves a bit of a gap in information and posts.

That doesn’t mean that I haven’t been busy. Far from it. With more and more authors opting to conduct their own tours and marketing, it was time to diversify and so I’ve been investing more time in my other services. These include proof reading, editing, research and social media management. Of course, I’ve also been trying to make time for my own writing… Think of a meme, it’s probably true.

However, I’m still here and still devoted to all things book.

And I’m looking forward to working with you some day.

Blog Tour – Colleen S. Myers – Wings of the Wicked Boxed Set

Colleen plays many roles. Not only is she a veteran, a mother, and a practicing physician, but she is a writer of science fiction and contemporary romances. Colleen’s dreams include surviving her son’s teenage years, exploring every continent on this planet, except Antarctica, cause that’s way too cold, and winning the Nobel peace prize. Dream BIG! Currently, she is working on Distant Memory, the third in her SciFi Romance series. In the meantime, look for her at https://www.colleensmyers.com

Social Media Links:

https://www.facebook.com/colleensmyers
https://www.twitter.com/colleensmyers
https://www.instagram/com/csmyers3637
https://www.bookbub.com/profile/colleen-s-myers

 

Seri Therotian lost everything to the E’mani. Her brother, her betrothed, her place among her people. But it turns out there is even more to lose including her life, her father, her people unless she is willing to lead the broken race that had forsaken her to victory.

Buy your copy at any one of these great retailers

Universal Link: books2read.com/47ZQDN

#iBooks: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1410452943

#Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/wings-of-the-wicked-1

#Nook: https://bit.ly/2NPOKEL

#Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/wingswicked

 

 

08 Jan – Girl With Pen
08 Jan – Tome Tender
08 Jan – Little Shop of Readers
09 Jan – CA Milson Author
10 Jan – Urban Fantasy Investigations
11 Jan – Indie Book Fairy
14 Jan – Room With Books
15 Jan – Writing Dreams
16 Jan – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
18 Jan – Romance Reviews Today
18 Jan – Ash Stone Author

 

 

 

Seri’s grip on the sheer mountainside above the wind-swept canyon slipped. But her right claw managed to break the surface of the rock and halt her fall.

Thank goodness for sharp nails.

She scrambled for purchase until she got a more solid hold. Her fingers ached but she maintained her grasp. She had no choice. The pale E’mani clones in their dark gray jumpsuits were patrolling the path beneath her; at least four of them. She couldn’t take that many, even with her father’s help. They had weapons and shields. She had a wooden bow. Even with her magic, if it affected them, that was not much of a match.

She could fly away, but that did not seem like the smartest play either. They might notice a flying fluffy pink girl. She did kind of stand out, even among her own people. Most of whom were grey or brown like her father.

Speaking of her father, she turned to look at Jax hanging on a nearby rock face, his rust colored wings pulled close to his body. He blended with the surface of the mountain on the windswept peak. She on the other hand with her bright red feathers and orange underbelly was screwed. If the clones’ gazes rose, they’d spot her.

This sucked.

She shifted her grip to hang from one hand to the other and flexed her fingers, then repeated the gesture on the other side.

Jax whistled at her in warning and she glared in return.

Yes, she was moving, but that kept her from falling.

She wasn’t as used to hanging as enemies paced below her. She was only twenty after all, barely an adult by Avaresh standards and much less battle-forged than him. What did he expect?

Her mouth twisted. Wait, what was she thinking? Her father expected everything of her, she was after all a Therotian. How could she forget. She had a destiny. What a load of-.

Her clawed fingers dug into the rock causing dirt to rain down in a small waterfall onto the E’mani’s heads.

Shoot.

She didn’t mean to do that.

She shared a startled glance with Jax who swore under his breath.

He pushed off from the wall as the clones gazed straight up at them and fanned his wings to make himself a bigger target. But he was dark to her light. In the dusky sky, she stood out against the horizon.

They raised their weapons.

Blog Tour – Love Is Never Past Tense by Janna Yeshanova

Originally from the former Soviet Union, Janna Yeshanova escaped in 1989 when persecution became violent during the crumbling of the Soviet state. This required getting permission to emigrate and a long dangerous train trip across central Europe with her elderly mother, her young daughter, and the $126 she was permitted to take out of the country. She did this by overcoming gridlock in Russia, animosity and graft at the border, and neglect in the west. Safely out of Soviet control, Janna and her family spent months as refugees waiting for permission to come to the United States.

Arriving in the United States knowing not a soul, Janna settled in Ohio and began to rebuild her life. She earned a second masters Degree and was invited as a speaker at the Bosnia and Herzegovina International Peace Conference in 1996. While building her business as a Leadership Trainer and consultant, she has become a Professional Certified Coach (PCC) through the International Coach Federation. She offers life coaching services to individuals, conflict resolution to couples and groups, and soft skills training to organizations of all sizes.

Her book, Love Is Never Past Tense, offers a message of hope and inspiration, showing that nothing is impossible if you believe in yourself.

Her Blog     Facebook     Twitter

A couple’s quick romance and hasty marriage is torn apart by family and fate, leaving them to face the collapse of the Soviet Union separately. Years later, old memories are stirred to give their love a second chance.

Serge and Janna’s chance meeting at a Black Sea beach sparks a passionate romance and a quick marriage. Serge’s parents, suspicious of Janna’s motives and heritage, force him to break up with her. As the Soviet Union collapses, revealing ethnic and social pressures, each faces danger separately. Serge drowns in self-doubt, his life spiraling down and in. Janna plots a dangerous exodus to America with her mother and daughter. Years pass, stirring old emotions.Then, changing circumstances give their love a second chance. Janna Yeshanova tells a story, providing a very personal view of political and social change.

Love is Never Past Tense is part romantic drama and part a look at real people responding to life-changing events, but mostly a suspense adventure about living through one of the biggest changes in living memory.

Love Is Never Past Tense is available on Amazon in hardcover, paperback and Kindle eBook formats. The newly released audiobook is available on Audible, Amazon and iTunes. The audible and Kindle versions are enabled with WhisperSync.

