Gypsy’s Wolf ~ Blog Tour, Excerpt & GiveAway

gypsyGypsy’s Wolf
Stormy Glenn, Lynn Hagen, Olivia Black,
Bellann Summer, Jess Buffett,
Alex Carreras, Leah Blake,
Cree Storm, Evelise Archer,
E. A. Reynolds, Aeryn Jaden,
Jane Wallace-Knight, Amara Lebel,
Jordan Ashton, Berengaria Brown,
Skye Michaels, Sydney Lain,
Rennie Leigh, Frey Ortega,
Andrew Jericho, Felicia Fern,
Grace Ryles, Hennessee Andrews,
Shea Balik, and Lyssa Samuels

Genre: Erotic MM Paranormal, Vampires, Werewolves Romance, Man Love
Publisher: Siren Publishing
Date of Publication: April 30th, 2015
ISBN: 978-1-63259-397-9
Number of pages: 186 pages
Word Count: 52,132
Cover Artist: Jess Buffett

Book Description:

One story, 25 authors, infinite possibilities…

Quad McDaniel’s life changed forever the night he was attacked by a wolf. Now, he turns furry every full moon. Avoiding red meat and anything that makes him aggressive is his prime goal in life. But when his convertible breaks down in some Podunk town, becoming the beast within is no longer a choice. It’s instinctive.

Gypsy Govanivinch just wants to live a quiet life in Trinity Valley, running his roadhouse tavern. He doesn’t need an overly aggressive shifter coming into his town and messing with his peaceful little world, no matter how gorgeous the man looked.

Life never asked Quad or Gypsy what they wanted. It simply gave them what they needed, whether they agreed or not. Fate brought them together but it’s up to Quad and Gypsy to stay alive long enough to appreciate what they’ve been given. And when others work to prevent that, fighting together might be the only chance they have of surviving.

Available at Bookstrand

100% of proceeds will be donated to charity


Quad McDaniel threw his cell phone into the passenger seat and banged his head repeatedly against the steering wheel of his black Mercedes SL600 Roadster convertible. He couldn’t believe that his brand new car had broken down. He had just bought the damn thing two days ago.
So much for the perfect car!
And now his cell phone wouldn’t get any reception. Could his day get any worse?
He climbed from his car, slamming the door closed hard behind him in frustration. Looking around, he couldn’t see much in the dark, except for some glowing lights off in the distance. Resigned to his fate, Quad locked the car door and began walking toward the light.
When he reached the parking lot, he gazed up at the tavern sign…GG’s Roadhouse. Well, damn, he was in redneck hell. The multitude of pickup trucks and motorcycles in the gravel parking lot should have told him this.
He heard loud music spill into the parking lot when a man dressed in tight jeans and a sleeveless flannel shirt walked outside. Quad knew his day wasn’t going to get any better when he watched the guy climb into his souped-up truck. He could only pray that there was a pay phone inside.

Like those exist anymore.
He walked into the two-story roadhouse, stopping briefly right inside the doorway to look around the interior. He was actually surprised at how nice the place seemed. The first floor of the large room seemed to be broken into different sections. To the right of him was a large wooden bar that ran almost the entire length of the east wall with several intimate tables near the far end.
Directly in front of him was a large wooden dance floor that went all the way to the far wall. The ceiling directly above the dance floor was two stories high with a wooden beamed ceiling and a large mirror that went from the first floor to the balcony on the second floor. To the front right corner of the dance floor was a DJ booth and karaoke setup. He could see several people dancing on the dance floor to the loud beat of the southern rock music playing.
Looking toward the second floor, he could see that it was in the shape of a square with the balcony overlooking the dance floor in the middle. There were also several tables and booths on the second floor, as well as pool tables. A few of those tables were being used by bikers and rednecks.
On each side of the dance floor on the back wall was a set of double doors leading out onto a wooden deck overlooking a clear blue lake. The second floor had double doors that he assumed led out to a balcony covering the deck.
Looking up the wide, wooden stairway to the left of the bar, he could see that directly above him must be the management offices, and below them, the restrooms. Just beyond the bathrooms, he could hear sounds coming from what he assumed was a working kitchen.
All in all, it was a pretty sweet setup. If this place were in his neighborhood, it would be an upper class restaurant. He could envision it with upscale clientele, waiters dressed in white shirts and ties, and a top class chef. It would make a lot of money. Too bad it was in the middle of nowhere, filled with rednecks and leather-clad bikers.
Quad strode toward the bar and took a seat at one of the vacant bar stools. He lifted his hand to signal the bartender and lost his train of thought. The sexiest man he’d ever laid eyes on stood at the other end of the bar.
He couldn’t have been more than five foot six and maybe a whopping one hundred and forty-five pounds. The stranger wasn’t a skinny bean poll like most of the twinks Quad knew. In fact, as far as he could tell, the bartender had lean muscle in all the right places. The man also had a seductive, wild beauty about him that called deeply to the primal alpha male in Quad.
Wisps of tendrils escaped the silken mass of long, braided snow-white hair and caressed the sides of his perfect high cheekbones. There was both a delicacy and a strength in his face. Pale green eyes were ringed by black lashes. His lips were full and rounded over even, white teeth, and smooth skin glowed with golden undertones.
Shapely thighs and a firm ass tapered into long straight legs. The man’s tight, faded blue jeans rode low on his hips. A ribbed, black tank top barely covered him from his collarbone down to just above his bellybutton. A thick, studded, black belt drew Quad’s attention to the man’s tight, flat muscular abdomen.
Quad’s tongue almost fell out of his mouth when he spotted the little piercing in the twink’s bellybutton, which was encircled with a sunburst type tattoo. Oh, man, would he love to nibble on that.
A Celtic tattoo encircled one of the man’s smooth, left arms. That made two tattoos that Quad could see. He wondered how many more the gorgeous little man had. He would give almost anything to go on a treasure hunt and find each and every one.
“What’ll it be, honey?” Mr. Sexy asked with a silky, southern accent. His voice alone could mesmerize Quad. It was sexy and smooth, like aged whiskey. He could listen to him talk all day long. Quad wondered briefly if the man would sound the same during sex.
“Hey, honey, you just going to stare at me all day, or you gonna order something?”
Quad just stared. He didn’t even blink when the little twink waved a hand in front of his face. He was too busy envisioning what he wanted to do to the man on any available flat surface.
“Honey, you okay?”


About the Authors:

25 of Siren Publishing’s hottest ManLove authors have come together to bring you a paranormal story with intrigue, wolf shifters, elves, magic, and a mating so sizzling hot, it took 25 authors just to write it.

Stormy Glenn, Lynn Hagen, Jess Buffett, Alex Carreras, Olivia Black, Leah Blake, Cree Storm, Evelise Archer, E. A. Reynolds, Aeryn Jaden, Jane Wallace-Knight, Amara Lebel, Jordan Ashton, Berengaria Brown, Skye Michaels, Sydney Lain, Rennie Leigh, Frey Ortega, Bellann Summer, Andrew Jericho, Felicia Fern, Grace Ryles, Hennessee Andrews, Shea Balik, and Lyssa Samuels


Tour giveaway

Month-long giveaway

1- $20 Amazon gift card
2- 1 eBook copy of Gypsy’s Wolf

Click here for the Rafflecopter giveaway

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Exclusive M/M erotic PNR Excerpt & GiveAway: Shifting Sands (Strength of the Pack #4)

shifting sandsShifting Sands
Strength of the Pack Book 4
Joy Lynn Fielding
Genre: M/M paranormal erotic romance
Publisher: Siren BookStrand
Date of Publication: 27th March 2014
ISBN: 978-1-62741-494-4
Number of pages: 165
Word Count: 50,882
Cover Artist: Christine Kirchoff

Book Description:

The visit to Elk Ridge is supposed to be just another assignment for Tom Barrington. Then he encounters Bryce Reynolds, a generous, warmhearted cowboy who has the easiest smile he’s ever seen. It doesn’t take long for Tom to break all his rules and end up in Bryce’s bed.

Bryce Reynolds believes there’s no such thing as a hot politician, right up until he meets Tom Barrington. Tall, dark, and principled, Tom overturns all of Bryce’s prejudices, and Bryce starts to forget that he doesn’t do serious and he doesn’t do commitment.

As Bryce and Tom struggle to make sense of what’s happening between them, they’re drawn into a political battle—one which could affect the future of every shifter. And when long-buried secrets start coming to light, things turn deadly. Nothing will ever be the same again for the Elk Ridge pack.

Note: This is book 4 but it can be read as a standalone
Amazon/ Amazon UK/ Kobo/ BookStrand

Exclusive excerpt for Darker Passions

“Did you get everything you need?” Bryce asked.

Tom looked over to find Bryce was pulling on a long-sleeved T-shirt. It was a real shame to see that body covered.

“I need to see the room where the meeting’s going to be held. I’ll put in a preliminary report tonight, and Jax, the head of Council security, will be here tomorrow. I’m sorry to say that he’s probably going to ask exactly the same questions I have, as well as a hell of a lot more.”

“Doesn’t sound the most efficient use of taxpayers’ money,” Bryce said, opening the kitchen door and holding it for Tom to follow him.

Tom shrugged noncommittally. He didn’t disagree, but at the same time, sometimes the only way to spot that there was something wrong was by comparing different versions of what they’d been told.

“We’ve only got two rooms that would be large enough for everyone,” Bryce said. “I don’t know whether Matt will go with the kitchen or the living room. Depends on how formal he’s feeling, I guess—or how much coffee everyone’s going to need.”

Tom nodded absently as he glanced around the kitchen again. It was wide open to the yard with those windows—any sniper would have a field day from the trees. There was a door that opened into a pantry and another to a small room crammed with boots and coats and a washer and dryer, which also had an external door. He frowned slightly as he saw the number of boots and the range of different sizes.

“How many of the pack actually live here?”

“All of us.”

He turned and stared at Bryce. “Doesn’t that get a bit claustrophobic?”

“Not so far,” he said. “Though at the rate we seem to be adding new members, that might change.”

“Colby’s not the only newcomer, then?”

Bryce settled himself back against the washing machine. Tom’s gaze was drawn to the way that showed off his long legs in those tight jeans, and then he found himself staring at the buckle of his belt, from where it was so easy to let his gaze drop the tiniest bit to notice the appealing way the denim bulged slightly.

“You may as well know up front—Jesse, our Argent, only joined us a few months ago.” Bryce’s voice broke into Tom’s cowboy fantasy, bringing his mind back onto why he was here. “He’d been on his own up till then.”

Tom was still not convinced that Jesse Turner really was an Argent, though he had more sense than to mention that fact to Bryce. “I’m guessing the councilors are going to want to know where he comes from,” he said, in what might just be the understatement of the century.

“Ya think?” Bryce’s lips curved into a smile.

“I’m not paid to do that,” Tom disclaimed. “I’m just the muscle.”

Bryce made a point of looking very slowly and appreciatively over his body. “You sure are,” he said, and then grinned at Tom in a way that made such a cheesy line somehow endearing. “I also think you’re selling yourself way short, for what it’s worth.”

Tom shrugged, uncomfortable with the feeling that Bryce actually meant what he said, rather than saying it just to flatter Tom. “So this other meeting room…” he suggested.

As he followed Bryce along the hallway, he wondered why Bryce’s obvious and repeated come-ons weren’t off-putting. He thought it was because, despite his lines, there was nothing sleazy about him. He was just putting it out there that he found Tom attractive, but not in a way that left Tom feeling uncomfortable. The fact Bryce was extremely easy on the eye didn’t hurt, of course.


