tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11995061251919342702024-01-17T07:55:39.157-05:00Morbid RomanticBook review & giveaway blog.Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.comBlogger222125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-44690800332626343002017-09-14T08:00:00.000-04:002017-09-14T08:00:17.620-04:00Blog Tour: Joined by Mara Gan<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jiFzdXI18HYx1u2edV08zgh815xeO4gZ1iF3ie5zji9UEP87Pnlv6RLluzY1bGNDWf2x4HOvCnnp0UkSVRYEq_6-8jPm_EdzaNJTBgmEd4nQnku6blPcE8Dj8tqOIK3SLKAaH18wj78/s1600/Joined+book+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="853" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8jiFzdXI18HYx1u2edV08zgh815xeO4gZ1iF3ie5zji9UEP87Pnlv6RLluzY1bGNDWf2x4HOvCnnp0UkSVRYEq_6-8jPm_EdzaNJTBgmEd4nQnku6blPcE8Dj8tqOIK3SLKAaH18wj78/s320/Joined+book+cover.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b> Joined</b></span> </div>
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by Mara Gan </div>
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Genre: YA/NA Sci-fi Romance </div>
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Release Date: September 12th 2017 </div>
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Inkspell Publishing </div>
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<b>Summary: </b><br />
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Duty and prophecy get in the way of everything.All I ever wanted todo was read my books, play my sports, and help people. Life and prophecy had other things in mind. Helping people is what I do; asan empath and semi-frequent telepath, I can easily sense and understand people's needs and emotions. Sometimes even before they do. Being able to read everyone’s thoughts and feelings all the time can drive me crazy with anxiety, but that moment when I can finally make someone’s life better makes everything worth it. Unfortunately, I’m also the next in line to rule the galaxy, I’m the only diplomat most planets will listen to, assassins try to kill meonan annoyingly regular basis, and a much-vaunted Prophecy has decreed that I’m going to die. Oh, and someone blew up my home planet. Kind of a lot to deal with, right? Too bad I just got another problem: a big, irritating, overbearing bodyguard with serious anger management issues. And I think I’m falling for him. </div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35847631-joined?ac=1&from_search=true" target="_blank">Add to Goodreads</a></div>
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<b>About the Author:</b><br />
A Pacific North-westerner by birth and disposition, Mara has lived in Washington DC, Oregon, Japan, and most recently the beautiful Pacific Grove, California, before returning to her roots inSeattle. By day she teaches history to unsuspecting teenagers, and by night she writes books and travels to far-flung places. She loves to be with animals, read, play sports, and drink more London Fogs than is likely good for her. Connect with Mara on Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/maraganbooks">https://www.facebook.com/maraganbooks</a><br />
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Blog Tour Organized by:</div>
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<br />Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-58409568388178464012017-09-10T08:30:00.000-04:002017-09-10T08:30:22.639-04:00Virtual Book Tour & Guest Post: Dead Cold by Jennifer Chase<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Crime Thriller</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> July 2, 2017</div>
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<b>Publisher: </b>JEC Press</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35597956-dead-cold?ac=1&from_search=true" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/Promo%20Images/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div>
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Every Emily Stone Thriller is a stand-along novel.</div>
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From the multi-award winning series:</div>
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What happens when one California community has a disturbing spike in homicides? It catapults cops into a deadly game of murder. Frozen human body parts hideously displayed at the crime scenes offers a horrifying interpretation that only a sadistic serial killer could design—and execute.</div>
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On the hunt for a complex serial killer, vigilante detective Emily Stone must face her most daring case yet. Stone’s proven top-notch profiling skills and forensic expertise may not be enough this time.</div>
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Young and ambitious, Detective Danny Starr, catches the homicide cases and discovers that it will test everything he knows about police work and the criminal mind. Can he handle these escalating cases or will the police department have to call in reinforcements—the FBI.</div>
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Emily Stone’s covert team pushes with extreme urgency to unravel the grisly clues, while keeping their identities hidden from the police. With one last-ditch effort, Stone dangles someone she loves as bait to draw out the killer. She then forces the killer out of their comfort zone with her partner Rick Lopez, and with help from a longtime friend Jordan Smith. A revelation of the serial killer’s identity leaves the team with volatile emotions that could destroy them.</div>
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The killer continues to taunt and expertly manipulate the police, as well as Stone’s team, and as they run out of time—they leave behind everyone and everything—in Dead Cold.</div>
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Jennifer Chase is a multi award-winning author and consulting criminologist. She has authored eight crime fiction novels, including the multiple award-winning Emily Stone thriller series along with a screenwriting workbook.</div>
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Jennifer holds a Bachelor degree in police forensics and a Master's degree in criminology. These academic pursuits developed out of her curiosity about the criminal mind as well as from her own experience with a violent sociopath, providing Jennifer with deep personal investment in every story she tells. In addition, she holds certifications in serial crime and criminal profiling. She is an affiliate member of the International Association of Forensic Criminologists.</div>
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<a href="https://authorjenniferchase.com/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Website</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2780337.Jennifer_Chase" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Dead-Cold-Emily-Stone-Thriller-ebook/dp/B073PNM22F/ref=la_B002BODRVC_1_12?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1499295379&sr=1-12" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-71415020906993574952017-09-09T08:00:00.000-04:002017-09-09T08:00:17.110-04:00Virtual Book Tour: A Million Thoughts by Om Swami<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Non Fiction - Alternative Medicine -> Meditation</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b>November 16, 2016</div>
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<b>Publisher:</b> Black Lotus</div>
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<b>Each one of us is a master of infinite possibilities at a universal scale. Through meditation we experience our own magnificence, our true potential.</b></div>
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Drawing on his experience of thousands of hours of earnest and strenuous meditation, renowned sage Om Swami pens a guide to help channelize unruly, futile thoughts and turn them into productive energy.</div>
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A Million Thoughts shows how to meditate correctly, how to practice various styles of meditation and how to become proficient in the many yogic practices that will lead to the final stage of samadhi -- the ultimate spiritual self-fulfilment.</div>
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Brimming with firsthand experiences and references from ancient and classical texts, this brilliant book is most suited for the modern reader who wishes to master the art of meditation.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b><br />
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Om Swami is a monk who lives in a remote place in the Himalayan foothills. He has a bachelor degree in business and an MBA from Sydney, Australia. Swami served in executive roles in large corporations around the world. He founded and led a profitable software company with offices in San Francisco, New York, Toronto, London, Sydney and India.</div>
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Om Swami completely renounced his business interests to pursue a more spiritual life. He is the bestselling author of Kundalini: An Untold Story, A Fistful of Love and If Truth Be Told: A Monk’s Memoir.</div>
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His blog omswami.com is read by millions all over the world.</div>
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33282459-a-million-thoughts" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Goodreads</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Million-Thoughts-Meditation-Himalayan-Mystic/dp/8184959451" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-8701928449211654612017-09-01T08:00:00.000-04:002017-09-01T08:00:01.997-04:00Spotlight: Grannie Panties are Under Rated by Gayle Erickson<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-size: large; font-weight: bold;">Chick Lit/ Women’s Fiction </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published: </span></b>June 6, 2017</div>
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Elle Martin has it all.</div>
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Handsome and successful husband. Check.</div>
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Daughter and son attending exclusive private high school. Check.</div>
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Privilege, status, and wealth. Check, check, check.</div>
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But there is more to Elle’s story.</div>
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Already struggling to keep up appearances in a social set full of pretension and ultra-competitiveness, Elle’s façade of perfection is threatened when her husband makes an announcement that will force her to confront a dark past she has successfully hidden for years.</div>
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What will happen when long-buried secrets are unearthed and haunting new revelations are discovered? Will Elle find the happy ending she so desperately seeks?</div>
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Toggling between the early nineties and the present day, Grannie Panties Are UnderRated captures the Gen X experience from latchkey kid to helicopter parent with keen insight and precision. A page turner full of surprising twists, it is a must read for anyone who has struggled to reconcile the chasm between the person they once were, the person they have become, and the person they long to be.</div>
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<b>Praise for Grannie Panties Are Under Rated</b></div>
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<i>"...a highly entertaining and thought provoking book!"</i></div>
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<i>"Gayle Erickson is brilliantly gifted in telling this engaging, sometimes disturbing, yet compulsively addicting story of a woman in crisis due to the bonds of the guilt-filled lens of her past"</i></div>
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<i>"It is visually rich and culturally expansive,"</i></div>
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<i>"You will fall in love with each of these honest, imperfect characters and identify with their struggles, demons, and challenges. Exposing the raw truths we often try to mask..."</i></div>
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<i>"Loved this book, could not put it down"</i></div>
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<i>"A great retrospective of how we come to be who we are and where we are, often without intention or a road map. Like "Grannie's" characters, we all find moments of clarity or awareness, which give rise to change. All this and an accompanying playlist! A song for every chapter...what brilliant context!</i></div>
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<b>Spotify Playlist by Author to compliment the Novel:</b></div>
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Gayle Erickson is a Colorado native and graduate of The Colorado College. She lived in Tokyo, Japan and taught English for several years after graduation. Upon her return to the United States she worked in the non-profit sector. Gayle currently lives in suburban Denver with her husband, twin teen-age children, and two dogs. Grannie Panties Are Underrated is her debut novel.</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16984243.Gayle_Erickson" rel="noopener" target="_blank"> Goodreads</a></div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-67113411887824884302017-08-24T10:00:00.000-04:002017-08-24T10:00:06.669-04:00Book Tour & Guest Post: Wild by Sherry Rossman<div class="MsoNormal">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Christian Dystopian Fiction</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published</span></b>: June 2017</div>
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<b>Publisher</b>: Darwin House Press</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4455392.Sherry_Rossman" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/Promo%20Images/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div>
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<b>“Do you still love me as you did?” His arms come around me, pulling me against him, and I see it on the horizon before us—the world—what will it do to us?</b></div>
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After escaping Titus, Monet and Luke join the rebels living on the fringe. The Colony is a haven for the artists and God-seekers who survived The Chasm, but as Monet soon discovers, freedom across the boundaries is interwoven with darkness. The wounds from their city run deep, bringing Monet and Luke to question their bond. When a cataclysmic event threatens their existence, they must step into the unknown with an old enemy, and work together to survive.</div>
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I started writing after I realized putting my Back-Up Plan first was a bad idea. Advice for dreamers: go for your Dream first, but don’t make a Back-Up Plan, just be open to a bill-paying job that you like while pursuing your dream. And then, chase that dream with everything that’s in you.</div>
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I have short stories published in online publications such as, The Wordsmith Journal Magazine and The Relevant Christian Magazine. The Water Man earned a spot in Mythic Orbits 2016: Best Speculative Fiction by Christian Authors. I added that for those who want to know whether or not I’m a serious writer. I am. But what’s most important is that I love to bring readers stories that are more than just formulas. I offer you splattered canvases.</div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-81326722188564948662017-08-19T08:00:00.001-04:002017-08-19T08:00:17.959-04:00Week Blitz & Giveaway: Entombed by Ruth Parker<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Romantic Suspense</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> 8/17/17</div>
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<b>It’s hard being the daughter of a serial killer. Especially when your father has a lot of sick, twisted fans…</b></div>
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Camille West is the daughter of the infamous Body in the Barrel Killer, the maniac who entombed his victims in large steel barrels after days of torture. When she reluctantly returns to her hometown to take care of her ailing mother, there is a surprise waiting in her new house.</div>
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A barrel. A body. And a promise.</div>
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Camille has worked hard to forget her small hometown and the stain of her father’s crimes. But someone out there never forgot her…</div>
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If that wasn’t enough, her old flame Jake Musgrove is still in town, now working as a private investigator. His smirk and arrogance are a big part of why she fled her small town ten years ago.</div>
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Jake has screwed up pretty much everything in his life, but his biggest regret is how he let Camille walk away. Now that she’s back, he refuses to lose her again. He’s got to put it all on the line to protect her, but the killer is getting closer and he’s got to figure out who it is before Camille is entombed…</div>
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<b>This romantic suspense novel is a page-turning standalone with an HEA and no cliffhangers.</b></div>
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RUTH PARKER lives in Los Angeles, in a house covered in toddler handprints and cat hair. She has a crippling addiction to diagramless crossword puzzles, Forensic Files and John D. MacDonald novels. Send help. And pencils.</div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-48932958398978117782017-08-19T08:00:00.000-04:002017-08-19T08:00:06.640-04:00Spotlight: Dirty by R.L. Kenderson<div style="text-align: center;">
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He’s a player. She’s too smart to let him in her pants. Until a night of drunken sex has her kicking herself and vowing she’ll never let it happen again. Or will she? </div>
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After returning home due to her father’s illness, Elise Phillips reunites with her college friends, including Luke Long. Luke was a player back then, and Elise had always prided herself on not being another notch on his bedpost. </div>
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Luke is still gorgeous though, and he knows it. And he checks all her boxes—intelligent and sexy with muscles and a hard body. </div>
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Luke had always thought of Elise as the pretty girl that was friends with his roommate’s girlfriend, but now she’s all grown up. When their night of passion rocks Luke’s world he realizes he must have her again. </div>
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The two enter a friends-with-benefits relationship with the agreement that they’re just going to have fun. The only thing is, with mutual friends involved, they have to hide their indiscretion. </div>
