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.

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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
04 Dec – Tome Tender
04 Dec – Introspective Press
04 Dec – 4 Covert 2 Overt
04 Dec – Maria Catalina Egan
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


22 Oct – Introspective Press
22 Oct – 4 Covert 2 Overt
22 Oct – Maria Catalina Egan
24 Oct – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
26 Oct – CA Milson Author
26 Oct – Girl With Pen
26 Oct – Romance Reviews Today
29 Oct – Ash Stone Author
30 Oct – Indie Book Fairy
31 Oct – Room With Books
01 Nov – Dawn’s Reading Nook
02 Nov – Writing Dreams
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
01 Oct – 4 Covert 2 Overt
01 Oct – Maria Catalina Egan
02 Oct – eBooks Addict UK
03 Oct – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
04 Oct – Ash Stone Author
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 

20 March – Indie Book Fairy
20 March – CA Milson Author
20 March – Teatime and Books
21 March – Harlie’s Books
22 March – Ash Stone Author
22 March – Girl With Pen
23 March – Room With Books
25 March – Dawn’s Reading Nook
26 March – Writing Dreams
27 March – Dana’s YA Bookpile
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?

BUY YOUR COPY HERE:     Books2Read Universal Link     Amazon

 

 

 

 

“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.”

 

 

 

 

 

Blog Tour – The Continuum by Wendy Nikel

Wendy Nikel is a speculative fiction author with a degree in elementary education, a fondness for road trips, and a terrible habit of forgetting where she’s left her cup of tea. Her short fiction has been published by Fantastic Stories of the ImaginationDaily Science FictionNature: Futures, and various other anthologies and e-zines.

For more info, visit wendynikel.com or subscribe to her newsletter here!

Social Media Links    Facebook     Twitter  


23 Jan – CA Milson Author
23 Jan – Indie Book Fairy
23 Jan – Stormy Nights
23 Jan – Dawn’s Reading Nook
24 Jan – Romance Reviews Today
25 Jan – Girl With Pen
26 Jan – Urban Fantasy Investigations
27 Jan – Ash Stone Author
28 Jan – Girl Who Reads
29 Jan – Writing Dreams
30 Jan – BookGirl Knitting
30 Jan – Torie James
01 Feb – Room With Books

 

 

Elise Morley is an expert on the past who’s about to get a crash course in the future.

For years, Elise has been donning corsets, sneaking into castles, and lying through her teeth to enforce the Place in Time Travel Agency’s ten essential rules of time travel. Someone has to ensure that travel to the past isn’t abused, and most days she welcomes the challenge of tracking down and retrieving clients who have run into trouble on their historical vacations.

But when a dangerous secret organization kidnaps her and coerces her into jumping to the future on a high-stakes assignment, she’s got more to worry about than just the timespace continuum. For the first time ever, she’s the one out-of-date, out of place, and quickly running out of time.

Nikel is a solid writer with vivid description, an imaginative future, and a command of accurate historical speech.

Unreliable Narrators

Buy your copy here:

Official page

http://www.worldweaverpress.com/store/p139/The_Continuum.html

Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35224471-the-continuum

Amazon

https://www.amazon.com/Continuum-Wendy-Nikel-ebook/dp/B076R9Z6DS/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&qid=1509402840&sr=8-1&keywords=wendy+nikel+continuum&linkCode=sl1&tag=worweapre-20&linkId=8fbea5376b3e9fcfdea0b0fc4dc65b3e

Barnes & Noble

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-continuum-wendy-nikel/1127278953

iTunes

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1299843408

“The spinning slows. Suddenly, everything stops.

My legs flail, searching for solid ground, until I plunge abruptly into dank, smelly water. I gasp, and my mouth fills with brine. I’m being dragged in one direction, but instinct pulls me the opposite way. I kick against my heavy skirts and break the surface. For one dizzying moment I’m utterly confused. The concrete slabs of the nearby docks sharpen my fuzzy memory.

1912.

Southampton.

The Titanic.

I Extracted while on the gangplank—a gangplank that doesn’t exist in 2012. This is exactly why our travellers are encouraged to use pre-approved Extraction locations. The Wormhole dumps travellers at the same place they’ve left from, which can make for some awkward (or dangerous) entrances.

