Archive for the ‘Release day’ Category

HAPPY RELEASE DAY
Who knew a delicious crepe, a kung fu attack, and an unexpected love could create such mayhem?
Love At First Crepe
LOVE AT FIRST CREPE
Heidi Renee Mason
Genre: Humorous Romantic Mystery
Publisher: Hot Tree Publishing
Publication Date: July 22, 2017
In Heidi Renee Mason’s humorous romantic mystery, an easygoing chef soon discovers life can become complicated when you’re falling in lust and foiling murder plots.
Born into the wealthy Simpson family, free-spirited, accident-prone Willow is determined to make her own way in life. Her greatest joy is her food truck, The Dancing Crêpe. Baking is her one true passion, and she is content to keep it that way. Love and romance have never been on her agenda, but she suddenly finds herself in the middle of a deliciously decadent love triangle. With two gorgeous men vying for her attention, she vows to keep her distance from both of them, but the tantalizing chemistry is hard to ignore.
Willow would be living the sweet life if it weren’t for her young, beautiful, gold-digging stepmother, Elizabeth, who is nothing but a nagging thorn in her side. She is determined to save her oblivious father from his bad choices, and hopes to add Elizabeth to the long line of ex-step-mothers. Unfortunately, it seems that someone wants to get rid of Willow instead. One crazy night changes everything, and Willow’s life is turned upside down. Between thwarting her own murder plot, keeping her divinely tasty admirers at bay, and trying to stay on the good side of her finicky cat, Omelet, Willow’s plate is full. With far too many cooks in the kitchen, will she be able to stay alive long enough to figure out who wants to kill her?

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Love At First Crepe Teaser

An Excerpt from the Book

Take an inside look at Love At First Crepe. Read this sizzling excerpt from the book.
Unfortunately, my sense of self-preservation seemed to be on vacation. I was completely frozen in fear, unable to move for what seemed like years. The giant didn’t move either, and I wondered why. Strangely enough, he seemed just as surprised as I was that he was in my living room. We looked at each other, his beady eyes visible through the holes of his ski mask. The synapses in my brain finally began to fire, and I jumped into action, kicking the intruder as hard as I could in the groin. He groaned in pain and clumsily took a swipe at me with the knife as he sank to his knees.
I rolled out of his path and jumped swiftly to my feet. Unfortunately, the maneuver didn’t work exactly as I planned. I lost my towel in the process and was startled to remember that I was completely naked underneath. My lack of clothing was the least of my worries. I had far bigger fish to fry.
I darted into the kitchen and ducked behind the counter. He rose slowly and lumbered toward me. Think, Willow, think!
The man was huge, larger than any human I’d ever seen. I made a quick mental note that his terrifying size might also work against him. Conversely, I was small and quick, and I was determined to use these things to my advantage. I didn’t have much else. As he drew close to me, I sprinted back into the living room. Until I figured out what to do next, I had to stay out of his way.
To be honest, I didn’t have much to offer in the strength department, and I fleetingly wished that I would have paid more attention to weight training at some point in my life. There was no time for regrets at that moment though, so I took quick stock of what I could use to fight back. There was a large paperweight on the table in the foyer. If I could get to that, I could smash him in the head with it. Of course, if I managed to get that far, I’d be better off running out the front door. I thought about my ballet classes and made a list of moves I could use for self-defense. Granted, it wasn’t much, but it was all I had.
A grand battement might do the trick. I could bring my foot right up to his face and take him out, with my toes perfectly pointed of course. Given his size though, I doubted if my foot would reach that far. I groaned, wishing I had some martial arts experience instead. Ballet wasn’t exactly famous for its self-defense tactics, but it would have to do. Rich girls weren’t brought up to fight intruders. That’s what Dad paid the bodyguards to do.
I jumped behind the couch, thankful that there was at least a large piece of furniture between me and the colossus. I was hopeful that one of my neighbors might overhear the altercation, although I knew that was a long shot. I could die there and no one would know until some unlucky neighbor smelled my rotting flesh from the hallway.

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Contest runs from July 22 – 28, 2017.

About Heidi Renee Mason

Heidi Renee Mason

Heidi Renee Mason is an Ohio girl transplanted into the Pacific Northwest. She is a home schooling mom of three daughters, wife of one mail man, and a people-watching introvert who can be found hiding in the nearest corner. She is an Amazon International Best-selling author and writer of your next happily ever after.
Connect with Heidi Renee Mason on social media:
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For more information, visit the Love At First Crepe Book Page at Book Unleashed.