The audio is narrated by Daniela Acitelli, a narrator with dozens of audiobooks to her credit. Even those familiar with the story found new meaning in her presentation. It took me two years to find her.

http://www.loveisneverpasttense.com

Audiobook sample https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6nBbMxrEb1g

 

Buy Links:

Audio Book at audible.com https://adbl.co/2FrEWAs

Audio Book at Amazon https://amzn.to/2Bt9s8W

Audio Book at iTunes https://apple.co/2Kvh8KX

Amazon Author Page https://amzn.to/2AhhY9j

Amazon Kindle https://amzn.to/2Ku6h3S

 

 

21 Dec – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
22 Dec – CA Milson Author
22 Dec – Stormy Nights
23 Oct – Girl With Pen
23 Dec – Dawn’s Reading Nook
24 Dec – Stephanie’s Book Reviews
24 Dec – eBooks Addict UK
26 Dec – Writing Dreams
27 Dec – Romance Reviews Today
28 Dec – Room With Books
29 Dec – Erzabet’s Enchantments
30 Dec – Indie Book Fairy
07 Dec – Ash Stone Author

 

 

Serge didn’t try to catch up to the shuffling, thin, leather skirt. He hadn’t a clue what he would do if he actually caught up with her. So he continued following her along the high embankment for a fairly long time, until they crossed the whole of Lanzheron Park. But, reaching the beach, the girl quickly descended to the sea. Serge even began to jog a bit to keep her in sight. His head was clear this morning, and soon he would try out his cunning for the first but not the last time this day. The spy set up camp at the upper solarium and watched over her. Maybe she was waiting for some company, or a young man, or a girlfriend (which would undoubtedly seem to be better), but to our spy, all were equally bad possibilities. This guessing game carried on in his head, but it seemed she wasn’t looking for anyone. She ducked into the changing room, and her leather skirt momentarily hung over the edge of the stall. After a minute, she exited, and Serge, pulling his long hair away from his head with both hands in anguish, groaned something unintelligible. Her breasts exited the little room first. The spot from where Serge looked down provided such visibility that his knees began to tremble. Her face was impossible to discern through her long hair and sunglasses, but something told him it would also be in order. She laid before her a light beach towel, and laying down she took a book from her bag and began to read. Burning her “landing site” into his mind, Serge took off like a shot to the nearest cabana rental. Fast as lightning, he exchanged his clothes for a key, crammed two metal rubles in the pocket of his swimming trunks, and became Don Juan. He feared, though, that there were already a bunch of admirers slinking ever closer to the sacred beach towel, and that he would simply be too late. He’d have to crawl to his place in line, and like the others, would have a poor chance of success.

He flew down the stairs and quickly found the beach towel, but … its owner was nowhere to be found. There was a book, a beach bag, and sunglasses, but their owner had disappeared. Oh, yes! This would be the second time that a smart thought visited Serge’s head today. People come to the sea to swim, after all! This interpretation of her disappearance comforted and delighted Serge. He became bolder and impudently tossed his glasses onto the same towel and cheerfully marched to the water. With his half-blind eyes, he surely could not see her. And where, among dozens of bathers? He dove into a wave, and swam away from the shore. First, he couldn’t stand to watch bathers jumping around like frogs in the shallow water. Secondly, at this moment, his exceptionally quick-witted head told him he couldn’t be the first to return to her beach towel. Then he’d have to take his glasses and fiddle around a bit in front of the beach towel to buy time as he came up with a new plan. Perhaps he’d cover himself with the towel, or maybe … no, he needed to work on his initial scenario.

He even came up with a sophisticated opening: “Excuse me, young lady, but I left my glasses here on your towel. I simply didn’t have anywhere to put them, or myself for that matter.” With this, his stockpile of ideas was depleted …

At last he climbed out of the water and headed along the well-trodden route to her beach towel. The towel was in place, and on this towel lay the magnificent body of its hostess, but Serge’s glasses were lying a little bit farther on the edge of the towel. Serge squatted down and mumbled his introduction. He was counting on her to respond with typical beach chit-chat: “Where are you from? How long ago did you arrive in Odessa?” or other such nonsense.

“Your glasses are fine,” she responded. “I figured someone just confused their beach towel with mine, but have a seat anyway.”

She scooted over, freeing up half the beach towel. He got scared. If he lay down, then he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to nuzzle up to her. Then he’d certainly look like a pervert, a youth brought up with no manners, or a pest—in a word, he would give the exact opposite impression than he wanted. He mumbled something like a “thank you” and lay down beside her on the sand. She motioned towards him with a little bag of sunflower seeds, “Help yourself.”

” Oh God, what’s this?” resounded in Serge’s mind. “Are you kidding me … sunflower seeds?” And his hand with a subsequent “thank you” reached in the bag.

“Do you like Ilf and Petrov?”²

” Lord, who is she talking about? I’ve only heard of them in passing, but I don’t know the slightest thing about them …” Serge thought to himself.

“My name’s Janna,” she came to his rescue.

“Sergey,” he stammered in reply, “but at the institute everyone actually calls me Serge, or Seriy …”³

She chuckled.

“Grey. You’re actually black as tar. Where did you get such a tan?” she asked, spitting out sunflower seed shells. Not even awaiting a response, she exclaimed: “Here is an interesting moment”—and she began to read her book aloud, something about Ptiburdukov and his Varvara, who was leaving her first husband for him but couldn’t make up her mind. Janna read for a while, probably about five pages, and then thrust the book towards Serge and said, “You read from here,” marking the place with her fingernail. Serge began to read, but he didn’t understand a word. He was too busy worrying about his diction, trying not to miss any letters or words. He fought through two pages, but his audience was clearly not impressed.

“Would you like a cigarette?”