Across the way, Marie does a frantic doggie-paddle towards the steel rungs leading up to the dock. With labored strokes, I swim after her, clutching the sphere in one hand. When I reach her, she’s still clinging to the bottom rung, too exhausted to climb to safety.

“Hang on.” I slip my Wormhole Device into my handbag and pull my dripping body up to the dock. Water streams out around me, forming a dark puddle on the concrete. The evening sun, balancing on the very edge of the horizon, casts an eerie glow on the water.

“Okay. Come on up—”

My encouragement is drowned out by the sound of retching. Lovely.

I clench my jaw to stop my teeth from rattling and focus on retaining my professionalism—not easy, considering the mucked-up circumstances.

Finally, Marie starts up the ladder, ascending tentatively, with gasping breaths. When she’s close enough to grab my forearms, I pull her up with much grunting and tugging. Her eyes widen as she takes in the industrial warehouses, giant cranes, and sprawling parking lots that seem to have appeared instantaneously.

“What have you done?” Her voice rises in pitch with each word.”

We Host – Goddess of the Wild Thing by Paul DeBlassie III

Let nature and the elements be your guide as we introduce you to Goddess Of The Wild Thing!

Paul De Blassie III

 

Paul De Blassie IIIGoddess of the Wild Thing is a dramatic tale of one woman’s spiritual journey where magical happenings, unexpected turns of fate, and unseen forces influence her ability to love and be loved.

Eve Sanchez, a middle-aged woman and scholar of esoteric studies, encounters a seductive but frightening man who introduces her to a supernatural world in which the wicked powers of a surrogate mother’s twisted affection threaten love and life. In the mystic realms of Aztlan del Sur,

Eve and three friends struggle with whether bad love is better than no love and discover that love is a wild thing.

Paul De Blassie III

 

 

Paul De Blassie IIIPaul DeBlassie III, Ph.D. is a depth psychologist and award-winning writer living in his native New Mexico. He specializes in treating individuals in emotional and spiritual crisis. His novels, visionary thrillers, delve deep into archetypal realities as they play out dramatically in the lives of
everyday people.
Memberships include the Author’s Guild, the Depth Psychology Alliance, the International Association for Relational Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy, and the International
Association for Jungian Studies.



His other award winning book:

Paul De Blassie III

A young curandera, a medicine woman, intent on uncovering the secrets of her past is forced into a life-and-death battle against an evil Archbishop. Set in the mystic land of Aztlan, “The Unholy” is a novel of destiny as healer and slayer. Native lore of dreams and visions, shape changing, and natural magic work to spin a neo-gothic web in which sadness and mystery lure the unsuspecting into a twilight realm of discovery and decision.


Books On Fire Tours: This was a difficult read. Not because it was a bad story. On the contrary. It was mind blowing! It was difficult because it messed with one’s mind in the most clever and effective way, which only a Pscychologist can do. So what is it about?
Eve and her friends use yoga and other spiritual means to help them navigate life when it gets tricky, and the often elusive thing called love. Debating whether or not bad love is better than no love at all, they go through life’s ups and downs together. Yet when Eve meets a man called Sam, who has potential, evil lurks and causes havoc in her life. An epic battle between good versus evil ensues between her and Sweet Mary, and in the process she finds her true self. BUT, there is so much more and as a reader you can only wonder what is real and not real.
Many people will complain about the lack of dialogue on this novel, but it is rich in back stories and information vital to the development of the plot. This book is not only filled with mystical and magical, but paranormal, metaphysical and occult elements. Essentially a great read for horror/ thriller fans, those who like a little romance will also enjoy this read. Because it catered to all my needs as a reader, I give this book 5 stars.

“Paul DeBlassie III has an extraordinary ability to pull the reader into his mythical world, and the special effect depictions drawn within my mind while reading *Goddess of the Wild Thing *could easily match up with some of the most gruesome of horror stories on film. He transports you through an amazing spiritual journey exploring the power of fate and love. Packed with action, suspense and even romance, Dr. DeBlassie has written a truly brilliant and riveting supernatural story!” ~ Tamara Ferguson, international, multi-award-winning author”

 “Paul DeBlassie III has a wicked gift in writing psychological thrillers, and he does it in a way I have never experienced before. In *Goddess of the Wild Thing*, he gave me a glimpse into his reflections, inviting me to draw closer to the dark side. His writing is rich with supernatural symbolism and, when all is resolved, deeply empowering.” ~ Uvi Poznansky, artist and award-winning author