About the Author:

Joy Lynn Fielding is a sucker for happy endings. She believes, however, that if characters don’t suffer along the way, they won’t fully appreciate being happy. Not all of her characters thank her for this viewpoint, but what do they know?

Joy lives in a small English market town, but also inhabits a number of fictional worlds at any one time, reflecting what she’s writing and what she’s reading. She has a tendency to share enthusiastically with anyone who will listen the latest fascinating facts she’s stumbled across in her research for books. Thankfully she has a very patient Labrador, who has a gift for looking as though he’s interested in what she’s saying while he waits for the food to arrive.


Tour giveaway

$10 Amazon gift card

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Marie Hall’s Triple Book Blast & GiveAway


Click Link at bottom of post to enter the $50 Gift Card GiveAway.

deaths_loverDeath’s Lover
Eternal Lovers series, Book 1
Release Date:  September 3, 2013

Eve Philips thought she could never love again. After her husband died in a hit-and-run accident, Eve poured her heart into her potions shop, Witch’s Brew, and hasn’t given any man a second glance—until Cian. As soon as she locks eyes with him, Eve knows she’ll never be the same. Gorgeous and mysterious, he incites a passion in her that she’s never felt before. And it’s almost otherworldly . . .

Cian knows Eve is special the minute they lay eyes on each other. He’s a supernatural being with a dangerous duty, and being seen is not part of the job description. But when he meets the kind, beautiful Eve, all the rules go out the window. Now that his superiors have gotten wind of it, he has a wicked enemy on his tail. Yet all he cares about is Eve: loving her, protecting her—and finding the right time to tell her his dark and terrible secret, a secret that threatens both of their lives . . .

Death’s Lover excerpt:

Cian waited within shadow just outside the entrance to the mall; the mortals he’d been sent to harvest should appear soon. Keeping his back to the crowd, he stood in such a way so that he had a clear view of the door as pedestrians filed and in out of the busy shopping plaza.

Using his essence, he transformed himself into an ordinary guy, hardly worth a second glance. Through all the years of using this guise, he’d never once been remembered. Right now, he needed people to look past him, not see the peculiarities that branded him not quite human. Unfortunately he couldn’t go fully invisible until the harvest time came upon him.

His hair turned a drab brown, short and barely reaching his collar, his eyes much the same color. The process happened so fast, no one even had time to react at all.

Staring at his gloved hand he waited for the next step of his transformation to take place. He didn’t have to wait long. A shock, like a burst of flame, ran down his arm and into his hand, turning him from man to monster. Fire traveled his veins, making him grunt with a momentary flash of pain. He hissed and snatched off his left glove, making sure he was well within shadow. The day was so drab and gray that unless he did something obvious, like flash the crowd, no one would turn his way.

He clenched his hand, studying the bones of his fingers. For an outsider, to look at the transformation would seem surreal. Above the wrist he was man—flesh and blood. But when the change overcame him, and it was time to harvest souls, the hand turned to a design of the macabre. The flesh, muscle, and tendon literally faded from sight.

Human depictions always had the grim reapers wearing the traditional black cowl with a sickle in their skeletal grip. In truth, reapers were as normal as man. You could pass them on the street, commenting on their remarkable beauty, little knowing that beneath the white smile and ever-present gloves lurked the killer of legend.

A small, noisy crowd of humans walked toward him. Shoving his hand into his pocket, he leaned against the wall and waited; it wouldn’t be much longer now.

After centuries of doing this job, he’d learned patience, the art of stealth, and the endless waiting game of death. For such a vital and intricate part of life, the actual moment of death could be unbelievably boring.

Several minutes later, an electrical rush of power surged through his body when a couple walked out. A man and a raven-haired witch. He felt her power ripple through the air like a powerful ocean current. The man though exhibited no energy, which meant he was fully mortal. The man grabbed the witch around the waist, pulling her close for a quick embrace.

Cian’s pulse pounded when she smiled. It was a good smile, the kind that made him want to return it, to see her do it again just so he could have the enjoyment of gazing on that kind of radiant and rare pure joy.

The man hopped in front of her and grabbed her hands, toying with her fingers. Her laughter was a rich, lilting sound, deep and throaty, hot and sexy, and for the first time in his life, Cian wondered what it might be like to have a woman look at him that way. He envied mortals in some ways, specifically the way they could enjoy life, short as it was, and how they loved one another. He couldn’t think of anyone who’d look so happy to see him.

Those thoughts were jerked from him as the final phase of his transformation washed through his body. A charge, like static energy, traveled through his pores, his blood, and in seconds he’d gone completely invisible. Only able to be seen by those straddling the line between life and death, he strolled purposefully toward the car garage.

Today’s scenario would be no different than the thousands of others he’d seen through the years. He could see it in his mind, like an image on a television screen. A carload of teenagers barreling through the garage, the interior of the car heavily laced with the thick stench of cannabis. The driver was laughing, blaring the Ozzy tune “Crazy Train,” unaware that soon he’d be indicted for two counts of vehicular homicide.

Cian often wondered at times like these why the humans couldn’t feel it. The end of their lifeline, the disturbance in the air, death; for him it was like the blast of trumpets, loud and hard to ignore.

Turning his attention back to the couple, he waited. The man popped open the trunk of a green sedan, laid down his packages, and flashed the witch a smile. She stood by the hood of the car, her midnight curls blowing in the stiff wind.

The faint rumble of an approaching engine echoed eerily through the garage. The vibrations traveled through the soles of his feet. Soon. It’ll all be over soon.

For a crazy second he wanted to scream at them. Move. Get out of the way. But he held his tongue. He wouldn’t interfere, that was the single most important rule of the reaper. His skeletal hand twitched, and he yanked it out of his pocket. No mistakes.

The car made a sharp left around a concrete post in the garage and swerved headlong toward the couple with a loud, echoing cry of rubber.

For Cian the scene was agonizingly slow, each detail sharp and clear, as if it were taking minutes, though in truth it would be done within seven seconds.

When they finally noticed it was already too late.

The witch’s golden eyes grew wide in her face. Blood rushed from her skin, leaving her a pasty white. Her hands covered her mouth as a scream of raw fear flew from her lips. “Michael!”

The smile on the man’s face died. He turned—unable to run for cover, to hide from his fate. She ran forward, arms outstretched, and tried to pull the man toward her.

Metal exploded against flesh. The sickening crunch of bone and tearing muscle warred with the scream of tires braking. The man was dragged under the car. She was flung aside, her limbs at odd proportions.

Cian’s heart clenched painfully when he saw her ravaged body lying so helpless on the ground. She looked like a morbid porcelain doll. Beautiful and broken.

Blood spattered everywhere. All over the windshield. Even on the neighboring vehicles in the next three slots. The overwhelming metallic stench was all around.

The car squealed to a halt, slamming against the side of the sedan. The shattering of glass echoed through the garage with an eerie finality. It was done; their bodies slowly dying, their souls waiting only for him to harvest and carry on to the appropriate afterlife.

The driver, a pimply-faced redhead emerged. “Oh no! No!” he sang the litany over and over. He ran a trembling hand through his hair and glanced up. A family in the next row over stared back in openmouthed shock.

“Get back in the car, Derek!” the girl in the passenger seat screamed.

The wind picked up flurries of snow, enclosing them in winter’s peaceful embrace. An ironic scene, at odds with the gruesome sight of death before him.

The kid jumped back in his car and squealed off with one last bump-bump in his wake.

Cian closed the gap between himself and the victims. First the male. The man’s face had been nearly sheared off. His forehead was cracked open and a constant stream of blood gushed from the wound. Kneeling, Cian extended his skeletal hand, ready to harvest the soul and carry it safely to the afterlife.

The man moaned and opened green eyes glittering with pain. He didn’t question why Cian was kneeling over him; instead he parted ruptured lips and croaked, “Save my wife.”

Cian glanced over at her prostrate form for a brief second and then shook his head with a sad, bitter twist to his lips. He’d seen many broken bodies in the past, never feeling more than quiet detachment. But seeing her now, hearing the wet gurgle of her breaths, it was like razor-sharp spikes driving through his heart.

He closed his eyes, chanting over and over in his mind: This is the order to life. Without order there would be chaos. To prevent the chaos there must always be order.

Taking a deep breath, he plowed on, finishing what he’d started. “Find your peace, human…” For us both. Then he gently caressed the man’s exposed cheek.

The light of death filled the man’s eyes, and a single tear slipped down his cheek. The mask of pain relaxed, and a soft blue mist exploded from the caved-in chest—the soul pulsed with energy and differing shades of blue.

A glowing portal of brilliant white opened before him. The melodic song of a bubbling brook and rustling grass momentarily made Cian forget—forget the pain and loneliness.

The soul glided toward the light. It shimmered and glowed as it stepped through the portal. Then it was gone. The light went too, and with it the temporary peace Cian had sought his entire existence.

One left. The thought was a needle stabbing into his brain. He tried to remain clinical and study her not as a victim, but as a task and a duty to fulfill.

She wasn’t in nearly as bad a shape as her husband had been. Both legs were broken at the hips. One foot was pointed north, the other south. Besides the obvious injuries, she also suffered a ruptured spleen and would soon die from internal bleeding.

Short, shallow breathing turned his gaze to her face. Thin and heart-shaped with full pink lips and almond-shaped eyes.

His hands trembled, something was causing him to hesitate, a strange feeling he had no name for. What was it? Curiosity maybe? Something about the witch tugged at his normally detached feelings about death and life. Do it.You must. Take her from this misery.

Her eyes snapped open. The lioness gaze ensnared him. Her bloody hand grabbed his fleshy one and his world turned upside down. Instantly images and thoughts came to him. The face of her husband, a sensation of overwhelming, heartrending love. The pain. The fear. The hope. Her hope exploded inside him like a seedling shooting through black earth.

His brows dipped, and his breathing spiked. He continued to share her emotions. He bit the inside of his lip, and the bitter taste of blood pooled on his tongue as he fought off the onslaught. He’d known upon first seeing her that she was a witch, had sensed her energy, but her powers were intense. He’d never come across a projecting empath as powerful as she was.

Cian took slow breaths and pushed his will against her own in an attempt to extricate himself from her furious assault. His will was like talons ripping and clawing at her insides; the back blast resonated through him. He reeled from it but couldn’t block himself off. She whimpered, moans spilled from her lips, and still she fought him.

He could break her wrist, force her to let him go. Force her to end the emotional battering. So why wasn’t he doing that?

Because he couldn’t. Because for the first time in an eternity she was making him feel—not just her pain, but her desperation for life. Emotions he’d never felt before. It was all so confusing, and yet…he’d never felt more alive. All his life he’d walked around in a daze. Moving from one soul to another, not living, just existing. For the first time he wanted. He felt. Because of her, and he’d betrayed her in the worse possible way.

Her eyes, glazed with pain, held his own. Defying him to take her life. She wanted to live.

Another shot of emotions slammed him. They felt like churning waves of angry sea crashing against him, stripping the flesh from his bones. Her anger beat at him, clawed at his throat with desperation.

Right then he made a decision. In defiance of his queen, the ruler of the reapers, he let her live.