“If he has a smoke, then he’ll stop reading.” Serge could almost hear her thinking. He pulled a cigarette from a mashed-up pack of Javas, the best tobacco the Soviet Union could offer at that time. She handed him the matches. He brought the flame close to her face. She took a drag and rolled over on her back. Serge absolutely didn’t know what to do: read, blow sand from her, ask her about something. But she was not waiting for any questions and didn’t ask any questions. It was as if he simply was present. And that was that. The only thing that remained was for Serge to stare dumbfounded into the sand and observe the ants. Having smoked half the cigarette, she jammed the other half into the sand and turned back over on her stomach, brushing her leg up against Serge’s. But she did not hasten to remove it. Silent Serge, who really didn’t look the part of a reasonable person, turned into an animal. His uncontrollable desire sprang to life, pulling his swimming trunks down into the sand with such force that it became painful. Serge secretly burrowed a hole in the sand, easing the pressure. He became obsessed with a craving to climb on top of her. But this was out of the question, which made his desire even stronger …

“It’s hot. Let’s go for a swim,” she said, lifting herself up on her elbows. For the first time he could see her breasts up close, causing his heart to leap through his ribs like a bird in a cage. He muttered he’d catch up to her, and when she left, his desire ever so slowly began to hide itself away, until he was finally able to get up and head towards the sea.

She splashed around in the waves, which towards midday became quite sizable. He flopped about next to her, often brushing up against her body. Then he suggested tossing her in the waves. He cradled her head and shoulders, gathered her hands into his, and finally lifted her up and tossed her into the waves. Janna liked it, and so did he, but for a different reason: every time she hit the waves, her bathing suit slid down slightly, and when her breasts finally became exposed, he was ready to splash to his very death. Suddenly, she ended up cradled in his arms. With one arm, she grasped his neck, and he now understood that everything will happen, he just needed to patiently wait.

Once something starts, eventually, it ends. The delightful swim as well: they returned from the water and again lay down on the beach towel.

“I want to get tanned like you.” (She had already switched to the informal you⁴ in the water. He liked this, as it made him feel less uneasy around her). She placed her arm next to his for comparison, and her brown skin seemed much paler than his almost blackened arm. Guiltily, he informed her that he just returned yesterday from his apprenticeship in Baku, and so it was not surprising that he was so dark.

“You have beautiful hands,” she pensively remarked. Then, determined, she added, “No, you just wait. I’ll catch up with you in two days. Just wait and see.” These words poured over his body like oil. For Serge, this meant that he would spend at least two more days with her.

“Get some ice cream. Do you need some money?”

“I have it,” answered Serge, but before he could get up and leave, he had to turn and crawl to hide his “desire” …

***

During their first three days together, Serge (as they called our hero at the time) was the quieter of the two, once in a while muttering some insignificant phrases. The first time he saw her, he silently followed her for a long time. She walked along easily, shifting her long, rather well-proportioned legs. Her thin leather skirt swung from side to side, barely hiding her shapely hips. A green blouse tightly covered her beautifully straight back. All the while, Serge followed her like she was a vision, lacking the courage to come closer or to back away. He knew that making her acquaintance was a long shot; she was simply out of his league. How could he possibly know that she, a complete stranger, would inexplicably impact his life and be with him forever, whether she was at his side or not?

Blog Tour – Jack Jetstark’s Intergalactic Freakshow by Jennifer Lee Rossman

Jack Jetstark travels the universe to seek out the descendants of superpowered freaks created long ago by VesCorp scientists. The vibrations encoded in a particular song transform the members of Jack’s crew into a firebreather and an angel, a wildman and telepathic conjoined triplets, so they hide the truth of who they really are with the theatrics of a carnival.

The song plays every night through the receptor Jack carries with them, but when one night it has a different ending and their temporary powers become permanent, Jack believes the change is a signal from the woman who sent him on this quest in the first place. He and his freaks must navigate a universe at war to protect the love of his life.

But does the ruler of VesCorp really need protecting?

Buy Links:     Amazon     Barnes and Noble     iTunes     Kobo

Author Jennifer Lee Rossman is a disabled and autistic freak, and proudly so. Her work has been featured in many anthologies and her debut novella, Anachronism, was published by Kristell Ink in 2018.

She blogs at http://jenniferleerossman.blogspot.com/ and tweets @JenLRossman.

04 Dec – Stormy Nights
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04 Dec – 4 Covert 2 Overt
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06 Dec – Room With Books
07 Dec – Ash Stone Author
07 Dec – Writing Dreams
08 Dec – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
10 Dec – eBooks Addict UK
10 Dec – Romance Junkies
11 Dec – CA Milson Author
12 Dec – Romance Authors That Rock
12 Dec – Romance Reviews Today
13 Dec – Indie Book Fairy
13 Dec – Sharpest Girl in Town

“First thing you’ve got to know,” I said, brushing my hair from my face as the wind began to pick up, “is that we’re all freaks. Everyone in the whole universe, for one reason or another. Most try to hide this fact. A few of us embrace it, not so much because we want to but because there’s nothing else for us. So we show people the terrifying and unseemly parts of us no one wants to see, and we charge ’em good money to see it.”

Lily stepped forward and knelt to display her shoulders and back, all bare, featherless skin down to the dangerously low neckline of her sequined dress. “See? No wings.”

“But you flew,” Cara insisted. “If it isn’t costumes and harnesses, then what?”

I held up the receiver, a small wooden box the size of my hand with a speaker on one side and images of galaxies and solar systems carved into the others. Not the most advanced technology, but I wouldn’t have anything else.

I checked the time. Soon.

I debated how much to tell her. No matter how many times I tried to explain it, it never sounded remotely plausible, but I had to warn her. Seeing the end result was one thing; seeing it happen before your eyes was another matter entirely, though the complete truth was an ancient burden none of them deserved to be saddled with.

“The music plays,” I said. “Same song, same time every night, and it triggers something inside us. That feeling you had, like you were made of magic? That’s what it feels like when your DNA recognizes a song, even if you’ve never heard it before.”

She stared at me in eager anticipation, nodding slowly. Whether she actually believed me or was just humoring me, I couldn’t say, but it was a nice change from the usual interruptions of “that’s impossible” and “science doesn’t work that way.”