 “*Goddess of the Wild Thing* by Paul DeBlassie III brilliantly couples his in-depth knowledge of the human mind and behavior with his love of lore, imaginatively knitting a deeply psychological and esoteric story that will keep you turning the page. I could picture clearly the fantastical sense of place . . . a must-read magical tale.” ~ Luna Saint Claire, author of *The Sleeping Serpent*

 “Dr. DeBlassie, author of the multiple-award-winning *The Unholy*, produced another novel with depth, action, and spirit in *Goddess of the Wild Thing*. For centuries we’ve struggled with whether bad love is better than no love. In this paranormal thriller, a fierce woman tackles the question with determination and fire.” ~ Rayna Noire, author of the *Pagan Eyes Series*


 


The stone altar was used by Eve and company to conjure natural energies of earth, air, fire, and water. Tonatzé symbolized feminine strength and ancient powers. Around the altar, the four women entered mystic states with intuitive inspirations and visions. The four mestizas frequently gathered at midnight, when the full moon shone most lustrously. They held hands, sipped their whiskeys, and inhaled magic herb. Soon the image of the Goddess flickered in rhythm with their soft singing under the light of the high-desert moon. Chant and trance conjured natural magic. They yielded to relaxation, reverie, and trust in one another and the natural world.
Descending into a meditative state, they were whisked from one world to the next. On slips of paper, they quietly wrote their worries, dilemmas, trials, and tribulations.
Seeking answers and relief, they placed the folded papers in a granite bowl before the altar. They lit a match. Paper burned. Silence wrapped its arms around the four. Gentle breezes stirred. Hoots of distant and nearby owls carried through the nighttime atmosphere. Flames from the granite bowl rose three feet and abruptly expired, devoured by darkness.
The ritual of fire fortified the coven, foul happenstance and unexpected hazard averted, all save one kind. Man trouble waited for Eve like a demonic jack-in-the-box, head bobbing and grinning. Muscles up and down her back tightened. It was this that caused her to flee into denial, the thought of time wasted, mind and body pained. The desire to talk, confide in her friends about misgivings about Sam, the last worst guy ever, fled like alley cats into a lonely night. Denial made everything go away—and stay gone—better than a couple of vodkas on the rocks on a chilly evening.
A white cab edged out of the alleyway bordering the cantina. It pulled stealthily alongside Eve. She bent down and looked through the smudged passenger window. She wanted to make sure she knew the cabbie. Past midnight was no time to be in a trusting mood.