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 Title: Rain Must Fall

By: Deb Rotuno

Publication Date: October 28, 2016

Publisher: RR Books

Cover Designer: Coreen Montegna

Genre: Zombie/Post Apocolyptic

Jack Chambers was all the way across the country—separated from his family—when life as he knew it came to a screeching halt. A virus straight out of a horror movie has been unleashed, turning friends, neighbors, and family members into a walking nightmare. Jack must fight to make his way back home to his wife and son from Florida all the way to Oregon in a world that is determined to kill them all.

Sara Chambers considered herself to be a strong-minded military wife and mother. When her husband is called away for temporary duty, she never thought that her quiet, small-town life would be turned upside down. Following her husband’s frantic instructions, Sara must protect their son, Freddie, and the last remaining members of the small town of Sandy, Oregon, and get them somewhere safe, get them to the one place Jack told her to take them—their cabin at Clear Lake.

The world is no longer safe. It’s kill or be killed. With the odds stacked against them, Jack and Sara fight to not only survive but to hold on to hope that their family can be reunited even against such incredible odds.

Deb has been married to her husband for going on 14 years. They’ve always had rescued pets, and at the moment, they have 4 cats.

She was born and raised in central Florida. She loves the warm temperatures. She’s worked in retail for almost 17 years, but if she were able to do anything she wanted, she would be a full-time reader, writer, and fur-baby mom.

She has always been a big reader, and writing was something she started late in high school, but she began to dabble in it again once she discovered fanfic in 2009. Since then, she’s read and written plenty in her spare time, especially since she cannot watch a TV show or a movie without thinking about how she could write a story like it.

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Blood Dragons Banner 851 x 315

Blood Dragons

Rebel Vampires

Volume 1

Rosemary A Johns

31348711

 

Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Fantasy Rebel Limited

Date of Publication: 14th August 2016

ISBN-13: 978-1533679819

ISBN-10: 1533679819

Large Print Edition:

ISBN-13: 978-1533681362

ISBN-10: 1533681368

Number of pages: 294

Word Count: 80,000

Cover Artist: JD Smith

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Synopsis

There are three people in this affair – and two of them aren’t human…

A hidden paranormal London lies beneath our own. Escape into the supernatural world of the Blood Lifers – where vampires are both predator and prey.

1960s London. Light is a rebel Rocker Blood Lifer with a photographic memory. And a Triton motorbike. Since Victorian times he’s hidden in the shadows. Both predator and prey. His venom is deadly. He feeds on blood. Human, of course. But when he discovers his ruthless family’s horrifying secret experiments, he questions whether he should be slaying or saving the humans he’s always feared.

Ruby is a sexy but savage Elizabethan Blood Lifer. She burns with a destructive love for Light. But he’s keeping something from her. Something that breaks every rule in Blood Life. When she discovers the truth, things take a terrifying turn.

Kathy is a seductive singer. But she’s also human. Light knows his passionate love for her is reckless but he’s enchanted. Yet such a romance is forbidden. When the two worlds collide, it could mean the end. For both species.

What dark revelations will Light reveal at the heart of the experiments? Will he be able to stop them in time? The consequences of failure are unimaginable. Unless Light plays the part of hero, he risks losing everything. Including the two women he loves.

A rebel, a red-haired devil and a Moon Girl battle to save the world – or tear it apart.

Enjoy the excerpt

CHARACTER PROFILES:

A hidden paranormal London lies beneath our own…

1960s London

Light is a rebel Rocker Blood Lifer with a photographic memory. And a Triton motorbike. He’s a Blood Lifer James Dean: rough leather motorcycle jacket, studded and faded, decorated with a worn gold Ace of Spades, collar firmly turned up, over a black t-shirt, jeans and tall motorcycle boots, topped by a light brown pompadour, tamed with Brylcreem. He tried to conforming once: didn’t fit.

When and where elected into Blood Life? Victorian London.

Human name? Thomas Blickle

Favourite music?  The Stones, Johnny Kidd and the Pirates, Marty Wilde, Eddie Cochrane, Chuck Berry, The Animals, Them and Billy Fury and THE FOUR JAYS…Light loves his rock ‘n’ roll.