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Crimson NightCrimson Night
Night series, Book 1
Release Date:  September 5, 2013

 Welcome one and all to Carnival Diabolique– or what I affectionately like to call, the carnival of the damned. My name is Pandora, and though my face might not look familiar to you, you do know me. I’m a Nephilim. What does that mean? I’m half demon, what’s my other name? Lust. I’m the dark craving that drives you mad, makes you want, makes you reckless and stupid. I’m the drug you’ll do anything to get your hands on. But I’m not all bad. I fight for light, for goodness and truth. I love my job, killing vampires and werewolves, zombies, and freaks… it’s what makes me happy. But people are starting to disappear and lately I’ve felt a dark presence lurking around me. I think it might be a death priest and that’s really bad. There isn’t much a demon like me fears, but I fear them. This should have been easy, me killing the fanged freaks, getting rid of my pesky priest problem, but I’m about to be betrayed by the one person I thought I could trust with my life and before the night is through I’ll be covered in crimson…

My Review of Crimson Night


“Why do you have this?” He waved the book he’d been reading at me like one might brandish a sword.

“What?” I shook my head. “The Bible?”

“Yes, the Bible, what’s it doing here?” His mouth set in a firm line, but I heard what he wasn’t asking. What he didn’t say was: What was the Bible doing in the home of a hell spawn?

“Over sixty percent of households have one, priest. Is it a crime?”

“Yes!” He shot to his feet, murderous rage dripped from his tongue like venom. “You’re a demon.”

I lifted a brow. “Half. Half demon, Priest. You gonna accuse me of something get it right.”

“You,” he pointed at me, “are an abomination. What would you know about light?”

Wow, insult the demon. How original. If Billy was looking for a reaction from me to justify his actions or to salve his conscience then he was screwed. I wasn’t taking the bait.

“Again, I ask you…why is it here?” His shoulders heaved with his labored breathing.

Why oh why had I decided to park my trailer so far away from the safety of the pack? All this yelling would have had my demon hoard—as I’m sure death god here thought of them—running to my door.

“Thou believest that there is one God; thou doest well; the devils also believe, and tremble. James 2:19,” I finally said.

He looked as if I’d slapped him.

“What I read is my business,” I snapped.

“Ye have heard that it was said of them of old time, thou shall not kill. Matthew 5:21.” His words were steel tempered in black velvet, they shivered down my spine. I licked my lips. “I saw you kill a man tonight. I saw you kill one in Austin. I saw you kill a girl in Venice.”  With each sentence he’d walked a little closer until now his face was back to within inches of mine. Sandalwood wrapped me up in its heady embrace. “Would you like me to go on?”

His lips were a feather’s touch from mine. Jeez, he had nice lips. The kind you wanted to pull into your mouth and suck on.

Then it struck me what he’d said. Venice. The last time I’d been in Venice was three months ago. I was suddenly more than just a little scared and fear always made me angry. I hated weakness. Especially in myself.

“Don’t you dare judge me! You know nothing about me.” My chest grew tight, breathing became harder. I wanted to smack him and lick him all at the same time. How sick was I?

He snorted. “Of course I do, Pandora.”

The sound of my name rolling from his lips made me shiver.

I narrowed my eyes and could feel the anger turning my normally ice-blue color a frosty swirling lavender. Anger. Lust. They were both two sides of the same emotion and my demon was feeding off of it.

“Then kill me, Priest. End this. Go ahead.”

He stepped away from me, it almost appeared involuntary.

“You know me so well do you?”

Again he wore that cold expression I was quickly learning to hate.

“You arrogant bastard,” I snarled, “you think you’re no different than me? Fool yourself if you want to. Judge me all you want, but you know it’s true. Go ahead, priest, kill me. And I promise to sit here like a good girl and take it.” I tilted my head to the side, my hair slid across my breasts. “But this offer is only good for the next minute. So you think about it real good, because I promise you, it will never be this easy again.”

He stared at me as if I were something unexpected. An oddity he was both repulsed by and curious about.

“Why did you let us leave earlier?” he asked in a voice so low I almost hadn’t heard him say it.

“I keep asking myself that same question.” I narrowed my eyes. “What do you think I am, Priest?” I don’t know why I asked that.

“Evil,” he said without skipping a beat. “You are pure sin.”

Crimson Night AVAILABLE NOW:
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Right NowRight Now
Moment series, Book 2
Release Date:  September 15, 2013

Sometimes in life….

Things were supposed to get better when Ryan met Lili. I was supposed to move on, get a life… but I’m stuck and lost. Things with my father are not good. There are demons in our closet, big ones. Ones I want to kill him for, I’m seeing a shrink, I’m trying to get better… but my life feels out of control, like I’m a raft adrift on the sea. I don’t know where to look, how to get anchored again, and then I meet Zoe Stone. Something about her draws me out of my rut, makes me laugh for real, smile, and for the first time in years I want to be more. But what will she think when she discovers who I really am?

…all we have…

When Alexander Donovan, aka The Golden Adonis, walks into my tattoo parlor, I know I’ll do anything to make that man mine. There’s an instant connection, a need to know more about him. Everything about him. But there’s also a mystery surrounding the guy, when people look at him they only see the man that laughs, that cracks jokes and makes the world think that everything’s okay, but I see the truth… I see the darkness that lurks so deep inside few would ever recognize it. I want to help him, I want to be with him, now I just have to make him trust me enough to let me in.

My Review of Right NOW

Right Now Excerpt

Her eyes were roaming my body and my skin prickled under her hot gaze. I knew I wasn’t bad to look at—dusty blond hair with an athlete’s body and gunmetal silver eyes that girls always fawned over.

But looking at her and looking at me, we couldn’t be more opposite.

“Vanilla?” I asked.

Giving a very satisfied smirk, she hopped up on the counter and crossed her legs, showing off very feminine curves and the tiniest, most delicious pair of ankles I’d ever seen. A gold ankle bracelet jingled as she bounced her foot.

“Means you look like you took a wrong turn.” She gestured to the room, never taking her molten brown gaze off me.

My lips twitched and I leaned forward, resting an elbow beside her. Close enough that I felt her heat, close enough that her scent of jasmine tickled my nose, made me hungry and crazed. Damn, she was hot.

“Those kids looking at the wall look just like me.” I lifted a brow and she leaned in, so close her minty breath washed over my lips.

My entire body tensed up and I had to curl my fingers into the counter to stop myself from yanking her hot, little body against mine and having my way with her.

“Yeah, but you can spot the posers a mile away. The ones who would never do something like this when they’re totally sober. So…” she walked her finger across my collarbone, making my flesh shiver and heat flash down my spine, “what are you doing here, va-nil-la?”

The way she broke up the word, the way she eased closer into me, damn…I was coming apart. She hadn’t even really touched me and already this was the best foreplay I’d ever had in my life.

Turning on the charm, I smiled and eased my hips just a little closer. She wasn’t the only one able to play this game.

“I want you to draw on me.” I threw down the gauntlet, hell she could draw a grim reaper all down my back if she wanted, so long as her hands touched me, somehow, someway.

Shaking her head, the flower in her hair brushed against my forehead. “I’m not an artist, yet. I do body modification.”

I got hard as a rock. My gut got hot; my thighs shook a little, because I knew that almost everyone who did it also owned some metal on them somewhere.

Looking at her again I looked for the piercings. And sure enough, I was right. Her ear lobes were stretched. Not as big and gaudy as some I’d seen, just small little holes that were actually dainty looking on her.

Flicking hair across her shoulder, she grinned. “Sorry, vanilla, the rest you don’t get to see.”

I gulped, only able to imagine where she had them.

She laughed and I’m sure my eyes were as wide as saucers. Feeling like a prepubescent teen all over again, I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.

“What’s your name?” I asked, because I had to know. I wanted to know.

A secret smile danced across her face, brown eyes twinkled. “You mean you haven’t figured it out yet? I’m hurt, really I am.”

I frowned. “What are you—”

“Z,” the guy who’d been drawing the tat of the dragon and tiger, looked up with a hard fix to his square jaw. “He bothering you?”

Her smile still firmly in place, she shook her head. “Nah, I’m good.”

Dude looked pissed and suddenly I was too.

I don’t know why, but some caveman crap came over me and I narrowed my eyes right back at him. I didn’t care if he was the boyfriend or not, actually I did… because something about ‘Z’ (and I really had to find out her name quick) sparked a heat of fire inside of me I hadn’t felt ever.

“You dating?” I tried, but couldn’t keep the growl from my voice.

She hopped off the counter and my balls just about shriveled up, I didn’t want her to walk away. I wanted to talk to her, to… what… was I seriously wanting to talk to her?

Since when?

Z turned to go and I brushed her arm, desperate to keep her around.

“Look,” she glanced at my hand, which I dropped quickly, “we’re not dating anymore. Ryko’s a good guy, but he’s also slightly territorial.” She narrowed her eyes back at Ryko, who was still glowering at me. “He also happens to own the shop and doesn’t like to see me loafing. I’ve got work to do. It’s been nice, vanilla, but since you don’t have an appointment and we’re booked until closing, either make one for later or I’ll see you around.”

“Wait.”  I forked my fingers through my hair. “Pierce me.”

Her lips twitched. “What?”

Fuck me, what the hell was I doing? From a tattoo to a piercing? The universe had to be laughing at me.

“I want a piercing.”

She licked her upper teeth, and my heart clenched at the sight of her pink tongue. Were they pumping drugs through the ventilators here? My head was fuzzy and spinning and all I could smell was her jasmine and I know my pants were tenting and I could care less.

“I thought you said you wanted to be tatted?” Her eyes took on a knowing glint.

How many drunken losers hit on her every night?

Why did that thought make me want to punch one of them? I curled my fist.

“I don’t expect you to understand my reasons, Z,” I smirked when her eyes went slightly bedroom on me at the use of her nickname, “but I’m not leaving tonight without doing it.”

Planting her hands on her hips, she lifted her chin. “Fine. Far be it from me to kick out a paying customer. Even if he is stupid and is gonna regret it tomorrow morning.”

“I won’t.”

“We’ll see.” Hooking a finger, she turned around. “Follow me, frat boy.”

What the hell? Did I just scream frat, vanilla, loser to her or what? Somehow I didn’t think her nicknames were meant to be cute at all, but I wasn’t arguing.

Tipping my head at the guy standing next to me who was still ogling her ass, I sprinted around the counter and followed her into a private room with a black curtain in front of it.

The room was dark inside, with only a blue glow coming off the lamp in the corner. A body table lay pushed up against the wall.

“Get on,” she pointed.

Pulse thundering, nerves strung a little tight, I hopped up on the table.

Her movements were brisk and efficient as she walked to a medicine cabinet and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, snapping them on her hands a second later. Pushing her fingers together to get the gloves down properly, she lifted a brow at me. “So, what’ll it be?”

She was calling my bluff, because she knew as well as I did that I didn’t have a clue.

Why the hell had I decided to listen to a sheet of paper anyway?

I scrubbed my face. “What do you like?”

The way she nibbled on her lip, I had to take a deep breath and try to inconspicuously adjust my straining cock.

Walking toward me, she placed her hands on either side of my legs and I swear I was trembling like a freaking virgin. Even sitting, she still wasn’t taller than me, but it didn’t seem to faze her at all.

Her hair was in my face as her warm breath caressed the side of my ear.

“You really want to know?” she purred, voice throaty and decidedly wicked.

Was it possible to explode from just the sound of a voice? My heart was racing like a rabbit on crack. I licked my lips as her hand worked torturously, slowly up my thigh and then I squeaked—like squeaked squeak… like I want to die because that girly sound just came out of me kind of squeak—when she cupped my junk in her hands.

“I’ve always thought the Prince Albert was hot.” Then she nibbled the lobe of my ear and I couldn’t speak.

My entire body was quaking, trembling so hard I knew she saw it.

Then she pulled back and laughed and the sound was a brush of bells against my sensitive flesh. “But it’s totally up to you.”