Paul De Blassie III

***

At three a.m., the proverbial witching hour of Aztlan, Sweet Mary left her apartment for the gathering of Las Brujas Malas, deep in the crumbling limestone edifice of vicious spirits. The condemned downtown limestone church, once a prosperous enclave of the Ecclesia Dei, had long been abandoned. It sat adjacent to Sweet Mary’s bedroom, badly stained by gray and black soot.
Putrid odors of the cursed underworld that lay beneath its unhallowed edifice, curled through the atmosphere surroundingthe decaying structure.
Sweet Mary wound her way past the fenced and barbed wired blockade that deterred homeless souls and nighttime vandals. Her lithe frame smoothly squeezed between the slightly ajar, chained doors. She walked over the toppled wooden pews and stone statues littering the concrete flooring from the back of the church to its altar.
The religious artifacts had been defaced by those news media referred to as sledgehammer-wielding lunatics claiming clerical abuse as children.
She quipped to herself, Religion mocks, uses, and abuses. Nothing new under the black sun.
She opened a narrow side door that led to a rusted iron spiral staircase. Into the haunted and torch-lined basement that stretched thirty feet beneath the surface, she stepped. At the final stair, she touched bare earth.
Torches were lit along a cave of mirrors, shards embedded in the walls, shattered remnants taken from the homes of victims who had defamed Las Brujas.
Anyone who dared speak ill of the brujas ended the day tormented, injured, or maimed. Crises happened. One second they were safe, the next mowed down by an out-of-control car, or mugged and cut, or worse, lured in by a soft and sexy vixen loaded with a nasty biological curse. Mirrors confiscated from homes during nighttime raids reflected the victim’s horrified face when doom struck. Sweet Mary hurried past the legions of rats scampering away from her every step into the cracks and crevices of the century-old limestone structure.
An unavoidable eyesore at the heart of one the most decayed areas of the often sinister downtown Aztlan del Sur. It was a meeting . In this haunted zone, Sweet Mary presided over the witches of black magic. They knew how to spot love, taint love, kill love. It’s what bad mothers did. It’s what Las Brujas did. It’s what Sweet Mary did—because what had been received must be given.
No one knew where they gathered. Evil demanded hiddenness. Street-smart folk and fear-ridden church folk knew them as Las Brujas Malas, the foulest of witches, not to be crossed. Even those who suspected the whereabouts of their lair dared not cross the street to look at the unholy building, now a crumbling religious edifice.
The witches met at the mouth of a deserted tunnel, which in former years led to the secret chapel of the reigning archbishop, who there entertained a bevy of female devotees. Las Brujas, the four desert urban witches, walked down the twenty-foot descent. Hard-pack dirt sloped gently into the entrance of the unhallowed region of the chapel that had become the accursed cave of Las Brujas.
They moved forward, into the mouth of the cave.
Paul De Blassie III
***
But here Eve was, paralyzed. Waves of gurgling and quicksand were no metaphor. Agitation could turn bad to worse. Eve clutched harder for a stable mind. It was a torment, nearly impossible not to panic. She gritted her teeth, tightened her mental hold. Gently, millimeter by millimeter, she managed to raise her right hand. Mud offered no resistance. She raised her right forearm out of the hungry maw of dirt and grit. She grabbed hold of a desert oak’s dropping branch. It held firm. Five fingers clutched like a vise. She lifted her left arm and hand. Inch by inch, she loosened her torso from the deadly mud. Low-lying olive tree branches gave steadier purchase.

Relief.

Memories of circling sparrows, an ancient warding against fated demise, provided a moment’s comfort. She pulled upward. Branches did not snap or break. They were supple. Evenly, she pulled with breath after concentrated breath. She gazed toward the sky. There were no sparrows overhead. The silence felt unnerving.

The sky shifted, turquoise bright turned to leaden gray. The desert olive branch snapped. Eve screamed and dropped. She sank to her shoulders. Quicksand lapped up past her chin, grains of sand forming crusts along her lips.

Clenching her teeth, she was grateful her mind hadn’t snapped along with the branch. Wits kept panic at bay.

Dying wasn’t a concern, survival was. It was the getting there that mattered—how it happened, how she did it. She detested the thought of dying by a witch’s curse, slipping into an underworld of final breaths and mud-loaded lungs. If she went down into the belly of the abyss and the mouth of a soul-famished witch, she’d do it on her terms. Middle finger out.

Paul De Blassie III

 

 

 

 

Book trailer with the Author’s choice of music to listen to his book.

Blog Tour – Daisies in the Outfield & Dandelion Wishes by Carolyn LaRoche

Carolyn LaRoche grew up in snow country but fled the cold and ice several years ago. She now lives near the beach with her husband and their two sons.

She’s been known to lug her laptop to the baseball fields and keeps a notebook by her bed to jot down the next big story idea in the wee hours of the night.

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Daisies in the Outfield 

After his professional baseball career crashed and burned, Jamie escaped to the scenic coastal town of Falmouth for a fresh start. With a new career that fit his personality, Jamie lived life on his terms. His terms were simple—fight fires for the adrenaline rush, coaching MLB hopefuls for the love of the game, and spending his nights with one of the many pretty faces that crossed his path. Plenty of women passed through his life but none had tempted him to settle down.

Until a feisty brunette changed all that. Too bad the sexy paramedic had no interest in Jamie or spending the night with him. She carried an attitude as thick as her New York accent and he wanted to coax a smile on her face.Mandy was running from something and Jamie couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Can a sexy little wager convince a confirmed bachelor and a woman running from her past to take a chance on love?

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Dandelion Wishes 

When a terrible injury ended his pro career, Grant knew nothing would ever take the place of his one and only love—baseball. Fighting fires didn’t hold the same kind of excitement as catching a ninety mile an hour fast ball at Fenway Park but he loved every minute of it. Especially when he met the sassy, sexy as hell paramedic that’s as complicated as a three-alarm fire.

