The Path of The Fallen

Welcome to the third day of The Path of the Fallen blog tour. It will run until July 8th and will feature excerpts, new author interviews each day, character interviews, and a casting call by the author. But first, here is the obligatory blurb about the novel to settle you into this sprawling fantasy world:

Set against the backdrop of the tundra and a world desperate for hope, the journey of a young man, E'Malkai, will come to define a realm that has been broken by an evil that does not sleep. A bitter betrayal, and the inception of a war that will consume the world, forces E'Malkai to confront the past and undertake a pilgrimage that is his birthright. Follow him on his journey and be transformed. 

A few questions for the author:

What is the most demeaning thing said about you as a writer? 

Probably a whole variety of things that would make me cry myself to sleep, but none that I would share. People are going to love you and hate you for what you do. Best prepare yourself for it now.

How do you react to a bad review of one of your books? 

Read it, see if there is anything useful, and then flush it from memory. It is easier now than when I was first starting out. 

When are you going to write your autobiography? 

It has been in the works for a while, though it might turn into one of those 80% autobiography, 20% bullshit books.

Here be an excerpt for your enjoyment:

ⱷ

Fe’rein

Fe’rein was an abysmal sight. Crimson and shadow energy cascaded around him as he descended from the skies of Culouth, death and blood materialized. He lowered himself through the atmosphere feet first, as if gravity really held some control over him. His dark black boots emerged as he set foot on the platform outside the Commerce Deliberation Hall. The powerful energy trail diminished like ash and fog; his features returned. His white suit was unfettered, as if he had done no more than take a leisurely walk down the street. 

The great balcony was a sight to behold. Golden railings ran the length of the three exterior sides. The interior wall was a tapestry of stained glass, ornate shapes and colors dancing across the crystalline surface. His feet clicked on the marble tiles. Strict arms were at his sides, as if restrained by some force. Hateful eyes directed forward, though a cruel smile crept onto his lips. As he approached the wall of tempered glass, a grand sound resonated in the open air. If Fe’rein had heard or cared at all, he chose not to show it outwardly so. 

“Fe’rein, you have returned unscathed,” called the voice.

Fe’rein regarded him with a critical eye. He did not bother to turn as he passed by the diminutive orderly whose name he had chosen not to remember. The orderly opened his mouth to say more, but Fe’rein had already continued on. The mion moved through the wall next to the metallic port. He remerged within the confines of the inner chambers of the highest echelons of the Deliberations, into the personal chambers of High Marshal Kyien.

The room was dark. An artificial tint made the room darker than it would have been otherwise. Despite the impressive floor space there was only one real piece of furniture: a steel desk at the far corner of the room. The base possessed no legs that were apparent from the front. Deep indentations were carved into it; each was accompanied by another and another, until they appeared as erratic scratches on the surface. 

“There is no need to degrade Jilen. He was merely greeting you as I had instructed.” The voice held power and influence––a tone of supreme confidence that was not readily found in such abundance, even in the overzealous confines of Culouth.

The walls were darkened as well. Fe’rein could make out the outlines of the Umordoc guards set shoulder to shoulder the length of the entire room, more than twenty-five in all. None of them were as intelligent as Elcites, nor were any of them so affectionately named. 

They were designated by letters and numbers randomly assigned within their divisions. Each carried the metallic pikes that the lower beings told stories of them possessing. Their eyes had a haunting amber color to them, as wolves did when they hunted in the night. 

Fe’rein stopped as he approached the table, behind which sat the High Marshal. The man’s face was a sneer no matter what angle it was perceived from. His stature was not as his voice suggested. He was almost a head shorter than Fe’rein, a fact that was amplified by their current positions. 

“You were successful.”

Fe’rein cocked his head and bowed slightly. 

“Though sloppy. The entire collective already knows of your exploits as if it had been broadcast all over the frequencies.” The High Marshal rose from his chair, his hands gripped one another behind his back. His gray suit flared out in the arms and legs as Fe’rein’s did. “You were instructed to kill those aboard, not to obliterate the entire installation.”

The man’s face flushed. His cheek muscles flexed as if to personify his anger, while Fe’rein remained as he was, uncaring. His face was impassive as he watched the smaller man. 

“Have you nothing to say?” challenged Kyien.

“They decided what was necessary, not you.” 

“They?” queried Kyien, the arch of his eyebrow rising.

“The word of the tribunal supersedes your own. I did as instructed. No more, no less.”

Kyien turned, resuming his seat behind the desk. He folded his hands and propped his face atop his arms, watching Fe’rein with a scornful snarl. “They speak to you directly now?”

Fe’rein merely looked at the man. 

“Then you believe that you can perceive their will?” His words were feverish. But he kept his voice low, restrained. The High Marshal knew what would happen if the wrath of the mion were incited. 

“They would have wished any indication…” 

He was cut off as Kyien leapt up from his seat once more and approached Fe’rein with an unbridled speed. The smaller man raised his hand as if to strike. Words rolled from his lips before he had thought them through completely. “You are a fool of a human,” he roared. 

Fe’rein caught his arm. His hand glowed as he did so, the energy seeping out like bloodied smoke and wrapping around the High Marshal’s arm. He lifted the squat Kyien into the air. The grimace on the High Marshal’s face grew exponentially as Fe’rein’s grip began to burn through the suit. A stomach-turning smell of boiling flesh flooded over the room. 

“Damn you, Ryan.”

Fe’rein’s eyes exploded into energy, as did the rest of his body. The Umordoc began to move, a light twitch of their feet. Yet, it was far too slow to catch a Creator, the mion, unprepared. He extended his free arm out behind him, not bothering to look. An undulating pillar of liquid energy burst from his outstretched palm. Taking in three Umordoc with one blast, the energy incinerated them to ash as soon as the beam passed over them. 

“Stop it, Ryan,” struggled Kyien. But as he looked into Fe’rein’s eyes, he saw the anger, the hatred, and realized that he had used his human name. He grimaced then, mostly from the pain, but more so from his stupidity at angering a Creator. “Stop this, Fe’rein.”

The energy receded as quickly as it had come. Fe’rein let Kyien fall back to his feet. Twisting his arm, the bones and metal there clicked against one another. They made a cracking sound with each turn of his wrist. “You forget your place, Kyien. I serve the Intelligence, not you.”

Kyien pressed the burnt flesh that had been underneath the grasp of Fe’rein. Looking ruefully at the mion, he grimaced. “Forgive my impertinence, Fe’rein. I was not myself. I trust then that the Resistance forces in the space station are no more?”

Fe’rein nodded in agreement. 

His unwavering posture was strange after witnessing the power that resided at his fingertips, the awesome energy he commanded with nothing more than a thought. The orderly remained huddled inside the far balcony entrance. His wary eyes watched as the room returned to the more pleasant darkness that had been there before Fe’rein’s outburst. 

“Jilen,” spoke Kyien, regaining his former confidence when addressing the cowering man. He eyed Fe’rein, though the mion did not bother to return the gaze. 

Jilen pushed himself to his feet and approached, shuffling them at first. The stern look from Kyien quickened his step. He moved alongside the desk, bowing and not even looking in the general direction of Fe’rein. 

“Yes, Kyien sien. How may I serve you?”

“Would you please escort the good councilman in, we now require his presence. The mion has arrived.” Jilen bowed and scuttled past Fe’rein. Disappearing past the Umordoc, he moved into the darkness of the council chambers. 

“Why do we require the councilman? His words are useless, and neither truth nor action comes from them,” commented Fe’rein with a frown. 

“Because there is a council. The citizens of Culouth may be sheep, Fe’rein, but they still like to believe they have a say. That belief originates from their spokesman, Augustine.”