I cast a sideways glance at Theon, who had given me more trouble than the others, and continued. “Makes you feel alive, like there’s a purpose to your existence and you can do the impossible, and that ain’t just in your mind. We’re all freaks, but we—” I motioned to my crew. “Well, we’re different. Our bodies hear that song, and it triggers our genes to change, to grow into… I don’t know, the true selves that live in our heart or some sentimental crap like that.”

“How poetic,” Lily said with a laugh. She looked up at Cara. “I know it’s hard to understand. It happens to me every night, and I still have no idea how it works, but I can fly, Merulo becomes the feral wildman, Parthen and the boys really can read each others’ minds and feel each others’ pain… Jack breathes fire and gains the ability to give impassioned speeches without sounding like an uninterested jerk.”

I checked the time again.

“So what changed in you?” Pneuman asked with earnest interest. “During the music, I mean?”

Cara hesitated, almost like she was afraid of hearing the absurdity out loud.

“I turn into a wild beast,” Merulo pointed out quietly. “And these three grow into one, psychic organism. Whatever you’re about to say will probably be the most normal thing we’ve heard in months.”

After another moment’s thought, Cara rolled up her sleeves. Her arms, though pale peach and freckled like her face, gleamed in the diminishing sun.

I reached out to touch her. Cold, almost metallic. That explained how she opened the lock.

“You’re a cyborg,” I said, tapping my nail on her forearm to hear the clinking sound. They just couldn’t get the texture right, no matter how hard they tried.

Her moon didn’t seem like the type of place to have a neurologist trained in bio implants, and I doubted anyone there could afford to travel to see one.

“Fancy. Who wired it into your brain?”

“I did it all myself.” She held up a hand and demonstrated the various functions and attachments installed in her fingers, glossing right over the fact that she had just admitted to performing brain surgery on herself. She yanked her sleeves down. “And I’m not a cyborg,” she clarified. “I’m just good with electronics and I like gadgets. My dad says it’s bad to be a cyborg.”

“Well, I tell you what, kid. You can’t make a person change by pointing out their flaws, but you can be the one person who doesn’t try to.”

“I’ve always had a connection to electronics,” she said, shyly extending a hexagonal wrench from her forefinger, “like I could talk to them. But when I heard the music… something happened.”

I checked my watch. Not long now. “Yeah, something always happens. What matters is what happened to you, kid.”

“They… talked back.” Her words came slow at first, her reluctance to being different still holding her back, but as she talked, she grew more excited, more animated. “I could hear the messages stored on the phones of everyone around me, could see the last videos that played on their contact lenses. I could see the blueprints of your ship in my head. She’s an Aldebaran cargo ship, Highwire model. Superluminal capability, more weapons than she came out of the factory with, and she has a capacitor that should be repaired soon. And I felt like, if I wanted to, I could touch any source of power on the ship and control everything remotely.”

“Ready to feel that way again?” I asked, holding out the transmitter as showtime approached.

And passed.

It was time, but the music didn’t play. The music didn’t play.

Why didn’t the music play?

Blog Tour – Camouflage by Ivy Keating and Scott Spotson

A missing man, a new police chief and an unexpected New England town mystery.

When Sean Dermott, the newly appointed police chief, sees the report that a popular local high school coach is missing, his growing fascination with the alluring Vanessa Strauss, who reported the disappearance, makes him determined to solve the case.

The investigation leads him and his team deep into Quarry Head Park, a local scenic preserve with nature trails and expansive views. There is no sign of the missing man, but what he does find terrifies him to the core.

From the depths of the park, a deadly prehistoric looking creature emerges, attacks swiftly and silently, leaving devastation in its wake. In the chaos which follows, it is up to Chief Dermott and a team of scientists to fight for balance by ensuring the safety of his town and preserving this remarkable discovery.

He will risk his career, his reputation and even his own life to stand by what he believes to be right. The question is, will he succeed, or will all be lost?

Grab your copy now!!       Amazon     Champagne Books     Goodreads

Watch the trailer here

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06 Nov – Romance Junkies

About Ivy Keating…

Motivated by nature’s mysteries and the complexity of human behaviour, Ivy Keating writes science fiction and fantasy novels exploring the relationship between mankind and the natural world.

A master’s degree in social work helps her explore the nature of her characters and give them added depth as they grapple with the repercussions of their actions. This novel was inspired by the landscape and natural beauty of New England.

An area that inspired the question… what if?

Social Media Links:

www.ivykeating.com     Instagram     Twitter

The following week on Monday, when Sean returned to work, he found new information on the homicide in Lakeside Park in his inbox.

“The fingerprints lifted from the evidence belong to Marcus Branca. He is now the number one suspect. He’s also the prime suspect in a robbery caught on tape in Litchfield. The security video from the drugstore robbery and a mug shot are attached.”

The next paragraph got him thinking.

“A current address for the suspect is not confirmed. His mother, Evelyn Branca lives at 201 Daleview Circle in Norwalk, Connecticut. A transcript of her statement is attached. She stated the last time she saw her son was two years ago in October when he asked her for money.”

He’s robbing close to home. He has no confirmed address, and he last called his mother two years ago.

Sean’s gut told him—she’s lying.

He closed the email to focus on the open cases within his department.

The results of the forensic tests from the soil samples should be in.

He placed the call to the lab. The receptionist told him the tests were completed and transferred him to a technician who gave him the results. “The soil samples you sent over came up negative for synthetic and natural rubber. No trace metals either. We found nothing man-made in it.”

Sean thanked the woman. Nothing then.

He glanced at the time on his computer screen. In one hour, he needed to attend a seminar on emergency protocols as outlined by the Department of Emergency Services and Public Protection, given at the University of Connecticut. He turned off his computer, preparing to leave when he saw Ryan standing in the doorway.

Sean waved him in. “What’s up?”

“I have the report I promised on Jason Kenner last week.”

“Including what happened to the car and the credit card statements?”

“Yes. And some information from recent bank records,” Ryan said, handing Sean a hard copy.

“Have a seat.”

“Remember the name on the account, Marsha Philips?”

