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Title: Alien Bride
Author: Brie McGill
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Synopsis:
Ninkasi Mara didn’t plan to celebrate her university graduation entangled in a bungled kidnapping meant for her father, a corrupt senator in the pocket of Techthonic Innovations. Locked alone in the gilded tower of Chateau Bernadette, Ninkasi fears its opulent pleasures will erode her will until she collapses into the comforting arms of the mysterious masked man who frequents her chamber with vintage wines and sumptuous dinners.
For more than twenty years, Orion has plotted the perfect revenge. Manipulating the hand of an insurrectionist faction, he intends to settle a shadowy score with Techthonic Innovations, a biotech giant with a history of dubious experiments. When the faction’s amateurs fail to return with the senator, they further complicate Orion’s task by returning instead with a woman who is a painful reminder of a love lost long ago. Torn between risking the secrecy of the faction and a maelstrom of emotion, Orion secretly visits her chamber in disguise.
When Orion disappears, Ninkasi is dragged into the search and rescue mission. To find him, she must learn the truth of his secrets about his hatred for the company and the physical anomalies he tries to hide. The answers await discovery in a terrifying alternate world beneath her feet in which human sacrifice is the least of her worries.
There is a reason Orion went alone...
For more than twenty years, Orion has plotted the perfect revenge. Manipulating the hand of an insurrectionist faction, he intends to settle a shadowy score with Techthonic Innovations, a biotech giant with a history of dubious experiments. When the faction’s amateurs fail to return with the senator, they further complicate Orion’s task by returning instead with a woman who is a painful reminder of a love lost long ago. Torn between risking the secrecy of the faction and a maelstrom of emotion, Orion secretly visits her chamber in disguise.
When Orion disappears, Ninkasi is dragged into the search and rescue mission. To find him, she must learn the truth of his secrets about his hatred for the company and the physical anomalies he tries to hide. The answers await discovery in a terrifying alternate world beneath her feet in which human sacrifice is the least of her worries.
There is a reason Orion went alone...
Excerpt:
Orion extinguished the butt of his hand-rolled cigarette into a skull-shaped ashtray on the nightstand beside a king-sized bed. Stripped down to a frilly cravat, tight leather pants, and silk gloves extending to the elbow—for this occasion, he wore exclusively black—he crossed his arms over his chest and observed the girl, displeased with her insolence.
A woman with an hourglass figure slipped out of a sheer lace negligee and flung it across the room with her toe.
Orion wrinkled his nose: she specifically disregarded his instructions concerning the garter belt and knee-high stockings. His invitation was not romantic—it was a scripted roleplay arrangement to enact his one fantasy in detail.
Or at least, it should have been; it was what they agreed. He suspected this one secretly harbored romantic intentions.
They all did.
He wasn't interested.
For the interim, he would forgive her, solely because she wore the waist-length, pin-straight black wig he had taken great pains to acquire. No mistress was allowed one footstep in his chamber without the wig.
“Master Orion, I beg you.” The girl fell to her knees, greedily frisking the stately erection battened by his pants. Groping at his belt, she pressed her wet lips against his body, speaking into him. “Please let us go to your bed.”
He deliberated upon her entreaty, a cool midnight breeze from the open window whipping his waist-length auburn hair.
By the flickering light of candelabras, he looked to the bed, crimson blankets of crushed velvet tucked neatly in preparation for a royal fuck. The musky fragrance of burning copal wafted through the air, conjuring distant memories. Fuchsia anaglypta wallpaper shimmered, tinged with gold. The belfry looked smashing—on the rare event he chose to clean it.
He cleaned when it was time to see a mistress. Otherwise, he didn’t care; it was a pain in the ass collecting the countless empty wine bottles beneath his bed.
Orion poked a finger between the girl's eyes and pushed her head back, appraising her beauty: her plump, pouting lips threatened to consume him; each full, round breast required more than one hand to command; her waist was narrow, with hips cresting in smooth curves, her body a landscape, a rolling testament to womanhood.
She was a beauty, surely, of world-class standards.
But none of this struck his fancy. He was a particular man.
He stared nostalgically into the girl’s eyes, fierce green eyes. He selected her for her eyes. Those fiery eyes were his one shot at climax.
It was a long shot.
But it was worth a shot.
His time between shots grew longer and longer, and thus, he procrastinated confronting an increasingly formidable armada of empty bottles beneath the bed.
She dragged her nails along his pants, scratching at his inner thighs, whispering sweet nothings into his hips.
Pulling her head away from his body, he studied her. “Do you want it?”
The girl’s face flushed and she sat back on her ankles, mashing a hand between her legs, rubbing and pounding herself, huffing ecstatically. “I want it now!”
“Get on the bed.” He snapped and pointed.
The girl scrambled, hopping onto the bed, eyes wide with excitement, drinking up his every word as if a benediction.
“Face down.” He strutted behind her, unbuttoning his pants, his every order noncommittal. “You’ll touch nothing without my command.”
“Oh, yes!” The girl tucked in her knees, face pressed against the bedding, and hoisted her hips into the air. “Yes, Master Orion, yes!”
“You will say nothing” —he unzipped his pants, relieved to discover his erection still intact, and unhooked the riding crop from his belt— “unless I command it.” He lashed at the chubbiest chunk of her ass, observing the ripple he created with a grotesque fascination, and twirled the crop in his hand, bracing himself to strike again.
The girl moaned into the sheets, wiggling her starving ass, aiming it at him.
He grimaced and whipped her again.
Glistening with immediate arousal, she cried out.
Unleashing a halfhearted series of lashes, he wondered why he did this to himself. He took a step back, dodging the ass that lurched toward him.
He did this in hope. He struck her again, ignoring the rapturous cry.
Hope that perhaps one day, he may grow as aroused as any of these women who all wept with joy at the sight of his bed.
He lashed harder, faster.
Hope that perhaps one of them would offer him a release from sadness, a delivery from the prison of his mind, a way to forget the cruelty of the world and pretend.
The girl quivered, bucking toward him. “Oh, please, Master—Oh!”
He spoke quickly, authoritatively, punctuating each word with the slap of leather across flesh. “I. Told. You. Not. To. Speak!”
She threw her head back and seized with a deranged howl, a devolved amalgamation of ‘more’ and ‘oh.’ She bounced toward him, clutching the blanket in fists. “More! Master Orion, more! Please!”
He shook his head, whipping up and down her thighs.
She moaned and whimpered with delight.
No, he did this in despair. He reflected deeply upon the dichotomy of administering pleasure while receiving none, and concluded the truth was, he did this all de profundis in despair.
“Give it to me!” The high-pitched shriek came like nails down a chalkboard. “Master Orion, give it to me, please!”
He dropped the whip. There was no more terrible moment than this, no possible deeper admission of despair: he could have all the women in the world, but he still felt nothing beyond consummate emptiness.
Despair moved him; he ignored the nagging reality that it was impossible to replace the love of another. He did it over and over again, by virtue of despair, in the doomed hope he might find someone who understood him, someone who could make him feel the same way—someone who was—well—her.
But his whole life was a fucking circus because she never loved him anyway.
He absent-mindedly entered her body.
The girl whimpered, railing her hips into him; she rubbed her cheek against the blanket, eyes fixated through the wall with an ascended haze.
He buried himself deep inside her, gliding slowly on autopilot, staring into the candelabra: the only love he once knew was wholly unrequited.
She cried out, arching her back.
She never loved him, no, not like that.
And she was dead. Orion froze mid-thrust. There would be no sex with corpses. Not on his bed.
Especially considering the time that Aleister—
“Master Orion!” The mistress panted, peering over her shoulder. “Don’t tease me!”
Some love was best left unrequited.
With his free hand, he spanked her.
She cried out with delight.
This was nothing like what he wanted. A part of him felt guilty, like his lifestyle should have provided more than he ever could have wanted—but something left him cold.
The woman collapsed on the bed, eyes rolling into the back of her head, jubilantly rocking her hips for more.
He smacked her for her slavish worship, her asinine infatuation. He spanked her because it was no good to want him so badly when she knew nothing of the revolting truth of his character.
He spanked her for allowing herself to be used by him, and for liking it.
The woman reared up on all fours, throwing her head back in ecstasy.
The wig drooped sideways, exposing her curly red hair beneath.
The momentum of his upturned hand slowed: he melted, deflated, shriveled, retreating from the woman’s voracious body.
This mistress, that mistress, Orion could only fool himself for so long before it inevitably ended this way.
The woman leapt and whirled around, tucking her knees into her chest. “Master Orion, have I displeased you?” She clutched frantically at her wig.
He ran a hand through his hair, glancing out the window; he stood and buttoned his pants. “That will be all.”
She crawled to the edge of the bed, planting a hand against his chest.
Turning away, he wandered to the other side of his room.
“Master Orion. . . Will you forgive me?” Her lip quivered.
Bowing to her, he opened the door, and extended a gloved hand, bidding her exit with a gentleman’s poise.
“I can’t believe this.” She collapsed to her knees, dragging her hands down her face. “I don’t understand!” The girl crawled toward the wall, and banged her head against the headboard, ripping off the wig. “You’re cruel! Cruel! Why are you so cruel to me?! Why can't you take me like I am?!”
Resting his forehead in his palm, he winced: it was always an awkward moment when his mistress went mad.
He pulled the last one inside after she tried to exorcise her despair by jumping through his window.
A punk kid with strawberry blonde barged into the room, interrupting them. “Lord Aleister says that—whoa.”
Orion grimaced. It was Aleister’s pet, Nero.
Nero raised his hands, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to—”
The redhead scooped up her lingerie, dressing in a hurry.
Clenching his teeth, Orion twirled the riding crop in his hand. “Do you want me to bend you over my knee and spank you with abandon, Nero?”
Raising his arms in defense, he stumbled backward through the door. “Hell no!”
“Then you have no business in my quarters.” Orion’s nostrils flared. “None whatsoever.”
“Lord Aleister requests your presence” —he edged toward the stair, wiping sweat from his forehead— “to discuss some last-minute details of the mission!” He turned and thundered down the stairs, running for his life.
The woman exited after him, slamming the door behind her.
Orion reached into his pants and lit a hand-rolled cigarette, alone again, staring at the disheveled wig on his bed. Frankly, he didn’t get it, naked women alternately throwing themselves at his feet and over his balcony, like he was some kind of fucking legend.
All he had, in reality, was a legendary soft dick.
A woman with an hourglass figure slipped out of a sheer lace negligee and flung it across the room with her toe.
Orion wrinkled his nose: she specifically disregarded his instructions concerning the garter belt and knee-high stockings. His invitation was not romantic—it was a scripted roleplay arrangement to enact his one fantasy in detail.
Or at least, it should have been; it was what they agreed. He suspected this one secretly harbored romantic intentions.
They all did.
He wasn't interested.
For the interim, he would forgive her, solely because she wore the waist-length, pin-straight black wig he had taken great pains to acquire. No mistress was allowed one footstep in his chamber without the wig.
“Master Orion, I beg you.” The girl fell to her knees, greedily frisking the stately erection battened by his pants. Groping at his belt, she pressed her wet lips against his body, speaking into him. “Please let us go to your bed.”
He deliberated upon her entreaty, a cool midnight breeze from the open window whipping his waist-length auburn hair.
By the flickering light of candelabras, he looked to the bed, crimson blankets of crushed velvet tucked neatly in preparation for a royal fuck. The musky fragrance of burning copal wafted through the air, conjuring distant memories. Fuchsia anaglypta wallpaper shimmered, tinged with gold. The belfry looked smashing—on the rare event he chose to clean it.
He cleaned when it was time to see a mistress. Otherwise, he didn’t care; it was a pain in the ass collecting the countless empty wine bottles beneath his bed.
Orion poked a finger between the girl's eyes and pushed her head back, appraising her beauty: her plump, pouting lips threatened to consume him; each full, round breast required more than one hand to command; her waist was narrow, with hips cresting in smooth curves, her body a landscape, a rolling testament to womanhood.
She was a beauty, surely, of world-class standards.
But none of this struck his fancy. He was a particular man.
He stared nostalgically into the girl’s eyes, fierce green eyes. He selected her for her eyes. Those fiery eyes were his one shot at climax.
It was a long shot.
But it was worth a shot.
His time between shots grew longer and longer, and thus, he procrastinated confronting an increasingly formidable armada of empty bottles beneath the bed.
She dragged her nails along his pants, scratching at his inner thighs, whispering sweet nothings into his hips.
Pulling her head away from his body, he studied her. “Do you want it?”
The girl’s face flushed and she sat back on her ankles, mashing a hand between her legs, rubbing and pounding herself, huffing ecstatically. “I want it now!”
“Get on the bed.” He snapped and pointed.
The girl scrambled, hopping onto the bed, eyes wide with excitement, drinking up his every word as if a benediction.
“Face down.” He strutted behind her, unbuttoning his pants, his every order noncommittal. “You’ll touch nothing without my command.”
“Oh, yes!” The girl tucked in her knees, face pressed against the bedding, and hoisted her hips into the air. “Yes, Master Orion, yes!”
“You will say nothing” —he unzipped his pants, relieved to discover his erection still intact, and unhooked the riding crop from his belt— “unless I command it.” He lashed at the chubbiest chunk of her ass, observing the ripple he created with a grotesque fascination, and twirled the crop in his hand, bracing himself to strike again.
The girl moaned into the sheets, wiggling her starving ass, aiming it at him.
He grimaced and whipped her again.
Glistening with immediate arousal, she cried out.
Unleashing a halfhearted series of lashes, he wondered why he did this to himself. He took a step back, dodging the ass that lurched toward him.
He did this in hope. He struck her again, ignoring the rapturous cry.
Hope that perhaps one day, he may grow as aroused as any of these women who all wept with joy at the sight of his bed.
He lashed harder, faster.
Hope that perhaps one of them would offer him a release from sadness, a delivery from the prison of his mind, a way to forget the cruelty of the world and pretend.
The girl quivered, bucking toward him. “Oh, please, Master—Oh!”
He spoke quickly, authoritatively, punctuating each word with the slap of leather across flesh. “I. Told. You. Not. To. Speak!”
She threw her head back and seized with a deranged howl, a devolved amalgamation of ‘more’ and ‘oh.’ She bounced toward him, clutching the blanket in fists. “More! Master Orion, more! Please!”
He shook his head, whipping up and down her thighs.
She moaned and whimpered with delight.
No, he did this in despair. He reflected deeply upon the dichotomy of administering pleasure while receiving none, and concluded the truth was, he did this all de profundis in despair.
“Give it to me!” The high-pitched shriek came like nails down a chalkboard. “Master Orion, give it to me, please!”
He dropped the whip. There was no more terrible moment than this, no possible deeper admission of despair: he could have all the women in the world, but he still felt nothing beyond consummate emptiness.
Despair moved him; he ignored the nagging reality that it was impossible to replace the love of another. He did it over and over again, by virtue of despair, in the doomed hope he might find someone who understood him, someone who could make him feel the same way—someone who was—well—her.
But his whole life was a fucking circus because she never loved him anyway.
He absent-mindedly entered her body.
The girl whimpered, railing her hips into him; she rubbed her cheek against the blanket, eyes fixated through the wall with an ascended haze.
He buried himself deep inside her, gliding slowly on autopilot, staring into the candelabra: the only love he once knew was wholly unrequited.
She cried out, arching her back.
She never loved him, no, not like that.
And she was dead. Orion froze mid-thrust. There would be no sex with corpses. Not on his bed.
Especially considering the time that Aleister—
“Master Orion!” The mistress panted, peering over her shoulder. “Don’t tease me!”
Some love was best left unrequited.
With his free hand, he spanked her.
She cried out with delight.
This was nothing like what he wanted. A part of him felt guilty, like his lifestyle should have provided more than he ever could have wanted—but something left him cold.
The woman collapsed on the bed, eyes rolling into the back of her head, jubilantly rocking her hips for more.
He smacked her for her slavish worship, her asinine infatuation. He spanked her because it was no good to want him so badly when she knew nothing of the revolting truth of his character.
He spanked her for allowing herself to be used by him, and for liking it.
The woman reared up on all fours, throwing her head back in ecstasy.
The wig drooped sideways, exposing her curly red hair beneath.
The momentum of his upturned hand slowed: he melted, deflated, shriveled, retreating from the woman’s voracious body.
This mistress, that mistress, Orion could only fool himself for so long before it inevitably ended this way.
The woman leapt and whirled around, tucking her knees into her chest. “Master Orion, have I displeased you?” She clutched frantically at her wig.
He ran a hand through his hair, glancing out the window; he stood and buttoned his pants. “That will be all.”
She crawled to the edge of the bed, planting a hand against his chest.
Turning away, he wandered to the other side of his room.
“Master Orion. . . Will you forgive me?” Her lip quivered.
Bowing to her, he opened the door, and extended a gloved hand, bidding her exit with a gentleman’s poise.
“I can’t believe this.” She collapsed to her knees, dragging her hands down her face. “I don’t understand!” The girl crawled toward the wall, and banged her head against the headboard, ripping off the wig. “You’re cruel! Cruel! Why are you so cruel to me?! Why can't you take me like I am?!”
Resting his forehead in his palm, he winced: it was always an awkward moment when his mistress went mad.
He pulled the last one inside after she tried to exorcise her despair by jumping through his window.
A punk kid with strawberry blonde barged into the room, interrupting them. “Lord Aleister says that—whoa.”
Orion grimaced. It was Aleister’s pet, Nero.
Nero raised his hands, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to—”
The redhead scooped up her lingerie, dressing in a hurry.
Clenching his teeth, Orion twirled the riding crop in his hand. “Do you want me to bend you over my knee and spank you with abandon, Nero?”
Raising his arms in defense, he stumbled backward through the door. “Hell no!”
“Then you have no business in my quarters.” Orion’s nostrils flared. “None whatsoever.”
“Lord Aleister requests your presence” —he edged toward the stair, wiping sweat from his forehead— “to discuss some last-minute details of the mission!” He turned and thundered down the stairs, running for his life.
The woman exited after him, slamming the door behind her.
Orion reached into his pants and lit a hand-rolled cigarette, alone again, staring at the disheveled wig on his bed. Frankly, he didn’t get it, naked women alternately throwing themselves at his feet and over his balcony, like he was some kind of fucking legend.
All he had, in reality, was a legendary soft dick.
About the Author:
Doctors suspect Brie developed an overactive imagination during childhood to cope with the expansive corn maze known as rural Pennsylvania. Unable to afford an operation to have the stories surgically removed from her brain, she opted instead to write them down.
Brie lives with two devious cats, Lunar and Loki. In her spare time, she enjoys making laser sounds with her MiniKorg, channeling entities in hyperspace, and roflstomping video games from the nineties.
Interview:
1. What inspired you to write this book?
I binged on one too many wonderful Gothic stories, and wanted to write a Gothic of my own. I also became deeply enmeshed in the internet-era "ancient alien" mythos. That sort of gossip interests me FAR more than a People magazine!
2. What characters do you connect with most?
I try to make sure all of my characters are imbued with a real piece of my soul; I hope that because souls are universal, the characters will seem alive enough to resonate with everyone else.
3. What's your favorite book-turned movie?
Interview with the Vampire, hands down. I'm obsessed with Lestat.
4. If you could be best friends with one of your characters, who would it be?
I think I'd have a blast hanging out with Aleister. He's a rude but strangely affectionate megalomaniac who just had his 50th birthday. And, his closed-loop eco-chateau sounds exactly like the place I'd want to be... if I were a 50 year old megalomaniac with all the cash in the world.
5. Can you tell us about any other books you're writing?
Psychedelic Riot Helmet, the sequel to Kain, will be released spring/summer. It's about a love triangle between a circumstantial opiate addict, a bartender with chronic hallucinations, and a scientist abducted by the military to create the perfect truth serum.
6. What do you do in your spare time?
Haha... write. :X
7. Who's your inspiration?
Anne Rice, George Orwell, Anais Nin, Hunter S. Thompson... All of these authors have a particular way with words and storytelling that makes me relish their books again and again and again.
8. If you were stranded on a desert island which character do you want by your side?
I do have a huge book crush on Orion... (As an author, am I allowed to crush on my own characters?!) Though, Aleister might be the wisest choice; he may or may not triumph over a similar situation in the book.
Giveaway:
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Synopsis:
Life changes forever when four normal teens are conned into scholarships to a charter school for vampires. They're supposed to be kept alive to fulfill a Department of Education diversity requirement, but this school is anything but safe. Sixteen year-old Kathy is on the kill list of a Shoshone vampire who teaches Ethics for Bloodsuckers. Her pal Lionel is terrorized by his music teacher, an 18th century violinist who worked as a Mafia hit man so he could play at his victims' funerals. Most of the students want them bled and dead, and the school's growing chapter of the Satanic Legion has it in for them. When Kathy's boyfriend has his heart broken by a sharpened pool cue, she and Lionel are put on trial for murder. In a vampire court. With a kidnapped gymnastics team as the jury. In the end all the kids are faced with the same three choices: join the undead, escape, or die trying. This novel will delight readers who thirst for humor in the vein of Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Charlaine Harris's Sookie Stackhouse novels. More than just a witty vampire tale, Ethics of the Undead touches on universal ethical themes, and is a story of friendship, resilience and sacrifice.
Buy links:
Excerpt:
A bald, barrel-chested man in a plaid shirt and jeans came onto the porch, shut the door firmly behind him and shook his head. Edna crouched behind the low railing, waiting to see if the woman would come out with his coat.
Stay inside and live, she thought, willing her message through the cabin wall. The white man is my prey, as I once was his. Stay inside and live.
She heard the man click a cigarette lighter into flame. She waited for his first satisfied exhalation, then vaulted over the rail.
His eyes went wide. "What the-"
Edna whipped the hard edge of her hand into his throat. His head jerked back. He gurgled like a man drowning. She punched his temple and caught him as he fell. Stifling her own grunt, she heaved him over her shoulder, then stepped off the porch into the rain. She made her way downhill toward the river, avoiding the road. The man's weight felt less burdensome than her urge to feed on him immediately. Still, she walked until she felt him move. Then she laid him down carefully behind a clump of trees, straddled him and peeled back his collar. Resting one hand on his throat, she sang a song of gratitude until his eyes opened. She saw him trying to remember, to make sense of lying in wet underbrush, rain pelting his face, the dark woman sitting on him singing in a foreign language, her hand caressing his aching throat.
"I apologize, cousin," said Edna. "I do this only so that I may exist as long as the Creator God wills it. I have-"
The man tried to speak. She squeezed his throat until he gasped for air.
"Please don't interrupt. White people do that all the time, but not tonight. I apologize that I have not yet purged all revenge from my heart. I do try, but I once was a warm-blooded human and was badly treated. You may be innocent of the crimes of your brothers, but we are all connected - and I need your blood to survive."
The man struggled to push her off. She rode him as if he were a frightened horse, with her knees and the grip on his throat tightening. She bent over toward his ear and grimaced at the odors of smoke and alcohol that filled her nostrils, that she would taste in his blood.
"Do not struggle," she whispered. "I will spare you the pain of waking up a vampire. I apologize for taking your blood, and your life."
He bucked wildly as her teeth ripped into his neck, down to his carotid artery and vein. Too hungry to suck, she punctured the artery and opened her mouth wide to the stream of blood that shot forth. She rode him with her mouth at his neck, gulping down each pulse of salty, warm ambrosia as if the next swallow might deliver both a release from damnation and a heavenly life.
He gave out too soon. Never enough, she thought. She licked up the splatter, picked the corpse up and walked toward the river.
About the author:
Loren Schechter is a retired psychiatrist who loves to write humorous fiction. He was very lucky in that he spent much of his career treating adolescents. His first novel was Murder in Millbrook, a cozy mystery. He lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts with his wife Susan and dog, Amigo. No animals, senior citizens or vampires were injured in the writing of his novels.
Find him:
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Author: Jane Kindred
Genre: M/M paranormal erotic romance
Publisher: Samhain
Date of Publication: January 7, 2014
Book Description:
When desire rises, angels will fall. One, by one, by one…
Over the past century, Belphagor has made a name for himself in Heaven’s Demon District as a cardsharp, thief, and charming rogue.
Though the airspirit is content with his own company, he enjoys applying the sweet sting of discipline to a willing backside. Angel, demon, even the occasional human. He’s not particular. Until a hotheaded young firespirit steals his purse—and his heart. Now he’s not sure who owns whom.
A former rent boy and cutpurse from the streets of Raqia, Vasily has never felt safer than in the arms—and at the feet—of the Prince of Tricks. He’s just not sure if Belphagor returns those feelings. There’s only one way to find out, but using a handsome, angelic duke to stir Belphagor’s jealousy backfires on them both.
When the duke frames Vasily for an attempted assassination as part of a revolutionary conspiracy, Belphagor will do whatever it takes to clear his boy’s name and expose the real traitor. Because for the first time in his life, the Prince of Tricks has something to lose.
Excerpt:
Belphagor pushed him onto his back and straddled him, his own unfulfilled erection poised between them like an exclamation point. “I told you, you’re my boy. Mine.” There was an implication in the words that Vasily couldn’t miss. The firespirit had been earning his bed and his supper on the streets of Raqia since the word “boy” had been applied to him more literally, likely from an even earlier age than had Belphagor himself. When Vasily had come to him after the night Belphagor caught him trying to cut his purse, he’d attempted to continue with his street business as usual until Belphagor forbade him selling himself to angels or to rough trade demons. He wouldn’t stop Vasily bartering his favors if that was what he chose to do, but he would see to it he was treated as the valuable commodity he was if he insisted on continuing in the trade.
This hadn’t sat well with a firespirit just coming into his prime. Angels in particular desired him, finding his rough looks and the wild coloring of his tangled hair the epitome of what they pictured as demonic. Mostly students out on their own for the first time with purses of crystal facets to burn, they wanted the quintessential Raqia experience. They crossed Elysium’s River Acheron to slum in Heaven’s Demon District, and in their eyes, Vasily was as low-rent as they could get. Which was all the more reason they were to keep their filthy angelic paws off Belphagor’s boy.
A red glimmer of flame threatened in the black depths of Vasily’s pupils, giving the hazel irises an amber cast. This evidence of his defiant anger, despite the fact that Belphagor had finally given him what he wanted—or broken down and caved to his charms, more like—was a Pavlovian bell to Belphagor’s hunger for him. It had nearly driven him mad to keep Vasily at arm’s length this long, telling himself he didn’t deserve him, that Vasily couldn’t possibly want him—the Vasily in his head still the same skinny cutpurse youth he’d first encountered, though his “boy” had long been nothing of the sort. Even now, his heart fluttered like a panicked bird caged in his chest, waiting for something terrible to happen, for Vasily to realize Belphagor wasn’t as young as he appeared and to ridicule the helpless state to which he’d reduced him—hopelessly enamored of another demon after the equivalent of a human lifetime of solitude.
For Belphagor, solitude had been his strength. He hadn’t needed anyone since the earliest betrayals of youthful love. But Vasily had brought him to his knees. Never mind that it was Vasily on his knees that had done it to him.
“What’s got your fire up, malchik?” He kissed the spot he’d cleaned with his tongue beneath Vasily’s Adam’s apple. “I thought you wanted to be mine.”
“I hate it when you treat me like a child.”
Belphagor raised an eyebrow. “I’m fairly certain I treated you as rather the opposite last night. Was it not satisfactory?”
The natural pink of Vasily’s cheeks reddened more obviously. “Of course it was. I mean, it was more than satisfactory. Way more. Dammit, Beli.” He crooked his arm over his eyes as if looking up into Belphagor’s embarrassed him during such talk. He was utterly charming. As was the little endearment that had just slipped out, though Belphagor might have decked another demon for it.
He kissed Vasily’s sullen mouth. “It was far more than satisfactory for me.” The soft words were almost a whisper. “You’ve absolutely spoiled me for anyone else.”
“Good.” The word was delivered with a sudden sharpness. So that was what was bothering him. It sparked a bit of defiance of his own. He wasn’t used to having anyone put restraints on him. That was Belphagor’s specialty.
“Don’t seek to possess me, malchik. I’m an airspirit.”
Vasily moved his arm away from his eyes, and they were glowing with furious heat. “So that’s how it is. You own me, you tell me what I can and can’t do, but you can do as you like.” The roiling anger in the firespirit eyes heated Belphagor like combustion from the inside out. The thought of putting Vasily over his knee once more made him almost painfully hard. Without equivocation, he was a slave to this brutally beautiful young demon.
“Yes, Vasya. That’s how it is.”
The violent rebuff wasn’t unexpected, but Belphagor, nonetheless, had failed to brace for it, too absorbed in the feel of the body beneath him and the thoughts of what he wished to do with it. He found himself forcefully ejected from the cot and sprawled on the cold wooden floor, with Vasily standing over him, magnificent in his literally naked anger.
“Then maybe you should just skip the foreplay and go fuck yourself!” Vasily delivered the Germanic hardness of the lovely verb “fuck” as if he were demonstrating it. As Vasily jerked his jeans onto his legs like he was punishing the fabric, Belphagor watched with unabashed admiration of the musculature being regretfully hidden away. Hooray at least for his lazy laundering habits that had resulted in this morning’s “commando” mode.
He picked himself up, along with the black T-shirt on the floor beside him, which he handed to Vasily as if he couldn’t care less whether the demon walked out on him. Vasily snatched it from his grip and yanked it on over the tangled red locks he’d been cultivating. The shirt had once been Belphagor’s. It had stretched to its limits and was now much too small on the firespirit frame. Belphagor wished there were cameras in Heaven. He could just about die from gazing at the image Vasily struck.
Vasily was waiting for him to apologize or take back what he’d said, to placate him into staying. He had no intention of doing so. Vasily was his. It was an indisputable fact. He’d be back.
The younger demon turned and yanked open the rickety door in danger of coming right off the hinges at his grip, cast one last furious, fiery glare in Belphagor’s direction, and left him with a fierce slam. The bottom hinge bent.
Belphagor glanced down at his relentless and unameliorated state of arousal with a sigh of resignation. His masochistic streak might be at an all-time high.
About the Author:
Jane Kindred is the author of The House of Arkhangel’sk trilogy, the Demons of Elysium series, and The Devil’s Garden. Born in Billings, Montana, she spent her formative years ruining her eyes reading romance novels in the Tucson sun and watching Star Trek marathons in the dark. She now writes to the sound of San Francisco foghorns while two cats slowly but surely edge her off the side of the bed.
Tour giveaway details:
One grand prize: Caviar gift basket from House of Caviar
Or $150 gift card (winner’s choice) This giveaway is US only.
10- $10 Amazon or B&N gift ecards (winner’s choice)
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This post will have Rachel Caine - author of Prince of Shadows - live chat! She will be talking about her books, herself, and questions you have! Please tweet #RachelCaineChat if you want to ask Rachel a question.
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Author: Rachel Cohn
Title: Beta (Annex #1)
Publication: October 16, 2012
Publisher: Hyperion
Rating: 5 out 5
Synopsis: Elysia is created in a laboratory, born as a sixteen-year-old girl, an empty vessel with no life experience to draw from. She is a Beta, an experimental model of a teenage clone. She was replicated from another teenage girl, who had to die in order for Elysia to exist.
Elysia's purpose is to serve the inhabitants of Demesne, an island paradise for the wealthiest people on earth. Everything about Demesne is bioengineered for perfection. Even the air induces a strange, euphoric high, which only the island's workers-soulless clones like Elysia-are immune to.
At first, Elysia's life is idyllic and pampered. But she soon sees that Demesne's human residents, who should want for nothing, yearn. But for what, exactly? She also comes to realize that beneath the island's flawless exterior, there is an undercurrent of discontent among Demesne's worker clones. She knows she is soulless and cannot feel and should not care-so why are overpowering sensations clouding Elysia's mind?
If anyone discovers that Elysia isn't the unfeeling clone she must pretend to be, she will suffer a fate too terrible to imagine. When her one chance at happiness is ripped away with breathtaking cruelty, emotions she's always had but never understood are unleashed. As rage, terror, and desire threaten to overwhelm her, Elysia must find the will to survive.
Elysia's purpose is to serve the inhabitants of Demesne, an island paradise for the wealthiest people on earth. Everything about Demesne is bioengineered for perfection. Even the air induces a strange, euphoric high, which only the island's workers-soulless clones like Elysia-are immune to.
At first, Elysia's life is idyllic and pampered. But she soon sees that Demesne's human residents, who should want for nothing, yearn. But for what, exactly? She also comes to realize that beneath the island's flawless exterior, there is an undercurrent of discontent among Demesne's worker clones. She knows she is soulless and cannot feel and should not care-so why are overpowering sensations clouding Elysia's mind?
If anyone discovers that Elysia isn't the unfeeling clone she must pretend to be, she will suffer a fate too terrible to imagine. When her one chance at happiness is ripped away with breathtaking cruelty, emotions she's always had but never understood are unleashed. As rage, terror, and desire threaten to overwhelm her, Elysia must find the will to survive.
Review: In this interesting look into the nature of obedience, we meet Elysia. A clone bent on a mission to serve the Brattons, her owners, without their discovering her ability to feel. Because “good clones” aren’t meant to feel. But the problem with Elysia is not only that she is an untested teen clone, a Beta, but also that by having emotions, she is considered a “Defect” You may think that’s weird, but on the island of Demesne where they reside, clones are created to be the working man, the epitomy of obedience and 5-star customer satisfaction, taking all commands and fulfilling them to maximize owner satisfaction. Hence, Defects when discovered are killed promptly. While living with the Brattons she witnesses the downward spiral of her fellow Beta, Becky, and family turmoil within the Brattan household.
What really pulled me in was its relatability. Everybody goes through times of indifference or unsurity in stressful situations, and by acknowledging that that can happen, even to a clone, Cohn brings to light the fatal flaws and beauty of human empathy. Elysia captures the image of the ideal girl in a less than ideal world. On an island where all that matters is the wealthy’s happiness, the unpaid, always on-duty clone gets the short end of the stick. Another wonderful thing about Elysia is how you begin reading with the assumption that she is a Mary Sue, unrealistic and unobtainable to real girls, but you quickly come to realize she has faults just like the rest of us. With just the right amount of cheesy quips and action-packed adventure, Beta by Rachel Cohn is anything but a waste of shelf space.
My only caveat is the ending, for it leaves very much to the imagination. But the overall plot is worth its coverback and entices you in an instant. Beta by Rachel Cohn is an up and coming novel perfect for fans of The Hunger Games or Mortal Instruments series. Get it while you can still say you discovered it first.
**Reviewed by Otter**
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This post will have Sharon Biggs Waller - author of A Mad, Wicked Folly - live chat! She will be talking about her books, herself, and questions you have! Please tweet #SharonWallerChat if you want to ask Sharon a question.
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The Offering by Kimberly Derting
True love—and world war—is at stake in the conclusion to The Pledge trilogy, a dark and romantic blend of dystopia and fantasy.
Charlie, otherwise known as Queen Charlaina of Ludania, has become comfortable as a leader and a ruler. She’s done admirable work to restore Ludania’s broken communications systems with other Queendoms, and she’s mastered the art of ignoring Sabara, the evil former queen whose Essence is alive within Charlie. Or so she thinks.
When the negotiation of a peace agreement with the Queendom of Astonia goes awry, Charlie receives a brutal message that threatens Ludania, and it seems her only option is to sacrifice herself in exchange for Ludanian freedom.
But things aren’t always as they seem. Charlie is walking into a trap—one set by Sabara, who is determined to reclaim the Queendoms at any cost.
Author Kimberly Derting
Kimberly Derting is the author of the BODY FINDER series, THE PLEDGE trilogy, and THE TAKING (coming April 2014 from HarperTeen). She lives in the Seattle area, with her husband and three children, who often find the outrageous things they say either in the pages of her books or posted on Twitter or Facebook for the entire world to see.
1. What inspired you to write this book?
Since THE OFFERING is the final book in THE PLEDGE trilogy, I really tried to make sure all the threads were tied together in a way that would give both myself, and the readers, the closure we all deserved. I didn’t necessarily need it to be a perfect, tied-up-with-a-bow ending. But I wanted it to be satisfying, and I hope readers feel that it was.
2. What characters do you connect with most?
This probably wouldn’t surprise those who know me, but I would have to say Chelsea from the Body Finder series. I’m not nearly as brash as she is (at least I don’t think I am), but I do tend to share her “say it like it is” personality. That’s where our similarities end though, since I couldn’t spike a volleyball to save my life!
3. What's your favorite book-turned movie?
Recently, I loved the BEAUTIFUL CREATURES, THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS, and THE HUNGER GAMES, but I think my all-time favorite adaptation is JURASSIC PARK by Michael Crichton. Even though I read the book after I saw the movie, I was still biting my nails to the very last page!
4. If you could be best friends with one of your characters, who would it be?
Can I pick Max? I feel like Max is the obvious choice here... And not just because he’s a handsome prince, although that probably didn’t hurt! ;)
5. Can you tell us about any other books you're writing?
The first book of my new series, THE TAKING, comes out April 29th, 2014. It’s about a girl who wakes up after what she thinks is one night, only to realize that five years have passed and everyone she loves has moved on without her...yet she hasn’t aged a day.
6. What do you do in your spare time?
I never had the chance to travel when I was young, so now we vacation together as a family. Even if we don’t go someplace exotic, we’ll pack up and go camping. Well, camping in an RV...because I’m a big fan of showers and indoor plumbing. And my Keurig.
7. Who's your inspiration?
When I was growing up, we didn’t have the Young Adult selection there is today, so I went right from children’s books to reading what my mom had lying around the house, which were these great ghost stories by John Saul and horror novels by Stephen King. So, I was introduced to the world of horror by the time I was only twelve or thirteen. I always wanted to write the kinds of stories he did—the ones that scared people the way he scared me.
8. If you were stranded on a desert island which character do you want by your side?
I choose Jace Wayland from The Mortal Instruments series! He’s tough enough to keep me safe yet easy on the eyes.
9. Team Edward or Jacob?
As someone who’s always freaking cold, I have to pick Jacob (and his werewolf heat!) to keep my feet warm.
10. Team Peeta or Gale?
I know it’s the less popular choice, but I’m Team Peeta. I’m a sucker for a boy who can bake!
11. What are you reading now?
I just started Amy Plum’s AFTER THE END, which is due to hit the shelves in April. So far, it’s gripping!
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This hop is very easy. It's just one button and you don't have to follow anyone; it's all FREE entries.
I'm going to give any book $10 or under via The Book Depository. Good luck!
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Author: Rachell Nichole
Genre: Contemporary romance
Publisher: Twenty or Less Press
Date of Publication: January 14, 2014
Synopsis:
When Jasmine Graves is invited to the set of the movie based on her book series, she thinks all her dreams have come true. The Vince Demarco, the man she's based her hero on for the past seven years, will be there and she can't wait to meet him. Little does she know that she'll have to face her worst fears to keep her leading man.
Vince Demarco has never been as intrigued by a character or an author before being introduced to the haunted werewolf he's been cast to play. So when he comes face to face with its creator, Jasmine Graves, he's awestruck. But he fears an author who's a reported recluse will want nothing to do with the paparazzi madness and crazy shooting schedule that comes with dating a movie star.
Neither one can deny the almost animal attraction that overwhelms them at first contact. But can an author and her muse breakthrough the barriers between them, or will the heat between them turn to ice in the winter cold of the Adirondack Camp?
Excerpt:
Oh, God, no. No, no, no. Please do not come over here! Her first meeting with Vince couldn’t be while she was face-down in a tangled heap of arms and legs. With another man, to boot. She was supposed to be breaking the ice around Vince, not her ass, damn it.
She pushed her gloved hands into the snow and tried to lever herself up. She attempted to get her knees under her, but the snowshoes were too big in the front, keeping her off balance.
“Here, let me.” Vince’s large hands closed around her arms and he lifted her as if she weighed nothing. At five-nine, and none-too-skinny, she wasn’t used to being manhandled. But when Vince set her upright, steadying her with those strong hands of his, she felt almost delicate.
His shaved head was covered with a fur-lined hood clouding his features with shadows, but she would know what he looked like in the pitch black: Dark skin, a wide-set nose, low eyebrows, and thick pink lips she’d imagined kissing a thousand times. Even within the confines of his coat, she could see the broad shoulders, the thick, corded neck, and tapered waist.
Jasmine looked into those dark eyes and forgot everything around her, even the fact that not thirty seconds ago, he’d been telling another woman he loved her.“Uh… I’m…” Coherent thought left her completely.
“Jasmine Graves.” The deep rumble of his mildly-accented voice caressed her name, sending a shiver skittering down her spine.
He knew her name? She’d entered an alternate universe where movie stars knew authors’ names, not the other way around. She nodded like a fool.
“Are you all right, Ms. Graves?”
“Jaz,” she said.
His hood slipped back, revealing that devastatingly handsome face. He looked momentarily confused, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think his face looked as star-struck as hers felt in that moment. She blinked, trying to make sense of the situation and regain her equilibrium, but as soon as her eyes opened, they were captured again by his gaze. What did he see when he looked at her?
She’d pulled a soft multi-colored knit hat low over her ears. her long hair flowing out behind her in the wind. A rib-knit scarf covered her chin and neck. Only a bit of her face was visible in the night, but Vince’s attention didn’t waver an inch. She’d imagined this day a thousand times, a thousand ways, but this instant physical reaction hadn’t been part of the equation. He still held her arm, and he was standing closer than was necessary. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to complain.
“You’re taller than I expected.”
He’d anticipated this meeting too? Out of all the fantasies she’d ever had, his knowing who she was immediately and making some comment like that hadn’t been one of them. She swallowed. Not even in her worst bouts of writer’s block did words desert her so completely. “Thanks,” she managed to squeeze out, then remembered to smile at him and at least attempt to be flirtatious.
“For saying you’re tall?”
She laughed. “No. For picking up my sorry, klutzy ass from the snow bank.”
“Yeah, what the hell happened?” Brian asked from beside her. His voice broke the spell and Vince let go of her. The separation was like a physical blow and she shivered in the sudden coldness.
She turned her attention to Brian. “Sorry. I was… admiring the scenery. I didn’t realize you had stopped until I looked back toward the path and was nose to back with you. I couldn’t stop in time. You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He brushed some snow from the front of his coat. “As I was saying, up ahead is the main lounge. It’s where all the meals will be served. There’s always hot chocolate, coffee, and tea on tap, as well as bottled water and all that. You’ll be sharing a cabin with a few of the crew. It’s over there.” He pointed to a set of cabins next to where the blonde actress was staying. Damned if Jaz could remember the woman’s name. After Vince had stepped down off the porch, Jaz had gotten a good look at Vince’s latest co-star.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jaz saw Vince staring at her. That same look of wonder was in his eyes, but she didn’t turn her gaze back to his. He’d just been professing his love to someone else. It was one thing to fantasize about a man, create a character around him, and fall in love with him in her dreams. It was another thing entirely to interfere in his real-world relationship with someone else. She would keep her distance.
“I’ll show you the rest of the way to your cabin if you’d like,” Brian said.
Damn. The man had taken the words right out of Vince’s mouth. He wanted to be the one to show Jaz to her cabin. It was a stupid reaction, but one he couldn’t quite quell. She was almost as tall as he was. When she’d posed with those wolves for her author photo, she’d been kneeling in the dirt. He’d had no idea that she was so tall. Her thick, dark hair ruffled in the night breeze, adding an ethereal quality to her looks. A chill climbed over his bare head, but he couldn’t quite bear to put up his hood yet and restrict his view of her.
Jasmine’s Native American heritage was apparent in her tan skin, breathtaking square face, and dark, slightly almond-shaped eyes. Together, the effect was mesmerizing. Though right now he couldn’t see most of her face beneath her hat and scarf, he knew what she looked like. She glanced at him and he smiled.
“Thank you, again…”
“Vince. You can call me Vince.”
“Okay then, Vince. Thanks. I suppose I’ll see you around?”
God, he hoped so. He nodded and she turned away. It would be entirely too awkward for him to stand there another second, so he headed for his own cabin to reread tomorrow’s scene.
“I’m actually starving, is there still food about?” she asked Brian as they walked toward the other end of the camp.
“Sure.”
“Great. I’ll just drop my bags, and then could you show me over to the lodge?”
And if Vince happened to be there, having another cup of hot chocolate and Jasmine happened to come in to have a late dinner, there’d be nothing wrong with that, right?
“I’d be happy to,” Brian said. By the man’s voice, he really hadn’t minded being pancaked into the snow by the lovely Ms. Graves.
About the Author:
Rachell Nichole is a contemporary erotic romance author. She currently writes what she likes to call Sizzling Romantic Entanglements. She loves creating memorable characters and putting them through the paces on their discovery for and journey to love.
Rachell holds two undergraduate degrees, one in Professional Writing and the other in French. She also received a Master of Fine Arts in Writing Popular Fiction at Seton Hill University. She is the author of The Marietta Hotels Series, Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce, and Queen of Hearts.
Rachell lives in New York with a mountain of books, a loving family, and an evil cat named Godiva that she adores.
Website | Twitter | Facebook | Blog | Goodreads | Amazon
Interview:
Interview:
What inspired you to write this book?
I answered an anthology call from Emma Lai to write a story featuring a character who was an actor. I’ve always had this Vin Diesel obsession, so I thought, oh, yeah, I can totally do that. And I’d also always kind of wanted to write a story about a writer, so I thought… a writer and an actor… in what kind of world/under what circumstances would they meet. And Jasmine Graves and her werewolves stories-turned-movie seemed to be the best option – she’d be invited to set by the director/studio who’d bought the film rights. I knew it was believable for an author to do this because it actually happened to a writer friend of mine, John Dixon for the CBS show Intelligence based on his book Phoenix Island. I just kind of went from there.
What characters do you connect with most?
All of them, I think. I have this theory, though I don’t know if I heard it or read it somewhere or if it’s my own brilliance (though I doubt that third option very much) but the theory goes that if a romance author doesn’t fall in love with her characters, her readers wont. If I don’t love them, if I don’t cry when they’re crying, or laugh when they’re laughing, I know my readers won’t get any kind of emotional experience out of reading.
What's your favorite book-turned movie?
I’ve got to give it up for The Hunger Games movies, at least the two that are out so far. I think they were a fantastic adaptation of the books that stayed true to almost all of the book’s details. I also really love Harry Potter – the books and the movies, but I think Hunger Games transitioned better to the screen.
If you could be best friends with one of your characters, who would it be?
Definitely my French-loving commitment-phobic Mandy Lachlan from An Engagement in Paris, because that was a character who was so much like me that it was almost painful at times to write about her. We would relate really well to each other, plus being able to speak fluent franglais with my BFF would be fantastic.
Can you tell us about any other books you're writing?
Of course! For like hours probably, but I’ll give you the short version. I’m writing a BDSM-themed book called Domestic Discipline Needed about another writer, coincidentally. Elizabeth Clark is haunted by the dreams of this dominant man she can’t ignore, which spurs her into starting a book that she knows nothing about and knew she would never write. Her research leads her to local Dom and owner of The K Club, Chase Masters… an erotic journey of self-discovery and love follows. I’m also going to write the next book in my Marietta Hotels series soon. And I have a paranormal book that I want to get back to working on sometime this year.
What do you do in your spare time?
Hah – spare time. That’s hysterical! I have a full-time day job, and I work as an independent sales consultant for a direct sales company in addition to my writing. I’m also very involved in the Alumni Association for my graduate program at Seton Hill University, and in my local RWA chapter. I guess you could call those things I do in my spare time. When I’m not working (which is rarely) I’m walking and listening to an audiobook – I’m listening to the Harry Potter series and also the Stephanie Plum series at the moment – I alternate between books.
Who's your inspiration?
Definitely my mom. She’s my biggest supporter, my secondary reader, and the person I turn to when life sucks.
If you were stranded on a desert island which character do you want by your side?
Vince Demarco, definitely… because he’s my perfect guy.
Team Edward or Jacob?
Jacob is hotter. Edward’s just a cold fish. But dating your future mother in law is gross. So… neither. And also – they’re much too young for me.
Team Peeta or Gale?
Peeta definitely. Gale loved Katniss. But he was never in love with her. Peeta was in love with her from day one.
What are you reading now?
I’m just over half-way through One for the Money. Everyone said I would love the Plum books, and I just never got around to reading one. Now that I’m addicted to audiobooks (Thanks Gayle Callen) I’ve gotten the first one, and know I’ll be downloading the second as soon as I’m done with the first.
Giveaway:
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Hello, peeps!
My friend Rachel is going to ALA Midwinter and is looking for people to share a hotel room with. If she gets two more people it will be $105 for all five days. It's 7 blocks away from the convention with a free shuttle, very close to the post office, and it's at the Radisson Blu which has a 4/5 star rating. Free wifi will be provided and she's an awesome roomie!
If you're looking for somewhere to stay, please contact Rachel at silberman.rachel(at)gmail(dot)com. When you email, please tell her about yourself. If you've gone to conventions before, if you're a part of a blog, what your favorite color is, what day you'll be arriving/leaving, and anything else you think she needs to know.
Thanks!
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EVE HALLOWS AND THE BOOK OF SHIVERS (BOOK 3)
So far, Eve's summer vacation has been uneventful, but when her grandparents—traveling all the way from the monster world known as Gravesville—appear at her doorstep, she learns that the URNS Director has gone missing. Worse, a new director, bent on destroying humans, has taken over URNS.
Eve and her family are no longer safe in the human world, and as they race to escape this new threat, Eve stumbles into a trap, which forces her back to Gravesville along with her family and friends. But once there, everything goes adorably wrong, and her best chance to get out of this mess is to seek out The Book of Shivers and the elusive author Sedrick Creach—the only creature who knows the secrets of the Nightmare Books. Unfortunately for Eve, searching for Sedrick and the next book in the series will reveal uncomfortable details about her own murky past.
Once again, Eve and her friends find themselves on an incredible adventure—one that involves underground battles with bloodthirsty creatures, a lightning-fueled train, and some unexpected new allies.
Hilarious and bone-chilling, this third book continues the story of an unlikely hero trying to save not one, but two worlds … This time around, though, Eve's not sure she can even save herself.
Purchase
Amazon * Barnes & Noble
EVE HALLOWS AND THE BOOK OF SHRIEKS (BOOK 1)
For fourteen-year-old Eve Hallows, life can be summed up in one word—horrible. She has the most horrible friends. She lives in a horrible old castle. Even her family is a bunch of horrible monsters.
However, in the monster-inhabited world of Gravesville—a world where messages are sent through Ouija boards, jack-o’-lanterns get facials to suit their moods, and the worst thing Eve has to deal with are those annoying zombie tourists who overrun her favorite graveyard during the Halloween season—horrible means wonderful. And everything for Eve is perfectly horrible.
But her life is about to go head over heels when a mysterious group known as The Source starts terrorizing Gravesville. Now she must move to the human world—where everything is opposite ... and for Eve, that's absolutely adorable!Praise for Eve Hallows and the Book of Shrieks:
"Move over, Neil Gaiman’s CORALINE and THE GRAVEYARD BOOK … make room, Lemony Snicket’s A SERIES OF UNFORTUNATE EVENTS … you’ve got company and competition for shelf space!" -- THE HORROR FICTION REVIEW"WOW! What an absolutely horrible book (horrible meaning fantastic!) ... This book was laugh out loud funny. I loved when Mom accidentally turned people to stone. Dad's crazy attempts at running a pizza store were just hysterical." -- KIDS 'N' BOOKS
"This is the perfect book to be read aloud, read at night under the covers or simply devoured in one sitting. Robert Gray’s Eve Hallows and the Book of Shrieks simply shines with all of its fun creepiness, compelling characters and stellar writing. A MUST read for any MG fan!" -- WORD SPELUNKING
"Eve Hallows is highly imaginative without being too complex for its target audience. Fall in love with Eve, her friends and her family of adorable monsters. Lose yourself in a light read that will remind you of those days when your English teacher just want you to read something, anything. This book is it. The one that you wish you read when you were in grade school." -- JOYOUS READS
"Overall, this book was fantastic. It presents an admirable role model as well as a strong family unit which will benefit young readers. When so many books right now have presented teens in a not-so-flattering light, it is so wonderful to find a book like this one." -- BOOK COVER JUSTICE
EVE HALLOWS AND THE BOOK OF SHADOWS (BOOK 2)
Ever since encountering The Source and its minions on Halloween, Eve Hallows has found life surprisingly quiet … not to mention adorably boring! So when Dad receives a Ouija message that she must return to Gravesville, Eve couldn't be happier—at least until she discovers the Director of URNS, also known as the Grim Reaper, has a special job for Eve … one that will lead her to New York City and to the true identity of The Source.With The Book of Shrieks offering zero help and a new URNS agent driving the school boys—and Eve!—crazy, Eve's beginning to realize this whole saving-the-world nonsense isn't what it's cracked up to be.All this and she still has to find The Book of Shadows...."This book was perfectly horrible! Horrible meaning amazingly awesome, of course. Eve's world once again sucked me in and would not let go until this part of Eve's story was finished" -- LILI LOST IN A BOOK "This is a perfect combination of YA, Horror, Paranormal and Fun!" -- BOOK LOVERS PARADISE "I love love love Eve. She's a strong, awesome, female character that I would be delighted to recommend to any little girl. (No sexism at play here, boys will love this book too!)" — MUST READ FASTER "I absolutely love this series and cannot wait to keep reading the fun adventures of Eve Hallows. Mr Gray has such a fantastic style of writing and his books are such fascinating tales, that everybody should read them for the fun factor. The topsy turvy lingo, adorable creatures and imaginative Gravesville, make one horrible book." — TURNER'S ANTICS
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Author Robert Gray
Robert Gray is a writer. If that job description doesn’t impress you, how about fantasy writer? Too general? Well, he doesn’t get insulted if you call him a horror writer. If horror’s not your thing, then scratch out horror and replace it with suspense. And for the kiddies, you can slap on a YA or MG in front of that title.
Gray lives in Bushkill, Pennsylvania with his wife and two children.
Book Blast Giveaway Details $50 Amazon Gift Card or Paypal Cash Ends 1/26/14 Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use an Amazon.com Gift Code or Paypal Cash. Winning Entry will be verified prior to prize being awarded. No purchase necessary. You must be 18 or older to enter or have your parent enter for you. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter and announced here as well as emailed and will have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. This giveaway is in no way associated with Facebook, Twitter, Rafflecopter or any other entity unless otherwise specified. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. Giveaway was organized by Kathy from I Am A Reader and sponsored by the author. VOID WHERE PROHIBITED BY LAW.
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Zombies? That's kids stuff.
Welcome to the ultimate battle of the sexes. Welcome to M-Day...
Available now and on sale from February 7-14!
Title: M-Day (M-Day #1)
Author: D.T. Dyllin
Genre: Dystopian Romance
Publisher: Tik Tok Press
Cover Artist: Lindsay Tiry
Interior Book Design: The Eyes For Editing
Buy on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1fdcqz4
Synopsis:
Before the day… before M-day… people used to read books and watch movies about zombies. They used to dress up as zombies; pretend to kill zombies… Basically, zombies had become a part of popular culture in a very unexpected way.
The highly anticipated zombie apocalypse never came.
What did come was much worse than any city over run with shambling corpses after brains and flesh. A virus… a virus that only affected men. Nobody knew what caused it, or where it had come from, not that it really mattered. It's here and there’s no going back.
Maxine was one of the lucky ones--she got out alive. She and her friends banded together to survive the new desolate conditions left behind by the virus. When a supply gathering mission goes awry, Max and company are left with no better choice than to trust a group of uninfected military men. No longer on the run from her infected husband, Max discovers there could be worse dangers for her on the horizon… Like losing her heart to her mysterious savior everyone calls Zee.
About the Author
D.T. Dyllin is a Bestselling Romance Author who writes in both New Adult and Adult genres. She is a member of the RWA (Romance Writers of America) and also her local chapter, the MCRW (Music City Romance Writers).
D.T. was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (Black & Gold for life, baby!) She now lives in Nashville, Tennessee with her husband and two spoiled GSDs.
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Rook
Could you be the monster to save who you love?
Two women, separated by generations, must leave what they know to start a new life. Seventeen-year-old Kate's senior year is ruined when she's moved from the only home she's ever known. After an isolating month alone in her apartment, school starts, but neither her classmates nor her teacher are who they seem. Kali, a single mother living in the nineteenth century wilds of Montana, is stalked by a malicious past. She fights to keep her daughter safe while her freedom is threatened by her less than benevolent benefactor. Both find love, and with it hope, but that is quickly ripped away as one woman must learn the lessons of the other -- before it's too late to save either.
Author Stella MacDonald
Stella is a married graduate student with three boys. Utah is home right now, but the need to wander has extended beyond the fantasy world of writing and into real life. She's lived all around the US and even into the Middle East. The world is really a small place, only made bigger through imagination.
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