Fe’rein blew air through his lips in distaste. Folding his arms across his chest, he moved about the room for the first time without violence. He faded back into the darkness near the balcony entrance.

“I would ask a favor of you. Do not be harsh with the good councilman, he scares rather easily,” commented Kyien as cautiously as he could without sacrificing his pride. 

“So be it,” the mion replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

The opposite doors slid open and Jilen appeared, scuttling across the floor in hurried steps as he had before. This time Augustine remained no more than a few paces at his back, his robes dragging on the floor. His robust face beaded with sweat from the minimal exertion of walking.

Kyien stood, spreading his arms wide. A smile crossed his face as he took in the approaching figure of the councilman, but not before looking across the chambers to the pacing, faint figure of Fe’rein. “My good friend Augustine, how nice of you to join me––us here.”

“Kyien sien, it is good to see you as well,” he replied stiffly, still not yet aware of Fe’rein’s presence. Jilen disappeared and reappeared with a flat-backed chair. The plush cushion at its bottom was a dark purple, the yellow-clawed globes at its feet were engraved with runic symbols of ancient languages. “Will M’iordi sien be joining us as well?”

Janel M’iordi was another member of the council. His position dealt more with the war maneuvers of the Culouth state. He served as Secretary to the Intelligence, a rank set just below High Marshal Kyien. “He will be joining us shortly, but I wished to speak with you about the nephew of the mion, the one called E’Malkai sien.”

“Yes, young E’Malkai sien. He is well, even though the meeting was sullied by that bumbling fool Fredrick. The drunken one who blathers on; he said some things about Fe’rein.”

Fe’rein came out from the shadows in a flash. He was next to Augustine so quickly that the large man leapt from his seat as if a ghost or specter had accosted him. “What did Fredrick say?” rasped Fe’rein with interest. 

His wide eyes subsided. Augustine evened out the twisted ends of his robes, his sweaty hands drying against the fabrics. “Nothing of consequence, my mion.”

“Let me be the judge of that, Augustine,” replied Fe’rein. His tone assured the councilman that he held him in no respect, his title meaning nothing in his eyes. 

“Of course, Fe’rein sien,” stuttered Augustine, casting a worried glance at the calm features of Kyien. The High Marshal allowed himself a smile as he watched another of power quiver beneath the mion. “He said that you were not a hero, not like Seth, I believe is what he said. I do not know of any Culouth warrior by such a name.”

“Nor would you,” snapped Fe’rein, ending the man’s words with a thin hiss. 

“Your nephew has accepted the trials. He seemed dispirited by the human’s words,” added Augustine, his fat face frowning in contemplation. 

“Fredrick’s words,” mused Fe’rein, eyeing the reluctant councilman.

“A ward of a mion has not been chosen for a thousand years, perhaps a thousand’s thousand. Nor has there been a Creator for near as long,” spoke Kyien, sensing that Fe’rein’s already dark mood threatened to grow worse after hearing the councilman’s words. 

Jilen approached the table; his hunched shoulders slackened since Fe’rein had returned to the far shadows of the room. “Secretary M’iordi has arrived, my sien. He asks for an audience with you,” spoke Jilen, his head bowed, body lowered to one knee. 

“Show him in, Aide Jilen.”

“As you wish, Kyien sien.” 

Jilen disappeared as quickly as he had come. Silence descended upon the three of them. Fe’rein’s anger manifested as the dark energy billowed off him, lighting the shadow with the blood red of his power. 

“Is it true that the Harbinger has been destroyed?” queried Augustine, trying to break the tense silence that had wound itself around the three men.

Fe’rein did not look up, but instead fader deeper into his thoughts of E’Malkai and Fredrick. His cold eyes permeated the darkness, sending a shiver over the portly councilman as he averted his gaze back to Kyien. 

“It was indeed, though it was necessary in order to seal away any indication of the Resistance,” replied Kyien, choosing his words carefully. He felt the power that he wielded sapped by the mere presence of Fe’rein. He could feel that the mion had his eyes on him at all times, listening, seeking out those who were not worthy. “There is little left of them now. They hide in the streets and here among us, chameleons that they are.”

“They will not for long, High Marshal Kyien.” The voice came from the direction in which Jilen had exited. The shadow broke, and a man strode forth, sauntering. His lank frame was taller than Kyien’s. Although his waistline possessed much less girth than the High Marshal’s, he still had much wider shoulders.

M’iordi had stark white hair, as white as the garb Fe’rein wore. His eyes were blue globes, and his pale skin was freckled. He extended his hand across the desk to Kyien as he came in range, waving away Jilen who had brought a seat for the Secretary. 

“Kyien sien, you look well,” he offered. His accent was lighter than any of the others and then turning to Augustine, he bowed slightly. “Councilman Augustine, you look well-fed.”

They all laughed, even Augustine, though his faded the quickest. He watched the lank Secretary with a distasteful glare. Kyien leaned back into his chair and gestured to the shadow, his fingers twitching under the cold glare of Fe’rein. 

“You, of course, know Fe’rein.”

M’iordi bowed, interrupting Kyien. “My mion.”

“You look well, M’iordi,” returned Fe’rein, stepping out from the shadow. His thoughts lost for the moment. A twinge of a smile crossed his face, the canyon of his scar twisting as he did so. 

“Only through your graces, my mion.” 

M’iordi remained bowed as he spoke. 

Fe’rein stepped forward. He placed a gentle hand on him before he spoke again. “Call me Fe’rein. If the others see fit to do so, then so shall you,” replied Fe’rein as amiably as he could muster. 

“Of course, Fe’rein. There is talk that your victory was complete; that their base is no more and the day of their meddling will soon come to an end. Is this true, my mion?”

“Fe’rein has…” began Kyien. 

The dark demigod silenced him with a wave of his hand. The High Marshal bowed, although his contempt was not lost on the others. “Yes, there were some there, even Marion. I doubt that they were based there. It is my belief that the base was merely a diversion. It matters little, for it was necessary to make an example of their impertinence. The destruction of the space station was an unfortunate side effect––an effect that has seemed to create a rather heightened state of affairs here within the city.” 

Kyien looked on with surprise, Augustine as well. It was well known that Fe’rein rarely spoke at length, and to hear it in person was something of a memorable occasion. Many spoke of the trust between Fe’rein and M’iordi; a bond built on the distrust of the hierarchy of the Culouth Commerce. 

“A decoy in space to draw you away from the city? To what end?” queried M’iordi incredulously. His concern and surprise were not as heartfelt as they seemed, but the others went on whether they noticed or not. 

“There is a belief that they wish to strike Fe’rein’s own blood, to attack a blood relative of a Creator. How foolish. E’Malkai, sien of the House of Di’letirich, has been advised of a possible attack, yet he and Leane ilsen seemed rather unconcerned with it all,” replied Augustine, the jowls of his face swaying as he spoke. 

“Then the rumor that the young sien of the House of Di’letirich is to take on the trials of Tal’marath is true. What do we hope to accomplish from this?” continued M’iordi, pacing behind Fe’rein. 

“A ward of a mion is granted powers, so it is written. To have another powerful force aligned with us will be a great help as the Resistance continues to gather followers to its cause with each passing day,” explained Kyien. He laced his hands together and placed them on his chest, leaning back in his chair. 

“Do you believe this as well, Fe’rein?” queried M’iordi as he turned to the stoic mion. 

“There is certainly a possibility. There are those who doubted I would become what I am, yet here I stand. I believe that what was written possesses the same power now as it did then in the cradle of its birth,” replied Fe’rein, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“There are also those who say you do not deserve the gift that you have received,” spoke Augustine. His eyes glazed and he stared forward, his lips moving mechanically. 

Fe’rein was beside him with such deftness that neither M’iordi nor Kyien had the skill to follow. “What did you say, Augustine?” queried Fe’rein with a deepening scowl. 