It took two times of throat clearing before I trusted myself to speak. She’d touched me, touched me. Down there.


I was so turned on, if she kissed me, I would have come. That would have been it, mortifying… hell yeah, but I don’t think I would’ve cared because it would be worth it. My balls ached and I knew tonight was going to be a twofer, at least. Unless I could convince her to come home with me.

“Don’t think I’m ready for a cock piercing,” I finally managed to say.

She only smiled and I knew what she was thinking: Vanilla. It was written all over her face, but even I had my limits for this mysterious girl.

“Then what are you ready for?” Her tone was teasing, but carried an edge of steel beneath the velvet. She was testing me again and something in me didn’t like the thought that she found me as lacking and vanilla as she accused me of being.

“Nothing below here.” I flattened my palm above my belt.

She was back in my space again, filling my head with jasmine and the sound of her throaty voice.

Both palms flat on my stomach, she ran them up my abs, and then across my chest, before rubbing my nipples between her fingers.

I hissed, as the nerves danced and shot fire straight down to my already aching cock.

“Nipple piercing’s then?”

“Ungh…” I’m not even sure anything intelligible dropped from me, but I couldn’t think straight. All I wanted was to throw her down on this table, hike her skirt up and find that hidden piercing.

“But,” her nose moved up the line of my neck, “I’m not sure the girls could handle seeing that much eye candy at the lake.”

No response. Nothing, I just panted, gripped the edge of the table and tried to remember this wasn’t a sex parlor.

“There’s only one other piercing that really does it for me. Do you know what that is, Alex?”

I shook my head.

Fuckmefuckmefuckme… I was going to implode, I knew it.

Her thumb ran across my lower lip and I couldn’t help myself, I nibbled it. The taste of latex was disgusting, but I didn’t stop because I had to touch her.

“A lip ring.”

Her mouth was inches, inches from mine and I knew it would take nothing for me to lean in and take it, slip my tongue past her teeth and drown in her.

“Think you can handle that, vanilla?”

“Ungh…” There went that stupid crap out of my mouth again.

I was not prepared for how quickly she pulled back, how bereft my body felt without her heat crawling all over me, or how down to business she suddenly became. I was still panting, still sweating under my collar.

“Shit,” I grumbled, as she walked back to the medicine cabinet and started pulling out packets of instruments.

“Rethinking this already?” she asked as she worked with her back to me.

How could she act that way? Like she hadn’t just been about to make me come in my pants, how she’d made me pant and moan like a dog in heat.

Sick, slightly mortified, I breathed through the tension twisting my gut in knots.  She’d played me like I’d played so many others and being on the receiving end of it sucked ass.

Thankfully, by the time she got her stuff together I’d pulled my shit together too. She flipped on a switch by my head and flooded the room with bright lights.

She had a pair of what looked like baby tongs in her hand. “I’m going to pinch your lip with this.”

“Does it help numb it?”

Lips twitching again, I knew the second I asked that I sounded like an idiot.

“No, not really. It’s just for placement and so I can hold your mouth still.” Bending over, she opened my mouth, not nearly as sexy as what happened before because this time she was purely professional about it. “Okay, I like it right there. Now, when I tell you to breathe, take a deep breath. It’s not going to hurt, not really, just pinch a little. Vanilla, one last time, you sure you want to do this?” Her brown eyes were suddenly serious and intense, like she expected me to jump off and run away and the thought was like a bucket of ice water in my face.

I was a fucking man, whether she believed it or not. And just because a sheet of paper told me to be opposite didn’t mean I was going to turn into a baby about this afterwards.

I didn’t answer, just lifted a brow.

“Fine. Here we go.” Grabbing a long ass needle, she touched the tip to my lip. “One, two, breathe.”

I was just inhaling when she shoved it through. It did bring tears to my eyes, that couldn’t be helped, but I’d be damned if I let them fall.

“Okay, almost done.” Attaching a cork to the bottom of the needle, she then grabbed a small silver hoop and in the next breath the needle was out and the hoop was in. “Doing good?”

“I’m not gonna faint if that’s what you’re wondering,” I muttered, beginning to get edgy. She didn’t know me, didn’t know anything about me.

I wasn’t some punk ass frat boy with too much to drink and no sense of reality. So okay, maybe I’d had the stripper twins in a bathroom earlier, but that wasn’t really who I was.

Taking a pair of pliers, she twisted on the metal in my mouth until satisfied with it.

Then her full lips curled into a crescent moon and my heart started thumping again. Cranky or not I could still admit the girl was hot when she did that.

Handing me a hand held mirror she lifted a brow. “So what do you think?”

I thought it didn’t look as bad as I’d feared it might. It didn’t really alter my appearance by much, the ring wasn’t huge. But something inside me felt different, not like a sheet of paper tossed in the wind, but anchored again somehow.

“It’s good,” I mumbled, and hopped off.

Snapping her gloves off, she tossed them into the waste bin. “Good, fifty bucks, frat. Let’s go pay.”

I didn’t get to ask her for her number, and honestly after the stunt she pulled with me in there, I had no desire. Not to mention Billy bad ass kept eyeing me like a dog eyeing steak, and I knew it was time to head home.

Lying in bed, hands behind my back I stared at the ceiling and played with the metal in my mouth. It tasted weird, but I liked it. I liked what it symbolized, what it made me feel.

Somehow my thoughts drifted to Z. I wished I knew her name. No matter that she’d made me look like a pathetic boy toy back there, the girl had turned me on. My cock was still heavy, my balls aching.

Grabbing hold of myself, I hissed as the tremors immediately wracked my sensitive nerves. All I had to think about was the tats and hidden piercing and in two strokes I was coming so hard, it bowed my back off the bed.

Panting, I blinked and started to make my way to the bathroom to clean up when it suddenly dawned on me, she’d called me Alex.

I’d never given her my name.

Right Now
Buy links coming soon



Marie Hall has always had a dangerous fascination for creatures that go bump in the night. And mermaids. And of course fairies. Trolls. Unicorns. Shapeshifters. Vampires. Scottish brogues. Kilts. Beefy arms. Ummm… Bad boys! Especially the sexy ones.

On top of that she’s a confirmed foodie, she nearly went to culinary school and then figured out she could save a ton of money if she just watched food shows religiously! She’s a self-proclaimed master chef, certified deep sea dolphin trainer, finder of leprechaun’s gold at the end of the rainbow, and rumor has it she keeps the Troll King locked away in her basement. All of which is untrue, however, she does have an incredibly active imagination and loves to share her crazy thoughts with the world!

Connect with Marie:
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads


Marie is giving away a $50.00 Amazon or B&N gift card at the end of the tour

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Spotlight & GiveAway: Run to You

Run to YouRun to You by Rachel Gibson
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Avon Books
Date of Publication: 9/24/2013
ISBN: 9780062069146

Book Description:

Rachel Gibson, New York Times bestselling author of Rescue Me, returns to Texas with a tale of what happens when a tough guy meets his match—and falls harder than a ton of red-hot bricks . . .

There’s nothing like fleeing Miami to ruin a girl’s day.

Stella Leon’s bartending gig was going fine until gorgeous ex-Marine Beau Junger decked her mob-connected boss, spirited her out of the city, and claimed that Stella’s half-sister—the one with the perfect life—sent him. Now Stella has no choice but to go along for the ride . . . and seduce Beau’s military-issue socks off …

The Marine Corps was Beau’s escape from his old man’s legacy of naval heroism and serial philandering, but no amount of training could prepare him for the day he looked in the mirror and saw his father staring back. The answer: swear off meaningless sex. Oh, and find a way to make Stella Leon quit being so damn hot…


“Hello. This is Stella Leon.” Just in case he didn’t remember her she added, “Sadie Hollowell’s sister. Listen, I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be calling to set up a meeting with Sadie anytime soon.” Once again, she looked through the blinds covering the door. “Ricky De Luca, my former boss, isn’t real happy about you punching him in the head and sent his associates over here.” She turned from the blinds. “They’re camped out in my parking lot, but as soon as they leave, I’m going to leave town for a while.” Where she was going, she didn’t know. “So now isn’t a real good time for a family reunion.” She pushed end and set the phone on the kitchen counter.

She moved into her bedroom and pulled a big duffel from her closet. She’d wait for a few hours. If they were still camped outside after dark, she’d have to call the cops, but she really didn’t want to call the Miami PD. She didn’t want to file a report. They’d ask her questions she didn’t know the answers to; she’d prefer not to make Ricky and his friends any madder than they were already.

She dumped underwear and bras into the bag. Maybe she’d be gone for a week. Surely that was long enough. She’d stay at a hotel and look for a job. Maybe in Orlando.

Next, she shoved shorts, tank tops, and two sundresses into the duffel. Makeup and hair products were followed by flip-flops and her iPad loaded up with about a thousand of her favorite songs. Everything from Regina Spektor to Johnny Cash.

She pulled on a blue ombré halter dress and her Docs. In case she had to run, she needed her good solid shoes. Her hair, she slicked back into a ponytail to keep it out of her face.

From the kitchen, her phone rang, and she walked into the hallway toward the sound. She didn’t recognize the number coming across but was fairly sure it had to be Ricky. She thought about not answering, but perhaps she could defuse the situation and convince him to leave her alone. “Yes.”

“Where are you?”

It wasn’t Ricky. “Who is this?”

“Beau Junger.”

Joe’s name was Beau? Didn’t seem to really fit him. It wasn’t hard enough. He looked more like a Buck or Duke or Rocky. “I’m in my apartment.”

“Are the Gallo brothers outside your apartment?”

She peered out the slice in the blinds. “I don’t think they’re brothers.”

“One short and fat? The other tall and skinny?”


“They’re brothers. Do you see their beige Lexus LS?”

How did he know that? “Yes.”

“Where is the vehicle oriented to your front door?”

“Several rows back and to the left.”

“Okay. Do you have a bag packed?”

“Yes. I’m waiting for them to leave so I can run to my car.”

“Forget your car. I’m still about an hour out. So at”—he paused as if looking at his big watch—“fourteen hundred hours, you’re going to hear a commotion. Grab your bag and haul your ass out of your apartment.”

“What kind of commotion? How will I know it’s you?”

She wasn’t sure, but he might have chuckled.

“You’ll know. There will be a black SUV parked at the curb closest to your unit. Get in.”

“Your SUV?”

“Yes,” he said, and the line went dead.

“Wait. Come back. What time is fourteen hundred hours?”

About the Author:

Rachel Gibson Rachel Gibson lives in Idaho with her husband, three kids, two cats, and a dog of mysterious origin. She began her fiction career at age 16, when she ran her car into the side of a hill, retrieved the bumper, and drove to a parking lot, where she strategically scattered the car’s broken glass all about. She told her parents she’d been the victim of a hit-and-run and they believed her. She’s been making up stories ever since, although she gets paid better for them nowadays


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(Publisher is giving away one copy of Run To You to US mailing address only.)

Cover Reveal: Kiss Me In Paris

Kiss Me in Paris - Alternate Cover Bestseller 7

Kiss Me In Paris

When the city of love brings two lost souls together, only their darkest secrets can tear them apart.

Winter Deveaux tried love once. It didn’t end well. Unable to open herself up to another heartbreak, she hides in her romance novels as she struggles to break out as a real author. She thinks Paris holds the answer to a new start, but when her nightmare follows her across the world, she’s forced to face the darkness living like cancer inside her soul. If she doesn’t, she might miss her chance to become the kind of writer she’s always wanted to be. But more than that, she’ll miss out on the greatest love she’s ever known.