Sean nodded.

“She’s an old girlfriend who lives in Albany, New York, about two hours away. I was able to speak with her.”

“What did she say?”

“They lived together, and she was crushed he’s missing. It sounded like Marsha cared very deeply about him, so I asked what the nature of their relationship was today. She said they’re just friends. They broke up because he has a gambling problem.”

“Is that why he has so many credit cards?”

“Yeah. He uses cash advances to get money. Marsha said he’s been doing that for years. He wanted her to open a card in her name and take out an advance for him. She refused and gave him an ultimatum. Get help for his addiction, or it’s over. He never got help.”

“Does she know there’s a credit card statement in her name going to his house?”

“She does. She knows he opened a card in her name illegally, but she doesn’t want to press charges. Two months ago, Jason told her that he owed someone money and they’re after him. He asked Marsha if she could loan him two thousand dollars, but she refused. He opened the card without her permission but then called her to confess what he’d done and closed the account. She feels terrible for him. She said he’s a good man; he just has a problem.”

“That’s very forgiving considering what he did,” Sean said.

“Yup, but the story checks out. I followed up with the credit card carrier, and they did receive a request to close the account. And there’s more. Marsha said when they first started dating Jason owed someone $11,000 for betting on football games. He was so scared they would come after him, he told her if he didn’t get the money he’d have to leave town. She gave him a small loan, and he took a second job to cover the rest. Marsha said he would tell her he stopped gambling, but she knows he never did. He was always short of money the entire time they were together.”

“I’m a little surprised none of his friends said anything. There’s nothing in the file about it,” Sean said, wondering if Vanessa knew about Jason’s addiction.

“From the way Marsha spoke—he was good at hiding it. He held a steady job, and for the most part they had a good relationship.”

“I can see that. Jason’s very popular around here. He was working with kids coaching the winning basketball team. Looks like a model citizen. Any idea who he owes money to?”

“Not yet, but his landlady said he hasn’t paid his rent in two months. I did some checking, and he’s behind on all his other bills. There are some illegal gambling operations in neighboring towns that local law enforcement is building cases against. I could contact them.”

“Yes. Do that.”

He nodded. “Right away.”

“Oh, did you find out what happened to his car?” Sean asked, standing and gathering his things.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Ryan followed Sean to the door. “The car was repossessed for non-payment. He hadn’t paid in almost six months. It was pure coincidence it was taken away now.”

“See what else you can find and keep me updated.”

Ryan returned to his office, and Sean left the station. On the way to his police car, he detoured into the building next door which housed the Animal Control Department.

After exchanging greetings with Officer Benjamin Gibson, the head of Animal Control, Sean asked if anyone claimed the dog he found.

“No such luck. No one’s called, and the poor creature’s been staying at the animal hospital since you had him brought in,” Ben said.

“How come?”

“He tested positive for Lyme disease. He’ll be okay, but they wanted to start him on antibiotics so they kept him there.”

Sean rubbed his chin. The dog’s been through enough. “If no one calls you today, I’m going to pick him up and take him home.”

“Good for you,” Ben said with a smile. “Hey. Since you’re here, a video just came in of a mutilated animal in Quarry Head Park. Want to take a look?”

“Someone filmed it?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t have much time. Is it long?”

“Not at all. Just shy of two minutes.”

“Sure. Let me see.”

“I just want you to be prepared. It’s pretty gross.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Sean said, even more interested.

Ben pulled the file up on the computer and turned the screen toward Sean.

The camera caught every angle of the gruesome sight. Sean flinched. What the hell?

The body in the footage looked like a deer. The features on its face were squashed; the eyes no longer clearly defined. The neck of the animal was bent in the middle—the head lay flat on the ground twisted to one side. Two stumps, which were once the deer’s front legs, jutted out just past its ears. Its back legs were crushed and wedged into position under its belly. Even more bizarre, the lifeless mass had a gelatinous looking coating over its entire body.

“Do we know what happened to it?”

“No. The footage was taken by a fifteen-year-old boy on his cellphone. He was riding his bike with a friend in Quarry Head Park. They went off the path, and his friend fell from the bike when he hit this dead animal.”

“Who gave you the video?”

“His mother sent it in by email. She wanted to make sure someone cleaned it up before anyone else got hurt. She said her son’s friend developed an itchy rash from the slime covering the animal’s body.”

Sean pointed to a marker on a tree in the video. “This is next to the yellow path,” he said. “Hold off on removing the animal for just a few hours. I have to go to a seminar at the University of Connecticut, but when I come back I want to take a look at it myself.”

“Sure. Hey, when you get to the school you should talk to Dr. Greg Mitchell. You can show him the video.”

“Why? Who is he?”

“Greg’s a professor at the University and the head of the Biology Department. He knows a lot about animals and specializes in herpetology.”

“Herpetology? The study of reptiles?” Sean asked.

“That’s right. Actually it’s reptiles and amphibians, so he covers both land and water. Greg lives right here in town. Last year he helped us relocate a Bog Turtle found in someone’s yard. They’re endangered, you know.”

“But even I can see this looks like a deer.”

“I know, but he’s very knowledgeable. He might be able to help. Anyway, it’s just a suggestion, and you’ll be there anyway.”

“Okay, can you send me the video?”

“Not a problem. I’ll email it to you now.”

Sean thanked Ben and left for the University. Once in his cruiser he scrunched his nose, mulling over the grisly video. Natural causes or foul play?

 

 

 

Blog Tour – A Day to Remember by Katharine O’Neill

Months after ending a long-term relationship, Bryony Murphy still lets it control her. She’s scared to let anyone else in, just in case her ex, Tara, comes back to torment her again.

It isn’t easy to keep her heart to herself around beautiful journalist Georgia Bing, who works with Bryony on the TV show Crooked Cowboys. Georgia makes Bryony want to forget everything else and enjoy simply her.

After a one-night stand with Bryony, Georgia wants more with the lovely researcher. She knows Bryony’s hurting, but she also knows of Bryony’s past. Georgia is willing to go slow at first, but soon the sexual tension becomes too much to bear and she just has to make Bryony her own.