“You do not deserve the power that you took,” echoed another’s voice through Augustine. The robust man was no longer himself. “Seth Armen, son of Evan, was to inherit the mantle of the Believer, not Ryan, son of Evan, desecrator of the power.”

M’iordi took a step back, gasping. He held his hand over his mouth in horror. Kyien rose from his seat, drawing a weapon from underneath his desk. The sidearm was twice as large as the High Marshal’s hand. He held it unsteadily as Augustine stood from his chair, throwing it aside and pointing a putrid finger at Fe’rein. 

“This is not over, another will see you fall.” Those were the last words as a blue light fell over Augustine. It consumed him, bathing him in unnatural energy and then dissipated in a flash of light. The heavy councilman dropped to the ground with a colossal thud, sprawling him out on his stomach. 

Fe’rein remained were he stood; his face showing as much surprise as he would allow himself. M’iordi and Kyien ran past him to the side of the fallen councilman, jostling him. He opened his eyelids and looked at them with a hazy, glassy stare. 

“What happened?” he asked as he wobbled, trying to get to his feet. He fell back to a sitting position with an uncomfortable groan. 

“Shaman,” whispered Fe’rein.

“Fe’rein, what was that?” spoke Kyien. 

“What is it that you remember, Augustine?” responded Fe’rein, not bothering to turn or answer the High Marshal’s question. 

Kyien’s eyes were aflame again, his passions getting the better part of him as he stormed toward Fe’rein. He paused, his shoulders shrugging as Fe’rein turned to face him. His cold stare reduced him to a child once more. 

“Answer my question, Augustine. Do not think, just speak what you remember. The words that still linger,” continued Fe’rein, standing over Kyien. His eyes swirled with liquid shadow and flame. 

Augustine shook his head. His hands trembled. “I––ah…”

“Speak, do not think,” commanded Fe’rein with considerable force behind his words. 

“Seth Armen of the Fallen. The true herald of the Believer,” replied Augustine with shame. He lowered his eyes away from Fe’rein, a whimper escaping his lips. 

“Fear not Augustine, I do not blame you. This was not your doing,” spoke Fe’rein with a sigh, as though a fantastic weight had been placed on him. “There is another at work here.”

“Are we in danger?” asked Kyien, placing his hands on his desk for support as he rounded it. “Will this voice come again?”

“I doubt that he would risk it again, but he came for me. He wished to speak to me and did so through Augustine,” returned Fe’rein with disgust plastered across his features.

He turned now, fading into the darkness, leaving the others to care for Augustine. His voice floated back over the shadow and his words froze their hearts. “If this being returns, it will be the end of Culouth and all those who serve the Intelligence.”

Bio: A psychologist, author, editor, philosopher, martial artist, and skeptic, he has published several novels and currently has many in print, including: The End of the World Playlist, Bitten, The Journey, The Ocean and the Hourglass, The Path of the Fallen, The Portent, and Cerulean Dreams. Follow him on Twitter (@AuthorDanOBrien) or visit his blog http://thedanobrienproject.blogspot.com. He recently started a consultation business. You can find more information about it here: http://www.amalgamconsulting.com/.

Bitten (US) 

End of the World Playlist (US)  

Cerulean Dreams (US) 

The Journey (US)  

The Path of the Fallen (US)  

The Twins of Devonshire (US)

The End of the World Playlist (UK) 

Bitten (UK) 

Cerulean Dreams (UK)

The Journey (UK) 

The Path of the Fallen (UK) 

Follow My Blog  

Follow Me On Twitter 

Like Me On Facebook  

Would you like to win a copy of The Path of the Fallen?

All you have to do is comment on a post during the tour. Two randomly drawn commenters will be awarded either a physical or digital copy of The Path of the Fallen.

Visit http://thedanobrienproject.blogspot.com/ and follow the blog for a chance to win a Kindle Fire!

Maiden Behind the Mask

  

Links: Tour Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Smashwords

When Catalina Rodriguez is attacked by a would-be rapist and rescued by the dashing Ricardo Garcia, she not only becomes more aware of the handsome man, but also vows that she’ll never be a damsel in distress again. Using the timeless method of blackmail, she convinces her uncle to teach her to fight and becomes a masked crusader in the night, saving other damsels from robbers and rough handling. However, scandalous rumors and dwindling funds force Ricardo and Catalina to marry. Not immune to each other’s charms, their marriage starts fiery, but when one of Catalina’s nightly escapades results in dire consequences, she is forced to spurn her husband’s amorous advances…or reveal a secret that could turn him away from her forever. Ricardo’s not a man to be cuckolded or left in the dark. Is his wife having an affair with El Capitan, the masked savior? If so…they will both pay.

Excerpt

 

She tore her gaze away from the mare and said firmly. “Cinco pesos. And only because this yegua has fire, not because of your terms. Selena, pay him.”

Selena’s hand shook, but the pesos were transferred to the dirty palm. The man laughed with glee, the crowd dispersed, and Catalina was left with a dirty, starving horse.

“We shall get you fed and cleaned up.” She patted the mare’s neck. A cloud of dirt rose in the air, and Catalina struggled not to cough. “I shall call you La Reina, because once in my establo, I shall treat you like a queen. Your body may be beaten, but your spirit is not broken.”

“Catalina?” Her maid’s voice was tentative as it interrupted her quiet chattering. “Whatever possessed you—”

“Fetch me a mozo,” Catalina interrupted her. “Take the remaining pesos and fetch me a groom. La Reina is going to her castle.” She wasn’t offering more explanation than that. She didn’t owe anyone an explanation. She’d done what was right.

As her maid turned to comply, heading toward the livery, a loud pffffht rent the air. Catalina stared at her new acquisition in surprise.

Selena froze and swung around to admonish her charge. “Señorita! Your behavior has been questionable enough this day. Mind yourself.” She shook her head and her finger both before turning back to the task at hand.

Catalina heard her muttering as she sashayed away. She was too surprised and too tired to defend herself, but the breeze picked up, and a waft of foul air assaulted her. Catalina immediately tugged a delicate, lace handkerchief from her sleeve and placed it over her nose as she glared at the horse.

La Reina snorted and pawed the ground. Catalina could swear the mare was laughing at her. She merely shook her head. “Dios mío, and you let me take the blame for that?”

Pffffhht. Pfffht.

La Reina whinnied and bared her teeth as though she were smiling.

Tara Chevrestt is a deaf woman, former aviation mechanic, writer, and an editor. She is most passionate about planes, motorcycles, dogs, and above all, reading. That led to her love of writing. Between her writing and her editing, which allows her to be home with her little canine kids, she believes she has the greatest job in the world. She is very happily married. Her theme is Strong is Sexy. She shares a website with her naughty pen name: http://tarachevrestt.weebly.com/index.html and they have a Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Tara-Chevrestt-Sonia-Hightower/218383211513877

Land of the Unalterd

 

Links: Tour Goodreads Amazon Smashword Barnes & Noble   

Rose comes from the capital of the Confederation of Cities where its citizens live in luxury and the greatest fashion statement of all is being Altered. People change everything about the way they look as often as they do their hairstyle but Rose is different. Her position of privilege has made her an outcast and led her to suspect that something sinister is happening to the citizens and flees the capital along with a past that imprisons her in search of a fresh start in the Land of the Unaltered. Flynn lives in the Land of the Unaltered and hates the capitol and everything it stands for. So when a spoiled capital girl is assigned to work with him, he wants nothing to do with her and is prepared to make her life miserable. But Flynn was not prepared for someone like Rose. She doesn’t fit the mold he expected and finds himself strongly attracted to her. As she continues to surprise and outwit him, they begin to forge a bond that is tested when they discover a secret that could change everything they know about Land of the Unaltered. Land of the Unaltered is a Dystopian Romance and is the first installment of the The Confederation Chronicles.