Cade Savage is heir to the largest ranching family in Texas. Part cowboy, part architect, Cade has his feet forever in two worlds. When he receives an acceptance letter from the school of his dreams, he must decide between family and destiny. But ghosts from his past still haunt him, and circumstances beyond his control may decide his fate.

When Winter and Cade meet, everything they believe about life, love and what it means to be happy is put to the test.

Will the magic of Paris pull these two lost souls together? Or will their darkest secrets tear them apart?

Genre: New Adult Contemporary Romance
Full length novel: 87, 000 words

Kiss Me in Paris is a standalone novel in the Kiss Me Series. Travel the world with the Deveaux sisters as they find love, and trouble, in all the right places.

Add it on Goodreads at:


From Chapter 4: Cade

Paris—the city of artists and dreamers. Being here is the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. So why do I still feel so out of place?

 I don’t belong in Texas, running my dad’s business. And if I don’t belong in the city, pursuing my career, then where do I belong? Where will I ever find the peace that’s been missing from my life for so long?

 My dad’s voice echoes in my mind. “What’s bothering you, kid?” He always asked me that when I was young, and I never had an answer for him.

 I still don’t.

 The suitcase sits nearly empty on my bed, save for one last item. I pull out the envelope, weathered by years and tears but forever unopened. The familiar scrawl across the front, just the one word, Goodbye. I run my thumb along the seal, wondering, not for the first time, what words he could have written that would make a difference, that would make the ache of his loss easier to bear.

 But I don’t open it. I’ll never open it. Instead I slip it into my pillow as memories of the past flood me.

 The mocking.

 The pain.

 The end.

 “What’s bothering you, kid?” Dad’s voice whispers through me again. At least this time I have an answer, a way to act on the anger crashing through me.

 I can’t go back and right the wrong done so long ago, but I can right a recent wrong, and dag nab it, will it feel good.

 Pulling on my boots, hat on head, I lock up my room and seek the object of my righteous rage.

 I pause, staring at the door to Winter’s room as if I could see through it. She and her roommate went out; I heard them leave. Her pale face and eyes the color of a frozen lake, haunt me. Eyes filled with tears when that asshole stepped on her small hand, so delicate. I held it as it turned blue, swelling in pain.

 Pulling myself from her door, I hunt the hallway looking for Rodney. I don’t know what their history is, and I don’t care. No one deserves to be treated that way. I’ve seen guys like him before, known them all my life, and I’ve never backed down from putting jerks like him in their place.

 I’m not about to start today.

 It’s not because of the girl, I’m sure of that. She’s beautiful, sure. And funny, in an offhanded way. But that’s irrelevant. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do.

 I spot him just outside of our dorms, leaning against a tree. Or rather, pinning a girl against a tree as he does what I can only assume is his version of flirting.

 The girl in question doesn’t appear to enjoy his attentions, if the bored droop to her face is any indication.

 Rodney’s not a small guy, probably played football back home, but I’ve got several inches and a lot more hard muscle on my side.

 I pull him from the girl, who looks wide-eyed at me before scampering off, and grab the front of his shirt, glaring down at him. “I don’t know why you like tormenting girls. I don’t even want to know. But you’ll leave Winter alone. Got it?”

 My face is inches from his, close enough that I can smell the alcohol on his breath.

 He laughs, spraying me with his saliva. “You think she doesn’t like having me around? Guess you don’t know what a slut she is.”

 Growling, I slam him against the tree.

 He groans, but offers another cocky grin. “If you want my advice, stay away. She’ll spread her legs easily enough, but you’ll regret ever sticking—“

 I’m done listening.

 I knee him in the groin. His mouth opens, a high-pitched yelp escaping as he collapses on the ground. “This is me politely telling you to back the hell off Winter and leave her alone.”


About Kimberly Kinrade and Dmytry Karpov

Dmytry and Kimberly are the husband and wife writing team behind the KISS ME Series, Eye of Newt, Sunrise and Nightfall, Wanderlust, and The Fallen Series.

Kimberly is the award-winning, bestselling author of the New Adult paranormal romance series The Seduced Saga, the YA paranormal thriller/romance The Forbidden Trilogyand children’s fantasy series The Three Lost Kids.

Dmytry writes fantasy—be it urban, dark or epic—is a musical composer, pianist, and designs books covers (exclusively for his wife’s and their co-authored books).

They live with three little girls who think they’re ninja princesses with super powers and who are also showing a propensity for telling tall tales and using the written word to weave stories of wonder and magic.

Become a member of the Street Team for Kimberly and Dmytry:

Connect with Kimberly online:

Twitter: @KimberlyKinrade
Facebook: /KimberlyKinrade

Connect with Dmytry online:

Twitter: @DmytryKarpov
Facebook: /DmtryKarpov


Hex and the Single Witch: Excerpt & GiveAway

Hex and the Single Witch Free kindle BannerThe book will be free June 1-3  at

Hex and the single witch

Hex and the Single Witch
Vehicle City Vampires Book One
By Roxanne Rhoads
Publisher: Bewitching Books
Genre: Paranormal Erotic Romance / Urban Fantasy
Word Count: 83,000

Anwyn Rose is descended from a long line of powerful witches yet she can barely cast spells young witchlings have mastered. She has one functioning witch gift, the power of knowing, which she puts to good use as a Detective on Flint’s Preternatural Investigation Team.

It’s a new era in Vehicle City, supernaturals are running the town.

The P.I.T has their hands full with paranormal crimes. Top priority is a serial killer, who appears to be a vampire, draining young women in the city.

Anwyn is on the case with her sexy partner Detective Mike Malone. Complicating things is her relationship Galen, a vampire who looks more guilty than innocent, although Anwyn trusts her instincts even if her power is on the fritz.

Mysterious spells, compromising situations, and a possible demon on the loose make it hard to focus on the case, but Anwyn has to make things right before the human police execute the wrong vampire.

Hex and the Single Witch contains magick, a little bit of mystery, a lot of supernatural mayhem, and a sexy love triangle that will leave you wanting more.

 Amazon Kindle     Print

Book Bonus material

Excerpt featuring Mike Malone:

“You should have told me why you hate vampires so much. It was during the Hysteria wasn’t it?” The damn Hysteria ruined and destroyed so many lives all thanks to a bunch of power hungry vampires and Others who thought it was a good idea to let humans know they existed. Like the witch hunts, the burning times from before hadn’t proven that was a bad idea. But, no, they thought a new, modern generation of humans could handle it.

The Hysteria proved humans hadn’t evolved much. Of course, neither had the Others.

“Yeah,” he said into his hands.

“You know I lost my dad to vampires at the end. At the last battle. The rogues had the humans all riled up. No one knew what was going on, the riot started and there was this group of mercenaries, humans killing anything that moved. My dad’s team tried to get them out of there, but as soon as they realized vampires and Others were on the police squad the mercenaries decided to wipe everyone out. My dad was shot and while he was down rogue vampires finished him off.”

“Then how can you still be close to them?” Mike sneered.

“Humans played their part in his death too, Mike. Can I shut myself off from the world and hate everyone? It’s unrealistic. I understand your hate, but they are not all bad.”

“They all drink blood. They are monsters designed to kill humans.” His snarl looked ferocious.

I had not realized his hate ran so deep.

“And humans are designed to kill animals and each other. Doesn’t mean we all do.” Stubborn man.

“Anwyn, I’m sorry I can’t look at them the way you do.” He glanced at me then stared at the floor.

I touched his face gently and made him look at me. “Mike you can’t carry pain and anger around with you forever. Believe me, I know. I dragged it around with me for a long time. I lost both my dad and my mom that night. Even though my mom still lives and breathes, she’s not the same. But I can’t change it, and I can’t hate everyone for it. I just have to accept it. I took this job to try and prevent other kids from growing up with this pain and anger. Isn’t that why you took this job too? You know we have to fight the bad guys and take help from all the good guys we can, right?”

“Yeah,” he muttered.

I caressed his strong jaw. Goddess, he was a beautiful man. And more complex and tender than I had thought. I took off his top hat and laid it on the desk so I could run my fingers through his wild wavy hair. The move startled Mike and he looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face for a moment before heat flared in his eyes.

As soon as I saw the flames in his eyes my body responded. A burning need rose inside me, an ache suddenly needed to be filled.

Mike’s expression changed into one that promised deliciously wicked things. Hot damn.


About the Author:

Story strumpet, tome loving tart, eccentric night owl…these words describe book publicist and erotic romance author Roxanne Rhoads.

When not fulfilling one the many roles being a wife and mother of three require, Roxanne’s world revolves around words…reading them, writing them, editing them, and talking about them. In addition to writing her own stories she loves to read, promote and review what others write.

Roxanne is the owner of Bewitching Book Tours and operates Fang-tastic Books, a book blog dedicated to paranormal and urban fantasy books.

When not reading, writing, or promoting Roxanne loves to hang out with her family, craft, garden and search for unique vintage finds.

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Excert & GiveAway: Playing Patience

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Book Title:  Playing Patience

Author:  Tabatha Vargo

Release Date:  April 26th 2013

Genre:  New Adult/Romance/Contemporary

Presented by:  As You Wish…


 Sometimes all you need is Patience.

Life’s been hard for Zeke. Being a punching bag for his alcoholic father has turned him into stone. Not even the dodgy trailer park he lives in can scare him. Fighting is his release and sex, drugs, and his guitar bring him peace, but deep down Zeke isn’t quite as hard as he makes himself out to be. When he meets Patience, she finds all his broken pieces and puts him back together, but she’s a ray of light in his shadowed life and the last thing he wants to do is bring her into his dark world. Playing careless is easy, playing the bad guy can be fun, but playing Patience is impossible, especially when she can see right through him.

Zeke isn’t the only one who’s broken, and for the first time, in a long time, Patience feels alive. Her black and white world gets a shot of color when she meets Zeke. He’s unlike anyone she’s ever met with his tattoos, piercings, and blunt honesty. She wants nothing more than to let go and ride the wild side with him, but some wounds never heal and the broken pieces of Patience aren’t so easy to find.

***Warning: this book contains graphic language, sex, and violence. Mature readers only. Not intended for young adult readers.***

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PlayingPatience1    Excerpt:

“Oooh,” his eyes got big like he was just realizing something. “I get it, you’re into chicks.”

Did I have the word lesbian written across my forehead or something today?

“No,” I said adamantly.

“No, that’s cool.” His smile was too big. “I don’t discriminate, trust me. I like chicks, too. You know what? We should like them together, like at the same time,” he leaned in and ran his thumb across his bottom lip before he softly tugged on his lip ring.

My eyes shot to his mouth and he smirked at the attention. I rolled my eyes.

“I don’t like chicks, and if I did I certainly wouldn’t share with you,” I flipped my card over and picked up the book.

“Okay, so you’re not a lesbian. Then what are you?”

Aggravated by his question, I sighed loudly and answered honestly.

“You want to know what I am? I’m shattered, that’s what I am. There are tiny pieces of Patience scattered all over.”

“I’d like a piece of Patience,” he reached across the table and ran a finger across my hand.

This time I did tense up, but for entirely different reasons. My heartbeat sped up like I was on the verge of a panic attack, but instead a rush of euphoria filled me.

“I don’t know if I can give you a piece,” I heard myself flirt back.

That earned me another sexy grin. Damn him for being so freaking hot.

“Why not?

“Because I don’t know where they are.” I frowned at those words.

What started out as innocent flirting, had just that quickly become a sad truth. I was a shattered girl and I had no idea where my pieces were or how to put myself back together if I did find them.