Buy yours now!    Amazon     B&N     JMS Books

Katharine has wanted to be a writer for as long as she can remember. She wrote her first novel when she was 15. In her A-levels, she spent lessons preparing dialogue for scenes. Then she studied Creative Writing and Film and TV Studies at Derby University, graduating in 2010.

For a few years, Katharine worked in the community as a care support worker before becoming a stay-at-home parent. In 2015, she made the leap into becoming a freelance ghost writer of romantic fiction. Since then, Katharine has written over 300 short stories, novellas and novels for various clients.

In June 2018, her first novella, A Day to Remember, was published. Katharine lives in Derby with her fiance, a mental health nurse, and their two children.

Find Katharine online     

Facebook     Twitter

01 Oct – Introspective Press
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03 Oct – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
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05 Oct – Girl With Pen
08 Oct – Romance Reviews Today
09 Oct – Writing Dreams
10 Oct – Brantwijn Serrah
11 Oct – Indie Book Fairy
12 Oct – Torie James

 

Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.

“Oh, hello, Georgia. Fancy meeting you here.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“I don’t know. I’ve lost count.” Bryony downed the rest of her glass, slamming the glass down on the countertop. “But I’m going to keep drinking until I don’t remember my own name.”

Georgia was not having that. She caught the barman’s eye and signalled him over.

“Get me a strong coffee. And don’t serve anymore alcohol for this one.” She indicated Bryony. “She’s had enough.”

The barman nodded and moved away. Bryony scowled.

“Why are you spoiling my fun?” She grumbled.

“This is hardly fun.” Grabbing the woman’s arm, Georgia helped her off the stool and led her towards the booth. “You and I are going to sit down and talk.”

Bryony tried to pull away but Georgia wouldn’t let go. She wasn’t about to let Bryony bolt. Nudging Bryony into the booth, Georgia sat beside her, effectively crowding Bryony against the wall. Bryony grumbled and glared at her but Georgia didn’t react. They sat in silence until the barman brought the coffee, giving them both curious looks before leaving. Georgia nudged the coffee cup towards Bryony.

“I thought you could handle this assignment, Bryony.”

“I can.” Bryony protested. “This has nothing to do with it.”

“I think it does. We had cameras watching you, remember? Joyce also told me about your reaction. Now tell me drinking yourself into a stupor when you’re supposed to be in the office is nothing to do with your breakdown earlier.”

Bryony glared at her. Her pupils were wide, almost swallowing the color of her eyes.

“Save your journalism for your job, Georgia, not for analysing me.”

Georgia pushed the coffee towards her and leant forward, placing her hand on the back of Bryony’s neck. Bryony didn’t shake her off. If anything, her breathing seemed to get faster.

“Bryony, we’re all worried about you. I’m worried about you.” That much was true. “Please, just talk to me.”

It was all she could do not to pull Bryony into her arms. Georgia wasn’t one to do public displays of affection but she was tempted with this woman.

Bryony looked like she wanted to run. But she slumped, leaning into Georgia until her head rested on Georgia’s shoulder. Georgia didn’t say anything, simply leaning back to settle against the booth, her arm going around Bryony’s shoulders. Bryony let out a shuddering sigh.

“Tara and I were together since I was eighteen and she was twenty. We would’ve been together fifteen years this week. And for the first twelve years, it was amazing. Tara was amazing. But then she changed. She got into a car accident and was diagnosed with bipolar. Tara had to go on pain medication and meds to control her bipolar. Her mother, Krista, found out and accused me of making Tara into an addict.” Bryony sniffed and reached for her coffee. She lifted her head enough to take a sip and placed the cup back down, snuggling against Georgia again. “She’s always hate me, Krista has. She decided to mess about with the meds and eventually stole them, telling Tara she didn’t need to take them. Tara didn’t do anything; she had started developing psychotic delusions and believe Krista that I was the one at fault. So she started lashing out at me.”

Georgia had suspected something like that. She had been there at Tara’s trial and sentencing while Bryony had been in hospital but because Tara had pleaded guilty early on, she hadn’t heard everything. Just hearing all this made the anger bubble up.

“Did you call the police?”

“You know I did.” Bryony sniffed. “And you know what happened at Thanksgiving.”

Georgia did know. She had come into the office early and had found Bryony unconscious. She looked as though she had been hit by a car and was bleeding from the neck. Georgia had called for an ambulance and got the whole story. Tara had tried to come to the hospital but Georgia and a few of their co-workers had blocked her way. Tara had screamed at them and tried to attack Georgia but security had dragged her out.

Georgia wasn’t about to forget that day in a hurry.

Blog Tour – Into the Moonless Night by A.E. Decker

Here we are: midway through the Moonfall Mayhem series.

Actually, readers, you’re midway. A writer’s perspective is somewhat skewed. It’s odd for me to be writing about book three, Into the Moonless Night, when I’ve recently sent a draft of book four to my invaluable editor, Laura Harvey, and am already looking forward to working on book five. Even though it was less than a year ago that I finished the “good” draft of Moonless—the draft that became the book you’re hopefully looking forward to reading—it seems an event far in the past to me.

So, casting my mind back…

Into the Moonless Night was a devil to write. I remember that vividly. It’s the midpoint of the series, and possibly the most serious of the lot. It deals with issues such as social injustice, fate, and PTSD. While the humor that pervades The Falling of the Moon and The Meddlers of Moonshine remains present, Into the Moonless Night asks weightier questions.

Part of the reason Moonless became a darker book stems, unquestionably, from the fact that the world has seemingly become a darker place recently. I don’t believe it’s correct to say racism is on the rise. It’s even possible that the reverse is true, that what we are witnessing is racism’s death rattle. I certainly hope that that is true.

But. But. There is no denying that recent political events have made the racists feel empowered. This includes the sexists, and the homophobes and transphobes, and basically everyone who wants the power to persecute those who were not born into the racial and sexual elite. Even if racism (and misogyny and transphobia, etc.) is dying out, it is not dying easily, and I fear many innocents are yet to be injured by its dying spasms.