Favourite motorbike? Triton. ‘A sodding scarlet slash of beauty. 650cc Triumph twin-cylinder engine in a Norton ‘slimline’ Featherbed frame – and my bloody god.’

Favourite possession? His leather jacket. For the last 150 years, Light has always owned a ‘blinding coat’.

Favourite phrase? ‘Bollocks vampire myth…’

Who is Ruby? A sexy but savage Elizabethan Blood Lifer in crimson silk. She burns with a destructive love for Light. But he’s keeping something from her. Something that breaks every rule in Blood Life. When she discovers the truth, things take a terrifying turn. ‘Ruby. My red-haired devil, Author, muse, liberator, guide: my gorgeous nightmare.’

Who is Kathy? A seductive singer, with blue eyes and long black curls. But she’s also human. Light knows his passionate love for her is reckless but he’s enchanted. Yet such a romance is forbidden. When the two worlds collide, it could mean the end. For both species.

‘You looked like some little Moon Girl, shimmering in silver: silver-spangled trousers, plastic biker jacket, with poppers and white ankle-length boots. I would’ve blasted into space with you in a bleeding heartbeat… ’

 

About the Author:

Rosmary A Johns Urban Portraits

Rosmary A Johns Urban Portraits

ROSEMARY A JOHNS is a traditionally published author of short stories under the name R. A. Johns. Blood Dragons is Rosemary A Johns’ debut novel.

Rosemary A Johns wrote her first fantasy novel at the age of ten, when she discovered the weird worlds inside her head were more exciting than double swimming. Since then she’s studied history at Oxford University, run a theatre company (her critically acclaimed plays have been described as “uncomfortable, unsettling and uneasily true to life”), and worked with disability charities. When Rosemary’s not falling in love with the rebels fighting their way onto the page, she heads the Oxford writing group Dreaming Spires.

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The Dead of Haggard Hall

Darke of Night

Book One

by Marie Treanor

 

29970987

 

Genre: Gothic/historical/paranormal romance

Publisher: Samhain Publishing

Date of Publication: 26th July 2016

ISBN: 978-1619235830

ASIN: B01CUOPRZQ

Number of pages: 216 (paperback)

Word Count: 71,000

Cover Artist: Kelly Martin

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Book Description:

Spirit possession is easy to remedy. Possession of the heart is another matter.

After vicar’s widow and natural medium Barbara Darke loses her respectable teaching position, she reluctantly agrees to become companion to her former pupil Emily, now the bride of young Sir Arthur Haggard.

Once settled at Haggard Hall, Barbara finds her friend is beset by ghostly voices and unexplained deaths. In a maelstrom of dark spirits and wicked emotions, Barbara battles to lay Emily’s ghosts to rest—both hampered and helped by Arthur’s skeptical cousin Patrick, who provokes and attracts her in equal measure.

It would be a mistake to trust a secretive, guilt-ridden man suspected of driving his wife to suicide, if not outright murdering her. And it could well be lethal to give in to her own desires, confused as they often are with the lusts of the dead.

But Arthur and Emily are in genuine physical danger, and suspicion is falling closer and closer to Patrick—the man who haunts Barbara’s sensual dreams. The man who stands to inherit Haggard Hall.

Warning: Contains a medium whose body is open season for spirit possession, and a scandal-ridden journalist who only believes what he can see—and touch.

Amazon     Amazon UK     BN     iBooks     ARe     Samhain

Enjoy this glimpse inside.

Emily broke off, clutching my arm as lightning flashed through several windows at once, followed almost immediately by a deafening clap of thunder that seemed to roll right over the roof.

At the same time, a rush of air chilled my scalp, stirring my hair, and several candles in the hall blew out at once, leaving only the dim light from two wall lamps.

Emily’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and closed soundlessly before she managed to say, “That shouldn’t happen, Barbara. You know it—”

As the thunder began to die away, something crashed into the front door opposite us, making us both jump and Emily squeal.

“What’s that?” she whispered in panic.

“It sounds like someone knocking on the door,” I said as calmly as I could.

“Why don’t they ring the bell?” she countered as the banging went on.

I thought about it. “Maybe the bell is broken, which is why the servants don’t hear.” I began to walk across the hall with Emily dangling from my elbow, trying to hold me back. I paused and stared at her. “What? Do you think it’s some evil spirit knocking on the door to get out of the rain?”