“I bet I could find your pieces,” he leaned in and bathed my cheek with heated breath.

I didn’t miss his hidden meaning, but I chose to ignore it. “Good luck. I’ve been trying to find them for years.”

I shrugged off my shiver and started to deal the cards again.

“Challenge accepted,” he said, as he leaned back in his chair and took a swig from his beer.

Tabatha Vargo  AUTHOR BIO

Tabatha’s been writing since she could pick up a pencil. Her first publication was a little poem in her elementary school paper, from that point on she was hooked. When she was a teenager, she traded in her girly magazines for personalized writing notebooks.

At nineteen, she met her own personal prince charming and writing took a back burner for a while. She’s now married to that prince and the mother of a beautiful seven-year-old princess/rock star. Once her daughter was born, writing came back into her life, and she finished her very first novel, Wicked Fate, in May of 2009.

She’s now pursuing her English degree and she hopes to one day teach while continuing to write.

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Playing Patience by Tabatha Vargo

Playing Patience

by Tabatha Vargo

Giveaway ends June 01, 2013.

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Excerpt: Chapter One of Blood Trade

Thanks to Faith Hunter for this excerpt!

Blood Trade

Chapter One

Been There, Shot the Place Up

I threw my leg over Bitsa and slammed my weight down on the kick start. The engine fired up with the rumble only a Harley can boast. It should have made me feel better, that lovely roar, but it didn’t. I was too ticked off. Or something. I wasn’t big on introspection or self-analysis; I just knew I wasn’t happy and hadn’t been in weeks. It had started back at Christmas and New Year’s, which I’d spent alone. Well, as alone as a girl can be living with two men.

Previously, my new roommates—the Younger brothers—and I had spent days training, learning how to work together, wisecracking, and picking on one another. More recently, they had proven themselves good about giving me space and letting me hide in my room. My black mood had started when the Kid, the younger Younger, demanded a Christmas tree and gift giving. I have no idea why. But I’d been impossible to live with for weeks and I knew it.

Stretching back, I locked the gate blocking the narrow drive of my freebie house in New Orleans and took off into the dawn. It was chilly and damp, gray and miserable. Winter, Deep South style, suited my mood. I’d never been the emotional type—no weepy Wilma, not whiny, teary-eyed, depressed . . .

My inner self stilled, the wind buffeting me as I leaned over Bitsa and gunned the engine, heading out of the French Quarter. Smelling the now-familiar scents of Cajun food and water-water-everywhere. Thinking about that word—depressed.

Crap. I’d never been depressed before, but I was now. Classic case of it. Lack of interest in much of anything, sleeping too much or unable to sleep at all. Not eating enough or binging on protein. Staying in my room with the door closed, lying on the bed, staring at the overhead fan. Not shifting into my Beast-form to hunt in months had to be contributing to it. Not dealing with Beast’s little problem.

I’m a skinwalker, a shape-changer, sharing my physical form—and physical forms—with the soul of a mountain lion I’d accidently pulled into myself when I was five years old and fighting for my life. And Beast’s current little problem was a good reason not to shift, though it left her feeling ticked off, and a ticked-off big-cat isn’t a pretty thing.

The only thing I had been doing was riding my bike through bayou country all alone, sightseeing, trying to see how far away from New Orleans I could get before that Beastly problem made distance difficult. Or impossible. And I’d been working out, lifting weights. A lot of weights. I had put on twenty pounds of pure muscle. When I finally shifted into Beast again, she was going to have to accommodate the extra poundage. Somehow.

“I’m depressed,” I murmured into the wind, trying the words on for size. Yeah. Depressed. I felt a shadow lift off me just admitting it to myself.

I knew why I was depressed. I’d screwed up so bad, so often, in the past year that I’d lost friends, lovers, and, well, that was enough. Wasn’t it? Now that I knew what was wrong, I could do something about it. If I could figure out what to do. This moodiness was uncharted territory.

Letting that thought simmer on the back burner of my mind, I wended my way through the city, heading uptown, which meant upriver, as everything in New Orleans was about the Mississippi River—uptown was upstream; downtown was downstream (something new I’d learned about the city that was my temporary home). I needed to cross the river, and though I could have taken the newer Crescent City Connection, part of I-90, I took the older, narrow, dangerous, two-lane hell of the Huey P. Long Bridge. I liked the old bridge, maybe because it was so dangerous; it had character, like an old noir film, a bridge leading out of the Land of Shangri-La.

On the other side of the Mississippi, I headed through Westwego and then vaguely west, like the town’s name suggested. Unsurprisingly, I found myself headed to Aggie One Feather’s place, adjacent to the John Lafitte Preserve, a wilderness area where the Cherokee elder who was my personal shaman—and probably my personal counselor too, now that I knew my emotional state—lived. But I could tell that she was still out of town. No car in the drive, shades pulled, no smell on the still air of coffee or bacon cooking, and the sweathouse out back had no smoke seeping from the chimney.

I slowed to a stop and set my boot soles on the shell-based asphalt, thinking about going into the sweathouse by myself, but I’d had some difficult experiences going it alone in there and wasn’t ready to try that again, even with the depression to motivate me. Even though I had some really heavy stuff to deal with. And so did my Beast.

I thought about the mountain lion soul who lived inside me, but she was still asleep, curled into a tight ball, her nose under her long, thick tail. She had been sleeping a lot lately, angry because I wasn’t letting her out to hunt—because I was afraid she’d do something stupid, like track down the vampire Master of the City, roll over and show him her belly, and then lick his feet. My fear was caused by a silver chain that no one but Beast and I could see. It was in the place in my mind that Aggie One Feather called my soul home, and the chain was some kind of binding that curled from Beast’s leg across the floor to a shadow in the corner of my mind, a shadow that was Leo Pellissier, the Master of the City of New Orleans and the entire Southeast USA, with the exception of Florida. Leo was the biggest, baddest fanghead I’d ever met. He was also my boss, for now, because I couldn’t actually get away, or not for long, and Leo knew nothing about the magical binding that kept me in New Orleans, because it had been accidental. I was not about to let the MOC discover how deeply I was tied to him. The vamp was like the left hand of the devil and would use and abuse the binding to get his way in everything. Ev-ery-thing. Like me in his bed and as his dinner, and I’d stake him before I let that happen—and suffer the consequences. Heck, I’d stake myself before I let that happen. Yeah. I had lots to be depressed about. Beast’s little problem was at the top of my list.

My cell jangled out a reggae dance number and buzzed in my pocket, and I jerked my attention out of my own mind and back into reality. I unzipped my leather jacket to pull out the phone. It was snugged right next to my shoulder-holstered Walther PK380, loaded with standard rounds. The .380 had less stopping power than a nine millimeter, but it was perfect when collateral damage—hitting humans—was possible. That one single-action semiautomatic and the short-bladed knife strapped to my thigh were my only weapons, which was really stupid. I was a target to some of the blood-servants and blood-slaves in the area, and while vamps needed nighttime to roam free, their minions could attack me anywhere, anytime. Or maybe being depressed made you unknowingly lax about self-preservation. Yeah. That.

I flipped open the cell to see Reach’s new icon—Darth Vader with a fanged happy face in place of his mask. I slid the cell up under the helmet to my ear. “You’re up early,” I said. “I’m not paying for this call.”

“No. A vamp is. I have a gig for you, for a vamp with deep pockets. Remember the name Hieronymus? A Master of the City who was attacked by de Allyon?”

I grunted, “Vaguely.” Lucas Vazquez de Allyon had been the Master of the City of Atlanta and greater Georgia until he developed delusions of grandeur and decided to take over Leo Pellissier’s territory. It had been a pretty good plan until I sawed off his head. “What’s Big H want and where is he?” I asked as I maneuvered the bike off the road near a ditch and cut the engine.

“He managed to hang on to the MOC status of Natchez, Mississippi.” Reach would know. He was the best researcher in the United States, and if Reach didn’t know something, it couldn’t be found out.

“Natchez? Been there; shot the place up. Why should I go back?” The comment and question were rhetorical and maybe just a bit to yank Reach’s chain. Anywhere outside of New Orleans suddenly suited me just fine, and Natchez was just inside of the outer limits of my Leo-binding. Perfect. The black cloud that crouched inside me grew a little lighter at the thought of leaving.

“Two reasons. One: because he needs your help. De Allyon left Naturaleza running around loose, and they’re kidnapping and draining the populace. Local law enforcement can’t get a handle on it, over a hundred people are missing in Adams County and across the state line in Vidalia, and yet very few bodies have turned up drained, which, if you ever listened to the news, you would know. Two: Hieronymus pays better than most. Even better than Leo.” My ears perked up at that one. Or they would have if they hadn’t been smashed under the phone and helmet. “He also pays me a finder’s fee if you take the job.”

“Of course he does. I’m guessing that since you’re now working to hire me away from Leo, the Master of the City can’t listen in on this call?”

“I always did love a smart woman.”

“You love info and money and would sell your mother into sexual slavery if the opportunity presented itself to make few thousand bucks.”

“True, though Mom does make the best pies I’ve ever tasted, so it would have to be high six figures to give that up.”

A smiled ghosted on my lips. It felt odd there and I had a feeling that I hadn’t smiled recently. Another sign of depression. “Details.”

Reach filled me in. “According to the Natchez Police Department, the vamps are faster than anything they’ve ever seen, and they’re disappearing street people, anyone caught out alone after dusk, and two entire street gangs. The loss of gangs has its benefits,” he admitted, “but, frankly, cops versus Naturaleza are no contest. Cops lose. They have skills but no experience. Hieronymus knows he has to take care of it himself. Pronto. Which is where we come in for mucho dinero.”

I focused in the most important part of his intel. “A hundred people?”

“Over the past four months.”

I shut off the bike, put the cell on speaker, and took notes on the little spiral notepad I now carried with me. The pad wasn’t high-tech, but it did allow me some privacy that electronic devices didn’t. The Master of the City kept tabs on me through all the fancy gear he paid for.

“Talk to me.”

“It started out with a decrease in street people. Shelters and churches who feed the homeless saw a sudden drop. Then the gangbangers started disappearing.”

“How many Naturaleza are we talking about for them to have killed more than a hundred humans?”

“At least twenty.” That was a lot of fangheads to take on, but since I wasn’t working alone now, and since we were smart enough to split them up and not take them all on at once, it was doable.

I said, “Negotiation: tell Big H that I’ll take the job if he pays for housing. I liked that place we stayed last time. Toss that in and he’s got a deal.”

“You left that place rather the worse for wear. You won’t stay anywhere else?”

Rather the worse for wear didn’t half cover it. We had been attacked by blood-servants and had shot the old, pre–Civil War mansion to heck and gone, but I liked the place and I knew for certain that the house, garage, and grounds had been repaired because I’d seen the work order at vamp HQ. I’d also learned that saying yes to a job offer without negotiation meant that my employers would never value me highly enough. “Nope,” I said.

I heard keys clacking in the background and pulled off my helmet. Cold air bit my sweat-damp scalp. “There’s the Hampton Inn and Suites in downtown,” he said. “Natchez Inn and Suites looks nice.”

I let my half smile grow as he worked, trying to talk me out of the house I wanted. This was negotiation for real, which meant that Reach had already checked on the house we’d damaged and knew it was out of the picture. “Nah. That house,” I said.

“There’s a Days Inn and several other three star B and Bs. And there’s the Natchez Grand. I can book you a room that overlooks the Mississippi.”