Excerpt

I woke up confused, disoriented and under attack.
I could hear the sounds of bullets in the distance getting closer with every passing second. In the confusion following my abrupt awakening, it took me a few precious seconds to realize this wasn’t my room and that I was in a foreign bed. Then I remembered I was onboard a convoy, taking me far away from home.
I gazed out of the tiny window next to my borrowed bed to see the attackers; about two dozen people on horseback, ridding parallel to the moving convoy. A few held lit torches that blazed against night’s sky. The rest carried guns, all aimed at me. My heart reached a frantic pace when I saw their bodies move closer to my window. I had lived my whole life in fear of an assassination and now that the threat was real and present, time stood still as I observed the faces of my would-be killers.
Their faces shone with excitement and energy. Never in my entire life had I felt as alive as these people appeared to be, riding towards me with their guns blazing. The full moon illuminated them and the green valley they galloped across. Weaving in and out of the sparse trees, their horses flew across the grassy terrain and maintained pace with the convoy. With my breath frozen in my throat, I found myself confused with my discovery. These assailants seemed happy and not at all what I imagined assassins to be.
Their clothes were mismatched but not ragged. They had clean, Unaltered faces and their hair was neatly arranged. I saw a young girl with two long braids streaming down her back. For some reason, those twin golden braids held me transfixed as she rode even closer. This would-be killer looked so young. She had to be about my age, seventeen. As I scanned the rest of their faces, I noticed none of them seemed much older than thirty. Women made up almost half of their numbers.
I had always been taught to fear assassins and imagined them to be deranged renegades, but these people seemed vibrant and full of glee. Their smiling faces almost made me forget that they were after me. Preparing for the worst, I steeled myself and moved away from the small window. Getting down on my hands and knees, I searched my cabin for something to barricade the door with. Unfortunately, every stick of furniture was attached to the wall.
The sounds of gun fire got closer and my once comfortable room was now stifling. My stomach twisted into a knot of fear that I forced myself to ignore. After all, I had been trained for this since I was a little girl and I knew what to do. I needed to take stock of my surroundings.
The convoy did not have accommodations for extra passengers, so the Leader of the Convoy had surrendered his room to me. I had made myself comfortable in his small compartment while he shared with the crew. The surfaces of his room were made of a highly polished wood that gleamed in shiny perfection and I marveled at the cabin’s ingenuity in making use of every nook and cranny. A model of expert efficiency, its compartments slid into the walls and bins folded into the ceiling. I started to go through the compartments, looking for something of use, until I found what just might save me: a pistol.
Heavier than I expected it to be, I was pleased to find the pistol already loaded and ready to go. My fingers griped the cool metal as I pushed aside the growing fear and remembered every word of my safety training. I moved into a tight corner with good cover, aimed the pistol at the door and waited for my attackers.
The knock on that door made me jump half out of my skin. Assassins don’t knock, do they? I slowed my racing heartbeat and forced my brain to think clearly.
“Who is it?” I asked with as much braveness as I could muster.
“Convoy Leader Simpson. May I come in?”
The voice sounded right, even and free of fear. Having been taught to expect a trap, I tightened my grip and took a deep breath.
“Come in.” My level voice didn’t betray any of my fear.
The door opened and Convoy Leader Simpson himself took one step into the room. He appeared to be more afraid of me than of the assassins outside of my window.
“Don’t shoot.” He lifted both hands in the air as though to surrender. “I came to tell you that everything is fine.”
I lowered the gun but kept it firmly in my hands as I moved back to the small window by my bed. Outside, I could now only see the backs of my attackers as they rode away. With their guns holstered, they rode quickly into a nearby thicket of trees where the branches and bushes would soon conceal them from the moonlight.
“They’re riding away,” I said in disbelief.
“It’s what they always do.”
I tore my eyes away from the small window and looked over at him. His impossibly smooth skin, as well as his strong and exaggerated chin told me he had been Altered.
“I don’t understand. This happens often?”
“Yes ma’am”.
Simpson was young, not too much older than me. An expert at telling the age of citizens from our capital, Civitas, I knew the trick was to look past the face. Faces were often Altered beyond recognition. Instead, I focused on hands or even better, elbows. Sometimes older people tried to keep the saggy and stretched skin around their elbows covered since it was a dead giveaway, but hands are always out for everyone to see. The surgery hadn’t yet been invented to Alter them without hindering their function.
“They weren’t after me?”
He took two steps further into my room and stopped.
“Please rest assured that you will be fine. They were not here for you.”
“How can you be sure?” I asked.
“They don’t even know you’re aboard.”
I let out a sigh of relief and glanced outside once more. They had disappeared under the trees with nothing left to remind me of the attack except for the heavy gun I held in my hands. It seemed silly to still be holding it, so I handed it over to Convoy Leader Simpson.
Careful not to touch my skin, he removed the pistol from my hand. The youthful skin of the Convoy Leader’s hands told me he was in his early twenties. Such an important post for someone so young meant he possessed good connections. Yet he wasn’t well connected enough to not fear me. Though his dark brown eyes were scared, they also held a hint of curiosity.
“Then what were they after?” I asked.
He shifted his weight between his feet a bit before answering.
“They routinely attack the convoy between cities.”
“Why?” I had never heard of anyone attacking a convoy.
“It’s true, ma’am. They fire their guns at us but it’s to no avail. The convoy is armored so their guns won’t do us any harm,” he replied without answering my question.
“I had no idea the convoy was armored.”
These attacks must happen often, which didn’t make sense. Who would want to attack the convoy? It carried essential supplies between all the cities within the Confederation of Cities. Did they want the supplies or something else?
“Well, I wanted to make sure you weren’t frightened or disturbed.” He kept his eyes downcast as he hovered in the doorway.
“Thank you. I’m fine.” I reassured him.
“Yes ma’am. Goodnight ma’am.”
He closed the door without once meeting my eyes. If he had, he would have noticed the irritation on my face. I had gotten sick and tired of being referred to as ma’am. At seventeen, I found the title more than a little offensive, but this poor guy must have been petrified after spending the last three days traveling with me.
People in positions of authority always thought I had been sent to observe them and report on them to the Chancellor himself. The Chancellor of the Confederation has ruled with absolute power since the Great Pandemic. His position had been created for our protection. Now, most people feared him almost as much as they feared my father. Little did they know I hadn’t spoken to the Chancellor in years and I could care less about reporting on people to him.
Oh well. Another day had passed without my being assassinated. I sunk down into my, I mean Simpson’s, bed and tried my best to go back to sleep, which proved to be rather easy considering the gentle rocking of the convoy over the iron tracks that stretched all across the Land of the Unaltered.

  Leti Del Mar lives in sunny Southern California with her husband, daughter and abnormally large cat. When she isn’t writing, reading or blogging, she is teaching Biology and Algebra to teenagers. Leti is also a classic film buff, passionate about Art History and loves to travel.
Links: Twitter Facebook Google+ Linkedin Mailing List

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Losing Francesca

Losing Francesca By J. A. Huss
Expected Publication: July 1, 2013
Genre: Mature Young Adult Contemporary Romance

Francesca Sabatini came to America to take in the sights, celebrate her high school graduation, and have fun wasting time before college starts in the fall.

That’s not what happens.

Fresh off the plane and barely on American soil more than a handful of minutes, Francesca’s face is recognized by TSA scanners to be a match for a child who was kidnapped twelve years ago.

Brody Mason remembers the day Fiona Sullivan went missing during a family vacation in Italy and it’s haunted him his whole life. So when Francesca shows up at the Sullivan farm down the road, he’s compelled to figure out if this girl really is his long lost friend.