Callie had already lived through her fair share of serious. At twenty-eight, her current plans for the future included having a good time and enjoying the MLB hopefuls that showed up on the Cape every May to play in the summer baseball league. College boys were fun but didn’t hold half the appeal as the sexy firefighter that kept showing up when she least expected it.

He wanted her and she wanted absolutely none of it. Or, so she thought. Grant could not only set her body on fire with just a look but with only a few kisses she started to forget that serious was off the table for her life. After hiding so much for so long, can she open her heart up and trust that Grant’s in it for more than just the chase?

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14 Aug – CA Milson Author
14 Aug – Indie Book Fairy
14 Aug – Stephanie’s Book Reviews
15 Aug – Girl With Pen
16 Aug – Celtic Lady’s Reviews
18 Aug – Writing Dreams
18 Aug – Erzabet’s Enchantments
19 Aug – Ash Stone Author
22 Aug – Foreplay & Fangs
23 Mar – Romance Reviews Today
23 Aug – Torie James

 

An Excerpt from Daisies in the Outfield 

“Come on, Sally, when’s dinner gonna be served?” All the guys had a girl name for their night on kitchen duty. Jamie’s was Sally. Grant had been harassing him big time and it was getting way beyond annoying. Every time the door to the house opened, he held his breath hoping Mandy would walk in.
“You’ll get your food when it’s ready,” he snapped, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“Touchy today, aren’t we. Is it your time of the month, Sally?”
“Go to hell.” Jamie stirred the sauce then poured the five pounds of pasta into the oversized colander to drain it.
“Damn, man. You need to get laid something serious.”
“You might not understand this, but there is more to life than getting laid and getting drunk.”
“Tell that to my liver and my dick. They are pretty feisty little guys and they want what they want when they want it.”
“You really need a life, Grant.”
“I have a great life. A job I like, a twenty four hour grocery store across the street and
plenty of pretty ladies around town with a thing for firefighters.”
“Why don’t you and your dick go tell the guys grub’s on. I need to step outside for some air.”
“Thinking about my parts got you all hot and bothered, does it?” Grant left the kitchen laughing and Jamie stepped out the back door to the little grassy area behind the fire station. Stretching, he let the cool ocean breeze that always accompanied nightfall, wash over him. The smell of sand and salt assaulted his senses. It was a heady combination on a warm summer night. Even better if he had a certain woman in his arms watching the waves crash in over their toes.
“Hey,” a voice called out quietly from the dimness of dusk. A very familiar voice. A voice that made his heart jump around wildly in his chest. Mandy.
He turned around and saw her standing at the corner of the building, peering at him with an amused look on her face. Suddenly feeling a little shy, he replied, “Hey, yourself,” instead of striding over and taking her in his arms like he had ached to do all day long. Mandy giggled and twisted her hands in front of her.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well, I came here to meet a guy named Jamie but it looks like I’ve found Betty Crocker instead.”
Oh, shit. The apron!
“You got a problem with a man in an apron?” He grinned and she laughed again, shaking her head.
“No. I don’t suppose I do.”
“Good.” This time he did close the distance between them but he didn’t touch her. She shivered a little and he hoped it was because of his proximity and not the evening breeze. “It’s a house joke. The guy on kitchen duty has to wear one—the frillier, the better—and he gets a girl name. Hazing at its best, I suppose.”
“What’s yours?”
“My what?” It was getting hard to think when all he could focus on was her lips and how badly he wanted to taste them.
Mandy ran a finger lightly up his arm until she reached the place where the full length apron started up around his neck and hooked her finger there. “Your girl name. What is it?”
“Sally.”
“Hmmm…I’ve always had this secret fantasy of kissing a girl named Sally. Ever since I heard the song Mustang Sally.”
“You have? Maybe we should do something about that.”
“Maybe we should.” Mandy was more
relaxed than he had seen her over the last few days, flirting with her words and ravaging him with her eyes. He sure liked this side of her.
Jamie bent down and scooped her up in his arms. Mandy wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. She leaned back slightly and murmured, “Oh, Sally. You have the most amazing—eyes.” She ran her tongue over her lips, never once looking him the eyes.
“So do you,” he replied focused only on those now slightly dampened lips. The space between them disappeared as she took his mouth with a passion he wouldn’t have thought her capable of. Worried one of the guys might walk outside and see them, he carried her into a stand of pine trees on the side of the building, never once breaking their contact. She let a tiny little moan escape as she ended the kiss.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.” She sounded embarrassed.