“Nope.” I said, letting my amusement sound in my voice. I had missed this kind of verbal sparring. I’d been hiding in my room too much.

Reach sighed. “I’ll get back to you. But if you can get the house, you’ll take the job?”

“Housing and all costs above and beyond my fee, including the price of hiring a team, to be paid by Big H.”

“You already have a team living with you,” he growled.

“And I gotta pay the boys. Yes or no?”

“I’ll have an answer for you by ten a.m. Oh, and by the way, the Naturaleza and some of Hieronymus’ people have the vamp plague.” The connection ended, and I stared at the cell. I hated it when convos ended up with the other guy having the last word. I helmeted up for the trip back across the river. That had been fun. Which was a clear indication that my life had been terribly boring for a long time.

I hadn’t accomplished a dang thing on my ride, but I was feeling a whole lot better when I pulled into the side gate and parked my bike. I patted Bitsa fondly and left the helmet perched on the seat. Inside my house, Eli and the Kid were just sitting down to breakfast. My plate was in my usual place, and Eli slid six eggs and a rasher of bacon onto it as I entered. I dropped the leather jacket—which was a little tight across the shoulders now—and poured hot tea, smelling a good gunpowder green. This was the best part of having hired the boys. My meals were always cooked the way I liked them—high in protein, and no one griped about my needing grains, fruit, and veggies. I sat down and dug in. Eli, former Army Ranger and now my weapons specialist, was a great short-order cook.

Two eggs later, I realized that no one else was eating, and looked up. “What?”

“You’re smiling,” Eli said.


“You’ve been a bitch for a month,” the Kid said.

Eli slapped him up the back of the head, not hard and not as a sign of disagreement, but for the B word. Not allowed in my house. I stuffed a crisp piece of bacon in on top of my chuckle. It was maple bacon with lots of black pepper, just the way I liked it. “We may have a gig,” I said through the food. “In Natchez, bringing in some Naturaleza vamps left over from de Allyon’s brief visit.” There were two kinds of vamps: Fame Vexatum vamps, or Mithrans, the kind who made the news, looking sleek and refined and beautiful, and the Naturaleza, the kind who treated humans like food to be hunted and killed. Lucas Vazquez de Allyon, also known as Death’s Rival, was the latter kind. Naturaleza were faster and meaner and harder to kill, hence more money per head.

Eli’s expression didn’t change—the former military man’s expression didn’t change much at any time—but his scent smelled relieved. And the Kid blew out a satisfied breath. Their relief let me know how bad I’d been. I set down my fork, poured more tea, added sugar, and sipped. Eli leaned back in his chair, his T-shirt molded to the body of a soldier who believed in keeping fit—very, very fit—and exposed part of the newish scar that trailed down from jaw to chest. The scar was a lumpy mass over Eli’s collarbone and his almond-mocha skin still pulled on it in odd ways when he moved.

Eli looked relaxed, but he watched me with an intensity that Beast wouldn’t have liked, had she been awake. The Kid—my electronics specialist—with his shaggy, ungroomed hair and his body in the middle of a gangly growth spurt, looked back and forth between us with an eagerness I didn’t understand.

“I’m sorry,” I said into the silence. “I have been grouchy. I let . . . stuff”—I shrugged at the vague word, because they didn’t know about the binding and I wasn’t going to tell them—“get me down. I just realized that today. And while I still have to deal with that stuff, I’m better. A change of scenery will do me good.”

Getting away from Leo Pellissier’s binding would do me even better. Maybe when I got back from Natchez, my Beast and I could find a way to free Beast from the clutches of the MOC. Or maybe I’d just behead the fanghead and be done with it.

I chuckled softly at the thought and waved away the curiosity on the faces of the two guys. “Never mind. We should hear something this morning, but go ahead and pick up anything you need for your arsenal,” I said to Eli, my tone wry. Eli believed that one never had enough guns. To the Kid, I added, “Generate a list of electronic gear we might need. Start with throwaway phones and some com units that can’t be listened in on. Unlike most of the Deep South, Natchez has some underground areas, and since we’ll likely be tracking down vamp lairs and taking them down by daylight, we’ll need equipment that will either penetrate belowground or allow us a work-around.”

The two guys shared a look while I chewed on another piece of bacon. It was one of those guy looks that seems to suggest the little lady needs protecting or maybe is on the stupid side. “What?” I said, irritated.

“Natchez might be a problem,” Eli said. “It’s out of state.”

I stopped chewing. “Well, crap.” I hadn’t thought about that. The Kid was a convicted felon, on probation, and though we had gotten permission once to take him across state lines, the resulting shoot-outs had not gone unnoticed. Things would likely be harder now. Before the Younger brothers came to work for me, Alex had hacked into the Pentagon, looking for his brother’s war records, hunting for clues about the origin of the scar and the reason for Eli’s early military retirement. And had gotten caught. Now Big Brother wanted to keep an eye on him. “Even if it’s for legitimate work?” I asked.

“I know a judge,” Eli said, grudgingly. “I’ll see if I can get some help with the parole board in allowing him over the state line into Mississippi.”

“Yeah. Okay.” I sopped up the grease on my plate with a piece of bread and realized the guys were still looking at me. “What else?”

“Nothing,” the Kid said, applying himself to his eggs.

“It’s just good to have you back,” Eli said blandly.

And then I got it. I swallowed, drank some tea, poured some more, and said carefully, “You guys were planning on leaving.” I felt Beast wake up and listen in, ear tabs twitching.

The Kid blushed and concentrated on his plate. “We talked about it,” Eli said easily. “We need a job. We figured we could pick up something farther north, but still in state. I have a few contacts.”

I stuffed in another bite of egg and pushed in a triangle-shaped piece of toast after it, but watched them as I chewed. When I finished my plate of food I set my fork to the side and blotted my lips on the paper napkin. I was still wearing the shoulder holster, the Walther, and the vamp-killer. Unstrapping the blade, I lay it on the table, removed the Walther’s rig, set it beside the knife, and leaned back in my chair, mimicking Eli’s posture.

I took a slow breath and let a hint of Beast into my gaze. I said, “Were you thinking about leaving because I’ve been difficult and moody or were you thinking about taking my business away?” I’d made it an either-or half question, half accusation, but there were more things to consider. “Or maybe you have a thing against skinwalkers.”

The Kid’s eyes went wide because I hadn’t spoken aloud about my most recent revelation when I shifted in front of nearly every person I knew in New Orleans, giving away my secret in a very public way. I had, in fact, refused to speak about that incident at all, and Eli and the Kid were still curious about it. Insanely curious.

“Or maybe,” I went on, before either could respond, “Rick LaFleur offered you a gig that he would ordinarily have offered to me, but he’s ticked off with me—okay, for good reasons—and is looking for ways to shut me out of his life. So he offered it to you instead.”

Eli’s eyes shifted away just a hair and back. The Kid’s mouth dropped open and stayed there. Bingo. Dang it. “Rick,” I said. There was a complete lack of emotion in my voice, but I might as well have cursed from the way the Kid flinched. Rick worked for PsyLED now, Homeland Security’s Psychometry Law Enforcement Division, investigating supernatural crimes. He was my ex and I wasn’t happy about the way we’d ended things—with me accusing him of attempted murder. Of me. Relationships aren’t my strong suit.

I kept the pain off my face by some small miracle and pushed away from the table, standing, towering over them. I felt more than saw Eli tense and ready himself for movement, violent, physical movement. Alex watched us both, eyes darting back and forth. Neither brother moved overtly. Neither said anything. But Eli’s pheromones changed, smelling and tasting bitter and full of adrenaline, a taste like pine tar and burned bread.

My index finger started tapping on the edge of my plate with a steady tink. Eli’s lips came together in a slight purse and his stink lessened. He crossed his arms over his chest, as if he were holding in something. I wondered if he knew how much he was giving away. And I wondered how much I was giving away. I curled my fingers under, and the silence that settled between us was charged and prickly. I realized that I didn’t want them to leave—I actually liked having them here, in my house, in my life, which was a huge, unexpected shock—but no way was I going to say any of that. Not if they were going to leave.

I sighed and gathered my gear. “You want to work for him, fine.” I left the kitchen for my bedroom, my boots clomping on the hardwood floors.

“Yellowrock,” Eli called. I stopped in the foyer, waited without answering, knowing he knew I could hear. “You get the gig, we’ll find a way to take it. You don’t get the gig, we’ll find something else the three of us can do together.”

I was glad my back was turned, because a smile busted out all over my face, showing me how much I had come to depend on the guys being in my life. They were like . . . Crap. They were like family or something. Which was freaking stupid.

“And we don’t give a rat’s ass that you’re a skinwalker,” the Kid added. I heard the slap on the back of his head, and my smile went even wider. He’d braved a head slap to reassure me in that gutsy, bigmouthed way teenaged boys have. “As long as you don’t shift and get hungry enough to think about us as dinner. ’Cause, like, that would, like, totally suck.”

I laughed silently and said over my shoulder, “I promise not to have you or your brother for dinner or a snack. That good enough?”

“Yeah. Cool.” I started for my room, and he added, “But I want to see you shift into the mountain lion.” And I heard another head slap, as though the Kid had just crossed an additional line by asking, perhaps one his brother had ordered him not to cross.

The Kid seeing me shift would mean my being mostly naked in front of him. Not gonna happen. I said, “No,” and closed my door. I had packing to do. My phone reggae’d again and I pulled it from my jacket pocket. “That was fast,” I said to Reach as I pulled my vamp-fighting gear out of the closet.

“Your new boss agrees, but there’s two more things you should know before you take the job. Hieronymus and Leo haven’t kissed and made up. Leo Pellissier will not be happy if you go to work for a scion he’s unhappy with.”

“Icing on the cake as far as I’m concerned. Ticking off the MOC has become one of my favorite personal pastimes.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t get so pissed that he kills you for it.”

“Awww. I’d think that was sweet concern for me if I didn’t know you better. You’d miss out on the finder’s fee if I were dead.”

“Like I said. Smart women are hot.”

“What’s the second thing I need to know?”

“You have an appointment with a reporter-turned–book writer in Natchez at four this afternoon. She’s writing a book about vamps.”

I chuckled sourly and picked up my combat boots and a pair of green snakeskin Lucchese boots. I tossed them onto the bed. “No, I don’t.”

“Stop being contrary. You know this chick. You were good friends. BFFs. Her name is Camilla Hopkins. You were raised with her in that high-class joint the state stuck you in.”

I hesitated, thinking through all the names of all the girls I’d roomed with in my years in the Christian children’s home. There were a lot of them. Most of the girls were there only a short time before going home to distant family or entering the foster-care system. Or jail. Juvie was where the troublemakers went. I’d almost ended up there myself a time or two. But I didn’t remember a Camilla.

As if reading my mind, Reach said, “Camilla is her professional on-air name at Torch News. In the home, she went by Misha.”

The name clicked and my lips turned down in distaste. “She was never my pal. More like a neutral observer.” Misha had never directly attacked me at school, but she never did anything to stop what the other girls did, either. Until I learned to fight, my life had been fairly awful, and no one had helped to make it better—not Misha, not anyone.

“A little verbal and physical abuse is good for the soul,” Reach said.

“I’m not talking to the press. No matter who it is.”

“She said to tell you she was bringing Bobby.”

I went still. Bobby. I hadn’t thought about him years. Bobby Bates had been a special kid a couple years younger than me, with an IQ of 74—too smart to qualify for federal help. Like me, he’d fallen between the cracks and only the charity of Christians had given him a place to live. Bobby had been picked on at school, and I had protected him when I lived there. I had gone back a few times in the years until he turned eighteen, making sure he was left alone by the kids who might otherwise have made his life miserable. Then he’d gone to live with an aunt or his grandma or something and I never saw him again.