All these ideas were in my head while I was writing Into the Moonless Night. The action of the book takes place in the Clawcrags, home of the shifters. Shifter society is highly stratified. The animal you transform into determines the role you’re allowed to play in society. Lion-shifters and other large cats get to act as leaders, while dog-shifters must be guards and vulture-shifters tend the dread. Unusual shifters, such as Tasmanian devils, have no place at all, and are subsequently outcast.

It’s a ridiculous system. Catch Starthorne, rogue, Smilodon-shifter, and protagonist of Into the Moonless Night, certainly thinks so. It’s part of the reason why he escaped from the Clawcrags. One of the beauties of writing fantasy is that you can set up a system whose flaws are so readily apparent. Many readers, myself included, want entertainment, not a lecture, when we read. It’s only after we put down the book that we start realizing the parallels between our escapist entertainment and events happening in the world around us.

And, for me, privileging a person who turns into a lion over one who turns into a weasel is no more ridiculous than giving preference to a person with lighter skin, or a man over a woman. If there’s anything I wish readers to take away from Into the Moonless Night, it’s the idea that people should be judged on their actions: who they’re trying to be, rather than what society says they must be.

It’s a lot to pack into a book, especially when I also had to keep it humorous and make sure my whole merry gang of Ascot, Dmitri, Rags-n-Bones, and Moony all had their part in the story, as well as Catch. I hope I succeeded, and I’m proud of myself for trying.

Into the Moonless Night was a devil to write. I love it all the more for that fact. It may be my best book yet. I hope you enjoy it.

I hope it makes you think.

A. E. Decker hails from Pennsylvania. A former doll-maker and ESL tutor, she earned a master’s degree in history, where she developed a love of turning old stories upside-down to see what fell out of them.

This led in turn to the writing of her YA novel, The Falling of the Moon. A graduate of Odyssey 2011, her short fiction has appeared in such venues as Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Fireside Magazine, and elsewhere.

Like all writers, she is owned by three cats.

Come visit her, her cats, and her fur Daleks at www.wordsmeetworld.com or catch up with her on Twitter  @moonfallmayhem

Catch Starthorne has spent a lifetime running from the prophecy that names him as the one who will save the shifter race, but now that he has returned to his home in Clawcrags, he may have to face his destiny. Determined to slip through fate’s fingers, Catch sows confusion, making friends from foes, mixing up the occasional sleeping death potion, and matching wits with an overbearing lion-shifter, who appears to have plans of his own.

While Catch schemes, Ascot works to retrieve him with the help of a witch and a pair of madcap shifter rebels. But every attempt to reach him earns her fresh enemies and embroils her ever deeper in the conspiracies surrounding the prophecy. After five hundred years of repressed tension and social strife, the Clawcrags are ready to explode—and it sometimes seems someone’s working hard to see that they do!

Grab your copy here!  Goodreads     Amazon     World Weaver Press     Kobo     iBookstore 

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10 April   – Romance Reviews Today

“What’s the Moonless Night?” asked Dmitri. Beside him, Moony had worked up to a rude place in his washing, tail slapping the ground hard enough to raise dust.

“Supposedly, it’s when Magden Le Fou’s prophecy will be fulfilled,” Jolt replied. “It’s a lunar eclipse occurring three nights after the vernal equinox.”

The prophecy, thought Ascot. The frabjacketing prophecy. Something about a golden star and—well, Catch hadn’t elected to tell her much else, save that the shifters of the Clawcrawgs thought he was the golden star. Which was ridiculous. Had any of them ever looked at scruffy, roguish Catch? Heard him lie with a straight face, or seen him guzzle more coffee than anyone’s kidneys could stand?

Frabjacket, how she missed him.

Dipping his head, Dmitri scratched the ground. Abruptly, his nostrils flared. “That’s only nine days from now.”

Ascot’s throat turned into a stretch of dust. “Nine days?” It came out as a dry squeak. She worked some saliva into her mouth and swallowed. “What will become of Catch if nothing happens on the Moonless Night?”

She didn’t want to hear it: the confirmation of her worst fears. Had to hear it, just so she’d know. Jolt lifted a brow, seeming surprised that she’d even ask. “If he’s not the golden star, then he’s just another slipskin. There’s only one penalty for slipping your skin in the Clawcrags.” Jolt gave his earlobe a final tug. “Execution.”

Ascot fell away inside herself. The world, shadowed and dark, floated at a distance, as if she stared at it through the cavern of her own skull. Every sound droned and echoed. Only the bloc, bloc of yet another cicada came to her, crisp as the ticking of some mocking clock.

She almost didn’t hear Jolt speak again. “Want us to help rescue him?”

Some praise for the series…

 

“Falling of the Moon is a fantasy fairytale like nothing I have read before. Mystery and secrets take you to a fantastic mystical world sure to have a book two. It is Pirates of the Caribbean meets Cinderella. Looking forward to Ascot’s next adventure. Strong and determined with her loyal friends she will certainly make the Moonfall Mayhem a great series of books. I am ecstatic that this is just the start to what will be a truly great trilogy.”

— Girl + Book

“I’d say it’s like Shrek meets The Wizard of Oz if Dorothy were Wednesday Addams and Toto a talking cat with bat wings. Fun and funny with many laugh-out- loud moments. Can’t wait for the next book in the series!”

​— Susan Abel Sullivan, author of the Cleo Tidwell Paranormal Mystery series

“A unique and clever fantasy, The Falling of the Moon is a thoroughly entertaining read from first page to last. Very highly recommended and certain to be an enduring favorite.”

—Midwest Book Review

“If you’re looking for a great Autumn and Halloween read then look no further, this series has everything you need for a cozy fall evening spent reading. This one is 5/5 stars for me, it’s absolutely perfect and a must read!”

