Posts Tagged ‘PNR’

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Loved By A Killer: A Sexy Paranormal Thriller

Loved By A Killer Series #1

C.F. Rabbiosi

32830447

Genre: PNR, Thriller, Horror

Release Date: Oct. 26th 2016

ISPN: 978-1539743590 / ASIN: B01MCXOZ69

Number of Pages: 274 / Word Count: Appr. 86,000

Cover artists: Sam Briggs and Ashen Sorrow

 

Book Description:

Raina loved performing upon the London stage, but one night she found herself dancing for only HIM. She froze, and looked to the balcony where the gaslights flickered dimly over his shadowy form. If only she had known that this beautiful monster would soon rip her away from everything in the world SHE EVER LOVED, perhaps she wouldn’t have lingered so long.

Marcus loved being a blood thirsty predator, but one night his gallivanting brought him to his knees in front of HER. If only he’d known what would happen when she danced, that she would remind him of someone who was everything in the world HE EVER LOVED, Perhaps he would’ve turned away.

As he drags her deeper and deeper into his depraved world of torture and violence, she begins fighting with her own darkness that threatens to consume her everyday. And oh, how it begs to be released. And though she knows it’s wrong, she desires her captor anyway.

Until she begins falling for someone else…

Meanwhile, prostitutes are being butchered in the streets and she begins to wonder: Is her dark lover, the one she is bound to, The Ripper?

With an accurate account of the creepy gaslit times of London and real Jack the Ripper crime scenes, Loved By A Killer is an exciting read from start to finish.

Amazon

Check out the excerpt!

I RACE UPSTAIRS AND TURN THE GASLIGHT ON to its brightest setting and listen to every sound in the house, for anything unusual and for Marcus’ return. My mind spins over this turn of events. The mutilated girl in the picture. The monster that takes pleasure in her horrific murder. The kind of monster that stole my mother away in the darkness leaving our lives wrecked. But now I have power: speed, strength, senses that are out of this world, and an affinity for the night. And somewhere, this monster lurks in the night- that I NOW OWN.

I’m going to destroy him. Jack the Ripper, Marcus, whoever he is- he’s dead. I don’t believe it will cost me what’s left of my humanity, but even if my soul disintegrates to pieces, he must be stopped.

“Fascinated…captivated… Throw me to the devil for I am painfully in love with you.” Marcus appears in the doorway. His face gleams happily and he throws his hat onto the dresser.

I force a smile. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, baby, I have my own vampire things to tend to.” He extends his hand toward my face and I flinch. “Have you eaten?” My muscles feel weak and my chest burns a little. “No? Let me fix that. Tom!”

“Please don’t let me hurt him,” I say. He nods. I drink from the young servant’s wrist as my mind swims with horrid thoughts. After ten gulps, I force my mouth away and it doesn’t hurt as much, being far more interested in Marcus’ bloody affairs. I pull up a sleeve to wipe the blood away and Tom lies back on the bed.

“Guess what happened tonight?” Marcus flings messy hair out of his face and plops down on the bed beside me.

 “What happened?”

“There was another murder on the East side.”

My breath catches. “And?” I flutter my eyelids up at my beaming vampire. “How do you know that?”

“While I was… out, the town was a-buzz with the sad murmurings of a new victim.”

“You seem so torn up.”

“Of course not. But she was.”

Tom’s hand lands on my leg. “Can I be yours? Like, your personal blood boy?”

Marcus scoffs. “She’s likely to kill you, chap.”

“Go ahead Marcus, tell me what happened,” I say, unable to keep my voice steady.

“They say it was a bangtail called Dark Annie. The doctor had to scoop her intestines and organs out of the dirt and put them back into her stomach.”

“I see.” My mind unveils all the mutilated women in the artwork I just discovered in Marcus’ study. What a painting this new murder would make. “He’s not going to stop, is he?” I stare pointedly into those dark pools of hypnotizing evil.

“Doubtful.” He cocks his head to the side and grins.

Well, hell.

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About Author Charity Rabbiosi

C. F. Rabbiosi

Charity lives in the University town of Columbia, MO with her husband and three girls. She holds degrees in Science and Registered Nursing, but found her true passion in writing.

Her stories are inspired by Interview with the Vampire, The Last Vampire, Buffy and True Blood and finds herself on most days living and writing in her own fantasy world- when she’s not chasing after her kids.

Member of Writers Digest, Writers Café, and Word Press.

Website / Facebook / Goodreads

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Welcome to the PNR, Urban Fantasy & Dystopian Party!

This giveaway is brought to you by 22 fabulous Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, and Dystopian authors!In this giveaway, EVERYONE who enters will win TWENTY-TWO FREE – EXCLUSIVE – ebooks by the sponsoring authors (to be delivered at the conclusion of the giveaway), and one GRAND PRIZE
winner will also receive a $1000 Amazon Gift Card! The Winner will be announced on April 1st at our Facebook Event. The winner will also receive an email directly.

There will ALSO be other prizes and giveaways happening at that event between now and our Grand Prize announcement! So make sure you mark yourself as attending so you don’t miss those great opportunities to win more prizes and snag more freebies!

Here’s a sneak peek from one of the sponsors:

Discern – an award-winning and bestselling urban fantasy novel by Andrea Pearson

Nicole put her things down, not wanting anything to be in her hands when she picked up the disgusting book. She reached for it, but hesitated. Already, she could sense warmth coming from the leather cover, and she wasn’t even touching it. Its magical pulses were different from the other items—they seemed to drip off the book like sweat.

Nicole hesitated, but wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if something bad would happen, right? She took a deep breath and placed her hands on the book. It shivered under her touch and she cringed, pulling back. The sensation of warm leather made her flesh crawl, and she rubbed her hands and arms on her jeans, trying to get the feeling to go away.

Come on, Nicole. Don’t wimp out.

Without letting herself think about it, she picked up the book and lifted the cover.

A wind rushed over her, blowing her hair back, roaring in her ears. She caught a brief whiff of tobacco smoke before the surge of air reversed and sucked the breath out of her lungs, making her gasp.

The floor under her quaked. The book vibrated. The leather on the cover moved, muscles beneath it flexing. Nicole tried to drop the book, but couldn’t. She was unable to control her hands or fingers. They clenched so tightly, they ached. A shadow covered the pages of the book, preventing her from reading.

What was going on? She gasped again, trying to breathe against the strong wind. She felt someone touch her shoulder, but she couldn’t move. Her fingers still clung to the book. The shadow on the pages shifted, roiled, and turned toward her, the brief outline of a face visible. It watched her for several moments.

Nicole . . .

The voice was soft, deep. A strange yearning inside her made her want to read the book, to understand. To join the owner of the voice, though she didn’t know where or what he was.

The wind slowed to a gentle and familiar caress across her cheek. Familiar?

Then suddenly, it all stopped. The book fell from her hands and slammed itself shut. She backed away, her arms, legs—everything—shaking.

“What happened?” Professor Coolidge asked next to her, making her jump.

“I—I don’t know.” Nicole tried to smooth her hair, but her hands shook too much. She tucked them under her arms. “It said my name . . . and there was a shadow. In-inside it.”

Coolidge lifted the leather book. His mouth popped open in surprise. “You’ve activated a force within it—something alive.” He looked at her, fear and worry on his face. “How did you do that?”

Nicole shook her head. “I don’t know,” she repeated.

Professor Coolidge put the book back on the table. “I’m not sure what to say, other than the book is much more powerful than it used to be.” He peered at her, scrutinizing her. “And I’d love to know why it called to you, why you woke it up, when so many others have not.”

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Tea Leaf Tales: Which Yule Tree Will Pick Me?
Fantasy Flash Fiction by Marsha A. Moore
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I suck in a gulp of thick, pine-scented air,
faced with the difficult question—which one. I tick through the usual
criteria—fullness, tightly attached needles, correct height. Beyond that the
trouble begins for me when I consider needle length, color, tightness of
branches. 
Needles crunch under the soles of my shoes as I
slowly pass down the row, hoping one tree chooses me. Those I don’t give a full
inspection slyly begin to stretch their postures more erect before I turn
completely away. If I pause to admire one, branches brush past the backs of my
legs until I turn around and give that tree a careful look.
Ahead in the center of the display, I hear
voices in foreign languages—hurried bits of anxious dialog that quiet as I grow
near. 
One small blue spruce tries his best to stretch
taller but cannot reach up to his neighbors, so I lean in and whisper, “If you
talk to me, I’ll take you home.” 
I wait, determined, and the nearby treetops bend
over the tiny spruce until finally a gentle tinkling begins deep inside at its
trunk, radiating to the tips of the boughs at my side. I caress the singing
branch, then wave an arm to the shop owner.

Tea Leaf Tales is a series of original ten-sentence short stories by
Marsha A. Moore, relating to photos/scenes that resonate with her. Read more
Tea Leaf Tales archived in Marsha’s
Mercantile of Tea Leaf Tales.



Blood Ice and Oak Moon
Coon Hollow Coven Tales 
Book Three
Marsha A Moore
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Print Length: 211 pages
Publication Date: October 3, 2016
ASIN: B01LWS4V2G
Genre: PNR
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Synopsis
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Esme Underhill is about to discover a darkness hidden inside her that could destroy her chance for independence and possibly kill her.
Esme’s mother took her young daughter away from Southern Indiana’s Coon Hollow Coven to prevent her from learning about the unusual witchcraft she had inherited. When Esme is twenty-seven, her beloved Grammy Flora passes away and leaves her property in the Hollow to her granddaughter. With this opportunity to remake her life and gain independence, Esme attempts to emulate Grammy Flora as a wildwood mystic who relies on the hedge world of faeries to locate healing herbs. But fae are shrewd traders. When they open their world to her, she must meet the unknown malevolence of her birthright.
Thayne, the handsome king of the fae Winter Court, faces his own struggle to establish autonomy as a new regent. He is swept into the tempest of Esme’s unfolding powers, a dangerous threat to his court. His sworn duty is to protect his people, despite Esme’s beauty and allure, which tear at his resolve.
Both Esme’s and Thayne’s dreams of personal freedom are lost…unless they can trust each other and overcome surmounting dangers.
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Excerpt from Chapter One: Winter Began
Dear Miss Rebecca Esmeralda Underhill,
Please accept our deepest sympathies
concerning the loss of your grandmother, Flora Esmeralda Freestone. She was
much loved and well-respected in our community.
As per her documented wishes, the
ownership of her property on 10510 East Lost Branch Run passes to you. This
transfer has been filed in our office. At the request of High Priest Logan
Dennehy, all council members have voted to reinstate you as a member of Coon
Hollow Coven after your absence of twenty years.
However, despite Coon Hollow
Coven being your birthplace, a majority indicated the lapsed time was
sufficient cause to withhold transfer of Ms. Freestone’s ceremonial standing to
you, which customarily would accompany a property transference to blood kin of
adult age. For explanation of how you may attain ceremonial approval in your
name, please visit the council office at 50013 Owls Tail Creek Road.
Enclosed, please find pamphlets
describing the expected dress and personal property code of our coven, which
adheres to the time period in which the coven was founded in 1935. This is to
best protect our witchcraft traditions.
Sincerely,
Nathan Wells
Coon Hollow Coven Council,
secretary
Esme’s gaze
fixed on the words that acknowledged her as the property owner. She’d never
lived alone. First her mom, then a roommate and finally Doug. Esme’s shoulders
straightened and chest lifted with strength and independence at the thought of
owning her own place. But, why wasn’t she approved for ceremonial status? Her
hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, and her heart raced.
It’s not fair. I won’t be accepted as a healer. Only children not yet graduated
from the coven’s secondary school were kept from participating fully in
ceremonies. Esme loved learning the ways of a hedge witch and helped Gram every
summer from grade school through college. Fascinated with tending Gram’s
plants, Esme even studied botany in college.
The research
company she worked for had already accepted her request to work offsite and
study mystic plants…at the stipulation she be reduced to part-time. She needed
work here as a healer to supplement her income. She’d assumed incorrectly that
her experience with Gram and college studies would’ve qualified her as an
accepted healer. Her standing in the coven would be important to patrons, all
except Gram’s closest friends who knew Esme well. An attempt at independence
seemed bound to fail before she started.
Her gaze drifted
to the name used in the letter’s greeting. She hadn’t seen her full name in
print for decades. It didn’t even appear on her birth certificate, which
labeled her as Rebecca E. Underhill, one of the many things her mother insisted
upon. Mother wanted nothing to do with the coven or witchcraft and said,
“Esmeralda sounds too much like a witch. No need to encourage the darkness
out.” Grudgingly, she accepted her own mother’s middle name for her child to
uphold custom. Esme never understood Mother’s view since Gram was
well-respected for her kind and gentle strength by all who knew her.
To Esme’s
Indianapolis friends, she was Becky. Only her mother addressed her as Rebecca.
But inside, she was Esme. Gram had always called her that, or Esmeray in
carefree moments. Her middle name suited the mystic inside Esme, something Gram
must have known. If only Esme could use Gram’s last name Freestone. Underhill
felt like a lead weight.
Esme set the
letter aside and paced the length of the rag runner through the small kitchen.
Frustration wound her along a circular track through the sitting room, to her
closet-sized guest room, and back. The space was too small to work answers out
of her tangled mind. On the second pass, she sank onto the goose down comforter
of Gram’s iron bed. Billowing fluff sheltered her from the problems. Gram’s
linens, scented with homegrown lavender and rose sleep liniment, comforted Esme
and tugged on her eyelids.
She forced her
eyes open and pushed herself up and off the bed. Hiding wasn’t the way to begin
this fresh start in life. She’d done enough kowtowing to stronger wills,
letting Doug and her mother run over her. At the back door, she paused long
enough to grab a rain parka and pulled it on as she strode outside.
Gram’s cat,
Dove, zipped alongside with a sharp meow, slipping out before the door closed.
Esme smiled, grateful the tomcat kept Gram company during her illness. She’ doted
on the smoky blue stray that happened into her garden one early fall afternoon
and never left. Gram swore he was an omen and chose his name ‘cause of his
white-winged breast patch. She used to say, “One day soon my spirit will fly on
those outspread wings, and together Dove and me we’ll roam the wooded hills.”
Gram loved those hills. Thinking about the hills drew Esme to gather Dove and
head outside.
Ice still
peppered down, adding more layers to the spiky crystalline grass blades. A
breeze blew at Esme’s back. She allowed the wind to guide her toward the woods
behind the cabin. At the trailhead, ice coating the bittersweet vine berries
glistened the same shade of blue she’d rubbed from Dove’s coat. Alert to the
strange color, she followed a line of branches dangling sky blue icicles, each
one more fanciful and richer in hue than the last. A beautiful play of light,
ranging from cerulean to ultramarine. Even worth the chill at her ankles, which
were bare in her cropped jeans.
Whenever Esme
paused to marvel at the colored icicles, Dove pawed them and then dodged when
they dropped.
Minutes later
and deeper in the forest, the ice pelted heavier, and Esme reached for the hood
of her raincoat. Strands of hair fell forward, woven with frozen ultramarine
threads. The same purplish tint coated twigs along the path. Light from the sky
reached this far into the woods since all but the oak trees had lost their
leaves. The unusual color couldn’t be caused by light refraction. She’d never
seen any rain, sleet, or snow like this, not even in the Hollow. Grammy had
taught her a little about omens. Was this a sign?
Esme scurried
along the trail, sliding at times and spotting richer and deeper shades of
purple and red-violets. At the far side of the woodlot, iris-hued spider webs
clung to berry brambles. She gasped at the beauty. Tempted to touch, she
extended a hand but at the last instant resisted.
A deep groan
echoed from the adjoining property ahead.
She snatched her
hand back and scanned for some god of nature angry at her ruinous attempt.
Grappling for Dove, Esme crouched behind a thicket.
The cat gave a
single hiss, then clung to her leg.
In the distance,
a big middle-aged man, both tall and wide, staggered behind a shed, dragging a
long, clumsy load wrapped and tied into a blanket. His balding head snapped in
her direction, eyes wide and face blanched gray-white. “Who’s there?” His
booming voice sliced the delicate webs from their branches. Crimson freezing
rain assaulted both trail and yard.
Esme froze,
afraid to move and attract his attention. Her heart, drumming against her ribs,
threatened to give her away. She wanted to run home. But if the colored ice
omen was meant for her, she needed to stay and learn its meaning. Could the man
see the omen?
Thankfully, her
cover must’ve fooled Baldy. He resumed lugging the limp bundle, and didn’t seem
affected by the magical ice.
From between the
tangle of branches, Esme studied him.
His wet, black
shirt clung to his round belly. Blood-red ice coated his load, tracing the
outline of a human body. Smaller than his, probably a female. Was she dead? Of
natural causes? Or had he murdered her? The thought wrapped around Esme’s
breath and trapped it deep in her lungs. Her legs twitched. Gaze riveted on
Baldy, she positioned to bolt from potential danger.
He rolled the
body into a depression Esme couldn’t see.
She leaned to
one side, bracing herself with a hand on the ground.
Over what looked
like a freshly dug grave, Baldy grunted as he shoveled and kicked dirt and
large rocks. Clumps of red clung to long strands of his comb-over, now hanging
along one ear. Was it ice or real blood?
Dove huddled
closer, and Gram’s voice from years ago spoke in Esme’s mind. “Blood ice is
stained with revenge.”
Crimson liquid
dripped from the man’s eyes and fell from grimacing jowls. The face of a demon
 © Copyright 2016 Marsha A. Moore. All rights reserved.
 
About the Author:
Marsha A. Moore loves to write fantasy and paranormal romance. Much of her life feeds the creative flow she uses to weave highly imaginative tales. 
The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing, as well as other pursuits of watercolor painting and drawing. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher. Her practice helps weave the mystical into her writing. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors where she’s always on the lookout for portals to other worlds. Marsha is crazy about cycling. She lives with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking her kayak out is a real treat. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at the beach is magical! 
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Fever
Blood Moon Rising
Book One
Lola Taylor
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Genre: Werewolf PNR
Publisher: Indigo Dreamer Press
Date of Publication: February, 2014 (Fourth Edition, October, 2016)
ASIN: B00ING5PN0
Number of pages: 114
Word Count: 33k
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Book Description
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When the Blood Moon rises, the wolves come out to play… and find their mates.
Danica has about given up on love. In a last-ditch attempt at finding “the one,” she agrees to a blind date through an online dating service. But instead of finding roses and romance, she finds someone intent on killing her. That is, until the mysterious, brooding Gage shows up to save her….
Gage is running out of time to find a mate. If the Blood Moon sets before he can find her, he’ll lose the rank of packmaster—and the peace within the pack he’s worked so hard to obtain. When he saves a luscious blonde in the parking lot of a bar, he has no idea she is his mate—until he Marks her with his touch.
Determined to keep her safe at any cost, Gage whisks Danica away into a hidden world full of lust, unlikely love, and treachery. Someone’s put a hit on his mate, and he’s hell-bent on finding out who, all while the Blood Moon looms closer, threatening to destroy his chances at true love forever. That is, if something—or someone—doesn’t kill the woman he’s falling for first.
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“Mates and Mistletoe”
A Blood Moon Rising story
By
Lola Taylor
When Blake
reluctantly agrees to go to a pack Christmas party, the last thing on his mind
is finding his mate. But fate—and possibly Santa—has other plans…
***
Blake observed the party with a look of supreme distaste. Crescent Manor had been
decked out in blue and white twinkle lights, silver garland, and sparkly
tinsel. Just looking at it made his eyes hurt. Not to mention the smell. Oh,
God, if he ever had to smell pine, cinnamon, or pumpkin spice
whatever-the-hell-it-was-called again, it would be too soon. Being a werewolf
royally sucked sometimes, mainly the enhanced sense of smell. And this
place—his damn home for the past fifteen years—was doing nothing but reminding
him why he hated the holidays.
Everybody here seemed to have found a date or had brought their mates. All but him.
It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t find a mate. Hell, he’d tried dating. And rutting. That part
he especially enjoyed. But the Mating Mark, the mystical symbol that designated
his soul mate, had yet to appear on anyone. Which was supremely frustrating.
Damn, did the universe hate him that much? He was thirty-five, for shit’s sake. And he was
beginning to wonder if, maybe, he was destined to be alone for the rest of his
life.
His best friend and fellow Moonstruck Pack member, Ryan, walked up to him, interrupting his
scowling. Ryan had gotten a little more into the Christmas spirit, wearing a
red button down and black slacks. Blake, on the other hand, had gone with a
Metallica T-shirt that should have been thrown away ten years ago, a pair of
rugged jeans, and his shit-kickers. Like hell he was dressing up for a party he
didn’t want to attend in the first place. These people had been lucky he’d
shown up to this damn circus. If it were up to him, he would’ve stayed up in
his room, reading. Yeah, yeah, despite appearances and general “don’t give a
shit” demeanor, he loved a good Brandon Sanderson novel.
Ryan surveyed him with a knowing twinkle in his eye and nudged him. “Someone piss in your
champagne?”
“This ain’t champagne. I hate that bubbly shit. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a
Guinness. Poured it in this fancy glass so Alara doesn’t yell at me.” Alara,
the queen of the Moonstruck Pack and one of the newest additions to their
ever-expanding family, was the only reason he’d deigned to show up to this shit
show. One, because she was a hell of a leader and business woman. In the past
few months since she’d been here, she’d increased profits from the pack’s real
estate business by fifty percent. Blake, loving the shit out of math and money,
could appreciate that. Especially since he was the pack’s accountant.
Two, he downright respected Alara. Not only was she smart, level-headed, and beautiful,
she was into epic fantasy. After her mate, Nik, convinced her to binge-watch
the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy
and all six seasons of Game of Thrones,
she was hooked to the genre. Knowing he was a big fan himself, she’d asked to
borrow his wide collection of fantasy books. He’d happily obliged, and the two
of them had become fast friends.
Friends or not, however, this was downright torture. But it wouldn’t be right, for political or
friendships’ sakes, for him not to attend. Alara was one of the few people he
considered a true friend. Plus, he was the pack’s accountant, and he loved his
job. He wasn’t about to spit in their faces by not spending Christmas Eve in
hell, er, at a party.
Ryan was quiet a moment. “You’ve been holding that wall up all night. Gonna come talk to some of
us?”
“Nah. People seem too busy sharing pup pictures and dancing with their mates.”
Ryan tried not to look ashamed. He’d found his own mate, Stephanie, about a month back. Blake
had been both thrilled for his bud and disgruntled their bachelor evenings were
coming to an end.
Blake rolled his eyes, giving Ryan a dry smile. “You don’t have to hide your happiness—or your
mate—from me, man. I’m glad you found Steph.”
Ryan’s shoulders seemed to relax, and he looked out at the dancing crowd. They were in the
parlor. The furniture had been pushed aside to make room for a dance floor. A
gorgeous brunette danced with a group of friends. Her face lit up when she saw
Ryan, and she smiled and waved.
A stupid-happy grin, one that Blake couldn’t help feeling jealous of, lit up Ryan’s face as he
waved back.
He and Blake made small talk after that, with Blake checking the clock every couple of
minutes. God, had time stopped? Shit, he loved his best friend, but he couldn’t
take much more of this. Every second here reminded him of how alone he felt,
and exacerbated his fear that he would never find someone to share his life
with.
After a conversation about hockey, another of Blake’s true loves, Blake said, “Hey,
man, I’m gonna grab another beer and get some air. Care to join?”
A slow song started, and people went for their dates or mates. Stephanie started to
approach. “Nah, man. I owe Steph a dance. Promised her before we came down.
I’ll catch up with you later for that beer.”
“Holding you to that.” He said “hello” to Stephanie before slipping from the room.
After snagging another beer from the kitchen, he let himself outside, onto the back patio.
Nobody was out there. One, because it was freaking freezing, even for a
werewolf. Their body temperatures ran hotter than that of a normal human, but
cold was cold. And the air was practically subzero.
His breath fogged as he looked up at the stars, at the open sky, full moon, and silvery
tips of trees in the forest surrounding the property. This place was beautiful.
Always had been, even when it had sometimes felt like a prison during
Malachite’s reign.
Blake shivered, banishing thoughts about that psychopath to the recesses of his mind. After filing
those bloody, dark memories away in the archive of “Shit He’d Rather Not Think
About,” he took another swig of his beer about the same time a husky voice
said, “Taking a break from the glitter festival, too?”
Blake nearly choked on his beer as he struggled to swallow and inhale at the same time.
Whirling, he could barely make out the curvy figure standing in the shadows.
Then she stepped into a pool of moonlight, and he forgot how to breathe.
Holy hell.
She was gorgeous, like something from a dream. With curves that would make Marilyn
Monroe jealous and long, satiny blond hair that tumbled over her shoulders in
waves, she looked like a siren come to steal him away into the night. Her dress
was black, shimmery, and skin-tight, clinging to her like a second skin. Her
four-inch crimson pumps made her nearly as tall as his six foot five.
A wave of desire made his skin hot, and an assortment of lustful thoughts filled his mind.
Down boy.
Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight and angled his body in such a way he hoped it
would mask any obvious signs of his growing desire.
Could it be a mating fever, the time when all a werewolf could think about was sex? Possibly.
Then again, sex was usually at the back of his thoughts, especially since he
hadn’t had any in the past two months. Work had simply kept him too busy.
But now, in the presence of this dream girl, he found he couldn’t stop thinking about how soft
her skin would feel or what her full, cherry-red lips would taste like.
As if sensing what he was thinking, she slowly smiled, and his heart skipped a beat.
***
Download the full story for free and find out how to get one of Lola’s full-length,
standalone werewolf romances for free! (Limited time offer.)
Click here to download “Mates and Mistletoe” for free!
 


A note from Lola: Hello! I use a service called BookFunnel to deliver my books.
If you have trouble getting this book, just tap the Help Me link at the top of
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About the Author
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“Lola Taylor” is a pen name created for the romances I can’t show my grandma without blushing. My favorite genre to write is romantic suspense, usually involving hot werewolves, warlocks, or any other type of paranormal creature. Keep the action hot and the romance hotter—that’s my motto! I’m a horror film junkie, I still love Halloween as an adult (seriously, I think I get more excited for it than some kids do), and what precious spare time I have is spent with my family, reading (everything from sci fi to middle grade), playing the flute, painting pretty pictures, or screwing around on Pinterest or Etsy. Hailing from the South, I currently live in the Midwest with five fur babies and my hubby.
I’m pretty easy-going. If you want to get to know me or just say “hi,” you can find me on Facebook, Google + , Pinterest,and Goodreads.
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Lola’s Giveaway 
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All-New Kindle E-reader – White,
6″ Glare-Free Touchscreen Display, Wi-Fi – Includes Special Offers & a
digital copy of all Lola’s books
Winner will be randomly selected
and announced on Lola’s website and social media on Christmas Eve (December
24th). Ebook prizes only, no paperbacks. Official Terms of Service and Contest
Rules will be listed on the giveaway page, including who may enter (Worldwide
Limited—Some Shipping Restrictions Apply).
Giveaway Open to Contestants in:
United States, Canada, Australia, United Kingdom, Turkey, Germany, Belgium, and
Ireland
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Enter HERE
 

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky Flamingos below!

 

 

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I have got to get this series. I’m a huge fan of Western PNR Horror. And these sound fabulous.

If you haven’t read any, you should try these. Never know what you might be missing.

Check out the series.

Enjoy the glimpse inside the book.

And don’t forget to enter the giveaway.

The Cowboy and the Vampire: The Last Sunset

The Cowboy and the Vampire Collection Book Four

Clark Hays and Kathleen McFall

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Genre: Horror, Western, PNR

Publisher: Pumpjack Press,

Date of Publication: June 9, 2016

ISBN: 978-0-9974113-0-0 / ASIN: B01F0MFBE2

Number of pages: 357 / Word Count: 83,000

Cover Artist: Aaron Perkins

Synopsis

The Cowboy and the Vampire: The Last Sunset is the fourth book in award-winning The Cowboy and the Vampire Collection, a series called everything from cult classic to trailblazer in a new genre: Western Gothic.

Take one long, last look at LonePine, Wyoming, population 438. It’s been two years since the vampires quit the quirky little town and things are mostly back to normal — broken dreams and never enough whiskey. But that’s about to go to hell.

Hold on tight for a midnight showdown when a psychotic religious order takes the entire town hostage — including Tucker’s long-lost brother — to lure Lizzie from her frozen exile in Russia. The mad monks know Lizzie’s murder will strand the ruling vampire elite in a disembodied afterlife so the cult can impose their twisted beliefs on the living and undead alike. It’s a rip-roarin’ stampede as a cowboy and a vampire try to round up the shattered pieces of their unusual romance.

With the fate of the world on the line yet again, can Tucker and Lizzie put aside their broken hearts to face one last sunset together?

Slap leather or reach for the sky.

This is the fourth book in The Cowboy and the Vampire Collection.

Amazon

 

Excerpt:

The first few months were anguish. But then she threw herself into bringing order to her inherited chaos. If she was to run this vampire shit show, she would run it right. And she had, intensely, ruthlessly, for the first year.

Now, everyone knew the rules, knew the consequences for breaking the coda, and—if grudgingly—understood the wisdom behind the annual allocation. She kept her word, showing no favoritism. Nine turns picked by the Council, followed by one pick for Lizzie, with nine nights of rest. By the end of the first year, a fragile trust in her leadership was established.

By the beginning of the second year of her self-imposed exile, as the intensity of the work began to wane, she realized something had shifted. The full weight of her future lodged permanently, sadly, in her soul.

Rurik, forever circling like a handsome vulture, sensed the change.

“Finally, you admit to yourself he is not coming for you,” Rurik said.

“I knew he wouldn’t come,” Lizzie said, more sharply than intended.

“I’m not the one who requires persuading on this point,” Rurik said. “But no matter the reason, I am pleased. Stop working so hard. Amuse yourself with the privileges and pleasures your position affords. You can have anything you want, with no punishment.”

“Punishment?”

“From the society you once valued, or from yourself,” Rurik said. “You are free from guilt, free of all constraints, free to act upon your desires and to assume the glorious existence that awaits only your assent.”

Rurik felt something akin to compassion as he watched Lizzie struggle to control her emotions, mistaking liberation for captivity. He was right in one sense, though; she was coming to the same realization all vampires faced at some point in their long, undead existence, even those whose turning was consensual: there was no going back.

Yes, Lizzie thought, defiantly, as the first year passed into the second. If she was no longer ever to be a human, she might as well have fun. Why the hell not? She submerged herself into her passions and found that although not exactly fulfilling, it was diverting, covering her nightly routines with a shroud of hedonistic numbness that prevented any feelings at all—other than immediate pleasure—from surfacing.

She would never admit it, ever, but Rurik was right on another point. She had waited. She had hoped he would come for her, but why would he? She made it clear by breaking his heart that they would never be together. That he believed her ruse broke her heart.

Such a sad and dusty little tragedy, she thought, clutching the railing. A shadow by the lake’s edge caught her eye—Rurik, out with his dogs.

He felt her gaze and looked up, taking in her nude body and letting his senses wash over it, the closest—it seemed—he would come to possessing her, at least for the time being.

She could feel his heart stuttering, but held her own body in perfect check until he averted his eyes and continued his walk.

Lizzie once again considered whether it was time to move. Rurik’s home was spacious and lonely and safe and remote, and while he had been a good host to her, he enjoyed the power of proximity over the other tribes, and she understood he was motivated by a hope of his own.

“It is inevitable that you and I come together,” he once told her. “You have known this since we first met in that godforsaken American outpost.”

“Nothing is inevitable,” she said. Thwarting his passions had become a habit.

She wondered if Rurik ever missed the man he had once been, the brilliant military strategist who helped turn back the crusaders all those many years ago in a battle for Russia’s soul. “Ironic that you lost your soul in the process,” she said aloud and in his direction.

Her private cell phone buzzed on the bedside table. Lizzie padded back into the room, the wolfhound in tow.

Elita. She picked up the phone.

“Yes?”

“My queen,” Elita said, managing to sound both sarcastic and reverential. Was there a difference, Lizzie wondered?

“My loyal subject, my lovely maid-in-waiting,” Lizzie replied. In all this madness, Elita was her only certainty.

“Whatever that means,” Elita said. “How’s the frozen tundra treating you?”

“Still frozen. Have you wrestled the American Royals and the Reptiles into peaceful coexistence?”

“We’re making progress, one corpse at a time.”

“When will you visit?” Lizzie asked.

“I’m on my way now,” Elita said.

Lizzie paused. That was not a good sign. “That’s a welcome, but unexpected surprise.”

“What I must tell you may not be so welcome.”

“Tell me now,” Lizzie said.

“I’ll save the details until I can tell you face to face, but in brief, I’ve heard rumblings, screaming really, that you have a new enemy.”

“Why would that concern me?”

“Keep your guard up until I arrive.”

“My guard is never down,” Lizzie said, breaking the connection.”

About Authors Clark Hays and Kathleen McFall

Clark Hays

Between the two of them, Clark Hays and Kathleen McFall have worked in writing jobs ranging from cowboy-poet to energy journalist to restaurant reviewer to university press officer. After they met, their writing career took center stage when they wrote the first book in The Cowboy and the Vampire Collection as a test for marriage. They passed. Clark and Kathleen now live in Portland, Oregon.

Website / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways click on the lucky horseshoe below!

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We are over the moon excited to bring you the Release Day Launch for Jennifer L. Armentrout’s WICKED! WICKED is a New Adult Paranormal Romance and the first book in Jennifer’s Wicked Trilogy!

 

Wicked

Amazon ** Barnes and Noble ** iBooks ** Kobo

 

WICKED Synopsis:

Things are about to get Wicked in New Orleans.

Twenty-two year old Ivy Morgan isn’t your average college student. She, and others like her, know humans aren’t the only thing trolling the French Quarter for fun… and for food. Her duty to the Order is her life. After all, four years ago, she lost everything at the hands of the creatures she’d sworn to hunt, tearing her world and her heart apart.

Ren Owens is the last person Ivy expected to enter her rigidly controlled life. He’s six feet and three inches of temptation and swoon-inducing charm. With forest-green eyes and a smile that’s surely left a stream of broken hearts in its wake, he has an uncanny, almost unnatural ability to make her yearn for everything he has to offer. But letting him in is as dangerous as hunting the cold-blooded killers stalking the streets. Losing the boy she loved once before had nearly destroyed her, but the sparking tension that grows between them becomes impossible for Ivy to deny. Deep down, she wants… she needs more than what her duty demands of her, what her past has shaped for her.

But as Ivy grows closer to Ren, she realizes she’s not the only one carrying secrets that could shatter the frail bond between them. There’s something he’s not telling her, and one thing is for certain. She’s no longer sure what is more dangerous to her—the ancient beings threatening to take over the town or the man demanding to lay claim to her heart and her soul.

 

 

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Excerpt:

All the words in the world vanished the moment I got an eyeful of Ren.

Holy hotness with an extra side of sexy, when Ren cleaned up, he took his handsomeness into a totally different stratosphere.

The waves and curls of his hair were currently tamed, styled back from his face, showing off the angle of his cheekbones and the fullness of his lips. He was wearing a white dress shirt that showed off the hard lines of his broad shoulders and flashed a glimpse of tawny skin at his neck. I noticed then, somehow never really seeing it before, a leather cord hanging from his neck and disappearing under his shirt. I was sure that was what carried the clover, but as my gaze traveled over him, I quickly forgot about it. The edges of the tattoo poked out of the collar of his shirt, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, exposing powerful forearms. The dark trousers completed the outfit. It was effortless class.

When I dragged my gaze back to his, I realized I hadn’t been the only one doing the scrutinizing. He was staring at me in his intense, consuming way, and I stepped back from the door, suddenly feeling very . . . vulnerable. As if I was exposed in front of him.

Heat crept into my cheeks as I plastered my arms to my sides. “Sorry I . . . took so long. I was . . .” I trailed off as he continued to stare at me. “What?”

Ren stepped into the house, catching the door and closing it behind him. His presence filled the living room, and I could barely drag in enough air. “This is wrong,” he said, voice thick.

Surprised by the statement, I glanced down at myself. I knew I looked like a silly girl playing dress up. “It’s the only dress I could wear,” I said, feeling the weight of embarrassment settling on my shoulders.

He gave a little shake of his head as his bright green eyes met mine. “Oh, sweetness, you did wrong in all the right ways.”

I wasn’t following.

“How in the world am I going to pay attention when you look like that?” he chided softly, and my eyes widened. He moved forward, so close that I had to tip my chin up to meet his stare. He reached out, fingering the loose sleeve of my dress. “You are utterly distracting.”

“I am?”

A half smile appeared as his fingers skipped off the material and traced the line of my shoulder, sending a tight shiver down my spine. Then his finger wrapped around a curl, the back of his hand brushing the swell of my breast. He tugged it straight like he’d done before. “You are absolutely beautiful, Ivy.”

Wicked Tink Quote

 

Author PhotoAbout Jennifer L. Armentrout:

# 1 NEW YORK TIMES and USA TODAY Bestselling author Jennifer lives in Martinsburg, West Virginia. All the rumors you’ve heard about her state aren’t true. When she’s not hard at work writing. she spends her time reading, working out, watching really bad zombie movies, pretending to write, and hanging out with her husband and her Jack Russell Loki.

Her dreams of becoming an author started in algebra class, where she spent most of her time writing short stories….which explains her dismal grades in math. Jennifer writes young adult paranormal, science fiction, fantasy, and contemporary romance. She is published with Spencer Hill Press, Entangled Teen and Brazen, Disney/Hyperion and Harlequin Teen. Her book Obsidian has been optioned for a major motion picture and her Covenant Series has been optioned for TV.

She also writes adult and New Adult romance under the name J. Lynn. She is published by Entangled Brazen and HarperCollins.

Links:

Website ** Facebook ** Twitter ** Novel Goodreads ** Author Goodreads

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew!

And don’t forget to leave some love for Jennifer’s new release, Wicked

 

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Are you ready for the launch of Carlie’s newest book, Heart Search: Book Two, Found?

It’s that time and I have some goodies for you.

This is going to be such a fun tour. So much more is coming!

First, feast your eyes on her cover art. I believe she has a signature for her covers now. Further down in my post you can see the cover art for Heart Search:Book One,  Lost and you’ll see what I mean.

Heart Search: Found, Book II

Blurb

One bite started it all . . .

Another mysterious disappearance sparks a frightening chain of events for Remy and her family. Events foretold come to pass, and more strange and alarming occurrences assail her life. Where can she turn?

Coven politics continue to threaten Joshua’s existence, but an even bigger menace looms . . .

And Remy’s life hangs in the balance – can Joshua save her?

Fate still toys with mortals and immortals alike, as hearts torn apart by darkness confront perils which could lead to their doom.

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Heart Search: Found is now available to purchase!

Amazon US / Amazon UK

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Check out the new trailer!

Carlie has done something incredible!

You’re going to want to run right over and get this book. Just sayin!

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Heartsearchauthor

Carlie M A Cullen

Carlie M A Cullen was born in London. She grew up in Hertfordshire where she first discovered her love of books and writing. She has been an administrator and marketer all her working life and was also a professional teacher of Ballroom and Latin American dancing until recently.

She has always written in some form or another, but Heart Search: Lost is her first novel. This was launched 8th October 2012 through Myrddin Publishing Group and book two, Heart Search: Found, is due out early July 2013. She writes mainly in the Fantasy/Paranormal Romance genres for YA, New Adult and Adult.

Carlie is also a professional editor.

Carlie also holds the reins of a writing group called Writebulb. Their first anthology, The Other Way Is Essex, was published September 2012 under Myrddin Publishing Group. Their second anthology is in editing.

Carlie currently lives in Essex, UK with her daughter.

You can find Carlie M. A. Cullen at the links below:

Blog/Twitter

I’ve read Heart Search, Book One: Lost and loved it!

Heart Search: Lost (Heart Search, #1)

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Go here to read my 5 Star Review

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Stay tuned for more fun and exciting things to come as the tour continues!

Check out these others wonderful bloggers participating in the tour.

Tour host’s:

Sherry Fundin

Joy Keeney

Donna L Sadd

Michelle Birbeck

We will be revealing more about Carlie’s new release with inerviews, reviews and exclusive excerpts

Come join the fun and help spread the word!