But Francesca knows she’s not Fiona Sullivan. She knows exactly who she is. At least she thinks she knows – until Brody Mason relentlessly pursues her and she begins to have feelings for him. Maybe being Fiona isn’t so bad?

Reality becomes blurred, secrets are revealed, and life will never be the same when the final questions are answered: Is she Francesca or Fiona? And where does she really belong?

Losing Francesca is a YA/NA crossover contemporary romance. :)

What people are saying about Losing Francesca by J.A. Huss!

"A 'you must drop everything and read this' kind of story." - Author Alexia Purdy @ http://alexiaepurdy.blogspot.com/


"...this book is so sweet and full of emotions and I loved it. I couldn't stop reading." - Lola @ Lola's Reviews!

"This. Was. Great!!!!! It was amazing! I loved it!" - Kimberly @ Kimberly's Novel Notes!

I lie back on the beach and put my hands behind my head. "So, we're gonna spend the whole summer hanging out and I'm not allowed to get to know you even in the most basic and simple ways? Is that how this is gonna go, Fee?"

She lies back next to me and turns on her side, her eyes searching mine. "Why do you insist that I am her? I'm not her, Brody. This fact will hurt you if you don't accept it and I don't want to hurt you. You're nice, I like you, but I'm not that girl."

"I want you to be her." I tell her truthfully. "I so, so want you to be her, Francesca. I cannot even explain how much I want to talk to her again. How much I want to tell her about all the days we never shared, to tell her that I thought of her at the end of every single one of them and that I prayed to God for years, every night, on my fucking knees, that she'd come back. I want to give her the Fruit Roll-Up I brought to school that first day back after summer vacation. That stupid Fruit Roll-Up that I still have hidden away, because I had this faith as a kid. This unwavering faith that only a kid can have that one day my friend would be back. And when she finally showed up, I'd give her that stupid snack to show her how much I missed her. And to prove myself to her. Because that little girl was my soulmate."

She frowns so deep it makes me hold my breath.

"I'm sorry," I say, turning my head to stare up at the sky. "I shouldn't tell you this stuff, I'm sorry." I'm projecting, that's what I'm doing. I want Francesca to be my Fee so bad I'm starting to believe it myself, even as she sits here and tells me straight up she's not her.

Her hand touches my cheek and I look back over.

"You can ask me one question, but it can't be about my other life."

I laugh. "What good does that do me?"

"Well, you can ask about things, but not my family, or school, or the places I've lived."

"Give me a for example, because I'm not seeing the difference."

She sighs and turns away, biting on her thumbnail a little. "OK," she says, turning back. "For example, I'll ask you the first question and you answer, then I'll answer the same question for you."

I smile.

She chews on her bottom lip this time. Clearly she is nervous. "All right, tell me about the best day of your life."

I sit up and stare down at her. "The best day of my life?"

She nods.

"Today, Fee. The best day of my life is today."

Get your copy today!

JA Huss is a SF and new adult romance junkie, has a love-hate relationship with the bad boys, and likes to write new adult books about people with real problems. She lives with her family on a small acreage farm in Colorado and has two donkeys named Paris and Nicole. Before writing fiction, she authored almost two hundred science workbooks and always has at least three works in progress. Losing Francesca is her first young adult romance.

Website † Facebook † Twitter † GoodReads  † Blog 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

House Rules

It takes a wealth of collected experiences, emotions, successes and failures to craft the personality of a true Alpha Male Jack Gordon, real estate broker, licensed builder, Juris Doctorate, has had his fair share of strife. His ability to cope, to fall down and pick himself back up has lead him to a place where he believes he has it all. Friends, money, cars, more women than he can count, and a club in Detroit where he can exorcise his inner demons, fill his days and his nights. When he walks up to a penthouse door on a hot Ann Arbor summer afternoon, frustrated, exasperated and ready to call it quits after hours of condo shopping with a wealthy couple, the last thing on his mind is meeting his destiny.
Links: Goodreads Amazon 

 

 

 

 

 

Excerpt Rated R for content/language:
“Jack!” He heard his name, rolled over, tried to hug her close. But his hand found air. “Jack! God damn it.” Something hit his head, and then again.
“Cut it out.” He grabbed at it, still half asleep, aching deep in his muscles, his cock raw and sore under the sheet. “Go the hell away.” Once he realized he was in his own bed without Mindy to curl around and mess with, his mood darkened immediately.
The whole of the last few weeks had been a blur, but a pleasant one. Until recently, when Jack had been getting a distinct sensation of rejection, of having to work too hard for Mindy’s attention. It was pissing him the fuck off. And setting off all sorts of alarm bells.
“Get up, you ass.” Brandis’ voice was clear now. “Your room is a pigsty. Are you on drugs or something? Drugs you aren’t sharing? Because I’ve never seen you like this. Get up!” The pillow hit him again, making him grunt, sit, and glare at his oldest friend.
For some reason, the serious look on the boy’s dark-skinned face made Jack want to burst into laughter at the utter absurdity of what he’d been doing —fucking himself into sweet oblivion. In every possible way, shape, and position with the woman who, at the same time, wanted to marry his father.
He groaned and lay back, tugging the blanket up over his eyes, wishing the whole stinking mess away.
“Come on, dickhead. Let’s go…. I need some hoops time, and I’m sick of your excuses.” Brandis stood to his full six-foot-three inches, glaring down at Jack.
Jack blinked then put his feet on the floor, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to sort out why he was so god damned pissed off. He was the same guy in the same body, albeit one that had come a long way since he’d walked into the office that day eager to go to a party and grope a girl.
“All right.” He got up and stretched, relishing the way his sore muscles sang out and his body tingled all over. “Hold your water.” He made his way to the bathroom, took a piss after his morning hard-on receded, then wandered out naked. He grinned at Brandis who’d reached for Jack’s not-so-secret stash of Penthouse mags.
Jack got dressed, then flopped back onto his bed and put an arm over his eyes. His head still pounded from lack of sleep and a strange sort of elusive stress he couldn’t pin down. Oh, right. Mindy. She of the teaching skills who had let him more or less live with her for nearly three months then told him last night he needed to “move on.” To “find some girls his own age and use his new skills on them.” This after he’d fucked her standing up, in the hallway, unable to even wait the short few steps to the bedroom.
Jack ran a slightly shaking hand down his face. Truth was, he didn’t want any “girls his own age.” He wanted nothing more than to hole up with Mindy, eat the crappy Chinese takeout she loved, watch whatever she wanted on TV. Just be with her, content, totally at ease in his skin.
Well, and fucking her a lot, like four or five times a day. He sighed as his cock stirred to life, then sat, needing to redirect his energy. Maybe Brandis was right. He needed to get out and use his body for something other than getting laid.
“Let’s go before you have to spank your monkey all over my magazine.” Jack smacked the titty mag out of his friend’s hand and walked out of his room.
“Are you calling me a monkey, you racist pig?” Brandis ran past him into the hall, hitting the door and tumbling out into the light of the early summer day, making Jack smile.
“No. Just a poor, sex-starved loser. I couldn’t give a fuck less what color you are.”
“Ha, you don’t know me very well, do you?” Brandis snapped, tossing Jack a basketball then climbing behind the wheel of his Shelby Charger. “Don’t get your loser germs on my leather seats.”
Jack grinned, flipped his friend off, then licked his palm and wiped it, ostentatiously, across the steering wheel. “There. Some of my ‘hitting it with regularity’ mojo for ya.”
Brandis snorted. “You’re such a liar.”
“Oh no, I’m not,” Jack said mildly, staring out the window and trying to come to terms with how lonely he felt at that moment.
They screeched out onto the quiet street, stereo blaring, and parked at the high school where a couple of outdoor courts were already busy. Brandis kept his hands on the wheel a minute, staring out the windshield. Jack barely noticed, so sunk in his own stew of self-pity.
“Where have you been?” he said quietly.
Jack blinked then looked at his friend. “What do you…?”
Brandis held up a hand. “Gordon, it’s not like I need you around me or anything but shit, dude, you are like…gone somewhere. You’ve missed the team workouts more than once. You never go out on the weekends. I mean…what is it?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.” Jack said, suddenly needing to spill it, to tell somebody. Why not his best friend since elementary school? He rolled the basketball around in his hands, its familiar leather contours comforting.
“Try me.”
“I’ve been, uh, sort of hanging out, I mean, staying over…um…well,” he sighed and rubbed his neck. “I’ve been banging my father’s secretary nearly constantly for about three months. She’s um...been teaching me stuff and...ah….” He stopped, glanced at his friend who was staring at him, open-mouthed. “What?” Jack frowned, suddenly angry. “This is too much for you?”
“Je-sus H. Christ. You lucky bastard!” Brandis smacked his shoulder. “Damn. I thought you were in a cult or got some bad acid or…I don’t know. Fuck!” He pounded the steering wheel. “Finally, no longer the Big V!”
“Shut up,” Jack muttered, the day darkening around him again. He wanted Mindy, needed her. Did not want to be here, doing this. That made him furious with himself. He jumped out of the car and headed for the court. Movement, that would help and mindless hours of playing his favorite game.