—Hollie Ohs Book Reviews

Timeless Surrender by Torie James

Born on the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous,I am the illegitimate love child of Han Solo and  Daenerys Targaryen. Rescued by Gandalf shortly before my home planet was destroyed in the last days of the Clone Wars, I was raised in relative obscurity by my foster parents, Severus Snape and Pippi Longstocking. At the tender age of 113, I inherited the best little whorehouse in Texas and it’s been rumored that I am bringing Sexy Back. A self- confessed chocoholic, I’ve been engaged to Willy Wonka for several years despite gossip surrounding millionaire Bruce Wayne and myself.

And clearly, I practice delusion on a daily basis.

Fact is nowhere near as fun as fiction!

Growing up, I could be found nearby falling down rabbit holes, catching second stars to the right, and stepping through wardrobes into mysterious lands and countless adventures. When those stories ended, I made up my own and kept going. This later on translated into a strong passion for writing that has helped keep my feet on the ground while my head stayed firmly in the clouds.

My first brush with romance novels came at the tender age of 8 when I filched a Barbara Cartland dog eared paperback from my unassuming aunt and fell into a world of magic, wonder and entirely innocent G rated writing. (Seriously, the farthest Dame Cartland ever took any romantic scene was a chaste kiss and that generally didn’t occur until the very end.) I went on to greedily consume Johanna Lindsey, Jude Devereaux and Anne Rice when older.

Now, I’m a middle aged woman with moxie, no shame and a vivid imagination who loves to write and share her crazy with the world. Her future plans include, hopefully, buying a lovely Scottish castle and convincing Queen Elizabeth I that I’d make a fab addition to the Royal Family.

I live in Southern California, a stone’s throw from Disneyland, with my family and the most ridiculously spoiled pets anyone could imagine. My goals are simple: Keep reading, keep writing and never lose the determination to make life as random, quirky and beautiful as it can be.

Stalk Torie James online…

Blog and Website      Facebook     Twitter     Instagram     Goodreads     Amazon Author Page     Pinterest

History branded him a coward. Prophecy labeled her his destruction. Some legends are born of lies. Others begin when the lies end. And not everything remains myth…

“If you could live forever, what would you choose to live for? I chose power…”

Born of darkness and raised on revenge, Mordred Lothian spent an eternity fighting for the honor of a woman who had none. Free of her hatred, his only goal is to pick up the pieces of betrayal and attempt to forge a new life in a world that never wanted him.

Raised by one of Hollywood’s most scandalous actresses, Jenalyn Rhodes knows true illusion begins when the end credits roll. Damaged by the one person who should have protected her most, she is determined to have no master and only one mistress: Herself.

Thrown together to stop an ancient evil hell bent on vengeance, can the sacrifice of one be the salvation of the other?

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“What are you doing?”

He heard the uncertain tremor in Jennie’s voice and spoke before he could think better of his answer. “Do you trust me?”

Grabbing the body by the arm, he drug it between the manacles, careful not to disturb the sword. Not yet.

“I do trust you,” Jenalyn admitted reluctantly. ‘Probably more than I should.”

Mordred closed his eyes, letting the words rush over him.

“But it’s a whole lot easier to do when you tell me what you’re doing!”

“You need to wait.”

“Yeah. And we all know how good I am at waiting.” She snorted.

He looked at the wall clock. If this went the way it should, he would have a few scant minutes.

The red numbers clicked over the minute.

He braced one hand on the body’s chest and pulled the sword free from the flesh. The blood-soaked metal hit the floor with a wet clang, but he’d already moved. He stripped the jacket from the body, then the long black over-shirt, leaving the tight black T-shirt behind.

Next, he removed the knife sheath on the left arm, then the watch and the rings and the bracelet, tossing them all on the blanket by the trunk.

Another minute ticked by.

The locks on the manacles were well oiled and tumbled open effortlessly under the key. He rolled the body onto its back and had a manacle around the left wrist before Jennie’s affronted sputtering penetrated his consciousness.

“Have you completely lost your mind? What is she?”

The manacle locked around the right wrist with a satisfying click. He let the tension leave his body as he relaxed back onto his heels. “I haven’t lost my mind,” he murmured.

Jenalyn knelt by his side. “So why the S&M cuffs?”

He gave her a questioning look. “You spend a lot of time in the S&M scene? Huh, and here I thought your stint at the Glass Dragon was your first.”

She elbowed his healing ribs. “You know what I mean.” She pointed at the body. “Is she a vampire? Some kind of demon? Is she really dead?”

“See for yourself.”

Hesitating a moment, she shuffled forward. Careful to avoid the path of blood where he’d dragged the body, she laid her fingers against the corpse’s throat.

“There’s no pulse, no breath, nothing,” She reported as she knelt back. “So why did you lock up a harmless corpse?”

“She’s not harmless. Trust me. The chains are to keep her from leaving until she answers a few questions.”

“Yeah, you could, I dunno, ask her, instead?”

He ignored her.

The third minute ticked by.

Life returned violently to the body, gasping breath and the pounding of blood to a heart magically healed from the sword. The woman on the floor convulsed, arms straining against the manacles as she fought to sit up. “Iron, you asshole? Really? “Her voice rang sweet but low, a lilting South African accent flavoring her speech.

“No other way to keep you from using your mojo. I have some questions.”

“How about asking a girl instead of this kinky shit?”

“That’s what I said!” Jenalyn barked. She’d stumbled back, utter confusion on her face as she gaped at the thief’s resurrection.

He let a satisfied smile cross his lips. “Jenalyn, I’d like you to meet Jo. Technically, she’s my cousin.” The blonde Immortal twisted in his “Jo, this is Jennie.”

“Mordred,” Jo growled. “Let me go.”

His smile grew wider as he crawled towards Jo. “You honestly expect me to let you go after you broke into my home? And how the hell did you manage it?

Jo jerked against the chains. “No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition, do they?” she offered jokingly. “I got hired by a client to break in and get something you have. To be fair, Mordred, I didn’t know you lived here. My employer simply gave me an address.”

“It doesn’t explain how you got past my shields.”

“It’s the only answer I’ve got.”

“You broke into my house. Again.”

“I figured it worked so well last time–”

“Be quiet.”