She blinked, gave a half laugh, and released my elbow, although she scurried after me the rest of the way to the door. I struggled with the heavy latch, and then, as soon as I began to draw the door back, the wind whipped it out of my hand and blasted me backwards.

At the same time, lightning forked across the sky, flashing over the grim, angular face of a large, soaking-wet man, all hollow cheeks and hard eyes that showed amber like a wolf’s.

Emily let out a cry and fell back, clutching me around the waist as the stranger, water running off him like a fresh shower, strode into the house and forced the door shut once more.

Only, of course, he wasn’t a stranger. My hand crept up over my heart to my throat.

Arthur bolted out of the dining room above, no doubt to see why his wife had screamed, Bela Hiranyi and Henry Faversham at his heels. Arthur was scowling over the banister with concern, until he caught sight of his visitor, when his face relaxed into a grin, and he rushed downstairs.

“Patrick!” he exclaimed, pushing right past us and holding out an eager hand. “We didn’t expect you!”

“Apparently not,” Patrick said dryly.

My worst fears were realized. Arthur’s cousin and unofficial guardian was indeed the man who’d witnessed my mother’s séance so contemptuously the night before I left London. His name was just as my mother had said.

But more than that, something in the way the rain rolled off his soaked person made me think of the agonized man I’d seen crouching in the storm. He carried his torment with him, like an echo which bounced between us.

 

About the Author:

Marie Treanor

Marie Treanor lives in Scotland, in a chaotic house by the sea, together with her eccentric husband, three much too smart children and a small dog who rules them all. Most days, she avoids both housekeeping and evil day jobs by writing stories of paranormal romance and fantasy.

Marie is the award winning author of over forty sexy paranormal romances – Indie, New York and E-published.

Website  / Facebook / Twitter / Pinterest

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I’ve enjoyed other books by Kirsten Weiss and was thrilled to hop on this blitz. I want to apologize to Kirsten, Bewitching Book Tours, and all of you readers for being late getting my post up. My internet got zapped in a storm and this is the soonest I could get internet access.

Check out The Mannequin Offensive!

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway!

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The Mannequin Offensive

Rocky Bridges

Book 1

Kirsten Weiss

30731173

 

Genre: Mystery/Suspense (paranormal)

Publisher: Misterio Press

Date of Publication: July 1, 2016

ISBN: 1-944767-02-9

Number of pages: 328

Word Count: 72,300

 

Book Description:

After an overseas assignment goes bad, all Rocky Bridges wants is out of the global security business. No more personal protection gigs. No more jaunts to third world countries. No more managing wayward contractors. But when her business partner is killed, Rocky must investigate her own company and clients.

Rocky’s no PI, but she’s always trusted her instincts. Knife-wielding mobsters, sexy insurance investigators, and a Russian-model turned business partner are all in a day’s work. Now her inner voice has developed a mind of its own, and she finds herself questioning her sanity as well as reality as she knows it. Rocky can’t trust those around her. But can she even trust herself?

The Mannequin Offensive is a fast-paced novel of mystery and suspense.

 

Release Day Sale. 99

Amazon      Kobo

Chapter 1

It was just meat.

Sickly green tiles, slick with something I didn’t want to identify. A wall of cabinets with square, metallic doors. And on the autopsy table…just meat.

I adjusted my mask, adapted my breathing. My stomach flipped at the smell of ammonia and petroleum. By this point, I should have been used to the oil stink. Baku, Azerbaijan’s capital, reeked of the stuff. It seeped from the ground, staining the sand, hanging heavy in the air. But surely I was imagining the odor here, in the morgue two stories below the city’s streets.

My scalp itched where my blonde hair had been shorn away. My brain throbbed, spun, and I recognized the signs of a potential faint. I relaxed my knees so I wouldn’t pass out and focused on his toes. Not his toes, I mentally corrected, its toes, the corpse’s toes, crooked from a lifetime in dress shoes.

It wasn’t Derek, not anymore. The man who, yesterday, had skipped out on a meeting with Azeri officials to drag me to see the burning gas fields was gone. He’d told me the fields had been holy to the Zoroastrians. Mystical. But he’d told me a lot of wild stories, about missing pirate ships and Vikings who’d made their way down to the Caspian.

“Who knows?” he’d said. “One might have been your ancestor. You look like a Valkyrie, tall and blond and powerful.”