“I never want you to not do that if you have the urge. Did that even make sense?” He chuckled huskily against her throat as he placed tiny little kisses across the neck line of her top. The thin, silky material was erotic, caressing his chin and cheek as he explored the bare skin of her shoulder with his tongue.
“Yes. It made sense.” She pulled his mouth back up to hers. “I feel like doing it again.”
Jamie dropped to his knees, setting Mandy gently onto the ground. He sat in the cushion of the pine needles and pulled her onto his lap. “Then by all means—”
The second kiss was better than the first as his tongue sought hers. She was as fervent as he was in her desire to get as close as possible. If he weren’t in uniform, twenty feet from ten other guys, he would have given into her every demand. As it was, they were about to go to a place he wouldn’t return from without an ice cold shower so he pulled back reluctantly.
“Did I miss something?” he whispered against her ear.
“No. Why?”
“This morning I wasn’t sure I would ever see you again. I mean, there was something—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I was having some doubts but then I talked to Callie and worked a few things out.”
“I like when you talk to Callie.” He grinned and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, behind her ear. “Can you talk to her more often? Preferably on a day when I am not on duty?”
Mandy laughed. “I think that can be arranged.”
“Are you hungry?”
She shook her head. “Not anymore.”
There was no mistaking the meaning in her words. “Yeah, me either. Unfortunately, I have to get back inside. The captain can be a bit of a ball-buster.”
Mandy moved to stand but Jamie pulled her back in, crushing his lips to hers in one last hard kiss. He wanted to remember the feel of her lips all night long. She snaked her arms around his neck and murmured, “I know exactly what you mean.”
His hands slid up her back slowly, slipping under the hem of her top and finding the soft skin of her lower back. A groan rumbled through his chest. Frustration mounted and that ice cold shower was definitely about to become reality.
“I should go,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to get in trouble on my account. I’m thinking you are going to need those balls your captain will want to bust in the near future.”
He groaned again, this time in sweet agony over the image her words had conjured in his mind. They walked out of the stand of trees hand in hand, Jamie cursing his need to be employed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in for a bit?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t want to get in the way.”
“You are never in my way.”
He loved the way all her skin, not just her face, changed colors when she was embarrassed. Half the time he said stuff like that just to make her blush.
“See you for the game tomorrow night?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her in for one last kiss.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Coach.” She batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly and gave him a sugary sweet smile.
“Good. I’ll make sure one of my uniforms is clean just for you.”
“You can but you’ll be wasting your time.” Mandy stepped away and gave a little wave. “I never lose a bet. Enjoy the rest of your shift.”
He watched as she walked away, stopping just before she turned the corner and blew him a little kiss.
What the hell was all that?
That was a side to Mandy, he hadn’t expected. All her temperature changes over the past few days hadn’t prepared him for what had just gone down.
The door opened behind him. “Where the hell’d you get off to, man? I was about to call in search and rescue.”
“Nowhere. I’ve been out here the whole time.”
“You’ve got dirt on your knees.”
“I dropped something.”
“And found it by rolling around under the trees?” Grant reached up and pulled a pine needle out of Jamie’s hair.
“I guess so.”
“You look like a freak in that apron.”
“Mandy likes it.”
Grant’s eyes widened as he scanned the area. “She’s here?”
“Was. I invited her for dinner.”
“Well, why didn’t you all come inside then?”
Jamie turned and grinned at his friend. “Because she skipped the meal and filled up on desert.”
“You dog! You didn’t—?”
“No! Not that. I would have but you know, work and all.”
“Always getting in the way of the good stuff,” Grant grumbled as they returned to the kitchen. “If I could get paid for having sex, I would.”
“You can. But, you can also get arrested for it.”
“I meant legally, you ass hat! Maybe I’ll become a porn star.” He gyrated his hips exaggeratedly, making Jamie laugh.
Jamie pulled off his apron and tossed it to Grant. “Sorry, dude. You better stick with fighting fires. You’re on cleanup. I need a shower.”
A very, very cold shower.