“Why does she have Bobby with her?”

“She didn’t say. If you want to know, regular rates apply.”

I shook my head and checked the time. “No, thanks. How did she know I’d be in Natchez?”

“She didn’t. She called me for an intro to the Louisiana and Mississippi vamps for her research, and your name came up.”

That made sense. Anyone doing research into vamps would contact Reach. And that same anyone would hear about me sooner or later.

“She could have e-mailed me for an intro to them,” I said.

“She tried. No reply. Which is a sloppy way of doing business,” he said.

His statement stung, but he had a point. I couldn’t remember the last time I checked my business e-mail. Weeks probably.

“Camilla Hopkins is already in Natchez,” he said, “staying at the Grand. I told her you’d be taking a gig there and she wants to renew old acquaintances.”

I had no doubt Misha had paid him to arrange a meeting. Besides having compiled the largest vamp database, Reach was also a master planner and manipulator, merging multiple job opportunities and always managing to make money. “Where do I meet her?”

“I’ll text you all the details. Oh, and check your frigging e-mail.” The connection ended. In disgust, I tossed the phone on the mattress and started packing in earnest. If I was going vamp hunting, I’d need all my toys.

Hope you enjoyed.
Blood Trade is out on Ap 2, 2013.


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Sneak peek of InHap*pilly Ever After…Sequel to Incidental Happenstance

Thank You to Kim DeSalvo for a bit to tide us over until the release of InHap*Pilly Ever After the sequal to Incidental Happenstance! I for one am anxiously awaiting it’s release.

Incidental HappenstanceIncidental: Occurring or likely to occur as an unpredictable or minor accompaniment* Happenstance: A chance circumstance * Neither was looking for it. Neither was expecting it. But sometimes, life has other plans… One year after the loss of her fiancé, Tia Hastings needed to find a way to start over. She had to figure out how to be single again, but she had no idea how to do it. Last Stop was a tiny pub with no significance—she chose it to be anonymous, to watch the interactions between the sexes so she could figure out how to start her life over… Dylan Miller was a megastar. It was impossible for him to move amongst the general population without being recognized, but he longed to simply blend into a crowd. He donned a disguise and wandered into Last Stop, a dark little hole-in-the-wall where he was sure he wouldn’t be recognized… When their worlds collide, Tia and Dylan discover something neither of them thought possible—love. But when a fallen star sees Dylan as her ticket back to the top and will stop at nothing to make him hers, Tia wonders if she’s out of her; and out of time to rescue the love she thought she’d never find again… Is it fate? Coincidence? Or both?

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Sneak peek of InHap*pilly Ever After…

Chapter 1
“Oh my God, are you real?” Tia asked breathlessly as the limo pulled out of the school parking lot. “Am I dreaming?”
“No baby, not a dream,” Dylan answered, shaking his head and taking her into his arms. “Although I’ve dreamed about having you right here again at least a thousand times.” He pulled her into his lap so that she was facing him and straddling his legs. She raised her hands to touch his face; his beautiful, glorious face, and he took them into his own hands, kissing her palms in turn before returning them to his cheeks.
“You never broke up with me?”
“Not even for a second.”
“The email was fake?”
“The pictures in the tabloids were forgeries?”
“Every single one of them.” Dylan smiled at her then; the smile she loved that crinkled the corners of his eyes; the one he gave only to her that reached all the way to his eyes and melted her heart.
Every cell in her body was singing even as her head reeled with all the information she was trying to digest. Just being able to touch him again, when she thought she’d never even be able to get close enough to clearly see his face, was like a miracle to her. She’d pretty much given up hope that she’d ever be in his arms again, or hear his voice, touched with his English accent, speaking her name. Emotion bubbled up inside her and she giggled with a sense of what she could only call great relief; while tears of joy spilled down her cheeks.
“I can’t even believe this!” she grinned, showering his face with dozens of tiny kisses and running her fingers through his long blonde hair. “You’re really here! Oh God, Dylan, you can’t imagine how much I missed you, how much I love you…”
“Oh, I know,” Dylan said, wiping away her tears with the rough pad of his thumb, “because I feel exactly the same way.” He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her as tightly as he could and burying his face in her hair. “Ah, I love you so much, Tia,” he whispered. “Thinking I lost you was the worst kind of hell. I’m so sorry…”
Tia pulled back and looked hard into his eyes. “Don’t you apologize—you were going through the same thing I was. You didn’t do anything wrong, Dylan.”
He sighed deeply, his features contorting. He squinted and cocked his head, and she could read the pain in his eyes. “Yes I did, Tia.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he placed his index finger over her lips. “Just let me say this, because I need to for my own peace of mind.” He took her face in his hands and held her gaze. “I doubted you, love, and I never should have done that for even a second. I knew there was something off about that fucking email—I just knew in my gut that it wasn’t you—could never have been you—but I fell for it anyway. Then I doubted Jessa’s loyalty, and sent her packing without even giving her a chance to defend herself. Two of the most important people in my life—two people that I trusted without fail, and she managed to break it all apart. I let that bitch get into my head, Tia, and I can’t stop kicking myself for that.”
“Oh, sweetie,” she said softly, stroking his face with the back of her hand, “I fell for it too. I believed it, even though Lexi said it reeked of Penelope and couldn’t have been you that wrote it…”
“Yeah, and then you had the added complication of seeing those bloody pictures in the tabloids,” he growled. “I don’t know if I can forgive myself for not protecting you from that. I should’ve been more diligent, I should’ve…”
“How could you know?” Tia interrupted. “Who would even consider that another person could do something so…heartless?”
“But I knew what she was after from the start,” he chastised himself. “I tried to tell myself she was working hard to be nice—trying to change—but I should have seen through her bullshit from the beginning. Why did I even trust her for a minute?” He dropped his eyes and shook his head sadly.
“Because you’re a good person, Dylan,” Tia said firmly, putting her finger under his chin and forcing him to meet her gaze. “You want to believe the best about people; look for the good in them. She knew that, and she used it to her advantage.” She put her hands firmly on his shoulders and added, “But she didn’t win, baby. We won. We’re together, and none of the rest of it matters now.”
Dylan ran his fingers roughly through his wavy locks and forced a smile. “You are so right,” he said with a sideways smirk. “And I absolutely refuse to let her into our reunion; which is long overdue. God knows we’ll be rehashing the damn story…over and over next week, for sure. But today should be about us. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined holding you over the past four months; and I promise that I’ll never let that kind of distance come between us ever again. It’s you and me against the world now, Tia. Officially and forever.”
“I really like the sound of that,” she whispered. “Officially and forever. And you’re right—I don’t even care about the rest of it right now—I just want to celebrate being together again. I don’t even want to think about anything else.”
She happily swept the thoughts from her mind—the lonely months of missing him desperately, the weeks of believing that he’d abandoned her for a spoiled Hollywood diva who’d made it her personal mission to destroy their relationship so she could take Dylan for herself, the lies and half-truths she’d been forced to tell—and traced his features with her fingers. God, she’d missed his face—his strong nose, his high cheekbones, his skin the color of sun-kissed sand. He hadn’t cut his hair since she’d seen him last, and it cascaded over his shoulders, casually unkempt, in soft waves. His impossibly blue sapphire eyes looked at her with such reverence that it made her stomach roll over in a delicious wave. “I’m so glad you’re back, Dyl,” she breathed, taking in his lidded glance; sparks of fire tossed carelessly into inexplicable blue. “And how can I possibly think of anything else when you’re looking at me like that?”
He shifted, laying Tia against the long seat and pressing his body to hers, crushing her mouth with his soft full lips. Tia lost herself in the connection; in the intimacy of the moment; and all other thoughts flew from her mind. She inhaled sharply as he slid his hand over her breast, cupping it firmly and giving it a not-so-gentle squeeze. Tia squirmed closer, pressing her hips to his to feel the undeniable reality that swelled and hardened against her thigh.
“I can’t even tell you how badly I want you right now,” he growled into her ear, sending a long shiver down her spine. “It’s been way too long…”
“Oh, and I can’t wait for you to show me,” she whispered back, sliding her hand over to press it to his jeans, stroking him through the soft fabric and pulling another snarl from deep in his throat. There was no ‘slow and easy’ in his eyes or his touch, and at the moment, Tia didn’t want it any other way.
Finally, the limo pulled into her driveway and they all but tumbled out of the car. Tia fumbled for her keys as Dylan swept his bags from the driver’s hands. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door, finally managed to flip the lock, and then they were inside.
For the briefest moment they just stared at each other, the intensity of their combined gazes speaking what it would take hours for words to say. There were a tremendous number of tangled emotions in them both; relief, disbelief, apologies, forgiveness, joy. A rogue tear spilled down Tia’s cheek, and Dylan caught it with his fingertip, then pulled her to him.
“My baby,” he growled, his lips vibrating against her ear. He nipped at her earlobe and slid his tongue along the contour of her neck down to her shoulder, the slight stubble on his cheeks sending shivers along her nerve endings.
Tia’s entire body reacted immediately, and she felt the familiar volcano bubble up in her blood. Four long months of craving him raged inside her and Dylan caught her just as her knees went weak and pressed her against the door. She buried her face in his neck, planting frantic kisses and breathing in the scent of him—so familiar that it sparked a thousand memories.
Dylan hooked his thumbs in the shoulders of the jacket she’d worn that day and pushed it down, bunching it at her wrists and holding her fast. With his other hand, he tore open her blouse, buttons skittering across the wood floor, and bent to bury his face in the swell of her cleavage. He kissed and nibbled his way around the curve of each breast, then skimmed his lips over the fabric of her bra, nipping at her hardened bud through the lace.
“Ah!” she cried on a sharp intake of breath. “Oh Dyl, I’ve dreamed this so many times…”
Dylan’s response was a look that contained so much fire Tia thought she might actually burn. There was no tenderness there; just raw and primal hunger as he unhooked the front clasp with one quick motion and greedily sucked one hardened nipple into his mouth, rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. The sensation was pure ecstasy, and Tia arched her back as every nerve ending in her body pulsed with electricity, each streak of current connected to the spot directly between her legs that swelled and throbbed in anticipation. She felt a floodgate open, and pressed her hips into him insistently.
“No dream could feel this good,” Dylan snarled, moving his free hand to unbutton and slide her pants down in one swift motion to pool at her feet. She whined in the back of her throat as she stepped out of them and kicked them aside, trying to wriggle her arms loose. More than anything she wanted to touch him; to rip off his clothes and rake her fingernails down his naked back; run her hands roughly over his chest and release the bulge that pressed assertively against her hip through the soft denim of his faded jeans. She groaned in protest as he tightened the grip at her wrists, but then moaned with pleasure when he pinned her to the wall with his body, put his hand behind her neck, and kissed her with undeniable urgency.
Dylan took a small step back and ran his gaze slowly up and down her body, chewing seductively on his upper lip. Goosebumps popped up on her flesh despite the inferno that burned inside her, partly from the draft in the room, but mostly from the hunger in his eyes. She’d lost the power of speech and perhaps even the ability to form cohesive thought, so lost was she in the intensity of his stare. Her breath came in ragged gasps until Dylan finally settled his eyes on hers and took in her own longing.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, his voice rough.
“No,” she whispered, “I just want to touch you so badly.”
“Soon,” he croaked. “Very soon.”

…Chapter 1 continues Saturday on ‘Saturday Sequel Snippets…

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