The Balancing Act By Liz Crowe
 “When do you sleep?” is a question I get asked a lot. “At night,” is my typical answer but I understand why it gets asked. I have written and had nearly 20 books published in the last 3 years, including 7 over the course of the current year. I also am part owner and marketing/retail manager of a successful new craft microbrewery in Ann Arbor. I have kids, yes but they are at the self-sufficient stage for the most part, a 21–year-old in college, an 18-year old about to graduate high school and almost 15-year-old. The youngest is a soccer player on an elite travel team, which does lend itself to a lot of driving around. But they are all way past the needing my undivided 24-hour attention. But I do manage a household, with a couple of dogs, along with all of that. And as anyone who has written a single book knows, the promotion piece of that puzzle is a near ‘round the clock effort on multiple platforms so the “writing of a book” part is one of the only internet downtimes I allow myself. What I find is that a triage method, along with a “this is a brewery day” or “this is a writing day” or “this is a family day” works best, along with firm boundaries to go with each. In other words, I have weaned myself off the need to be constantly connected with my facebook pages and twitter feeds (I have multiple ones as you might imagine). When it’s a writing day, I don’t even glance at them, lest I get pulled into a promo opportunity that seems crucial (when it isn’t) or get discouraged by all the success everyone else seems to be having while I’m just toiling away, scribbling and pretending I’m successful. The whole “Facebook status one-up-manship” thing can be a downer and when writing, you need zero downers as it is a tough enough thing already. So within the established theme of the day I tackle various stages of it, like the way I go about a housework day (these are rare but they do occur). One room at a time—no drifting between rooms and getting distracted by chaos in one while controlling it another. One task within the room at a time—no starting laundry then stopping halfway to pick up the vacuum cleaner. Use a distinct and logical process—no mopping until you hoover (vacuum), no hoovering until you wipe off counters, no wiping off of counters until you organize them or (preferably) clear them off (even if it is straight into a garbage bag, another one of my favorite things). I am not an organizational whiz by any stretch. I am what they call “the creative,” so many ground level tasks skip right past me in ways that would be embarrassing should I admit to them (let’s just say, “auto pay” is my best friend). But because my mind seems to thrive best when the chaos is at its highest, I will allow myself stretches of time to just revel it in. And since I am a marathon writer –the sort that once the head writing is done and it’s time to just “write the dang book” I will dive in and be more or less gone for weeks at a stretch, sort of floating through the house on auto pilot, always plotting the next twist or turn in my head. So I don’t always take my own advice. But the bigger picture, the balancing of the many and varied balls I have in my personal air, is a matter of taking it a week at a time, sometimes a day at a time, and never, ever ending a day without looking back and finding one thing that was accomplished, be it a killer 5 or 10,000 word count on your WIP, a new reader fan, a new beer drinker or bottle placement, or a pile of folded laundry – even if it’s still sitting in the middle of the family room floor.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Rachel Van Dyken

When I'm not sitting by my computer thinking about writing, you can usually find me.... Eating Watching way too much reality T.V. Eating Reading romances aka researching ;) Daydreaming Did I say eating?? Okay, okay...I don't just sit and eat and read, though I think the world would definitely be a better place if we ate more chocolate and read more books. Just saying. ;) I grew up in a small farm town where cows outnumber people and tractors are more common than cars. I desperately wished to one day wake up and be a princess. My sister and I often played "pretend," though she was always the princess and I the prince or evil step mother. Maybe that's why I write? I wanted to be the princess so desperately that I decided to write my own story. I've always been a dreamer and a thinker. I blame my parents for allowing Disney to pollute my mind, not that I care, considering I live and breathe all things Disney. I went to college thinking I would change the world one child at a time via counseling...I ended up being a K-8 school counselor for around five years while getting my MBA....the whole time I kept feeling like I was not necessarily doing something I was very passionate about. One day, after a terribly sad counseling session with a few young girls--I began typing. I've been typing ever since. In 2011 I had my first book published. I cried, jumped up and down, and called everyone I knew! I can only say I wake up wanting to do nothing but fall to my knees in thanks to God for his many blessings. I was told one time by a very wise person to sit and think about your childhood. About the dreams that you had, the fantasies you wanted to come to life...by digging in your past it's often found that you can decide what your destiny is. I was a prince, a toad, a monster, the evil step-mother, and sometimes the slave girl waiting to be rescued. So now, I'm an author. Sounds about right... I love to hear from readers...and if you ever stop by Idaho, hit me up. We'll go to Starbucks and talk about food, books, romance, and rakes. :)
Links: Goodreads Website Facebook Twitter 

Interview
 1. You have mentioned you like to eat, what are some of your favorite foods?
I do love to eat. :) My favorite food is probably Thai food...so good! But if I'm being completely honest, I'm a hot dog girl haha! I love good ol bbq as well! I usually snack on  almonds when I write...and treat myself with wine when I finish a book!

2. What is it about the historical romance genre that grabbed you, that inspired you to write so many books?
I love historical romances. The dresses, the mannerisms--everything about the regency era was really captivating to me. It was so different from typical life now, that I thought it would be fun to write. I also love rakes...the regency bad boy? Can't get any better than that!

3. As you know I am now addicted to your book Elite and am waitng with baited breath for Elect, do you know how many book you will be having in this series yet?
My initial plan was to have two books with the Eagle Elite series. At this point..I'm thinking I may end up having four. After all, I want to write about Mo and Tex and we don't really get to see much of their relationship in Elect.

4. I am currently in the middle of reading The Bet great book by the way, what would you say is your favorite personality trait that each of the characters has?
Each character? Hmmm..I love grandma's personality. She has no censor whatsoever! I love Travis's protective nature, Jakes selfishness b/c at least he's honest about who he is, and finally Kacey's silly fears ;) I love that each of them bring something different to the table. I mean, that's how family life is right? We all have that crazy uncle or weird grandma, or even that silly crush on our neighbor ;)

5. When you get stuck on a book what do you do?
Write something else. This is why I am, at all times, writing several stories. I get bored with some of my stories, or I can't stop thinking about other characters, so I move on and then come back to the book.

6. Have you ever written a character in a book that you took from one of the reality shows you watch?
 Angelica from Shatter was easy to write b/c i just based her off all the catty women on The Bachelor ;) I have to admit that watching The Vampire Diaries helped me a bit with the Seaside series. I wanted to see how two brothers would react if they loved the same girl.