“Viking pirates.” I’d rumpled my hair, scanning the low, brown hills for marauders, pickpockets, and corporate spies. “Sounds like a movie.” And I’d launched into a fantasy screenplay, complete with axe-play, wenches, and a traitorous Viking who’d doomed the expedition.

“They were wiped out by disease,” he’d said.

I’d snorted. “Non-fiction. Who needs it?”

The coroner cleared his throat.

I glanced across the table.

The coroner’s black eyes gleamed maliciously over his surgical mask. I was an intruder, my appearance in his morgue an insult to his professional standards.

“Are you all right?” They were the first English words he’d spoken, and they surprised me.

“I’m fine.” I shrugged. “It’s just meat.”

A sunburst of light glinted off the coroner’s scalpel, expanding, disorienting me.

He placed his fingers on the body’s clavicle.

Oh God, he’s going to cut him. My heart thundered. Meat, I told myself. Just meat.

Something grabbed my leg, and I jerked, woke up. My feet swung off the suede couch, and I swayed drunkenly, blinking.

My neighbor, Glenda, stepped hastily back and adjusted her lightweight green duster. A fit seventy-something, she favored flowy fabrics. Her lips moved, silent. Her white brows creased, and her mouth moved again. Glenda prodded the neat coil of white hair piled upon her head with a long finger.

Shaking my head, I tried to escape the remnants of the nightmare. I yanked the earplug from my right ear. “Sorry. What?”

Sun slanted through the sheer curtains, making rectangles on the burnt orange and blue oriental rug. My dog, Churro, panted on the bamboo floor next to Glenda, his black and white head tilted with concern. He was a dachshund-beagle mix. It was a mystery to me how two short-legged breeds had combined to create a svelte, mid-sized dog that looked like neither. But Churro, like me, was his own dog.

“I said, your phone’s been ringing off the hook.” Glenda raised a white brow. “I can hear it in my townhouse.”

I grimaced. My landline was intentionally loud. I checked my cell, lying on the glass coffee table. Dead. I tugged down the hem of my rumpled, white t-shirt. “What are you doing in here?”

She rested her hands on her narrow hips. “You gave me a key. Remember?”

I remembered. We’d exchanged keys when I’d first moved in. Glenda would water my plants when I was away, and I’d make sure that if Glenda died, her body would be found before being eaten by her cats. (Her words, not mine.) Since I traveled often and Glenda could only be eaten by her cats once, it had seemed a good deal at the time.

I squinted at my fireplace mantel, painted a butter-cream yellow, and the clock perched on it. Three o’clock. My gaze drifted upward to the painting of sunflowers. Happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts.

A garbled murmur turned my attention back to my neighbor. “Did you say something?” I asked.

“Sorry. I keep forgetting.” Glenda motioned toward my head, and my hand automatically rose to the shaved patch of skin above my left ear. Fine hair grew over the puckered scar. I’d tried parting my hair on the other side, covering it up. But it looked odd, and so I wore my blond hair in its usual long braid.

“I asked when you were planning on returning to work. This moping isn’t healthy.” Glenda’s lips pulled down, deepening the lines around her mouth, and I felt an unreasoning guilt.

“I’m not moping, and I’m not returning. I’m done.” I was done with the travel, done with the health hazards, done with the egos. Done, done, done.

Besides, a lifetime of new possibilities stretched before me. I could do anything. I could open a bar. I could open a bookstore. Or a bakery. Or a bookstore and bakery. I could even start something that didn’t start with the letter B. Lifetime of possibilities? There was an entire alphabet of possibilities.

“Done.” Glenda’s mouth pinched. “You’ve been sleeping all day, ignoring your responsibilities…”

“I’m on leave.”

“You’re too old for this.”

“Thanks.” Sheesh. She wasn’t my mom. Though she was old enough to be.

I stood, unpeeled the t-shirt from my back, and arched, feeling rather than hearing the crack. I was built like a German barmaid, able to carry six steins of beer in one hand, all curves and hidden muscle. It had been a useful physique in my role as security consultant. I rubbed my hands over cheeks splattered with freckles.

The dog pawed at my knee, whining.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I opened the glass door that looked over my fenced garden.

Churro bolted past.

“What will you do?” Glenda asked. For a moment, I thought I heard a hint of motherly concern in her voice.

But I was imagining it.

I watched Churro race in circles, ears flapping, ball in his mouth. He stopped before a New Zealand palm and dropped the tattered ball, cocking his head, as if waiting to play. He nosed the ball toward the plant.

I snorted and shook my head. I loved Churro but was under no illusions about his degree of smarts.

“Well?” Glenda asked.

“Well, what?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to open a combo wine bar and bookstore.”

Glenda lowered her chin. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’ll be great,” I said, spinning the fantasy. “I’ll call it the Book Cellar. Get it?”

“What do you know about running a wine bar? You don’t even drink wine. You’re a beer drinker.”

“Yeah, but the Book Keller just doesn’t have the same punny ring.” I laid an earnest hand on my chest. “People buy books during the day and drinks at night. It’s an optimal use of the space.”

“What space? Have you already found a space?”

The phone jangled, and I flinched.

“I told you it was loud,” Glenda said.

I walked into the light-filled kitchen and picked up the phone. “Rocky here.”

Someone pounded on the black-painted front door.

I jerked my chin toward the door, covering the phone with my hand. “Would you mind?” I asked Glenda in a low voice.

My neighbor glided toward the door.

The voice on the phone cleared his throat. “It’s Hank.” He paused. “Rocky, you need to prepare yourself for some bad news.”

My breath hitched, and I leaned against the gray granite counter. I knew those words. I’d spoken those words. And there was no way to prepare for what came next.

The front door swung open, and Glenda stepped aside.

Two uniformed police officers walked in.

“Who?” My throat tightened.

“It’s Pete. He’s been killed.”

My brain stumbled, hit a wall. I pressed my palm into the edge of the granite counter, felt its coolness beneath my skin. The bastard couldn’t be dead. I hadn’t forgiven him yet. I tried to swallow, failed.

“Rocky?” Hank asked.

“How?” My voice was a croak.

“Knifed. They found his body in a parking lot this morning. Must have happened sometime late last night.”

I bowed my head and ran my palm over my hair. My scalp was damp with sweat. “What do you need?” I finally said.

“The police are looking to talk to you. Don’t say anything.”

“Why? I don’t know—”

Hank broke the connection.

I stared at the phone. I wasn’t in the habit of blabbing to cops. Over two decades of working in third world countries had taught me the authorities were not my friends. American cops were light years ahead of the thugs I’d dealt with overseas, but old habits died hard. More importantly, there was nothing I could tell the officers. I didn’t know anything.

It made no sense. Pete couldn’t be dead.

The uniformed police moved toward me, their broad faces grim.

I leaned against a cabinet.

I didn’t cry.

About the Author:

Kirsten Weiss

Kirsten Weiss worked overseas for nearly twenty years in the fringes of the former USSR, Africa, and South-east Asia.  Her experiences abroad sparked an interest in the effects of mysticism and mythology, and how both are woven into our daily lives.

Now based in San Mateo, CA, she writes genre-blending steampunk suspense, urban fantasy, and mystery, mixing her experiences and imagination to create a vivid world of magic and mayhem.

Kirsten has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer re-runs and drinking red wine. Sign up for her newsletter to get free updates on her latest work at: http://kirstenweiss.com

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The Lunam Ceremony
Nicole Loufas
Publication date: May 20th 2016
Genres: New Adult, Urban Fantasy

Born from a curse that allows her kind to shift from human to wolf, Kalysia won the genetic lottery. She is the offspring of an original, born to lead and bound by her duty to produce an heir to continue their bloodline she must leave the only life she has ever known to take part in The Lunam Ceremony. This ancient ritual will solidify her place in the pack and determine who she will love for the rest of her life. There’s just one problem – Kalysia doesn’t believe in love.

That changes when she falls into the hands of Dillan Dukes. The attraction is undeniable. The connection unbreakable. He is everything love at first site is supposed to be, suddenly her future doesn’t look that bad.

Unwilling to give up hope on going to college and having the life her and Dillan fantasize about outside the pack, she reluctantly takes on the role as pack leader. When an unexpected proposal is made that will grant both Dillan and Kalysia their freedom she is willing to put her ego, and her heart aside, to make her dream come true.

One night.

One act of selflessness.

For the life she’s always dreamt about.

Only things are not what they seem.

Can Kalysia and Dillan find happily ever after with the consequences of that night haunting them forever?

Will one fateful night destroy Kalysia’s future along with the future of the pack?

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

A loud boom rattles the windows in the building and I hit the floor. It sounds like a bomb has gone off, but I hear laughing and the music comes back on. It was just fireworks. I make my way back downstairs and out the back door. I’ll hide in the woods. By the time the ceremony starts and Layla notices I’m missing, it will be too late to find me.

I see Bonnie and Jessie carrying out the white garments. It’s almost time. I move towards the woods and I spot Cassie looking for me. I flatten myself against the wall and slide across it until I reach the end of the building. I round the corner and take off in a full sprint towards the woods. I make it three steps and then I trip.

That hurt. I spit dirt from my mouth as I push myself up to a sitting position. I look down at my knee and hear someone laughing. When I turn my head, I see Dillan Dukes leaning against the wall.

“Slow down there, speedy,” he quips.

In moments like this, there is nothing you can say. All you can do is laugh. I burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Dillan joins me on the ground.

“Are you laughing with me or at me?” I finally ask.

“A little of both.” His voice is deep and sexy. He smells like sage and cigarettes. “I’m Dillan, by the way.” He holds his hand out to me and I shake it.

“I know who you are. I’m Kalysia.”

“I know who you are.” He smiles and turns my hand over. “Don’t worry about this.” He swipes his fingers across the scrapes on my palm. “After Lunam, you’ll be all healed.”

“So I’ve heard,” I say as Dillan springs off the ground and helps me up.

We stand face to face in silence. I feel his heart beating between us and suddenly something sparks inside of me. This time the burning begins in my chest. My breathing becomes erratic. I taste his breath on my tongue, and I want to kiss him. I edge forward until we are chest to chest. He steps back. I reach for his hand, and he pulls away.

“Kalysia, we can’t,” he whispers into the space between us. “Lunam is beginning.” He brushes his lips across my hand and walks away.

 

Author Bio:

Nicole was born and raised in California. She claims to be a San Francisco native, however she’s lived in both Northern and Southern California. She credits her creativity to the fact that she attended 12 schools between kindergarten and her senior year in high school. Her nomadic childhood allowed her to reinvent herself often. Some might say she was a liar. While others see the stories she told as a coping mechanism. Twelve schools, in six cities, in twelve years – give her a break. Today she channels her storytelling ability into writing novels. Long story short – kids that lie become writers.

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I loved James Hunter’s Yancy Lazarus series and I’m excited to share his newest release, Mudman,

Scroll down and check it out. I have a peek inside the book and the awesome cover art to share with you today.

MudMan

The Golem Chronicles

Book One

by James A. Hunter

Mudman cover

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Genre: Adult Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Shadow Alley Press

ASIN: B01BX7PT7M

Number of pages: 415 / Word Count: 111,000

Cover Artist: Lou Harper

 

Book Description:

Levi Adams is a soft spoken, middle-aged Mennonite man—at least he tries to be when he’s not murdering people.

Levi’s a golem, a Mudman, crafted from the muck, mire, and corpses of a World War II concentration camp—killing is just a part of his DNA. He doesn’t like it, but unfortunately he’s been saddled with a divine commission to dole out judgment on those who shed innocent blood. After seventy years as a cold-blooded murder machine, however, Levi’s trying to change his grisly nature. And the AA meetings and church services are helping. A little. But when he runs across a wounded girl, Sally Ryder, during one of his “hunting expeditions,” he realizes self-help may have to go on the back burner.

Someone is attempting to revive a pre-Babylonian murder god, and the road to rebirth is paved with dead bodies. Lots and lots of them.

Now, Levi must protect Ryder—the key to an unspeakable resurrection—and defeat a Nazi mage from Levi’s murky past. But the shadowy mage holds a terrible secret about the Mudman’s unorthodox birth, one offering insight into Levi’s morbid compulsion for bloodshed. It’s a secret Levi would pay anything to uncover: maybe even Ryder’s life. If Levi isn’t careful, he may end up turning into the monster he always imagined himself to be.

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Enjoy this peek inside the book.

ZERO:

Awakening

June, 1943

 

He blinked his eyes open for the first time: a newborn stealing his first look at the world, which, in a way, is exactly what he was. Except no squealing, rosy-cheeked infant had ever been so big, so ugly, or so filled with blood-boiling rage. Never had a child been so appalling. He squinted at first, letting in only the merest trickle of light because even the wan illumination from the moon, which loitered over the world like a fat thumbnail, was harsh to his virgin eyes.

Smells came next: the scent of musky earth, the harsh tang of powdery slaked lime—used to mask the reek of decay—and buried beneath that, the sour stink of rotten flesh and burnt hair.

The sky spit down a misty drizzle, fine droplets of cool water that turned his gray skin slick. After a few moments more his eyes adjusted fully, allowing him, at last, to survey his surroundings. Mud and muck, deep brown and goopy, lined everything. It squished beneath his shoulder blades, clung to his arms and legs, and liberally coated the corpses crudely piled to his right. Despite the mud, the bodies appeared almost white, like angry specters waiting for him, welcoming him to this new hell with silent screams and vacant eyes.

How he knew anything was beyond him, since this was the first day of his life, the day—or rather night—of his unnatural birth. Surely, no baby pushed and fought its way into the world with dark and grisly thoughts of murder and death lingering in its mind, with knowledge of mass graves, heinous experimentation, and hasty executions. But he knew such things. Fragments of memories floated and swirled inside his skull, dancing a slow funeral dirge, parading incoherent snatches of imagery through his head.

The Wehrmacht march through the streets in their black spit-shined boots and high-collared, gray wool uniforms. Smart and dashing, those uniforms, dressing up the face of murder in civility and pageantry …

The Luftwaffe soars overhead. The buzz of the single-prop Focke-Wulf and the thunderous roar of the colossal Messerschmitt transport planes fill the air with their racket …

He clutches a small boy to his chest, his body trembling as he hides, holding his breath for fear of being heard. Terror and panic wriggle in his guts as the black-garbed Schutzstaffel—the SS—make their way from door to door, fists rapping on wood, rifle buttstocks smashing out windows, booted feet kicking their way inside …

Then, train cars, loaded to capacity, roll through his thoughts. Bodies press up against one another so tightly he can’t breathe—except he isn’t a he, but a she. And she is searching for her sister. They’d been separated in all the chaos …

So many images, circling around, each screaming more loudly than the last, each demanding he lend them an ear or an eye or a hand. He clutched at either side of his head. Broad, fleshy palms pressed in as though he could simply pulverize the images and send them back to whatever nightmare they’d come from. But they kept coming, and as they came—faster and faster, like a hail of automatic machine gunfire—his chest began to itch and burn. It felt like someone had taken a cherry-red fire iron and jabbed it into the meat covering his breastbone.

A huge hand flew to the pain, his fingers finding crude markings etched directly into the skin, cut deep into the muscle below. As he touched the mark, the jagged wound, the voices and visions coalesced into a single demand. A demand for retribution. The anger came next, flowing from the brand like gasoline pumping through his veins, scorching his insides and propelling him to action. He lumbered to his feet, the muck squishing around his thick toes, and made for the muddy wall of his earthen womb. In reality, an open grave. He dug his digits in and used his flabby, though powerfully built, arms to pull himself upward and free.

He lay on the edge of the pit for a long beat, charting the lay of the land, eyes scanning the dark, which covered everything like a velvety blanket. In the distance, not so far off, he saw a squat building. Some sort of bunker, outlined by the faint glow of light bulbs. He wasn’t sure what he was. Where he was. Or how he’d gotten there. But, as the brand burned in his chest, he was certain of one thing: someone—or, perhaps, lots of someones—had quite the butcher’s bill to account for, and he was ready to collect.

 

About Author James Hunter

James A. Hunter

Hey all, my name is James Hunter and I’m a writer, among other things. So just a little about me: I’m a former Marine Corps Sergeant, combat veteran, and pirate hunter (seriously). I’m also a member of The Royal Order of the Shellback—’cause that’s a real thing. I’ve also been a missionary and international aid worker in Bangkok, Thiland. And, a space-ship captain, can’t forget that.

Okay … the last one is only in my imagination.

Currently, I’m a stay at home Dad—taking care of my two kids—while also writing full time, making up absurd stories that I hope people will continue to buy. When I’m not working, writing, or spending time with family, I occasionally eat and sleep.

You can visit me to find out more at www.JamesAHunter.wordpress.com

www.twitter.com/@jamesahunter13

www.facebook.com/WriterJamesAHunter

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew!

For a list of my reviews go HERE

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

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