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But what harm can come from a dirty little secret?</div>
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Dirty is the first contemporary romance from paranormal romance author R.L. Kenderson. If you like laughing out loud, sexy book boyfriends, playful couples, and dirty, dirty sex, then you’ll love this fun contemporary romance.</div>
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Get your copy of Dirty and start falling in love today!</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b></div>
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<a href="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction021/R.L.20Kenderson20photo_zpsg4doa1ho.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction021/R.L.20Kenderson20photo_zpsg4doa1ho.jpg" /></a><br />
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R.L. Kenderson is two best friends writing under one name. Renae has always loved reading and in third grade wrote her first poem where she learned she might have a knack for this writing thing. Lara remembers sneaking her grandmother’s Harlequin novels when she was probably too young to be reading them, and since then she knew she wanted to write her own.</div>
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When they met in college, they bonded over their love of reading and the TV show Charmed. What really spiced up their friendship was when Lara introduced Renae to romance novels. When they discovered their first vampire romance, they knew there would always be a special place in their hearts for paranormal romance. After being unable to find certain storylines and characteristics they wanted to read about in the hundreds of books they consumed, they decided to write their own.</div>
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They both live in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area where they’re a sonographer/stay-at-home mom/wife and pharmacist/mother by day and a sexy author by night. You can find them at <a href="http://www.rlkenderson.com/">http://www.rlkenderson.com</a>, Facebook, Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter, and Goodreads. Or you can email them at <a href="mailto:rlkenderson@rlkenderson.com">rlkenderson@rlkenderson.com</a>. They always love hearing from their readers.</div>
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<a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dirty-rl-kenderson/1126368023?ean=2940157281038" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/dirty-46" rel="noopener" target="_blank"> Kobo</a></div>
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<a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/dirty/id1234378184?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4" rel="noopener" target="_blank"> iBooks</a></div>
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<a class="rcptr" data-raflid="40826401666" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/40826401666/" id="rcwidget_jo7bnq1g" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><br />
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-58035636915131529922017-08-19T01:24:00.004-04:002017-08-19T01:24:51.989-04:00MOVED to a new home<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Morbid Romantic Reviews has moved!</b></span></div>
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<br />Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-63646880238146720552017-08-18T08:30:00.000-04:002017-08-18T08:30:00.854-04:00Promo Blitz: Shadows & Teeth, vol. 3 by Ramiro Perez de Pereda<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> June 15, 2017</div>
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<b>Publisher: </b>Darkwater Syndicate, Inc.</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35211400-shadows-and-teeth-volume-3?from_search=true" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/Promo%20Images/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div>
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Out of the shadows and meaner than ever, volume three of this award-winning horror series packs international star power. Featuring ten brand-new stories by the legendary Guy N. Smith, the prolific Adam Millard, master of horror Nicholas Paschall, and others, this collection is certain to keep you up at night. Take care as you reach into these dark places, for the things here bite, and you may withdraw a hand short of a few fingers.</div>
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My body crumpled forward, my forehead resting on the floorboards. I would have remained this way, if I had not been roused by a shout from behind me. Rosario roared and shook his head like an enraged bull, stamping his feet and frothing between gritted teeth. He clutched his temples and shook his head, and when he had gathered enough clarity of mind, he leveled a penetrating stare at the djinni and yelled, “Enough!”</div>
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All around Rosario, the peasant men stood frozen as though they were statues, eyes on the djinni. Clenching his jaw, he staggered forward a step, inadvertently brushing against one of the men. The man instantly spilled to his knees in supplication, droning, “I adore thee, oh my lord!” in such rapid succession that the words were hardly perceptible.</div>
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Scowling with rage at this irreverence, Rosario let fly an uppercut swing with his hook. The metal flashed in the dim candlelight and caught the man in the crook of his lower mandible. The man did not so much as scream, so overawed was he by the djinni.</div>
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Rosario raised his arm aloft, lifting the man fully erect, looking like a fisherman with a prize catch. Then he tore his dagger out of his belt with his opposite hand and plunged it into the side of the man’s neck between the skull and the shoulders. The skin at the peasant’s neck pulled apart, opening his throat as though his shoulders were yawning wide, until at last the weight of his collapsing body snapped his head off his neck. The body slumped to its knees and spilled headlong, gushing blood in spurts from its severed arteries.</div>
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Something like a sigh came from the djinni. Then it said, “Man is a foolish child who calls many things gods. Man knows not the gods.”</div>
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Its skin seemed to dull, losing some of the magnificent radiance it exuded, and I found that I was no longer overawed in its presence. Rosario helped me to my feet and together we addressed the djinni. The remaining three peasants all were unconscious, seemingly asleep on the floor.</div>
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“In the name of the most high, I command you to speak your name, djinni!” I yelled, thinking it could be cowed in the same manner as a demon might.</div>
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The djinni’s eyes widened. If it had eyebrows, they would surely have bobbed at my effrontery. Its eyes narrowed into angry slits that contained all the deadly chill of a winter snowstorm. “Hadst thou instead come to visit me, I would have attended thee in the manner befitting of a guest. I would have filled thy mouth with rotten pus until thy belly were full. Thou wouldst have told me a great many wondrous things of thy life, and I, having learned such, would have sent thee home with an anus so full of scorpions the trail of blood behind thee would stretch for miles.”</div>
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The images each word represented, along with the concepts and sensations those phrases conveyed, flashed in my mind as the djinni spoke. They are as vivid now as then—by God, I still taste the pus! These images are always in the forefront of my mind, constantly playing out before my eyes, and it is hard to focus on anything else except through purposeful concentration.</div>
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“Wherefore hast thou brought me here?” it asked.</div>
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Seeing how my last attempt at communication had failed, I bowed my head and spoke in lowered tones. “Djinni, we have called you to ask a favor.”</div>
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“Indeed,” it cut me short, “it is always so when mortals call upon the djinn. Impudent humans! What boon seeketh ye? Be it pleasure? I shall show ye such pain that the greatest pleasure would be anticipating its end! I ask again: wherefore disturbest me thou?”</div>
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It was then I explained we sought to spare your daughter from the ailment that would surely take her, and requested the djinni’s succor.</div>
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The djinni sighed, if otherworldly beings can be said to sigh. “Alas, thy mortality is a concept thy limited intellect can only dimly grasp.” It looked down at the floor as it considered this, then raised its gaze to make eye contact with me. “What wouldst thou have me do? The child is already dead.”</div>
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An image of her flashed in my mind’s eye. I was there, in the room with Bernadette as she languished in her bed, delirious with fever. The eyes I saw her with were not my physical eyes, as they saw more than human eyes could ever hope to detect. Bernadette’s body was like a red-hot fireplace poker, glowing orange from her core. The glow collapsed on itself, giving way to lifeless, cold black, shriveling into her center like a bonfire shrunk to embers. I knew she was dead when the light faltered and snuffed out, leaving nothing but a dreadful stillness in its passing.</div>
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Brother, do not think for a moment that so terse an account of your daughter’s death should mean I was hard-hearted about the matter. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was my niece, and—by God!—my only living relative; that is, save for you of course, if ever you should return to read this.</div>
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Her passing crushed me. It opened wounds in me, wounds that weep much as my eyes might weep. And while time has dried my tears, it has done nothing to soothe the ache of missing her.</div>
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I was flashed back to my study with the djinni standing before me. The realization that Bernadette was dead weighted my body; I crumpled to my knees and collapsed to all fours.</div>
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All of this, for naught! Frustration churned the searing bile in my stomach. “You must be able to do something,” I pleaded.</div>
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The djinni cocked its head to one side. “Thou hast misunderstood. I can do a great many things.”</div>
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“You could not save her!”</div>
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“Thou didst not ask.”</div>
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My mouth went dry on realizing it was right—I had not asked it to save her from the disease. “Save her!” I blurted, figuring this was as good a time to ask as any.</div>
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“I cannot. She has died.”</div>
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I plunged my fingers into my hair and clawed at my scalp. “Quit speaking in circles!”</div>
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“I speak as plainly as I can. Ye men possess little aptitude for understanding.”</div>
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“If you cannot save her, then…” I stammered. At the time, I did not know why I had broken off; I was only aware that I had stopped mid-sentence. I had found that strange, especially since I had already deliberated on what it was I wanted to say before saying it. In retrospect, I think I know what halted my tongue—some combination of my conscience and divine intervention giving me one last chance before I could commit a heinous sin.</div>
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“Then… bring her back,” I finished my sentence.</div>
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I blinked, and then again, looking upon the djinni in mute shock as its words sunk into my mind. Was Bernadette alive? When had she been brought back—when I asked, or sometime prior? Had she even died? It was not lost on me that the djinni could be lying, but before I could ask any questions, it said, “Thy niece lies upon her deathbed. Lay her body down in this circle before moonrise tomorrow night, and thou shall have what thou seeketh.”</div>
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A thought occurred to me then that I wanted to give voice to, but I stopped myself. To even reflect upon it sent shivers down my spine. What might the djinni want of me in exchange?</div>
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As if it had sensed my thoughts, the djinni said, “Thou wonderest what thou must offer to uphold the bargain. Rest assured, human, thy debt is paid in advance.”</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b></div>
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<a href="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction115/R%20Perez_zps2wa7news.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction115/R%20Perez_zps2wa7news.jpg" /></a><br />
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Our award-winning horror series brings together the very best in international horror. Volume three features the UK’s legendary Guy N. Smith, the prolific Adam Millard, and master of horror Nicholas Paschall, among other established names in the genre.</div>
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<b>Bio For Series Editor, Ramiro Perez: </b></div>
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Born in Cuba in 1941, Ramiro Perez de Pereda has seen it all. Growing up in a time when then-democratic Cuba was experiencing unprecedented foreign investment, he was exposed to the U.S. pop culture items of the day. Among them: pulp fiction magazines, which young Ramiro avidly read and collected. Far and away, his favorites were the Conan the Barbarian stories by Robert E. Howard. Ramiro, now retired from the corporate life, is a grandfather of five. He devotes himself to his family, his writing, and the occasional pen-and-ink sketch. He writes poetry and short fiction under the name R. Perez de Pereda. He serves Darkwater Syndicate as its Head Acquisitions Editor—he heads the department, he does not collect heads, which is a point he has grown quite fond of making. Indeed, it’s one reason he likes his job so much.</div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-60192882635980663922017-08-17T09:30:00.000-04:002017-08-17T09:30:17.120-04:00Promo Blitz: Slasher Sam by Simon Petersen<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Horror</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> March 31, 2017</div>
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<b>Publisher:</b> Darkwater Syndicate, Inc.</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34207965-slasher-sam?ac=1&from_search=true" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/Promo%20Images/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div>
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Beware: this book is not for the faint of heart, the weak of stomach, or the soft of bowels. In these pages are the blog entries of one of the most depraved serial killers of the 21st century—Slasher Sam.</div>
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Taking inspiration from several generations of horror films, Sam guts countless victims in creative ways, and posts these exploits to SlasherSam.com for the world to see, putting readers so close to the action that they’re practically in the splash zone when the blood goes flying.</div>
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And is there ever blood—Sam’s a savvy killer, too well-versed in horror film lore to make rookie mistakes, which is why the kill count scores well into the double digits.</div>
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Visit www.SlasherSam.com if you dare, just remember: in cyberspace, everyone can hear you scream...</div>
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A snap of a twig, a rustle of leaves, her head spins around in fright.</div>
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“Who’s there?” she says. “Randy, is that you?”</div>
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Silly girl. She’s just signed her own death warrant—as if she hadn’t already when I caught her and her boyfriend smoking weed a few moments ago. I’ve been stalking these two for about half an hour, and now he’s gone off to piss somewhere and she’s about to be offed in the opening scene.</div>
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To be fair, she’s exactly the sort of girl you hate to see get killed off so early in a slasher movie. Long blonde hair pours out of a red beanie, framing a face so pretty it could sell moisturiser. A tight white puffer jacket hugs her fantastic figure, and skinny jeans accentuate her long legs and ample ass.</div>
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I think I’m in love. But rules are rules. I don’t make them; I just enforce them, and she’s going to die tonight.</div>
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“It’s not funny anymore, Randy. I mean it. Quit clowning around and get back here right now. I’m really scared.”</div>
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I fight the urge to call back, “You should be.” Instead, the rustle of the bush is her only answer as I move out from my hiding place behind a large evergreen and walk back to the well-worn hiking trail where she’s standing, flaring her flashlight in all directions for any sign of her loser boyfriend.</div>
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When she sees me, her eyes grow so wide that it’s comical. Rendered immobile by fright, we both just stand and look at each other for a moment or two—her on the verge of a nervous breakdown, me on the verge of killing her. The tension between us is so thick that you could cut it with my machete. I try. What I cut instead is her head open.</div>
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It’s like one of Thomas Savini’s finest special effects, but, oddly, less messy. Blood and brain matter abound, of course, but it’s really more like piercing a coconut than splitting an overripe melon. Either way, the blade makes a satisfyingly heavy thunk sound as it punctures the cerebrum, ensuring that she’ll never get to learn French, read another book, or do anything ever again.</div>
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When I pull the machete out of her skull, she plummets like the quality of the Friday the 13th film franchise after Part VII: The New Blood. But I don’t have time to dwell on the disappointing Jason Takes Manhattan or the frankly unwatchable Jason Goes to Hell right now; I shouldn’t have even brought them up, because I’ve got a boyfriend to kill. He’s not my boyfriend, asshole. I mean the boyfriend of the girl I just killed. He’ll be back here at any moment.</div>
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Propping the girl up against a nearby tree, I pull the hood of her coat up over her bloody beanie and the gaping wound in her head. Even in death, she’s lovely. Now it looks like she’s just having a wee rest. Well, if you’re stoned or stupid anyway.</div>
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Fortunately, the boyfriend is a potent mixture of both. I hear him tearing through the jungle and spouting inane babble and sexual innuendo long before I see him from my hiding place in the black forest, opposite the sleeping dead girl.</div>
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“Hey babe, I just saw a really big snake,” he says while he’s still out of view. “Oh wait, it was only my penis. False alarm.” He laughs at his own lame joke. “I’m really horny. We should fuck again, if you’re interested. Seriously, you don’t have a choice, let’s do it.”</div>
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Wait, didn’t she call this guy Randy a minute ago? That’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think? It’s like a guy called Bob who can’t swim well, a dick called Richard, or if the parents of that blowhard politician who wants to build a wall to keep the Mexicans out and likes wearing a bad toupee had christened him ‘Racist Asshole’.</div>
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When I finally get a visual on this walking-talking meat puppet, he’s strutting up the track like a man relieved. Dressed in a black puffer jacket and a trucker cap—in spite of the fact that it’s the middle of the Goddamn night—he proudly wears a shit-eating grin through a stubbly beard like he won it in a contest. I just can’t wait to end him.</div>
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“You sleeping babe?” he says, bending over the resting corpse of his dead girlfriend. “Come on, rise and shine sleepyhead. I’m horny.” When she doesn’t reply, he shakes her. “Come on babe, I’m not kidding around. You need to wake up right now.”</div>
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Frustrated, he gives her a short, sharp shove and she flops over.</div>
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Impatience vanishes and terror takes control now. Whimpering like a sad puppy whose owners have abandoned it next to a busy highway, he slowly peels back her hood to see exactly the sort of damage that a sharp machete will render to a person’s forehead. He lets out a prodigious scream that’ll continue to ring in my ears a number of hours later, and then flurries around in fright when he feels a soft tap on his shoulder.</div>
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It’s me, lumbering behind him in my very best Jason Voorhees impression.</div>
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Shock, horror and frank disbelief are plastered all over Randy’s terrified face; for all intents and purposes he is face to face right now with the hockey mask-wearing psycho from the Friday the 13th series. What do you do in that situation? What do you even say?</div>
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“What the actual fu—”</div>
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But I guess we’ll never know his final words, because I cut him off mid-sentence with a swing of my machete and punt his head away like a soccer ball.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b></div>
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<a href="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction113/S%20Petersen_zpsa8uwhpci.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction113/S%20Petersen_zpsa8uwhpci.jpg" /></a><br />
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Simon Petersen is an experienced journalist and popular blogger from Auckland, New Zealand. By day he writes about craft beer, world travel, and professional sport; by night he dreams up horror movie scenarios that’d scare the striped sweater off Freddy Krueger. Visit him at <a href="http://www.slashersam.com/">www.SlasherSam.com</a>.</div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-58229779732836553202017-08-17T08:00:00.000-04:002017-08-17T15:01:38.833-04:00Amazon Review Tour & Excerpt: Breathe In by Michelle Bellon<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBEjjcNc1wbmqDz2nCzQx0wVVZHFxiBaRDDzRlgotp36qjJ4JsaqS2cs3srd6oYwVjjWxVHQ5xE8RjL_S3HvsEMUS6SKo0DNk4Btg0c7P0ZBX-K2Zo44hFeOOoxHQi_aQeG96HmtJOTAh/s1600/amazon+review+tour_breathe+in.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="851" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoBEjjcNc1wbmqDz2nCzQx0wVVZHFxiBaRDDzRlgotp36qjJ4JsaqS2cs3srd6oYwVjjWxVHQ5xE8RjL_S3HvsEMUS6SKo0DNk4Btg0c7P0ZBX-K2Zo44hFeOOoxHQi_aQeG96HmtJOTAh/s400/amazon+review+tour_breathe+in.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Title: Breathe In</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Author: Michelle Bellon</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Genre: Thriller/Suspense</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Published: June 27, 2017</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Publisher: Limitless Publishing</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>“If you like dark thrillers THIS book is right up your alley! If you've never read a Michelle Bellon book-this one is, seriously, her best book yet! I have loved them all, but this one ..WOW!”</i> - 5 Star Amazon Review</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>“I couldn't set it down!!”</i> - 5 Star Amazon review</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Breathe in, breathe out. This mantra gets Tessa Benson through the day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The man she loves walks all over her, and she just wants to get by without her heart shattering to pieces. If she could find her voice, she’d scream.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Everything changes in one night, when she’s snatched from the streets and tied to a bed, a camera set up to capture her dying moment. And the person who paid to watch her die...is still out there somewhere.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Tessa prowls dark neighborhoods in a quest for justice, but she doesn’t find the killer. Not until they strike again…in the place Tessa is least expecting, and where it hurts worst.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Warning. This book contains some major triggers. It contains violence, sexual assault, and scenes of PTSD. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Tessa has a complicated love life. The man she likes, Tom, wants nothing to do with her. The man who likes her, Gerald, she wants nothing to do with. To unwind from her troubled life, Tessa goes out with a friend. What started as a fun night ends up in violent despair. Tessa is taken by two men, kidnapped and held hostage in a lone cabin. They videotape the mental and physical torture she experiences. Sure that she will not make it out alive, Tessa fights back and escapes. Yet the pain of her experience lingers—she suffers from serious PTSD, often turning violent herself. Determined to find out who orchestrated the kidnapping, Tessa and a cop Tobin, whom she begins to develop feelings for, seek out answers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Breathe In is definitely not a novel for the faint of heart. Tessa endures things that take her to the very brink of a dangerous edge. It was hard to read what her kidnappers put it through. The process of her grief and anger was realistic and heartbreaking. The inner psychology of being the survivor of extreme abuse is well written and very emotional. It is hard not to feel for Tessa. And her anger? You don’t dislike her for what she does because you sympathize and understand her pain. The end came as a surprise, and the victory much needed. I can’t say she that her pain was assuaged, but the cathartic revenge at the end was enough to satisfy the need for resolution.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Blindly, I run across the lot. As I round the corner, I run smack into someone as they are coming the opposite direction. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Tessa? Are you okay?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I glance up through the stream of tears to see a blurry image of Gerald. “No, no. I just want to go home.” I push off his chest and stumble backward, then turn and flee the opposite direction without saying a word, ignoring Gerald’s plea of confusion as the distance between us widens. I pray he won’t follow. I just want to get away from this place. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I keep running until I’m at least a few blocks away. Winded, fatigued, and little sick to my stomach, I stop. I lean against the wall of a building, taking in sharp gasps of air, and look around. Thankfully, Gerald didn’t follow. Where am I? Terin. I left Terin back at the club. I can’t go back there. I’ll have to call her and let her know I’ve gone home. She’ll be fine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My phone? Where is my phone? It was in my handbag. I had my handbag when I left the club with Tom. Shit. It must be in his car. Fear, pain, shame, anger, guilt, all well up tight within my chest and rise until I feel as if I will go mad. I run my fingers through my hair and cry so hard I start to gag again. I want to puke. Get that man out of me. Get him out!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">“Can I help you? Are you okay?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Startled, I spin around. The man from the library is standing at the corner, maybe fifteen feet away. My crying wanes as muddled thoughts spin around in my mind, trying to make sense of it all. Why is he here? Did he follow me from the club? His brow is pinched with a look of concern. He takes a step forward. “Are you okay?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My knees and hands are trembling violently. “I’m…I’m fine.” I drag both hands across my face, swiping away the tears.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He takes another step forward. “Are you sure? You seem upset. Are you ill?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I take a step back. I don’t want any further interaction tonight. I’ve had more than enough. All I want to do is go home. And this guy…he seems friendly, but he freaks me out. “No, really. I’m fine. I’m just on my way home.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Another step forward. “Do you need a ride?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Another step back. Why won’t anyone listen to me? “No. I’m fi…”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Something is pulled over my head from behind. The world is dark and muffled. I scream. Hands go around my waist. My arms arc outward, side to side, hoping to hit anything in my path. What is happening? Fear, stark and white, drains the blood from my head to my toes. I’m dizzy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Voices bark out sharp orders but I’m flailing about and screaming so I can’t make out what they’re saying. Another set of hands grab my legs and pull them out from under me so now I’m being carried by two men…one by my waist and the other by my legs. I writhe and twist. I have to get out of this. I need to get away. What is happening? My breath plumes in and out in short, hot gasps inside the small bag over my head. Claustrophobia flares up. A stronger wave of panic follows. I’m…going…to pass…out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Michelle Bellon lives in the Pacific Northwest with her four quirky and beautiful children. She loves coffee, Superman, rollercoasters, and has an addiction to chapstick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She works as a registered nurse and in her spare time writes novels. As a multi-genre author, she has written in the categories of romance suspense, young adult, women’s fiction, and literary fiction. She has won four literary awards. You can visit Michelle’s website at <a href="http://www.michellebellonauthor.com/">http://www.michellebellonauthor.com/</a></span></div>
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<br />Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-18560409628876008612017-08-16T11:46:00.000-04:002017-08-16T11:46:07.713-04:00Book Blitz & Giveaway: Peculiar Country by Stuart R. West<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Peculiar County</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6894409.Stuart_R_West">Stuart R. West</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Genre: YA Paranormal/Ghost Mystery</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Release Date: July 30th 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Books We Love</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Growing up in Peculiar County, Kansas, is a mighty...well, peculiar experience. In 1965, things get even stranger for Dibby Caldwell, the mortician's </span>fifteen year old<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"> daughter. A young boy's ghost haunts Dibby into unearthing the circumstances of his death. </span></div>
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Nobody—living or dead—wants her to succeed. James, the new mop-topped, bad boy at school doesn’t help. Dibby can’t get him out of her head, even though she doesn’t trust him. No, sir, there's nothing much more peculiar than life in Peculiar County…except maybe death in Peculiar County.</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Buy Links: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Peculiar-County-Stuart-R-West-ebook/dp/B073Z949N6/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1502666235&sr=1-1&keywords=peculiar+county+by+stuart+west">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/peculiar-county-stuart-r-west/1126798349?ean=9781773625256">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/peculiar-country">Kobo</a> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I pushed through the doors. They swat at my backside, squeaking with mischief. <i>Eee-hee, eee-hee</i>…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Down in the workshop, the cold really packed a wallop. I rubbed my arms, stamped my feet. I rode my hand along the wall, searching for the light switch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Tik…tek…tik</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Fluorescent ceiling lamps sprung to life, duller, deader than usual. Instead of providing warm luminescence, they cast everything in an odd light, everything touched in artificial tints. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Immediately, the strong, familiar odor of ammonia enveloped me. But I couldn’t place the other smell, couldn’t describe it. If pressed, I suppose I’d catalog it somewhere between sweet and metallic. Sorta the way blood tastes when you prick your finger and suck on it. I’d never smelled anything like it before, not in Dad’s workshop or elsewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">An overriding smell rode in like fog. A strong, wrong odor that brought to mind mold and rot. A primal scent from a different time or place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Ching! Ding! Ting-a-ling!<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Impatient as a hungry baby, the bell-ringer called.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Click. </span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The walk-in refrigerator door handle swung up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Chumpf!</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The door released its seal and opened, just a few inches. A pale blue—hardly blue, more like moon-white—cone of light fell across the floor. A swirl of frost slivered out, twirled in the bare luminescence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Ding! Ding! Ching! Ting-a-ling-aling</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Cut off in mid-ring, the bell silenced. Everything hushed. No sound, not a peep, a tick, a drop. Just the silent shroud of death.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Slowly, I crept toward the refrigerator. Which didn’t make a lick of sense as I knew Hettie waited for me. There didn’t seem to be any real sense in maintaining silence either. But any noise—even my own—made me want to scream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Above me, the light flickered off, on, then sizzled like bacon before settling on dark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">My hand gripped the handle. Arctic cold, I wrenched my hand back. I flagged it ‘till the stabbing needles of cold left. With my shoulder, I nudged the door. It pushed open half-way, then stopped. I followed with a mighty mule kick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The door opened about as far as its hinges would allow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I took a deep breath, held it. When I exhaled, I spouted out a frozen, visible vapor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Hettie?” I whispered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I entered. To the left, the metal shelves on the wall were unoccupied. On the opposite side, all but one sat empty. A rumpled plastic cloth lay across the bottom shelf.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The eerie blue light had no visible source, but it provided ample light to see by. Maybe too much, considering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“Hettie?” I repeated a little louder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">In the back of the unit, where Dad housed his supplies, a hanging shower curtain billowed out. Plastic crinkled. Something moved, fluid behind the curtain’s rippling waves. Not exactly flesh-colored, not much of anything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">My heart urged me to turn back. Traitorous feet wouldn’t comply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">White snails of fingers crawled around the plastic and gripped it. Slowly, the curtain pulled back. Rusty rings on a rustier rod squealed <i>screeeeeee</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Hettie stood exposed, naked. Except for the black “X” stitching up her innards. Varicose veins twined her legs. Toes exploded into corns the size of thumbs. Her scrubbing pad of hair stood up on end, a static raised brush of black and white. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Clouds had moved into her eyes, milkier than when I’d found her, yet intently focused on me. She showed that awful cavernous smile again. Barnacle-like teeth jabbed out of her gums.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Her lower jaw wobbled, then dropped ajar. Not an involuntary movement caused by gas either, the way sometimes happened to corpses. She gasped, a hissing radiator. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">She took a doddering step toward me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Ding!</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">The bell tied to her toe tolled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Ding-a-ling!</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Each step forward took great effort. A kind of ghostly arthritis hampered her dead limbs, encased them in cement. When she moved, wood cracked. More wood splintered, her body falling apart. She raised an arm. Dark veins spiraled around it, swimming upstream with determination. They rode toward her sagging bosom, traveled north up her neck, snaked beneath her chin, and set up house on her face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-indent: 0.3in;">And </span>still<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-indent: 0.3in;"> she kept coming.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGrWxbhzS7KOZkiS0APShowdmVknza3imoslSRXsXyIY8I6qSGomI8X7wYIQoZZjmmqdjsAe9516f9wN52fGEY_uwGwxnX-fr_UPsxBamt2IOf82Bfx7a8WtklRBlaiCNRTkEvenVPatjb/s1600/Stuart+R+West-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGrWxbhzS7KOZkiS0APShowdmVknza3imoslSRXsXyIY8I6qSGomI8X7wYIQoZZjmmqdjsAe9516f9wN52fGEY_uwGwxnX-fr_UPsxBamt2IOf82Bfx7a8WtklRBlaiCNRTkEvenVPatjb/s200/Stuart+R+West-1.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>About the Author</b></span></div>
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<div id="m_-508219808820509735yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1501280239991_122649">
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span id="m_-508219808820509735yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1501280239991_122650">Stuart R. West is a lifelong resident of Kansas, which he considers both a</span> curse and a blessing. It's a curse because...well, it's Kansas. But it's great because…well, it’s Kansas. Lots of cool, strange and creepy things happen in the Midwest, and Stuart takes advantage of them in his wor<span id="m_-508219808820509735yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1501280239991_122651">k<b id="m_-508219808820509735yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1501280239991_122652">. </b>Call it “Kansas Noir.”</span> Stuart writes thrillers and mysteries usually tinged with humor, both for adult and young adult audiences.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Stuart spent 25 years in the corporate sector and now writes full time. He’s married to a professor of pharmacy (who greatly appreciates the fact he cooks dinner for her every night) and has a 25 year old daughter who’s dabbling in the nefarious world of banking.</span></div>
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<b>Author Links:</b><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://stuartrwest.blogspot.com/"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/YeHO3vX.png" style="border: none; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; max-width: 570px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" /></a> <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6894409.Stuart_R_West"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/91IntsX.png" style="border: none; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; max-width: 570px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" /></a> <a href="https://twitter.com/StuartRWest"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/Pvx2rba.png" style="border: none; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; max-width: 570px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" /></a> <a href="https://www.facebook.com/stuartrwestwriter"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/2cSKy3u.png" style="border: none; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; list-style: none; margin: 0px; max-width: 570px; outline: none; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;" /></a></span><span style="color: black; text-align: start;"> </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Peculiar-County-Stuart-R-West-ebook/dp/B073Z949N6/ref=la_B00B419X5C_1_1_twi_kin_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1501598740&sr=1-1"><img src="https://i.imgur.com/hLVw2VT.jpg" title="source: imgur.com" /></a></span><br />
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-27705297192198403002017-08-16T09:00:00.000-04:002017-08-16T09:00:17.464-04:00Promo Blitz: Holy by Abbie Krupnick<br />
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<a href="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promo-s/abbie-krupnick"><br />
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<img src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/HOLYBlitz_zpsd6cbw8fa.jpg" height="140" width="500" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction106/Flyer%20Holy%20-%20Front_zpswmcftsnk.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction106/Flyer%20Holy%20-%20Front_zpswmcftsnk.jpg" /></a><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Horror /contemporary dark fantasy</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> April 15, 2017</div>
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<b>Publisher:</b> Darkwater Syndicate, Inc.</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34207967-holy?ac=1&from_search=true" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/Promo%20Images/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div>
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Gus Stevens has the worst of both worlds. By night, he resides in the Dream World, a place steeped in magic and exotic dangers. By day, a giant snow-lizard stalks him in the Real World, looking to make Gus its next meal. In order to regain control of his life, young Gus must undergo a psychoanalytic exorcism. But this comes with a high price—he must break away from everything he has ever thought was real. Author Abbie Krupnick blends the magical and the mundane in this avant-garde dark fantasy where nothing is as it seems.</div>
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The high-pitched scream of a predatory bird echoed from the direction of the Valley. The eagle was approaching at break-neck speed, a maroon streak under the stars. Then it braked and circled lazily overhead a few times before alighting opposite Gus, talons gripping the edge. Gus heard the volcano groan, its anger filling him. The mountain shuddered, its sides growing warm. He slipped out of his cocoon of heat, felt naked without it in front of the bird.</div>
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“Hello,” the Magician said, examining him with green eyes. “Why don’t you come down and we’ll talk about things in the grove.”</div>
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Gus wondered how much he had overheard.</div>
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The mountain was heating up by the second. In a few minutes the smooth stone would scald his feet. A pale orange glow flashed briefly at the bottom of the vent, then colored to yellows and reds too fast, too soon.</div>
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“Whenever you’re ready,” Language whispered.</div>
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“Don’t listen to him, Gus,” the Magician said. So the Magician could hear, too. What an unsurprising comfort that was.</div>
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“Boy, in a few moments, I’m going to flood the whole World with molten rock. Make your choice quickly, because this is the only chance you’ll get.”</div>
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“Gus Stevens, you get down from the volcano this instant!” the Magician ordered sternly. Gus couldn’t help snickering at that.</div>
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“What are you going to choose, a lifetime of pain here, pretending you’re happy when you can’t even talk about your sham of happiness?”</div>
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“I’ll give you a nice, relaxed ride down to the grove. Your Mothers will make your favorite foods. I’ll even make Spear Mother take off her helmet for you.” The last offer disgusted him.</div>
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“Gus, he’s a monster.”</div>
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“This renegade spirit is crazy.”</div>
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“He’s whoring out Spear Mother.”</div>
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“I would do no such thing. I’m simply explaining to my son—”</div>
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“Boy, friend, vessel, host, house, my stronghold, listen to me: Which do you want? The misery this poor excuse for a Person offers you or freedom?”</div>
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<b>I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!</b></div>
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“Easy, Gus, easy,” the Magician murmured. Gus shot him a poisonous look, took several deep breaths while staring at the rising column of magma. A despairing question anchored him.</div>
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I’m going to suffer whether or not I’m free, right? he asked the rock illuminated like a burning mineshaft. The magma rose higher. The Dream World will go under and I’ll be the same?</div>
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The magma’s rise halted as Language stopped to think.</div>
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“Well,” it replied. “You’ll have me.”</div>
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<b>What difference will that make?</b></div>
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“Do you promise not to be angry if I tell you?”</div>
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Sure.</div>
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“The truth is, I don’t know,” it said, and the magma resumed its journey upwards. It had to be less than seventy feet away. Sixty-five. Sixty. It stopped again. “I don’t know what the Waking World is like except through what I’ve overheard you say.”</div>
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So how do you know you’re important there? You don’t even know if it exists.</div>
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“I don’t. But I trust Mathis. You do, too, don’t you?”</div>
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Dumbstruck, Gus replied, I guess.</div>
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“And he told you the mountain would explain everything?”</div>
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Yes. He didn’t tell me that the mountain was possessed by a crazy spirit calling itself Language incarnate.</div>
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“Exactly, Gus! Well done!” the Magician wheedled, “Don’t trust it. Trust ME. I’ll give you all the knowledge you’ve ever wanted from me if you return to the grove.”</div>
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The magma hadn’t started to rise again but its heat was baking his face.</div>
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Please, Language begged, now inside his head. Please.</div>
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You don’t care what happens to me. So what if I kill myself, right? You lose your chains. I’m still screwed.</div>
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I’ll be trapped in your soul again, but YOU will be free to use me. Which is how it should be.</div>
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Then you’re exchanging one prison for another.</div>
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If you were in my place, you’d be right, but the rules are different for me. Please, Gus. Let me go.</div>
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He had nothing to say to it.</div>
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Please, Gus. Please. PLEASE.</div>
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It was hysterical, its voice rising higher and higher with the magma. His ears were ringing again.</div>
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PLEASE. PLEASE. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. LET ME GO.</div>
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Its hysteria was getting to him. He couldn’t stop his own tears from leaking.</div>
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<b>Please, Gus. Please let me out. LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!</b></div>
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It was screaming bloody murder. He covered his ears as though this would muffle the sound inside his head. He was ready to smash the sound out of his skull on the vent but Language stopped him with a whimpering, Please.</div>
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“Please please please please please!” the Magician mocked, voice muffled. He kept chanting “please please please” as he cleaned his feathers. Gus tuned him out, waited until the bird had finished so he could see the hate on Gus’s face. Long-hidden vows to repay the suffering his mentor had caused him boiled to the surface. He chewed them all into a simple order to Language.</div>
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Abbie Krupnick lives in Summit, New Jersey. When she’s not writing, she trains Brazilian jiu-jitsu and makes explosive quantities of visual art.</div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-59920964760339908272017-08-16T08:00:00.000-04:002017-08-16T08:00:02.325-04:00Pre-Order Blitz & Giveaway: Rose De Muerte by Natalie Bennett<br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Title: Rose De Muerte</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Author: Natalie Bennett</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Genre: Dark Erotic Romance</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Release Date:</span> October 16, 2017</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Covers by: Covers by Combs</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>NOTE: ROSE DE MUERTE WILL NOT BE AVAILABLE ON BARNES & NOBLE, KOBO, OR ITUNES AFTER RELEASE</b></span></div>
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</b></span><a href="http://bit.ly/RoseAmz" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnVXEuMwJTSLXQ-CrgkGNwcZv8foYJjDiisreTkaARLMQdZtm4c9hZ4GVK8VpxTR_TmcUICt6gJhBtBc2iicJvVgc1KuRszObkCYsD7jKN04Cs-AuuYSe08IbmpikePi04JX4FRdwrbzWm/s1600/AMAZON.png" /></a><a href="http://bit.ly/RMBarnes" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAo2LP-tGG6k0FqWI350cLElaXX9DCfN_i7H3FFZw64wlM0uZ205Iqoy2NvkA-1PDKOJAHF9wS9N5nqO0cjX6kfPGKzMRol_Y522wnabH9cFm0BMVhR4Xzd_EeX4ilGulVthu-nCy8SLCg/s1600/barnes+and+noble.png" /></a><a href="http://bit.ly/RDMKobo" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4sjI5uzMAy_59Z1GZOuw8Dy8RWmUIfnu7evqjO9Q2GQRzvrf_P-SJSCTsIvLiDb-KMUZOdPmJlVhUgAoPpaeA4Tp0mJ_8dS1uvOjw05kawkYfewalFzRYOgKr0wt1TbGI54xNfQmtkLtM/s1600/kobo.png" /></a><a href="http://bit.ly/RoseIbooks" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRJap5dq9cmSowaDGDV2ZfHpUbUseJcuaYNtX3ggpXFpsQwHD16_0awELQ0rGqGD0PaeVRyjejrB4UrtOvPsmGVi2xfP6gxcQwSGAgx74VaZRPcWFnCKEby7nsJWf2mUctn6TcBXztA9eQ/s1600/itunes.png" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35713652-rose-de-muerte" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEGOWvVoOPqdYIrzE2m4fg9CslvQnzxTBkPIsoMis2QTLPyBlWWBFy1jNSzSGkAMmuwORaItDubPzCKOfNbiiqgrdJJLHujhNZTtDbFJNig_creTMQkdVjHfv1pCXsCP5gQQ7WMoLUh8b_/s1600/goodreads-button.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Roselynn ‘Rose' Morgue is in love. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That sounds good on the surface, but nothing about Rose’s life is ever simple. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The object of her affection is not only her stalker, he’s also supposed to be dead, and that little fact throws a wrench in her plan to reinvent herself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You see, Rose is far more twisted than anyone would ever believe, and will do whatever it takes to ensure no one ever finds out the truth about her past. But when a series of murders begin, Rose’s secrets rise to the surface, and one extremely pissed off secret can’t wait for her to get what she deserves. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><i>*Trigger Warning* </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Bad Sh*t happens. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><i>This book will not entice warm fuzzy feelings. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><i>(This book is a standalone prequel that sets the stage for Pernicious Red)</i></b></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Natalie Bennett is the creator of erotic stories that always come with a warning label. She writes about depraved alpha a**holes and women that love to hate them. Her books don't follow any specific tropes, have no set word counts, and tend to deviate from traditional HEA's.</span></div>
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When she isn't in front of her computer she's spending time with her husband and their three little boys.</div>
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Natalie is an avid fan of caramel frappes, horror movies, Shameless, and of course, reading.</div>
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You can find Natalie on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.</div>
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<br />Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-64241824402987341132017-08-15T12:49:00.000-04:002017-08-15T12:49:03.895-04:00Promo Tour: McKinley Mysteries, Family is Murder by McKinley Mysteries by Carolyn Arnold<h2 style="text-align: center;">
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<strong>Family Can Be Complicated</strong></h2>
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“<em>Family is Murder</em> offers food for thought with a thrill… An entertaining and fast read, making you want to read more.”<br />
<strong><em>–In a Small Compass</em></strong></div>
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Family can be a place of unconditional love and a safe haven from the rest of the world. On the flipside to that, it can violent, broken, or nonexistent. No matter where you are on the spectrum, family <em>is</em> complicated.</div>
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For Sara McKinley, she was given up for adoption as a baby. At least she struck it lucky with her loving adoptive family and a mother and father who might as well be blood. But still, she would love to meet her birth mother. It’s never been something she’s avidly pursued so as not to hurt the woman and man who raised her, though. But in <em>Family is Murder</em> things get complicated when a woman shows up claiming to be her birth mother.</div>
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Sara is eager to believe her, while her husband, Sean, is skeptical. After all, there’s a lot on the line. Not only his wife’s hurt feelings if this woman’s a liar, but the billions they’d inherited.</div>
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But when a dead body turns up soon after Sara’s supposed mother takes off without so much as a good-bye, Sean and Sara both start to question the truth. They could have very well welcomed a killer into their home…</div>
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Carolyn Arnold</div>
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<strong><u>Book Overview:</u></strong></div>
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<em>If only there were someone to clean up this mess…</em></div>
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Sean and Sara McKinley put out an ad for a maid, but they never expected Sara’s birth mother to apply—or at least that’s who the woman is claiming she is. While Sean is suspicious of her true identity and motive, Sara opens her heart to the woman. But when a dead body turns up soon after Sara’s supposed mother takes off without so much as a good-bye, they both start to question the truth.</div>
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Could they have welcomed a killer into their home and not even known it? </div>
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<strong>Available in e-book and paperback.</strong><a href="http://getbook.at/family-is-murder">Amazon</a> | <a href="http://www.anrdoezrs.net/links/7992314/type/dlg/http:/www.barnesandnoble.com/w/family-is-murder-carolyn-arnold/1119853370?ean=9781501489273">Barnes & Noble</a> | <a href="https://geo.itunes.apple.com/ca/book/family-is-murder/id892201195?mt=11&at=1001l5GE">Apple iBooks</a> | <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/Search/Query?fcmedia=Book&query=9781501489273">Kobo</a> | <u><a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=ATOhCwAAQBAJ">Google</a></u></div>
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For more retailer links visit: <a href="http://carolynarnold.net/family-is-murder">http://carolynarnold.net/family-is-murder</a>.</div>
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<strong><u>About the McKinley Mysteries:</u></strong></div>
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<strong>Romance. Humor. Murder. </strong>Are you looking for a murder mystery without all the graphic violence and foul language? Something that you can enjoy in an afternoon and walk away feeling good about afterward? How about a dash of humor and romance? If so, meet former detectives Sean and Sara McKinley. When a billionaire leaves them all his money, they no longer have to work, but they find themselves sticking to what they’re good at—solving murders. Undercover, off the books, and around the world, they’ll get to the bottom of things…and romance it up along the way.</div>
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This is the perfect book series for fans of <em>Hart to Hart</em>, <em>Castle</em>, <em>Colombo</em>, <em>Monk</em>, <em>Rockford Files</em>, <em>Psych</em>, and <em>Magnum PI</em>.</div>
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<strong><u>About the Author</u></strong></div>
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Carolyn Arnold is an international bestselling and award-winning author, as well as a speaker, teacher, and inspirational mentor. She has four continuing fiction series and has written nearly thirty books. Both her female detective and FBI profiler series have been praised by those in law enforcement as being accurate and entertaining, leading her to adopt the trademark, POLICE PROCEDURALS RESPECTED BY LAW ENFORCEMENT™.</div>
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Connect with CAROLYN ARNOLD Online:<br />
<a href="http://carolynarnold.net/">Website</a> | <a href="https://twitter.com/Carolyn_Arnold">Twitter</a> | <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AuthorCarolynArnold">Facebook</a></div>
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And don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter for up-to-date information on release and special offers at <a href="http://carolynarnold.net/newsletters">http://carolynarnold.net/newsletters</a>.Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-91952636828928482832017-08-15T10:00:00.000-04:002017-08-15T10:00:08.921-04:00Promo Blitz: The Man in the Forest by Michael Warriner<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Paranormal Horror</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Date Published: </b></span>May 31, 2017</div>
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<b>Publisher: </b>Darkwater Syndicate, Inc.</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/34883793-the-man-in-the-forest?ac=1&from_search=true" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/Promo%20Images/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div>
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Vincent, a musical prodigy, is caught up in a concert rivalry with a former student. He travels to Romania to settle the score, but what he discovers is the horrific true story behind the song his protégé wrote, “The Man in the Forest.” Supernatural phenomena and horrific sights abound, but the locals are tight-lipped about the mysterious goings-on. Can Vincent and his group upstage their rival, or will they fall prey to the curse of the man in the forest?</div>
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Behind him, in the hallway leading to the front door, he heard a light pattering of footsteps. He looked over his shoulder. The footsteps stopped, but he couldn’t see anyone in the doorway. Out of the corner of his eye he detected movement in the hall, but turned in time only to catch a shadow scurry away.</div>
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It had been a small shadow—a child perhaps? But what would children be doing so far out in the forest without their parents, and this late at night?</div>
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Vincent chased after the shadow, but when he got to the hall, nothing was there. Just then he heard something behind him. He quickly turned and caught a glimpse of what looked like the ventriloquist’s dummy—what was his name? Johnny Nelson—skipping to the stairs and out of sight. Vincent’s eyes grew wide.</div>
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Vincent ran through the living room to the stairs. He froze upon hearing a childlike laugh and looked up. The puppet stood at the balcony with its face in between the rails, leering at him. It looked exactly like the one in the painting.</div>
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First taking a breath to steady himself, Vincent climbed the stairs, the doll watching him all the while with tiny, creaking movements of its wooden eyes.</div>
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All at once the lights in the cabin went out, blanketing the house in shadow. He heard the pattering of small feet run down the second story hall. Vincent halted midway up the stairs and listened… nothing.</div>
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Then the lights blinked back on. Vincent ascended the rest of the stairs to the second story balcony. Johnny Nelson was gone without a trace.</div>
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Further down the hall, Vincent noticed the door to Mary’s bedroom was ajar. The lights inside her bedroom flickered as though the electrical wiring had gone bad. He went to the door and pushed it open.</div>
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It was dark when he stepped inside, the light mounted in the fan providing only sporadic bursts of light. He reached up and flicked the light bulb, and it steadied. As he lowered his gaze, he caught sight of Johnny Nelson in the reflection in the mirror atop the dresser. Before Vincent could even react, there was a muffled pop and crunching of glass. He dove to the floor as shards of the light bulb in the fan rained down around him. “Vince!” Mary shrieked. “Are you okay?”</div>
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He looked over his shoulder from the ground. Mary and Tyler stood in the doorway.</div>
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Vincent got to his feet, but didn’t answer right away. The mirror in the dresser was little more than an empty frame with a wood backing, its glass having burst all over the dresser’s surface and the floor. On the backing, in red letters that looked too much like blood for Vincent’s liking, was written: “Johnny Wants To Play!”</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b><br />
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Born and raised in Central Florida, Michael Warriner pursued an early interest in learning music and creating characters in hand-drawn comic books. He began his career working simultaneously in the mental health industry and as a character performer at his local theme park. It was while pursuing his degree in Psychology that he began writing stories “just to kill time.” Before long, he had written two manuscripts. This developing interest in telling stories was further driven by his fascination with amateur filmmaking. By day, Michael now applies his education and training to assist clients diagnosed with mental illness. By night, he writes novels, and in his free time he composes music. He draws upon these varied interests to create unique characters and thrust them into memorable stories.</div>
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<a href="http://www.darkwatersyndicate.com/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Website</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-man-in-the-forest-michael-warriner/1126248764?ean=9781946378057" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-89470853056290585262017-08-15T09:30:00.000-04:002017-08-15T09:30:04.073-04:00Promo Blitz: Sons of Twilight by Collette Jackson-Fink<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Romance, Fantasy</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> June 2017</div>
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<b>Publisher: </b>Outskirts Press</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35585399-sons-of-twilight?ac=1&from_search=true" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/Promo%20Images/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div>
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A mysterious black towering pyramid pushes its way up in the middle of the Midwestern city of Waterloo, IA, during an earthquake sending the city into chaos. It is the doorway to an underground world, the Garden of Eden where angels dwell. When a special tactical team is sent inside, one of its members Dane Coles is chosen to be among them, spinning his life and those around him into a vortex of twist and turns! Indulge in this hardcore fantasy!</div>
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'Sons of twilight', picks up where 'Daughters of Twilight' ends, throwing readers into a deeper complex story as Dane and Asia have been banished from the Garden of Eden to protect them and their twin sons from the evil that dwells there. Dane and his sons escape to the surface with the aid of Asia who is to follow, but not before suffering the wrath of the Ancient one; one of the oldest members of the Garden. He seeks to use the young lovers’ children for his own ends. When denied this, the Garden is thrown into chaos. Bands of angels ranging from war angels to peace keepers, elders to newborns; children of earth men and angels. Dane fights to keep himself and his sons alive while facing many challenges as he waits for his Asia to join him. He is not alone in his fight for survival as his team leader, Captain Ivan Steel and a host of other special team members fight to seal their place in the Garden along with their angel wives at their sides. A global darkness is coming and their new acquired skills are needed not only to protect themselves but the people on earth, globally, as they run interference in order to keep the peace among world warring factions.</div>
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<i>Other Books by Collette Jackson-Fink:</i></div>
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<b>Publisher:</b> Outskirts Press<br />
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The special tactical teams had been trained for normal encounters with flesh and blood...not supernatural beings.<br />
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A quiet little city in the Midwest town of Waterloo, Iowa is about to come to life...with angels! When an earthquake measuring seven hits Waterloo, a huge black pyramid shaped tower pushes it’s way up through a corn field in Blackhawk County spinning the city into the national spot light. It’s thought that the “Black Tower” is dormant, but when special tactical teams are sent inside to investigate, special team member Dane Coles is confronted by the impossible...a beautiful creature that has been cursed and cast down into oblivion within the Garden of Eden, using the ‘Black Tower’ as a doorway to the surface...</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Daughters-Twilight-Collette-Jackson-Fink-ebook/dp/B00GK50M3E" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/daughters-of-twilight-collette-jackson-fink/1117250942?ean=2940148838579" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Barnes and Noble</a></div>
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<a href="https://outskirtspress.com/daughtersoftwilight" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Outskirts Press</a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b><br />
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Collette Jackson-Fink has been writing since she was 13 years old. A Persian Gulf veteran, Collette works as a respiratory therapist at a trauma center in her home state of Iowa with her husband, Ron.</div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-60685996885017331752017-08-15T08:00:00.000-04:002017-08-15T08:00:00.255-04:00Blog Tour & Excerpt: Absinthe by Winter Renshaw<br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The name on the screen was “Absinthe.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I knew her as the sultry voice blowing up my phone for late night chats about Proust and Hemingway interspersed between the best phone sex I never knew I could have. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We’d never met. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Until the day she walked into my office, her cherry lips wrapped around a candy apple sucker and an all too familiar voice that said, “They said you wanted to see me, Principal Hawthorne?</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">The last block of the day is taking for-ev-er, so I ask for a hall pass and make my way around the school, loitering at every drinking fountain and bulletin board. The teacher’s probably wondering where the hell I am, but I’m not afraid to tell him I got my period. That usually shuts them up.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">Rounding the corner by the front office, I’m making a beeline for drinking fountain number six when the door swings open and out walks Kerouac.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">We both stop so as not to bump into each other, though he’d be so lucky.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">I saw the way he looked at me in his office this morning, the way his body responded to my voice. I knew the instant he started talking that it was him, though it took all the strength I had to ignore his chiseled jaw, dimpled chin, thick, dark hair, and hooded, honey-brown eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">They’re not supposed to look like fucking supermodels.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">Our eyes lock, and I smirk. To think, all those times I was talking to this.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">This is what was on the other end. That stock photo doesn’t even hold a candle to the striking Adonis standing before me. No wonder he doesn’t want to commit. For a man like that, the world is one giant, all-you-can-eat buffet of beautiful women.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">“Excuse me,” he says, stepping out of my way like a gentleman.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">God, that voice. That gentle, low rasp of a voice. I about creamed my pants when he did the overhead announcements earlier. Almost had to excuse myself from class so I could finish the job in an empty bathroom stall.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">It doesn’t help that all anyone can talk about lately is how fucking hot the new principal is. I overheard a group of senior girls earlier making a wager to see who could sleep with him before they went off to college. The winner was to get a thousand bucks.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">Ha. Stupid girls.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">If they only knew who they were dealing with.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">But I’m no better than they are. I know the man that lies beyond the carefully crafted exterior, behind those dark, hooded eyes and that confident stride. The man on the inside is a million times sexier than any of them could begin to imagine.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">“You’re excused.” I make my way to the fountain, press the button, and lower my mouth to the jet stream of fresh water. His stare is heavy, weighted, and I’d give anything to know what he thinks when he looks at me.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">The halls are empty and quiet. It’s just the two of us.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">Across the way a male teacher drones on about World War I and the Lusitania, and when I glance into the classroom, I spot Bree sitting in the front row, gnawing on the tip of her pen as her eyes wander in our direction.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">I move out of her line of sight. Ford follows.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">“I’d like to talk to you sometime,” he says. “About—”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">I rise, turning to him. “About what? Nothing happened.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">He squints, studying me. He must think I’m planning to blackmail him, but he’d be mistaken. While his rejection stung at the time, I’m over it and I’ve got bigger fish to fry—specifically a bottom-feeder by the name of Bree.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">“I tried to reach out to you after we last spoke,” he says, keeping his voice down. “I wanted to make sure you were okay. Couldn’t find you on the app.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">“I deleted it.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">His lips press, and he nods. All those long phone calls and messaging sessions this summer, and the man can’t find more than a handful of things to say to me now. He must still be in shock. I can’t say that I blame him. He’d have a hell of a lot more to lose than I would. The stakes are higher for him. I might be legal and an adult, but there isn’t a single red-blooded soul in this entire school district who’d be okay with a principal striking up a sexual relationship with one of his students.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">On paper, it would seem atrocious. Scandalous. Disgusting.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">But it doesn’t keep me from wishing we could’ve made it work, as insane as that is.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">“You know, we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other around here, so let’s do ourselves a favor and get the fuck over what happened,” I say, arms folded as I maintain my icy demeanor. My ego may be bruised, my heart may be longing for him, but I’ll be damned if I run away with my tail tucked like some rejected schoolgirl. “If you’re going to look at me like that every time you see me—”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">“I’m sorry.” He won’t stop staring. “I just … I can’t believe it’s you.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">“Believe it.” I begin to walk backwards, distancing myself from him.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline;">He may have closed the door a few weeks ago, but I’m the one who locked it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><img alt="IMG_3554.PNG" height="241" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/3o55v6ieyGLhyTQfV9ujP1F_4o8rlFD17dblPqnlNpTo6HNl-dx_TzU-r0Rj0pGH2JnIDm0r6GREkd6kJUboXDNEsIh4RS-MrPZjJFTbO2p3kbErIIQINKOFnHtuPimczvIQDae_" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="400" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><img height="125" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/JzXxJBXWNipsIe_NZP4xiqmA6ktYjB6vF5F4Nq5VKUPMoNODGJyiIQcFiBwGCESVgl40r3cQ23M_i031V_7wr9Bo11aTJDJCvMRyGAXud_RT7wbcRwr1UOX8VrZTDblv0hf1DNRJ" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="400" /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And if you'd like to be the first to know when a new book is coming out, please sign up for her private mailing list here ---> </span><a href="http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j</span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Author Links</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13583077.Winter_Renshaw?from_search=true" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Goodreads</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/authorwinterrenshaw" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Facebook</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Winter-Renshaw/e/B00UDGT610/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1482824787&sr=8-2-ent" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Amazon</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></div>
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</span>Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-4505095126149600292017-08-14T11:17:00.000-04:002017-08-14T23:06:11.847-04:00Book Review: 23:27 by H.L. Roberts<b><br /></b> <b>Title: </b>23:27<br />
<b>Author:</b> H.L. Roberts<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8bqod5J0I5K2JZCFBoOW1c93mZ4Q5TWWhrXBuANhlRmu6BKU33T-L2qVsJ-OsChucwuld45tzAzJ8mkRp5o9VwVfwZO_4V4SL_K2aHhAzuU8kCINfnLiWa2vcFUblnltEN1YAwUqe6Z0/s1600/2327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8bqod5J0I5K2JZCFBoOW1c93mZ4Q5TWWhrXBuANhlRmu6BKU33T-L2qVsJ-OsChucwuld45tzAzJ8mkRp5o9VwVfwZO_4V4SL_K2aHhAzuU8kCINfnLiWa2vcFUblnltEN1YAwUqe6Z0/s1600/2327.jpg" /></a></div>
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Lilith and Alec are members of a band United Misfits. Theirs was a whirlwind romance, not too popular with the music executive high ups or, apparently, many of their fans. The novel begins with a depressed Lilith livestreaming to her fans, telling them about the anger and pain she still feels over her and Alec’s breakup. The livestream confession takes a terrifying turn when it is revealed that Lilith plans to kill herself. Now it is a race against time to save her. And Alec, understanding the truth about his and Lilith’s breakup, wants to rekindle the past. The question is, will they be able to come together to make their happy ending, or will the problems of the past continue to rear their ugly heads and keep true love apart?</div>
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It was unique the way the book switched between present and the past. The author tried to make these switches easy to discern by putting the times with the chapter numbers and titles. I only wish that this was more consistent. Sometimes, when chapters continued I feel like the placement of a timestamp would amp up the suspense and tension, letting us count down the minutes to the inevitable end. Perspective switches between Lilith and Alec, giving us both perspectives. The two distinct stories show two different sides of a complex relationship. Secrets are revealed, and we know the personal feelings of both the confessor and the confessed to. Full of description, detail, and exposition, a rather short and simple story is drawn out into a full novella. Certainly not a story lacking emotion, as each feeling and revelation is presented in expansive detail.</div>
Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-30364937357989502202017-08-13T10:00:00.000-04:002017-08-13T16:22:38.713-04:00Blog Tour, Book Review & Giveaway: Infinity (The Infinity Division, #1) by Jus Accardo<br />
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<a href="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Omega-Tour-Banner.png"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-4423" src="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Omega-Tour-Banner-300x130.png" height="130" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/infinity.jpg" rel="prettyphoto[4388]" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-4389" src="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/infinity-200x300.jpg" height="300" sizes="(max-width: 200px) 100vw, 200px" srcset="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/infinity-200x300.jpg 200w, http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/infinity-100x150.jpg 100w, http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/infinity.jpg 317w" width="200" /></a>Infinity (The Infinity Division, #1) by Jus Accardo<br />
Published by Entangled Teen<br />
Published on November 1st, 2016<br />
Genre: YA Science Fiction<br />
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Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28220742-infinity?ac=1&from_search=true">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28220742-infinity?ac=1&from_search=true</a><br />
Entangled: <a href="http://entangledpublishing.com/infinity/">http://entangledpublishing.com/infinity/</a><br />
Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Infinity-Jus-Accardo-ebook/dp/B01E3PS7OS?tag=entangpublis-20">https://www.amazon.com/Infinity-Jus-Accardo-ebook/dp/B01E3PS7OS?tag=entangpublis-20</a><br />
B&N:<a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/infinity-jus-accardo/1123132853"> http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/infinity-jus-accardo/1123132853</a><br />
Itunes: <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/infinity/id1105088032?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4">https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/infinity/id1105088032?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D4</a><br />
Kobo: <a href="https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/infinity-38">https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/infinity-38</a><br />
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<span id="freeText8729543616124177358"><i>Jump dimensions. Find the bad guy. Don’t fall in love.</i></span><br />
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Nobody said being the daughter of an army general was easy. But when her dad sends a teenage subordinate to babysit her while he’s away? That’s taking it a step too far.<br />
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Cade, as beautiful as he is deadly, watches Kori with more than just interest. He looks at her like he knows her very <i>soul</i>. And when he saves her from a seemingly random attack, well, that’s when things get weird.<br />
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Turns out, Kori’s dad isn’t just an army general—he’s the head of a secret government project that has invented a way to travel between parallel dimensions. Dimensions where there are infinite Koris, infinite Cades…and apparently, on every other Earth, they’re madly in love.<br />
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Falling for a soldier is the last thing on Kori’s mind. Especially when she finds herself in a deadly crossfire, and someone from another Earth is hell-bent on revenge…<br />
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<a href="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/omega.jpg" rel="prettyphoto[4388]" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-4390" src="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/omega-200x300.jpg" height="300" sizes="(max-width: 200px) 100vw, 200px" srcset="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/omega-200x300.jpg 200w, http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/omega-100x150.jpg 100w, http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/omega.jpg 439w" width="200" /></a>Omega (The Infinity Division, #2) by Jus Accardo</div>
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Published by Entangled Teen</div>
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To be released on August 1st, 2017</div>
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<b>Buylink: </b><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://entangledpublishing.com/omega.html&source=gmail&ust=1499914094303000&usg=AFQjCNF5Qo2bhn3c_LLPUEIUYparUpVXIQ" href="https://entangledpublishing.com/omega.html" rel="noopener" target="_blank">https://<wbr></wbr>entangledpublishing.com/omega.<wbr></wbr>html</a></div>
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<b>Book on Goodreads: </b><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33509081-omega&source=gmail&ust=1499914094303000&usg=AFQjCNHgZT9TyXLU51TRv7ydA5a2Ve_0dQ" href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/33509081-omega" rel="noopener" target="_blank">https://www.<wbr></wbr>goodreads.com/book/show/<wbr></wbr>33509081-omega</a></div>
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One mistake can change everything. Ashlyn Calvert finds that out the hard way when a bad decision leads to the death of her best friend, Noah Anderson.<br />
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Only Noah isn’t really gone. Thanks to his parents’ company, the Infinity Division, there is a version of him skipping from one dimension to another, set on revenge for the death of his sister, Kori. When a chance encounter brings him face-to-face with Ash, he’s determined to resist the magnetic pull he’s felt for her time and time again. Because falling for Ash puts his mission—and their lives—in danger.<br />
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But there’s more going on in Ash’s alternate universe than either of them knows: a mysterious project called Omega. A conspiracy spanning multiple Earths and revolving around none other than Ash. Its creators would do anything to keep Omega secret…<br />
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Anything.<b><br />
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<a href="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Omega5.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-4456" src="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Omega5-300x300.jpg" /></a></div>
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Review of <i>Infinity</i></span></strong><br />
There is a theory that suggests the truth behind a phenomenon known as the multiverse. The theory presumes that there are infinite realities, or universes, which are variations of the world that we know. Since each universe progresses on its own, influenced by unique factors, they present different features. For example, each universe would be at different stages of development, technology, landscapes, even cultural norms. Yet, fundamentally, there are similarities. Some even say there are multiple versions of us that exist across the various universes. Of course, these theories lack any real scientific basis, and it is doubtful we will ever know for sure if there is indeed a multiverse. <br />
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This is the basic foundational premise behind <i>Infinity</i>. Kori Anderson is an average girl who causes a bit too much trouble but otherwise is a normal high school student. Her father is somewhat strict given that he is a military man, but she lives a safe and secure life. Yet, what is a normal life ends up in chaos when she winds up the target of a murderer, Dylan, who is, in fact, a visitor from another earth. Dylan wants to kill Kori to pay for the crimes of another universe—to punish the people who loved the Kori on the other earth, his earth, which a version of her existed, and to find her earth’s version of the woman he loved, Ava. Dylan is followed by two men, Cade and Noah, who are determined to stop Dylan before he can kill anyone else on Kori’s world or another. But Dylan is clever and puts Kori into a perilous situation: find the woman he loves or be shuttled through the multiverse and probably not survive. The only light at the end of the tunnel is her burgeoning romance with Cade.<br />
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I love a book with a sound scientific basis, or rather one that is believable even if the science in a real sense doesn’t exist. The author, Jus Accardo, gives a solid explanation of the technology used to send people from one earth to another but doesn’t convolute it. I really enjoyed Dylan’s rage. A good book is always full of emotion, and characters that conflict with good reason and force. It was also cute how Cade and Kori slowly developed feelings for one another, even if I was kind of troubled by the fact that Kori is a 17-year-old high school student. The best parts of the book were the twists to the plot. Just when there seemed to be a resolution in place, Accardo pitched the storyline on its head. I really liked what happened when the group sought out Ava. It was gasp inducing and made you fear that Kori wouldn’t be saved. <br />
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This book is good for young adult readers and beyond. <i> Infinity</i> is an exciting sci-fi journey, using our familiar earth as the backdrop. I look forward to pursuing the second book in the series since Infinity left us on a cliffhanger. To know if Kori survives, you have to read the next novel, which I will certainly do.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span> <span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b><br />
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<a href="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/jus.jpg" rel="prettyphoto[4388]" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-4391" src="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/jus.jpg" height="200" sizes="(max-width: 200px) 100vw, 200px" srcset="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/jus.jpg 200w, http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/jus-150x150.jpg 150w, http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/jus-50x50.jpg 50w" width="200" /></a></div>
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JUS ACCARDO spent her childhood reading and learning to cook. Determined to follow in her grandfather’s footsteps as a chef, she applied and was accepted to the Culinary Institute of America. But at the last minute, she realized her true path lay with fiction, not food. Jus is the bestselling author of the popular Denazen series from Entangled publishing, as well as the Darker Agency series, and the New Adult series, The Eternal Balance. A native New Yorker, she lives in the middle of nowhere with her husband, three dogs, and sometimes guard bear, Oswald.<b><br />
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<b>Website: </b><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=http://www.jusaccardo.com/&source=gmail&ust=1499874770979000&usg=AFQjCNGUDzvDZU4fmOrpd7ehov2DcguVDQ" href="http://www.jusaccardo.com/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">http://www.jusaccardo.com/</a></div>
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<b>Twitter: </b><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://twitter.com/JusAccardo&source=gmail&ust=1499874770979000&usg=AFQjCNG7ZcksVzWDBO9XdX9CQhvXPBDjfw" href="https://twitter.com/JusAccardo" rel="noopener" target="_blank">https://twitter.com/JusAccardo</a></div>
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<b>Facebook:</b><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJusAccardo/&source=gmail&ust=1499874770979000&usg=AFQjCNGizXq5qp952MhmoNrIezq1-5nLPA" href="https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJusAccardo/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJusAccardo/</a></div>
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<b>Instagram: </b><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://www.instagram.com/jusaccardo/&source=gmail&ust=1499874770979000&usg=AFQjCNE4vui7iXCYHab7qf_fb5CSvhJ6Tw" href="https://www.instagram.com/jusaccardo/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">https://www.instagram.com/jusaccardo/</a></div>
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<b>Goodreads: </b><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4996736.Jus_Accardo&source=gmail&ust=1499874770979000&usg=AFQjCNFB5L3sJff2HTcalGMJfPHSdsFIUw" href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4996736.Jus_Accardo" rel="noopener" target="_blank">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4996736.Jus_Accardo</a></div>
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<a href="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Omega4.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-4455" src="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Omega4-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a></div>
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</strong> <strong>Read below for an excerpt from the book:</strong></div>
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“Maybe you used to be better at it?” I prodded. “I mean, you probably don’t get a lot of time to date while skipping all over creation, right? Maybe you’re just out of practice?”<br />
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“I’m not out of practice.” He seethed.<br />
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“It’s okay! It’s nothing to be ashamed of—”<br />
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For the second time since we’d met, he assaulted me. One second I was having the time of my life pushing his buttons—ridiculously easy to do—the next I was against the wall, Noah’s body covering mine. His lips moved furiously, scorchingly hot and with a level of passion I’d never felt before. His tongue slipped between my lips and despite having told other guys that I hated that, I melted, reveling in the millions of electrical tingles the action sent shooting through my body.<br />
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His hands gripped my head on either side. No roaming, no exploration. Somehow it made the whole thing hotter. Like he couldn’t bear to release me in fear that I’d move. That I’d get away and he’d have to stop.<br />
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And stop? No. That was a dirty word. A softly whispered sin in the darkest corners of the earth. Stopping this would be a crime of the highest caliber.<br />
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Except he did. Stop, that was.<br />
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He pulled away just far enough to look me in the eye, not yet letting go of my head. With an extremely satisfied tilt of his lip, he said, “Decent my ass.”<br />
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<a href="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Omega2.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-4454" src="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Omega2-300x300.jpg" height="300" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Giveaway</b></span><br />
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metal infinity charm bookmark</div>
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<a href="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Omega-BlogTour-Giveaway.jpg"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-4453" src="http://blogtours.yareads.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Omega-BlogTour-Giveaway-300x265.jpg" height="265" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a class="rcptr" data-raflid="1cb554951147" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/1cb554951147/" id="rcwidget_grk06bx9" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a></div>
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script><br />Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-50399186315920241262017-08-10T09:00:00.000-04:002017-08-10T09:00:02.261-04:00Promo Blitz: A Siren's Song by Billi Jean<br />
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<a href="https://sites.google.com/a/myaddictionisreading.com/2017-promo-s/billi-jean"><img src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/ASirensSong_zpsksiodhe4.jpg" height="140" width="500" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction070/A%20Sirenrsquos%20Song_zpsa2bnidrd.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction070/A%20Sirenrsquos%20Song_zpsa2bnidrd.jpg" height="400" width="301" /></a><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Paranormal Romance</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> July 2017</div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35211178-a-siren-s-song?ac=1&from_search=true" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png" border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/Promo%20Images/iconAddtoGoodreads1_zpsa0dd4209.png" /></a></div>
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“When a Siren sings, best listen”—Stephano</div>
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The god of war, Ares, had reached down to Hades and given Stephano another chance at life as one of his legendary fighters—Spartans. For centuries, he’d fought and survived more battles than he could recount. But the one fight he feared he might lose came in the form of one tiny, perfectly formed woman who was off-limits.</div>
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Yet, the longer he had with her, the more he realized she might be the one battle he would gladly lose.</div>
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Maeve was a Siren, one of only two remaining in her realm. When warriors arrived and offered her brother a way out of their realm, if only they led them to the gates between worlds, she knew she had to aid them. It was the only way to free her brother from the burden of caring for her. She would help them, lead them to the gates, then let her brother go so he could be free from her.</div>
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Only one warrior, one sexy, too-handsome rogue, might ruin her plan. Especially when he was clearly bent on seducing her. Worse, for the first time in her life, she was tempted to allow it, just to see if he could make her sing in his arms.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b></div>
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Billi Jean was born in California but didn't stay put for long. She's lived in New York, Indiana, Missouri, Arizona, Colorado, Florida, Massachusetts and Vermont. She's lived in and worked from ranches to beach-side coffee shops to the woods in western Massachusetts. Now living and working in China, she continues to write for Totally Bound Publishing. </div>
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Billi Jean has been writing since high school when she couldn't wait for Robert Jordon to write his Wheel of Time series faster. As an adult, she still finds herself drawn to fantasy-adventure stories, but with an erotic romance flair. Her books are extremely hot, with a focus on strong characters that are shoved into fast-paced adventures. Her unique style of incredible journeys infused with hot passion leave her fans hoping for more.</div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-45955716001227044132017-08-10T08:30:00.000-04:002017-08-10T08:30:21.192-04:00Chapter Reveal: Combust (Savage Disciples MC, #5) by Drew Elyse<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Once a Disciple, forever a Disciple.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Man whore.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Ex-con.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">All-around asshole. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Daz is called a lot of seedy things. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But his brothers know there’s more to him </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">even if it is buried deep beneath the surface. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">A Disciple will fight like a savage and never give up.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> As a stripper, Avery is no stranger to judgment. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> That doesn't stop her from assuming Daz is nothing more than a hot body, though. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">But when tragedy lets her see behind the cocky-jackass exterior,</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> there's no denying the truth. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">For this biker to go down, there has to be more than sparks—he needs full combustion. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 20pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Coming August 24th</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35602728-combust?ac=1&from_search=true" style="text-decoration: none;"><img height="145" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/wBpSM7UtW-Ys41AwPRt1St0Wq5enckfXG3I4ouGlpO0B6HDx4mBWomFu2wdbq-2Ywk87zhpFSPvYtRW1VDMuGygWIXrQc8jWcYyrFN_bc98A79qWCf6XhvqFxWKWF42miFrV02Am" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="145" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Chapter 1</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Avery</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Fuck, this thing doesn’t fit right. One of my nuts is going to bust out in the middle of a song.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">The third Thursday of the month was always the weirdest—and easily the most frustrating—day of work for me. Or, at least, it had been for the last six of them. Working in strip clubs since I was nineteen, I’d long ago reached the point where little phased me. I imagined it was kind of like being a gynecologist. At first, it had to be super awkward to be all up in women’s vaginas all day, but after a while, you’re just desensitized to it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">After six years of working with women who took their clothes off for a living, and doing the same myself, I’d been pretty sure I had seen and heard it all. Once you have a coworker come up to you and ask you to look at her blotchy, red crotch because she’s having an allergic reaction to body glitter, you start to think there are no surprises left in the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Then, the friendly neighborhood motorcycle club buys the joint and institutes a shocking—though, admittedly, genius—plan to have an all-male revue once a month.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">That alone had been jarring enough. If I were to name the changes I thought might have been coming when the Savage Disciples MC took over, it would have been going fully nude. I’d stripped in four states, so I knew a thing or two about the industry. Part of that knowledge being Oregon was one of the </span>most lax<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> states in the country when it came to </span>strip<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> clubs. Unlike most, they allowed full nudity in clubs that served alcohol.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Candy Shop hadn’t taken advantage of that, though. The club’s previous owner had been staunch to the ideal that fully nude dancers and liquored up customers were a recipe for headaches. He also insisted any added income that might have come from having us take it all off was pointless because it’d be eaten up by having to hire more security. Rick Remington—that was his real name, though he would never answer me when I tried to find out if he’d been born with it or changed it once he decided his career path—wasn’t cheap. He didn’t skimp on security or anything else when it came to his girls. Of all the clubs I’d worked in, he was by far my favorite manager. So, if he was going to have us up there completely nude, he would absolutely have beefed up on bouncers. As it was, our security was unrivaled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I’d been mildly surprised when the MC decided to keep this stance on how to run the club. It was also good news. I might have six years of regularly being on a stage in just a thong, but that didn’t mean I was ready for that last bit of coverage to disappear. I also wasn’t itching to go job hunting.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">What had shocked me was the announcement about male revue night. It was a surprising move anywhere, but coming from a bunch of bikers just made the move even more so.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">That decision was how my third Thursdays changed from being a shift starting at six in the evening involving just me dancing, to starting at eleven in the morning wrangling seven fussy males who caused more headaches in a single day than the girls managed the rest of the month combined.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“JJ, it fits fine. We measured you for it and had it custom made. Your goods are the same size they were three weeks ago,” I tried for a patient tone. And failed. JJ just brought it out of me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“You never know, Cherry Pie,” he drawled back at me, giving me a smile that had most of our female customers creaming their </span>panties,<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> if the money they threw at him was any indication. Unfortunately for him, since he’d been trying to get into my panties since he started, it did nothing for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Sure, I might have appreciated the view at first, but that was before he opened his mouth and the endless stream of bullshit and whining started flowing out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Honey, you have nothing in that banana hammock that interests me. I promise. It could grow six inches by tomorrow, and I still won’t be dropping to my knees for you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Shot down!” one of the other guys, Brock, chimed in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Seriously, asking as a concerned friend, when was the last time you got some?” JJ kept at me. “Dick, pussy, both? Whatever gets you there.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I gave him a look that told him straight up we were not those type of friends. Though, I couldn't help but think it’d been a lot longer than I would have cared to admit even if we were. And the “some” I got wasn’t worth writing home about. Hell, even that was an exaggeration. I hadn’t gotten off, and I’d eventually faked it just to get it over with. For a man who hadn’t been overly well-endowed, it had been a pounding in the least appealing sense. I’d been sore by the time I decided it was best just to put on a show and get out of there.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“We don’t have time for your shit today. Did you work on the routine I showed you last week?” I asked, bringing JJ back to the task at hand.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Yes, ma’am.”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">As cocky as he was, I believed him. JJ loved this gig, and he surprisingly always took it seriously. He was never one of the guys I had to worry about not practicing when I gave them new material. Personally, I thought he was trying to prove how lucrative the club would be in some hope the Disciples might have seen the wisdom of expanding and giving him a </span>full time<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> gig of taking money from horny women.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">The way the line wrapped around the building on ladies’ nights, with women coming all the way out from Portland for the show, I wasn’t sure this would be a bad move.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Good. Let’s see it,” I ordered, then hit a button on the remote in my hand to cue up the track. Roth, our DJ, wouldn’t be in until closer to opening.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">JJ got on with his routine, hitting everything as expected and proving the G-string he had on definitely wouldn’t be an issue.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Halfway through, the front door opened, letting in a stream of sunlight from outside. I glanced over my shoulder, saying a silent prayer—in case God chose to tune </span>in to<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> prayers coming out of strip clubs.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Whether it was my pleas being answered or just a coincidence, I didn’t really care. All that mattered was the man walking in the club wasn’t the person I feared it might be. These Thursdays were trying enough without him around.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Instead, it was another one of the Savage Disciple brothers, Ham.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Fuck, I shoulda known those assholes sent me here to find you because it was fuckin’ sausagefest day,” he muttered as he dropped his eyes from the stage. His voice notched even lower, but he headed my way, so I caught his words as he said, “Max would just love this shit.”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Outside of them running the club, I hadn’t interacted with any of the Disciples, so I had no idea who Max was.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Avery,” Ham greeted as he got close, notably positioning himself near me so his back was to the stage where JJ was still grinding and thrusting away.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Ham was easily one of the biggest men I’d ever seen in my life. He had to be a foot taller than my five-five, and seemed to be twice as wide—that width </span>being<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> made up of enough muscle to make me think he could replace the entire security staff by himself.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“What’s up?”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“We’re gonna shut down to the public on the fifteenth. Private party. Need you to get a small group together to do a show that night. Girls will be compensated at double time, plus the generous end of a normal weekend night’s tips. Yeah?”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Damn, that was a good deal. It was also the kind of thing that bred drama from girls who weren’t chosen.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“How many do you want?”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Five? Ish.” He shrugged. “Let you make the final call.”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I really, truly, didn’t want to make the final call. Picking five girls was already going to be hard enough, and I was going to have to be sure they were all ones who would keep their traps shut about this to those who didn’t make the cut.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I’d worked hard to prove I could, and should, do more than just be on stage. I’d been paying my dues in every club I’d worked in. It wasn’t that I’d always dreamed of being a manager at a strip club, but life wasn’t always about what you wanted. Sometimes, it was about making the most of what you had. At nineteen, stripping was the best income I could make, so I went with it. Now, I knew I could hack it running the show, and I was determined to prove that.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">I liked being in my position. In particular, I liked the pay raise and the fact that I only danced on weekends. My hope was I’d be able to cut out even those limited hours on stage before long. Still, there were times I yearned for the days when I wasn’t responsible for dealing with all the drama.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">JJ’s routine ended, the music cutting out and another song not filling the void. With the room significantly quieter, I let myself focus on him to keep my afternoon on schedule.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Good,” I announced, having watched even while Ham spoke. As expected, JJ hadn’t missed a beat. “You have your schedule for tonight?”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Got it, babe.” He really was quite a sight—muscled, sweaty, and nearly naked. That still didn’t mean I wanted the endearment.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Then get off my stage.”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">My attitude didn’t dull his flirty smile for a second as he moved to the stage exit. “Get Adam out here,” I called at his retreating back. He threw a thumbs up over his shoulder as he disappeared, and I moved my attention to Ham.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Got it. Five girls. Do you want a list of names in advance?”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Not necessary. We’ve got bartenders and Roth handled, so you just make sure you’ve got girls lined up and we’re good.”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Right. I’ll take care of it.”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Ham gave his own brand of </span>flirty<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> smile. Unlike JJ’s that was meant to entice, Ham’s was more along the lines of “I know I can make you scream for me.” It was more </span>effective,<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> but seemingly subconscious. It was as natural to him as breathing, not an effort to get attention. If the gossip I overheard from the other girls was right, he had a woman and he didn’t stray.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Good for him.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">With a nod, he started heading out, still pointedly keeping his eyes away from the stage and the couple guys hanging around in the main room half-naked. After a couple steps, he stopped and turned back to me.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Make sure your own name is on that list,” he tacked on. “The guest of honor will be disappointed if it isn’t.”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">The knowing grin he had when he said that left no question as to who that guest was.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Daz.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">One of the Disciples, also the one who took charge of the shop—as everyone had taken to calling it. From what I could tell, it was his idea to buy the place when Rick decided to sell. He wasn’t an uncommon face around here even before that. Now, he was in all the time.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">He was also hot as sin and constantly in my space. For whatever reason, I had become a point of interest for him. He was flirty with all the girls—I guessed he might be flirty with any female regardless of interest—but it was always a passive </span>thing,<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> until he got near me. Then, it was no holds barred. One way or another, he always made his interest very clear. Too bad for him, I wasn't sleeping with the boss. I never had, and I never would.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Ham knew how much the request would irritate me, it was precisely why he looked so pleased with himself. More importantly, he also knew I wouldn’t say no.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Right,” I replied shortly.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">“Just gonna say,” Ham started, that shit-eating grin not going anywhere, “if you’re ever plannin’ to throw the asshole a bone, it’ll be his birthday.”</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">With that, he finally walked away, weaving through the tables and out the front door without turning back.</span></div>
</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;">Looks like you’ll be dancing for Daz. My brain decided to dwell on that fact even as I instructed Adam to get on stage and cued up the song for him. It wasn’t like I had never done so before. Still, somehow I knew this was going to be different. I just hoped “different” wasn’t going to blow up in my face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-weight: 400;">Drew Elyse spends her days trying to convince the world that she is, in fact, a Disney Princess, and her nights writing tear-jerking and smutty romance novels. Her debut novel, Dissonance, released in August of 2014.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found over-analyzing every line of a book, binge watching a series on Netflix, doing strange vocal warm ups before singing a variety of music styles, or screaming at the TV during a Chicago Blackhawks game.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;">A graduate of Loyola University Chicago with a BA in English, she still lives in Chicago, IL where she was born and raised with her boyfriend and her prima donna pet rabbit, Lola.</span></div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/DrewElyseAuthor" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Twitter</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/drewelyseauthor" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Facebook</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><a href="http://www.drewelyse.com/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Web</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8378370.Drew_Elyse" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Goodreads</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Drew-Elyse/e/B00NCNUAVG/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1474708825&sr=8-1" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Amazon</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></div>
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<br />Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-77396808239318414352017-08-09T09:30:00.000-04:002017-08-09T10:45:12.695-04:00Cover Reveal & Giveaway: My Dear Hamilton by Stephanie Dray & Laura Kamoie<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<h1 style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">From the New York Times bestselling authors of America’s First Daughter comes the epic story of Eliza Schuyler Hamilton—a revolutionary woman who, like her new nation, struggled to define herself in the wake of war, betrayal, and tragedy. Haunting, moving, and beautifully written, Dray and Kamoie used thousands of letters and original sources to tell Eliza’s story as it’s never been told before—not just as the wronged wife at the center of a political sex scandal—but also as a founding mother who shaped an American legacy in her own right.</span></h1><h1 style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">We’re celebrating Eliza Schuyler Hamilton’s Birthday today and you get the gift! Don’t miss the beautiful cover below and a special giveaway, and don’t forget to pre-order your copy today!</span></h1><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-28180" src="http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/MyDearHamiltonFINAL-680x1024.jpg" height="640" width="425" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>About <em>My Dear Hamilton: A Novel of Eliza Schuyler Hamilton (Coming 4.3.2018)</em>:</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</strong><em>Wife, Widow, and Warrior in Alexander Hamilton’s Quest to Form a More Perfect Union</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><br />
</em>From the <em>New York Times</em> bestselling authors of <em>America’s First Daughter</em> comes the epic story of Eliza Schuyler Hamilton—a revolutionary woman who, like her new nation, struggled to define herself in the wake of war, betrayal, and tragedy. Haunting, moving, and beautifully written, Dray and Kamoie used thousands of letters and original sources to tell Eliza’s story as it’s never been told before—not just as the wronged wife at the center of a political sex scandal—but also as a founding mother who shaped an American legacy in her own right.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<em>A general’s daughter…</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><br />
</em>Coming of age on the perilous frontier of revolutionary New York, Elizabeth Schuyler champions the fight for independence. And when she meets Alexander Hamilton, Washington’s penniless but passionate aide-de-camp, she’s captivated by the young officer’s charisma and brilliance. They fall in love, despite Hamilton’s bastard birth and the uncertainties of war.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<em>A founding father’s wife...</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><br />
</em>But the union they create—in their marriage and the new nation—is far from perfect. From glittering inaugural balls to bloody street riots, the Hamiltons are at the center of it all—including the political treachery of America’s first sex scandal, which forces Eliza to struggle through heartbreak and betrayal to find forgiveness.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<em>The last surviving light of the Revolution…</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><br />
</em>When a duel destroys Eliza’s hard-won peace, the grieving widow fights her husband’s enemies to preserve Alexander’s legacy. But long-buried secrets threaten everything Eliza believes about her marriage and her <em>own</em> legacy. Questioning her tireless devotion to the man and country that have broken her heart, she’s left with one last battle—to understand the flawed man she married and imperfect union he could never have created without her…</div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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<h1 style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-size: large;">Pre-</span>Order on </strong><a href="http://amzn.to/2sUtRxy" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><strong>Amazon</strong></a><strong> | </strong><a href="https://goo.gl/ab5uny" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><strong>Barnes & Noble</strong></a><strong> | </strong><a href="https://goo.gl/USCBIv" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><strong>GooglePlay</strong></a><strong> | </strong><a href="https://goo.gl/UqRWfr" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><strong>iBooks</strong></a><strong> | </strong><a href="https://goo.gl/y5RDQU" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><strong>Kobo</strong></a></h1><br />
<h1 style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;">To celebrate Eliza Schuyler Hamilton’s Birthday today, we have a surprise for you! Share the cover of MY DEAR HAMILTON and fill out the Rafflecopter below to receive an Exclusive Excerpt!</span></h1><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Direct link: </strong><a href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/5aedf95d1/">http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/5aedf95d1/</a><strong></strong><br />
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<em><img alt="" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-28182" src="http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/DrayAuthorPhoto-232x300.jpg" height="300" width="232" />New York Times</em> bestselling author,<strong> Stephanie Dray </strong>is an award-winning, bestselling and two-time RITA award nominated author of historical women’s fiction. Her critically acclaimed series about Cleopatra’s daughter has been translated into eight different languages and won NJRW's Golden Leaf. As Stephanie Draven, she is a national bestselling author of genre fiction and American-set historical women's fiction. She is a frequent panelist and presenter at national writing conventions and lives near the nation's capital. Before she became a novelist, she was a lawyer, a game designer, and a teacher. Now she uses the stories of women in history to inspire the young women of today.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.stephaniedray.com/" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><strong>Stephanie’s Website</strong></a><strong> | </strong><a href="https://www.facebook.com/stephaniedray" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><strong>Facebook</strong></a><strong> | </strong><a href="http://www.twitter.com/stephaniehdray" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><strong>Twitter</strong></a><strong> | </strong><a href="http://www.stephaniedray.com/newsletter" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank"><strong>Newsletter</strong></a></div><em> </em><br />
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<em><img alt="" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-28183" src="http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Laura-Kamoie-Headshot-225x300.png" height="300" width="225" />New York Times</em> bestselling author, <strong>Laura Kamoie </strong>has always been fascinated by the people, stories, and physical presence of the past, which led her to a lifetime of historical and archaeological study and training. She holds a doctoral degree in early American history from The College of William and Mary, published two non-fiction books on early America, and most recently held the position of Associate Professor of History at the U.S. Naval Academy before transitioning to a full-time career writing genre fiction as the New York Times bestselling author, <a href="http://www.laurakayeauthor.com/">Laura Kaye</a>. Her New York Times bestselling debut historical novel, <em>America's First Daughter</em>, co-authored with Stephanie Dray, allowed her the exciting opportunity to combine her love of history with her passion for storytelling. Laura lives among the colonial charm of Annapolis, Maryland with her husband and two daughters.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-28184" src="http://www.inkslingerpr.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/InkSlinger-Blogger-Final-2-300x124.jpg" height="124" width="300" /></div>Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-14791608766952394342017-08-09T08:30:00.000-04:002017-08-09T08:30:38.160-04:00Promo Blitz: The Mysterious Promo Blitz by Keisha E. Pearson<br />
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<a href="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction075/The%20Mysterious%20Dorian%20Gray_zpst0o2qukn.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction075/The%20Mysterious%20Dorian%20Gray_zpst0o2qukn.jpg" height="400" width="301" /></a><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">LGBT Fiction</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Date Published:</span></b> August 2017</div>
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Born October 31, 1980, biracial, former N.Y. Yankee, Dorian James Gray lives in a Staten Island apartment overlooking the Upper Bay and drives a silver Jaguar. The co-founder of Gray-Shepherd Works and director of Shades of Gray foundation enjoys reading listening to music and playing his saxophone. He practices martial arts to stay in shaped, but this perfect gentleman can't find the perfect woman.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">About the Author</span></b><br />
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<a href="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction076/The%20Mysterious%20Dorian%20Gray%20Author%20Keisha%20E.%20Pearson_zpsc7tlfq7u.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1249.photobucket.com/albums/hh501/myreadingaddiction/myreadingaddiction076/The%20Mysterious%20Dorian%20Gray%20Author%20Keisha%20E.%20Pearson_zpsc7tlfq7u.jpg" /></a><br />
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Prairie View A&M graduate shared her passion for words with high school and college students before publishing her first novel after a five-year stint at San Jacinto College as a developmental writing teacher. She recently finished an education graduate program to further enhance her teaching acumen while publishing her second novel, REWIND. She continues creating wonderful literary works in addition to strengthening students' writing skills.</div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mysterious-Dorian-Gray-Keisha-Pearson-ebook/dp/B073XX3DGT/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1502038130&sr=8-2&keywords=the+mysterious+dorian+gray" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
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Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1199506125191934270.post-19969457284505768282017-08-08T11:18:00.000-04:002017-08-08T11:18:07.829-04:00Release Day Blitz: Absinthe by Winter Renshaw<b style="font-weight: normal;"></b><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">The name on the screen was “Absinthe.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">I knew her as the sultry voice blowing up my phone for late night chats about Proust and Hemingway interspersed between the best phone sex I never knew I could have. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">We’d never met. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><br class="kix-line-break" /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Until the day she walked into my office, her cherry lips wrapped around a candy apple sucker and an all too familiar voice that said, “They said you wanted to see me, Principal Hawthorne?”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Wall Street Journal and #1 Amazon bestselling author Winter Renshaw is a bona fide daydream believer. She lives somewhere in the middle of the USA and can rarely be seen without her trusty Mead notebook and ultra portable laptop. When she’s not writing, she’s living the American dream with her husband, three kids, and the laziest puggle this side of the Mississippi. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">And if you'd like to be the first to know when a new book is coming out, please sign up for her private mailing list here ---> </span><a href="http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">http://eepurl.com/bfQU2j</span></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Author Links</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13583077.Winter_Renshaw?from_search=true" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Goodreads</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/authorwinterrenshaw" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Facebook</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Winter-Renshaw/e/B00UDGT610/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1482824787&sr=8-2-ent" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline;">Amazon</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><img height="76" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/s0Gb4NhV3RYPX66xHLjCpruJbfvf-WflrtjVNurzBBHlYcEINxnz-UCVaBvSc8X45D2t3wUskaZeQbgo0e5eEbMbJbUjfHC50VycP5bCnVE9cNb0AGx3QEpnr9DCGQVhDTX_PpdO" style="border: none; transform: rotate(0rad);" width="400" /></span></div>
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<br />Valorie T.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10636151911322519157noreply@blogger.com0