Books
Renwick House
   Since childhood Sara has lived with the reality of being ugly. Something her awful family never ceased to remind her. After her sisters run off to Gretna Green, she's left with one choice--go to London and take their place for a Season. It's up to her to marry well and save her family from financial ruin. A distant aunt decides it's in her best interest to sponsor Sara for the season and help her snag a husband by any means possible. Nicholas Devons, Earl of Renwick, is a retired rake and consequently bored with life. He's given up beautiful women and carnal pleasures. Desperation makes him decide to give his massive fortune away and marry the first country girl he sees. Lucky for Sara she's that girl. Unlucky for Nicholas, he's to be her new tutor in the ways of the ton. Two waltzes, one masquerade, a violent carriage ride, and two duckless ponds later.... and all that's left is a fun twist on one of the oldest stories ever told.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 


 


  When the angelic Duke of Tempest, Sebastian St. James, appeared unexpectedly at his boyhood friend’s home, he had but one goal: Find a suitable wife as soon as possible. However, his impeccable reputation made him a prime target for ambitious mothers of debutante daughters. He needed a plan. Help came in the form of an unlikely alliance with Miss Emma Gates, the beautiful daughter of a wealthy viscount, who has deemed herself on the shelf, and only wants to marry in order to appease her parents. Together they could sort through the mire of would-be mates to find their perfect matches. That is, if they could keep their hands off each other long enough to pursue likely candidates. When a man from Emma’s past makes a play for her hand, the truth about her life threatens to destroy Sebastian’s reputation, a reputation he has carefully guarded since his youth. In the end, the Angel Duke has to make a choice that will end up changing his reputation forever.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 

 


  Spoiled New York rogue Royce Mc Arthur lives a charmed life. He sees no reason to settle down, until his mother issues her decree that he must grow up, find a wife and produce some grandchildren…preferably before she dies of old age. But his choices are quite limited considering the only women of his acquaintance are ones of ill repute. Meeting the beautiful Evelyn DeJarlias at a ball gives him hope he may have found the one. Her southern blue collar outspokenness and lack of refinement draws him like a moth to a flame. Unfortunately, she does not find him nearly as endearing -- consistently refusing his lavish gifts and his attentions, she poses a challenge he simply cannot ignore. When his mother and her widowed father begin to keep company together secretly, it provides the perfect excuse for him to spend time with Miss DeJarlias But figures from Royces past threaten to destroy the blossoming love between the couple. Evelyn must decide if she is willing to trust the man or hold his past indiscretions against him.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 



  Phillip Crawford, the eighth Earl of Rawlings and notorious rake of the ton, has come to the end of his rope. Out of money, out of favor, and out of luck, he wanders the streets of London in the rain, hoping to be hit by inspiration...or a runaway carriage. Something has to give. It is his father's final cruel trick to hold his inheritance just out of reach, requiring him to marry by his next birthday in order to claim his full rights as earl. His step-mother refuses to offer him any more support. With no money, no prospects and no other place to turn, he has only two options. Marriage or debtor's prison. Book Three of the House of Renwick Series: The better choice seems clear enough, but with his name and reputation being attacked daily in the society papers, there's not a proper lady in all of London desperate enough to accept him. It isn't going to be easy, even if the reports of his exploits and rakish lifestyle are greatly exaggerated. On the other hand, debtor's prison does start to look much more appealing when the only friends he has left decide to help him in his search for the perfect bride. Matters become much more complicated when the only woman who shows an interest in him just happens to be the young sister-in-law of the Duke of Tempest; the same man who, just months ago, had been tempted to kill him. One thing is for certain, as the Season draws to an end, Lord Rawlings will have to decide once and for all, if his wicked ways are enough to bring him contentment in life, or if a leopard really can change his spots. Or in Phillip's case—can a devil truly be redeemed?
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 

  Who said being bad wasn't oh so good? Benedict Devlyn, Duke of Banbury, has one thing on his mind and it isn't marriage. But things take a turn for the worse when his menacing aunt throws a hitch in his plans to remain the most sinful and talked about man in the ton. After all, a man cannot keep the reputation of being The Devil Duke when he is leg-shackled to some simpering spinster. But his aunt, bless her heart, thinks she's dying, and believes her nephew’s behavior is the only thing standing in the way between her entrance to heaven or hell. So she very lovingly and selflessly sets him up. With his childhood nemesis. A young woman who, though she claims it was an accident, has nearly killed him thrice through her lack of grace and manners. It matters not that the minute he sets eyes on her at the Christmas ball, his blood boils with lust. He refuses to allow himself to fall prey to his aunt’s ministrations. That is, until he is compromised and stuck in an engagement to a girl who claims she'd rather jump from a moving carriage than marry him. Funny thing that, for the very minute she says no, he finds his heart very much wants to say yes. When she doesn't leap at the chance to marry him, he sets about to not only prove that he's worthy of her favor, but also worthy of her heart. 
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo


London Fairy Tales
 
"I release you..." were the last words Rosalind remembered before her world went black. Stefan, the future duke of Montmouth, no doubt thought his words were welcomed but he couldn't have been more wrong. Oh, he was handsome as a pagan Norse god, but that was unimportant when her life as well as those of her family hung in the balance. With less than six weeks left, Rosalind has stopped believing in the fairy tale, the prince on the white horse, and the stolen kiss that would awaken her from her worst nightmares. Resigned to her fate, she waits for the inevitable curse to run it’s course. "We must marry at once!" Stefan declared, fully expecting Rosalind to be delighted that he had come to save her, but he was sorely mistaken. Rosalind was no simpering docile female; she was a fiery temptress with a stubborn streak only matched by his horse, Samson. Insulting, infuriating, intoxicating and alluring enough to drive a man mad. Stefan found himself thankful for the curse that required him marry her, thankful for the betrothal contract he had so recently tried to release her from...With the fortitude of a sailor shipwrecked, abandoned, and a solider warring for his life Stefan decides to lay siege to the greatest prize, Rosalind's heart. 
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo

 

  Scarred at a young age, Dominique Maksylov, Royal Prince of Russia, has lived a reclusive life. As a musical prodigy, his music has wide reach into the world, but few ever see his face. He never ventures into polite society, but when he dis-covers he is the only heir to the Earldom of Harriss, he goes to one ball. And that one ball, was enough to change the direction of his life forever. But how could he possibly have known that other person— the other half of his whole—would not only need his help but threaten his very existence? She didn’t know how hard it would be to love the broken. Isabelle Hartwell’s mother just sold her to the Beast of Russia. He’s mean, tem-peramental, and the most virile, handsome man she has ever encountered. But he has a secret, one he’s willing to die for and he refuses to let anyone in. Will she be able to reach his heart before it’s too late? Find out if love prevails in this regency retelling of how Beauty tamed the savage Beast…
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 

 


  What happens when one is both Hunter and Wolf? You know it’s going to be a bad day when you get shot at—twice. Hunter Wolfsbane, Duke of Haverstone, also known as “Wolf” is having exactly one of those days. Things take a turn for the worse when he’s notified that he’ll be acquiring a partner for his newest mission. The rub? He’s kissed her---twice. In his defense, she was already ruined, but it didn’t help matters that she was the sister-in-law to his best friend in the world. And how does a woman protect her heart from one who has the power to destroy every-thing she holds dear? Lady Gwendolyn has only one thing on her mind--Finding the Wolf and strangling him where he stands. Unfortunately, she needs him to complete one final mission for the Crown and to keep her family safe. It has absolutely nothing to do with her attraction to him, or his golden eyes, or his wicked smile, or the fact that he’s convinced to keep his heart encased in ice—that is, if he still possesses one.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 




When Ash Falls (coming July)

 The Vandenbrook Series
  The last thing career-driven Kessen Newberry wants is to leave her home in Colorado to spend a Season in London, far away from her job, her friends and the memories of her mother. However, her father, the Earl of Newberry, threatens to disinherit her unless she gets in touch with her British roots. She complies, but has no intention of enjoying the experience. That is until she meets Christian Vandenbrook, the arrogant and irritatingly handsome future Duke of Albany and her father’s business partner. Unfortunately, Christian hates Americans. And coffee. And apparently, Kessen. A hatred this passionate can only lead to one thing… marriage. Caught in the middle of a Regency-inspired nightmare, Kessen and Christian are forced to marry in only one week’s time. Resigned to their fate, the two resolve to give the relationship a chance—which would be much easier if everyone would stop interrupting them every time they found a moment alone.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 





 Irresistible Terms (coming 2013)



The Seaside Series 
  Life as a teenager is never easy. But for Natalee Murray, things have just gotten way more difficult. Bored with life, she can't wait to graduate high school and get out of town, especially considering the famous band members from AD2 suddenly start attending her school, making her once boring life, absolutely insane. It starts with a pen. A single brush of fingers, and she is captivated. But Alec and Demetri have a dark secret, one that could shatter their reputations and Natalee's heart. What do you do when one guy paints your life with color while the other infuses your soul with passion? How do you choose when your heart is divided? 
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble 





 

  Jaded rock star, Demetri Daniels, is in Hell — also known as Seaside, Oregon. Sent to rehab after nearly getting himself killed last year, his record company wants nothing more than for him to lay low, away from the limelight. Irritated and more alone than he’s ever been in his life, Demetri tries desperately to rebuild his shattered reputation as a drug addict and player, which proves to be difficult when he meets Alyssa. Alyssa is everything he should stay away from. She’s beautiful, smart, but above all else, she’s damaged. And one thing Demetri has learned is two broken hearts don’t equal a whole. In the end, he has to decide if he can rise above the life he’s created in learning from his past mistakes, or fall into the darkness of his choices.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble 


 



  Sometimes the only way to heal... is to shatter. Rock star Alec Daniels has it all. Love, fame, money... But being in the limelight isn't all it’s cracked up to be, and after one bad choice comes back to haunt him he is left picking up the pieces of his carefully constructed life. Now he faces the toughest decision of his life: Deal with his mistake like a man, or dive back into the dark hole of depression, drugs, and denial that have been his comfort for so long. One wrong move could destroy everything. His girlfriend, his family, and his future.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble 









 Fall (coming August/September)

Seasons of Paleo
  If they take you, you don't come back. You either die...or wish you had. The Western Empire was ruthless. The only reason I survived was because he gave his life for me--a life that might as well have been mine, for when they stole his last heartbeats, they silenced my own. They call me princess, an answer to the prophecy, but I’m nothing more than a prisoner...awaiting my lifelong punishment. Marriage. To the Prince of the East. But it’s the Royal Protector who reminds me of what I lost. He threatens something I never thought I'd have again...my heart.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 







Reign of the Lion (Savage Spring)-Christmas


Waltzing with the Wallflower

  The Season has only just begun, but already Ambrose Benson is bored…until his brother offers him a challenge. Something worthy of his particular talents. The object: The girl hiding behind the plants—the one in the horrible dress. The goal: Turn her into the envy of the ton. A lady suitable for a duke. But there is just something about the lady—in spite of all her social misgivings—something that draws him like a moth to flame and makes him want to waltz with the wallflower.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 





 


  Driven to distraction by the redhead across the room, Anthony Benson barely hears the terms of his brother’s challenge before agreeing to them. No matter. It will be easy. Viscount Maddox has never had any problem impressing the ladies. And four weeks is more than enough time to win over this so obviously neglected wallflower. But things are never as easy as they seem. The lady has lofty aspirations. And not one of them includes love or marriage. Especially not with an arrogant and self-assured playboy like the viscount. No matter how attractive he may be.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 



 


  Being level-headed and even-keeled is a thing of the past. Sir Colin Wilde’s broken heart has sent him over the edge. And he is convinced the only way to get over the loss of Lady Gemma is to lose himself in debauchery. Taking his cue from the private bachelor journal of Viscount Maddox, he presses forward in his quest to become the most notorious rake the ton has ever seen. Prim and proper Lady Gemma isn't about to let him soil his reputation, especially over a misunderstanding. In spite of the propriety ingrained in her since birth, she throws convention to the wind and sets about to do the impossible... seduce a rake and tame Wilde.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 







The Bet

  "I have a proposition for you..." Kacey should have run the minute those words left Seattle millionaire Jake Titus's mouth. Instead, she made a deal with the devil in hopes of putting her past behind her once and for all. Four days. She could do four days! But she wasn't counting on Jake’s older brother Travis being there to witness their farce of an engagement. One thing is for certain. One brother is right for her. One wants a lifetime. And one is in league with the devil. She should have gotten Jake’s signature in blood. 
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 







 
 
The Wager (coming October)


Elite


When I won the annual Eagle Elite College Scholarship lottery, I was thrilled. After all, my grandma had just died and I wanted to take care of my aging grandpa -- he couldn't be a farmer in Wyoming forever. And graduating from Eagle Elite meant opportunity. But I wasn't counting on meeting Nixon. Nor was I counting on the rules of the Elect. 1. Do not touch The Elect. 2. Do not look at The Elect. 3. Do not speak to The Elect. And worst of all? Don't discover the secret they hide, because in the end, you may just realize... it's about you. 
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble 







Elect (coming November)

Stand Alone

  Amanda turned down Preston's prom invitation in front of her entire high school, but that was eight years ago. Somehow, her past mistakes always have a way of catching up with her, and making her pay. Amanda's sarcastic wit mixed with Preston's insufferable ego make sparks fly in more than one way. Preston, against his better judgment can't fight the desire to get under Amanda's skin and mercilessly tease her, but when that teasing becomes flirting, and flirting becomes something dangerously more, neither of them are prepared for the adventure that follows.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo






 


  Blaine Graham lost his mother at the tender age of eleven. Grief over the loss drove a wedge between him and his father, and soon proved too difficult for him to deal with. At the age of sixteen, he falsified his papers and made the trip across the border into Canada with his best friend to join the Royal Canadian Air Force and enter the war in Europe as a pilot. Ten years later Captain Graham finds himself flying commercial jets in Boston – his estranged father and his past life all but forgotten, until the day he receives a telegram from his dying father asking him to come home. The persistent Mara Crawford, a live-in nurse, has experienced her fair share of loss as well. Her attachment to Blaine’s father drives her desire to bring reconciliation between the two men before time runs out for her patient. But her best laid plans didn’t include falling in love again.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo

 


  Freedom always comes at a cost… The fallen were never named, therefore we go by our human names, names given to us by people who use to worship us. I’m Athena, one thing you need to know about me? I hate having to protect the human race, but my job as Seeker asks me to do just that—so that one day, I can earn a spot in heaven. My father is the leader of the Phantoms, so I’m pretty sure that the archangels think of me as a flight risk, maybe that’s why they gave me the most gorgeous and annoying partner in all of Halceyon, Adonis. His kisses give me strength, his presence soothes my soul—but our love, is completely forbidden. There is a war coming, and now that the Titans have been released, it’s been brought to my front door. One thing is for certain—I’m going to have to make a choice, and I’m not sure I have the strength to make the right one, not anymore. Not after meeting Seth, not after my best friend’s betrayal, and not after I meet my father face to face and learn the truth—I may be exactly like him.
Links: Goodreads Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo 

Post by: