Book Crazy Scrapbook Mama

On the cutting edge of neuroscience, Ilsa is developing microchips that can be inserted into the brain and deliver information. The applications are endless, but her current goal is just to get dogs to return to their owners should they ‘become lost.’ When her college roommate turns up asking for lunch, she’s hardly prepared for the chaos that ensues or the revelation her chip changed the world and the lives of five heroes from the future. And now they need her help…

Garrett Fox

Codename: The Viper

Abilities: toxins, poisons and assassination, he can kill with a touch

Mission: Protect Ilsa Blaine

One of five desperate men sent back in time to save the future, Garrett volunteers to be the doctor’s guinea pig as she studies their neuro-chips. It’s not his first time being a lab rat. In close quarters, the unthinkable happens, an attraction that could kill Ilsa. Drawn together by science, and on the fast track to destiny, Ilsa must prove to Garrett he isn’t toxic to everything and save his team from their chips before they can end them…

Heroes come in all shapes and sizes. An alliance with Halo has given their leader a taste of hope. For these five lonely soldiers, the single emotion may prove their most dangerous threat.

Find out more at: Amazon | Kobo | iBooks | ARe https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thejudascontact-2066920-340.html

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thejudascontact-2066920-340.html

Something about you that would shock or awe your readers

Shock and awe? Not sure I’d go that far, but what a few people know is that my husband and I were married at Disney World. We’re huge Disneyphiles in this family, and it really is the happiest place on Earth as far as we’re concerned. So, all of that said, when we decided to marry at Disney World, we both had a lot of ideas about what that would be like, but the last thing I expected was the following tale…

The day of the wedding, I was up at 4 a.m. to get my hair and makeup done, then into the dress so we could go with our wedding photographer into the parks for photos at Cinderella’s Castle, the carousel, Tomorrowland and more long before anyone else was there. It was a surreal experience, to be standing there in the park with like four other people and it’s all about me getting my photo done while in this ginormous dress.

After the photos were done, we head back to the hotel where I meet all my bridesmaids and matron of honor as they are getting their hair and cosmetics done. It’s a long morning, more photos, and then they are all whooshed off in a limo to the rose garden where we are going to get married and I am standing there alone. I’ve been in my dress for hours, I’m a little tired, and a little amped up, but I notice outside all these people are starting to line the pathway—tourists, moms, dads, kids and more and I am not sure why…

Then I see the coach. It’s Cinderella’s carriage and something goes off in my brain and I’m all—what? Sure enough, it’s for me and the coordinator comes along and escorts me to the doors and then I’m out there, by myself, walking to the carriage in my dress and trying to be careful so I don’t trip or get dirty.

People are taking my picture and waving and a couple of kids wanted their picture with me. So now the surreality of the morning is amping to a feverish pitch. There are footmen awaiting me and as they help me into the carriage, cameras are snapping away and I’m smiling and waving all the while somewhere inside my brain, the snarky part of me is screaming WTF?

As the carriage gently jolts into motion, I see more people are lining up. More cameras. More pictures. Is this really happening to me? I can’t wrap my very practical brain around this moment, and it continues for the next mile long trek around the lagoon until they pull the carriage into this shady spot beneath some trees.

The gentleman in charge of coordinating the carriage ride, steps up to the door and tells me they aren’t quite ready for me yet. Okay, I nod my head and say thank you and then I’m just sitting there, still trying to process all of the earlier events when the coordinator says, “Okay, now is the time that we let you know if you want to call this all off, we can have you at a bar in fifteen minutes.”

There’s a downbeat. Then an upbeat. What did he just say to me? I can’t fathom it. My brain can’t even process everything else we’ve done or seen, and he’s asking me if I want to bolt from the wedding?

My response was something along the lines of, “I’m sorry what?”

He explains it all to me. They have a whole mechanism in place, they can relocate my luggage, check me into a different hotel and inform the wedding party. They’ll take care of it all.

Wow.

So, now the research part of my brain is kicking in (yes, I’m a writer), how many brides actually take them up on this offer? Weddings aren’t cheap and as fantastic as this wedding was, it was WAY not cheap. While nerves kick in, still, I’m a firm believer in if you can survive all the hoops to wedding planning, you should be able to survive the actual wedding.

The guy tells me, with a straight face, one in five. One in FIVE? One in FIVE? Twenty percent of brides bolt?

Double wow!

Stunned doesn’t cover it, but all that said, I told him no, I was fine. I’d made it this far. I was good. Left alone once more, I am still wrestling with the trip into the park at 4 a.m. along with the craziness waiting for me as I got into the carriage, the carriage ride and the offer to become a runaway bride when it’s time to pull the carriage around to the wedding party.

The garden is beautiful, roses are everywhere, my friends and family are waiting and as the carriage halts and the footman comes around to help me down, I step out and a trumpeter announces my arrival—like something out of a fairy tale or novel and I lost it.

I didn’t stop laughing even during our vows. It was the funniest damn day ever!

That’s my story. So tell me, did I shock or awe? Or at the very least, make you laugh?

Read an excerpt from SNOW WOLF:

Everything was happening too fast. One moment Rory was dropping in to take her to lunch and, the next, Director Chambers’ goons wanted to detain her. Ilsa dragged her heels as Rory all but shoved her up the stairs. "We can't go this way. It leads to the roof." And to the private labs in sections eight through ten. Not only could they not get into those labs, they stood a real risk of being shot on sight.

But her friend was implacable. "Up, Ilsa. Just keep climbing." Below them, doors slammed and booted feet hit the stairs. For a dizzying moment, all Ilsa could imagine were the jackboots of Nazis marching, the images overlaying the surreal moment. She twisted to argue as a security guard lunged around the corner.

"Rory!" Fear ripped through her gut. The guard was huge, his expression a fierce mask and his arms, easily as big as her thighs, tried to lock around her sorority sister. The black-haired beauty, with her seeming delicate fragility, stunned her by latching her hands onto the railing and literally flying over it, legs wrapping the bigger man and spinning him. He slammed into the wall and Rory delivered three sharp jabs, two to his eyes and a third to the bulging vein in his neck.

He dropped and Rory snagged ahold of her arm and pushed her again. "Let's go. We've got more incoming."

"What are you?" Adrenaline surged through her system, and she tried to drag to a stop. Her mind couldn't process everything happening at once. Rory spun away from her and she managed to look back as two more men flew down the stairs. It wasn't possible. Rory never stopped moving. She barely looked at them and flew up, body twisting, fists jabbing, feet striking, and her opponents went down like dominoes. The smart skirt she wore was torn in strips, flapping around her legs like three banners.

Blackish bruises discolored her calves and two of her toes were purpling. "You broke something."

"Don't make me tell you to keep moving again." Something cold infused that warning and Ilsa fled upwards, obeying her friend. Four more flights then they raced past heavy metal barriers on a stairwell remarkably different from every other floor—at Section Ten, Rory hesitated. Ilsa's chest burned as she wheezed for air. Her idea of a workout was a brisk walk at lunch and hours spent on her feet in her lab. Her quadriceps burned and she was fairly certain she'd strained something in her ass.

Something crashed against the metal door and Ilsa flattened herself against the wall. Rory spun in a half-circle and stared at the door. A furred face appeared in the tempered glass window—a face that wasn’t remotely human. A roar of fury pounded against Ilsa’s ears and she shoved her hand against her mouth to keep the scream at bay. Keen intelligence shimmered in the creature's eyes and hate surged in it as the beast ignored Rory and glared at Ilsa.

"What the fuck are you?" Rory’s murmured question, so obviously not directed at her, kickstarted Ilsa's brain from fear to analysis.

"Section Ten—this is the no man's land. We need to get out of here." R.E.X. Labs experimented in any number of weaponized options, from super soldiers to super technology. But not all of their experiments were successful and some were downright dangerous. Section Ten required clearance on the highest levels—despite the Director's one time offer to bring her aboard these elite projects, Ilsa had refused.

She was a pacifist at heart. She preferred working with animals.

The creature roared again. "Rory, we need to go." Ice slithered along her spine. Bile burned her throat.

"Yeah, we're going." By mutual consent, they jogged up the last twenty-eight steps, the beast's roars following them to an impenetrable looking steel door, crisscrossed by sensors.

"We can't get out this way." Ilsa sagged against the wall. She could barely catch her breath. Every shallow pant lanced more flame into her already oxygen-starved lungs. Fingers against her wrist, she shuddered at the rapid-fire speed of her pulse. One hundred and fifty beats per minute was too fast. She needed to slow it down. The heart murmur she'd been diagnosed with as a child pinched with every squeeze.

"Back up a step." Rory pulled her away from the door and pushed her against the other wall. "Head down."

Wild fear raced through her, and she ducked obediently. Ozone scorched the air and metal ground on metal. The sound ripped through the silence, halting even the mad pounding of boots and the creature's roars below. Sunlight blinded her as Rory tugged her back into motion. A figure, bigger than the insane guard below, stared at them through the now melted door. Melted.

A heavy portion of steel flowed like slag, hardening into a shapeless blob against the frame. Jerking her gaze up, she stared into the most potently beautiful green eyes she'd ever seen. They shimmered in the too bright light—as though suffused from the inside out. Her breath clogged in her throat and her heart felt like it had paused mid-beat, only to thump again with more brutal force.

"Give the doctor to me. The captain wants you off the roof." He extended a leather-clad arm, his fingers stretched expectantly. She would never want to meet this man in a dark alley—or anywhere there wasn't a lot of light for that matter. Beyond the exquisite beauty of his eyes was a raw tension in his face, both fierce and frightening. Her insides went liquid with the most curious sensation, but a slam from below drove any analysis away. Maybe her mind had snapped under the pressure, but she trusted this man and she took the hand he offered.

Cool leather gloved fingers fisted around hers and tugged her forward. She let him guide her through the opening, Rory flattening a hand against her back—whether to offer comfort or to make sure she didn't flee, she couldn't really say. Outside, Ilsa blinked at the sunshine. The roof seemed so ordinary after the mad exodus up the stairs. The two hustled her toward the southwest corner. The rolling landscape of the R.E.X. complex swam up toward her and she dug in her heels.

"No, no…no, I can't—what are we doing?" Panic jacked up her spine, but her escort didn't release her. He didn't even drag her. Instead, he wrapped a steel banded arm around her and pulled her right up to his chest. Oh my God. He's so big. She was a tall woman, taller than Rory and most of her sorority sisters. Five foot ten was nothing to sneeze at and was why she preferred flats to heels. But she barely reached this guy's chin.

She beat a hand against his chest as he continued to fast-walk toward the edge—were they going to kill her?

"Shh." Brilliant green eyes clashed with hers and her heart hiccupped. "You're not going to fall." The warm scent of patchouli and sandalwood tickled her nose and she sucked in a deep breath, filling her lungs with his underlying masculine wildness. A sharp sting pricked her neck, then euphoria surged up, blotting out the fear, and her muscles sagged with relief. The pounding of her heart stopped bruising her ribs.

"What did you do?" Rory's agitation barely scored against the bliss enveloping her mind. It would be all right. Everything would be fine. She opened her mouth to tell her sorority sister just that. But they weren't paying any attention to her. Over Green Eyes’ shoulder, she stared at the men racing toward them. Rory would kick their asses, didn't they know that? But instead of engaging them, they just blew back, one at a time—slamming into the roof as though punched by invisible fists.

Huh.

Green Eyes climbed up onto the ledge and she turned to look over her shoulder. The ground raced up to meet them. She waited bemusedly for the pain, but it didn't come. Green Eyes landed on his feet—like a cat—and the smooth motion gave way to a jagged race as he ran. Amazingly enough, the R.E.X. facility retreated over his shoulder.

Did he fly? Ten stories from the roof to the ground. Ten stories and they weren’t a splattered pile of goo. Where was Rory?

"She's fine. Stop." The whisky warm breath tickled her ear. She was wrapped completely around the giant of a man and beating on him. Her fists released obediently and her bloody palms swam into view. She'd clenched her hands so hard, crescent moon shaped cuts had formed against the skin. "We're clear. Halo, out?"

Clear of what? She wanted to ask the questions but, no sooner did they form, they drifted away on a peaceful haze. A door opened and Green Eyes set her down on something soft. She rolled onto her side, cheek tucked against a raspy blanket. It didn't smell as sweet as he did and she tried to protest, but her eyelids drooped.

She couldn't wait to analyze this dream when she woke up.

Other Books by Heather Long:

SNOW WOLF (WOLVES OF WILLOW BEND)

Ranae is the youngest of the Buckleys, and the only girl amongst three powerful male siblings. Her restlessness and dominant nature has affected every relationship within Willow Bend, not to mention testing the patience of her Alpha. Apprenticeship to the Hunters fed her desire for a purpose. When her Alpha and eldest brother ask her to undertake a mission to the Yukon territory, she’s thrilled at the opportunity for a real chance to be useful. Clashing with the Alpha was the last thing she expected on the dangerous assignment.

The oldest Alpha in the U.S. packs, lives a gray existence. The loss of his mate so many decades before wears away at him, until he doesn’t give a damn about anything. The problems of the other packs are not his, and he prefers to be left to his isolation. The arrival of the Chief Enforcer annoys him, but it is the wolf traveling with him who wakes the predator in Diesel. The scent of mate clings to her, but she rejects his overtures and challenges him on every level.

Find out more at: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks | ARe

HUNT ME

One Thief...

Wealthy, titled, and very privileged, Lady Katherine Hardwicke successfully eluded some of the best thieves in the world in a quest to obtain the Fortunate Buddha. Her time is running out and her enemies are closing in, and one deliciously enigmatic man seems determined to get in her way. Will he save her or end her quest forever?

One Hunt...

Jarod Parker wears many faces and lies for a living, but when the same thief steals the Buddha out from beneath his agents not once but twice, this handler returns to the field. His target? The last woman anyone would suspect of being the thief. But is he really after the Buddha or has this brilliant woman stolen his heart?

One Choice...

Their sensuous game of cat and mouse turns deadly when a third player turns up the heat, but can these two liars come clean with each other or will they lose it all?

Find out more at: Amazon | Kobo | iBooks | ARe http://bit.ly/28MCuPW

http://bit.ly/28MCuPW

About Heather Long:

National bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

Connect with Heather: Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazonhttp://www.amazon.com/Heather-Long/e/B002BMBCUC/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1438360589&sr=1-2-ent

http://www.amazon.com/Heather-Long/e/B002BMBCUC/ref=sr_tc_2_0?qid=1438360589&sr=1-2-ent

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Wednesday, August 3, 2016

Book Tour: Cold Hearted: A Yancy Lazarus Novel by James A. Hunter

Cold Hearted: A Yancy Lazarus Novel

The Yancy Lazarus Series

Episode 2

James A. Hunter

Genre: Adult Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Shadow Alley Press

Date of Publication: May 22, 2015

ISBN: 978-1514234266

ASIN: B00WDQCY30

Number of pages: 415

Word Count: 111,000

Cover Artist: Dane, EbookLaunch.com

Book Description:

PRAISE FOR COLD HEARTED:

Yancy Lazarus is back and facing off against his most dangerous foe yet—without the benefit of his magic. A breakneck thriller that'll keep you turning the pages!

—Sam Witt, Author of Half-Made Girls (Pitchfork County Novels)

Yancy Lazarus just wants to be left alone. He wants to play his blues music, smoke a few cigarettes, and otherwise leave the supernatural world to fend for itself.

He especially wants to be left alone by the Guild of the Staff—the mage ruling body—where he used to work as a Fix-It man. But when a little kid gets nabbed by an ancient Fae creature from the nether regions of Winter and the Guild refuses to set things right, he just can’t seem to heed good sense and leave things be.

Nothing’s ever easy though. Turns out, the kidnapping is just the tip of one big ol’ iceberg of pain and trouble. It seems some nefarious force is working behind the scenes to try and unhinge the tenuous balance between the supernatural nations and usher in a new world order. So now, if Yancy ever hopes to see the bottom of another beer bottle, he’s gonna have to partner up with an FBI agent—an agent who’s been hunting him for years—in order to bring down a nigh-immortal, douchebag mage from a different era. And to top it off, Yancy’s gonna have to pull it off without his magical powers … Boy, some days just aren’t worth getting out of bed for.

Amazon

CHAPTER ONE:

Spelunking

The tunnel stretched out before me like the throat of some monstrous serpent, icy blue walls radiating pale witchlight to guide my feet. I shuffled along the winding pathway, trying for speed and failing miserably. There was snow underfoot, but the powder was often interspersed with patches of slick ice, which made the going treacherous as hell. It didn’t help a lick that my feet were so numb I couldn’t feel my toes, even though I had on heavy boots and thermal socks. Every friggin’ step felt like a crapshoot and I wasn’t quite sure how the dice would land.

I heard a howl from somewhere back in the darkness, a warbling noise that echoed and bounced around the narrow tunnel. I glanced back for a moment, which is precisely when my feet skidded out from under me and I went down hard, my ass connecting on the slippery ground below. My hip ached from the tumble, but at least my head landed in a pile of snow instead of on hard ground. I lay there for a moment, staring up at the curved ceiling, simmering in indignation.

Why me? Why couldn’t I ever just keep my head down and mind my own friggin’ business? I felt like kicking my own ass for being such a gullible, softhearted mook. Shit, the least I could do was be a little more selective. Tell people I’d only do them favors if the location was somewhere nice and beautiful … like say, sunny, sandy, not-cold-as-balls Honolulu.

I guess, technically, Thurak-Tir—home to the High Fae of the Winterlands—was a beautiful-ish place, so long as you’re the kind of person who doesn’t mind the arctic tundra of Siberia. The buildings are impressive at least: slick spires of frost, carved and sculpted into a thousand wonders; a house fashioned to resemble a frozen waterfall; a palace made of snow and crystalline-rime in the image of Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life; a tower in the shape of a serpentine neck, complete with scales, topped by a massive dragon’s head. Under the light of day, the whole city sparkles like a diamond, and at night beautiful slashes of green and gold drift through the air, a semi-permanent Aurora Borealis.

But it’s also piss-freezing cold and only beautiful in the way a statue is—lifeless, still, too perfect. And the residents are all the same. Bunch of too-good-for-you, cold-hearted pricks. I absolutely hate Thurak-Tir. Give me a warm New Orleans night in a dirty bar with a crowd of shit-faced hobos any day of the week.

Down in the subterranean caverns below the city, where I happened to be trudging around, was even worse. Monsters, spirits, and a whole lot of frigid air. The light of day never penetrated these depths, so the cold … well, the cold seemed both malevolent and alive, like some frostbite-belching yeti.

More yowls and howls, followed by cackling laughter: Ice gnomes—not nearly as cute or cuddly as they sound—closing in, and fast. Time to move.

I scrambled onto my hands and knees, gaining my feet like a clumsy toddler taking his first steps, and shambled away from the chorus of mocking laughter. Creepy little twerps.

If I was going to make it out of this place in one piece, I needed better lighting. Thankfully, I’ve got something a little handier than a flashlight. I can do magic, and not the cheap stuff you see in Vegas with flowers or floating cards or disappearing stagehands. People like me, who can touch the Vis, can do real magic. Although magic isn’t the right word—magic is a Rube word for those not in-the-know. Users just call it the Vis, an old Latin word meaning force or energy. Simply put, there are energies out there, underlying matter, existence, and in fact, all Creation. It just so happens that I can manipulate that energy. Period. End of story.

I paused for a moment, and opened myself to the Vis. Power rolled into me like magma from an active volcano, heat and life and energy filling me up, sending renewed strength into my limbs. I was careful only to draw a little and push the rest away—unchecked, the Vis can be as seductive and dangerous as a beautiful woman with a grudge.

Weaves of fire and air flowed out around me as I shaped that raw force; a soft nimbus of orange light encircled me, granting both better visibility and a small pocket of comforting warmth. Sure, it would make me stand out like a dirty redneck at a posh country club, but there was nothing I could do about that.

I got moving again, huffing and puffing my way along. More frenzied cries floated toward me from the tunnel twisting away behind. I needed to move faster, but the gloom still hampered my progress, forcing me to slow down and take my time. Even with the combined illumination from my construct and the ghostly witchlight bleeding from the walls, I could only see a few feet out. This was a night place, a dark place that fought the intrusion of light and heat with tooth and nail.

Even going sloth-speed, I almost didn’t see the cliff until my feet were over the edge. I hollered and threw on the brakes in a panic—digging in with my heels and pinwheeling my arms as I fell once more onto my back. I landed with a whuff of expelled air and immediately sprawled out my arms and legs. The greater surface area seemed to slow me down a little, but not enough. My legs skittered over the side, drawing me onward and downward. I clawed at the unyielding ice with numb fingers, my thin winter gloves making it all the more difficult.

I pulled more power, more Vis, into my body, and pushed thin strands of fire out through my fingertips. Small divots blossomed into the ice-covered surface of the floor, little grooves where my digits could find purchase.

Unfortunately my gloves began to smolder from the flame, the leather sending up curls of gray smoke. I ignored the heat—survival was my first priority. I dug in, giving it everything I had, arms and hands straining with the effort.

At last I skidded to a halt, my slide coming to a premature stop though it was a damn close thing. The tension in my arms and hands eased up as I slowly, carefully, pulled my hips and legs back from the drop-off, though my feet still dangled out in the air. Past the drop-off was blackness all the way down with no bottom in sight. Admittedly, the soft glow surrounding my body didn’t do much to diminish the gloom. Hell, the bottom could’ve been ten feet down or ten thousand. Better not to find out by taking a leap.

My heart thudded hard against my ribs. I’m not exactly afraid of heights, mind you, but anyone would be apprehensive about the prospect of careening off a cliff into potentially unending blackness. I took one more glance over the edge and uttered a sigh of relief. Whew. Dodged a bullet there.

I heard a hoot of mirth just a second before something hard and heavy collided into my back—a wallop right between my aching shoulder blades.

My fingers tore free of their meager holds and over the drop-off I went, manic gnome laughter filling my ears as I fell. I tumbled down and down, flipping through the air like a fumbled football. I caught just a brief glimpse of a short, knobby form peering over the edge, his whole stumpy body shaking as he cackled. Asshole gnomes.

I lashed out with air—great columns of the stuff—directed down to slow my descent. That was a start, but the construct wouldn’t keep me from getting impaled on a giant icicle or busting my guts open on a rocky outcropping.

So next, I pulled in strands of artic cold, weaves of spirit and reinforced bands of fae power, floating through the air like so much dust. A shimmering bubble of green—shifting from emerald to pine to jade and back again—snapped into place with an effort of will, encompassing me in a tight globe of power, exerting a slight pressure on my body. A small safeguard against pointy things and an air pocket to cushion my body from the inevitable impact.

Splash-thud.

About the Author:

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

Okay … the last one is only in my imagination.

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

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

www.twitter.com/@jamesahunter13

www.facebook.com/WriterJamesAHunter

Tuesday, August 2, 2016

Book Barrage and Giveaway: Haunted by the King of Death by Felicity Heaton

Haunted by the King of Death Blog Barrage - Felicity Heaton

Haunted by the King of Death, the eleventh book in New York Times best-seller Felicity Heaton’s hot paranormal romance series, Eternal Mates, is now available in ebook and paperback. To celebrate the release of Grave and Isla’s romance, she’s holding a FANTASTIC GIVEAWAY and sharing sneak peeks of the book.

Enter the Haunted by the King of Death international giveaway (ends August 14th) and be in with a shot of winning a $75, $50 or $25 gift certificate by using the Rafflecopter form at the end of this post or at her website, where you can also download a 5 chapter sample of the novel: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/haunted-by-the-king-of-death-paranormal-romance-novel.php

Here’s more about the book and the savage and wicked vampire hero and his powerful phantom mate…

Haunted by the King of Death by Felicity Heaton

Haunted by the King of Death (Eternal Mates Romance Series Book 11)
Felicity Heaton

A ruthless vampire warrior, Grave Van der Garde rules the mercenary Preux Chevaliers with an iron fist, determined to retain his hard-won position as one of the most powerful men in Hell and his reputation as the heartless King of Death. But beneath the cold façade beats the heart of a vampire torn between love and hate, ripped in two directions by a single ethereally beautiful female—his fated phantom mate.

Driven by her phantom instincts, Isla used a spell to make her solid in order to deceive the vampire who killed her sister’s demon mate and have revenge on him, condemning him with a single kiss to become a phantom too. But her plan took an unexpected turn when she fell in love with him, and with her new life, and the night she betrayed him shattered both of their hearts. Now, he lives to make her suffer through their connection, one that is fading with them as they begin to slip into the phantom world, and she must face the monster she created if she is to save herself and the vampire she still loves.

With a demon from Grave’s past determined to destroy him and everything he holds dear, and the clock ticking down to their inevitable doom, can he and Isla overcome their past and their pride to work together to claim the future they both desire deep in their hearts? Or will death finally catch up with the vampire king and his phantom mate?

Haunted by the King of Death is available from Amazon Kindle, Kobo Books, Barnes and Noble Nook, Apple iBooks stores and other retailers. Also available in paperback. Find the links to your preferred retailer at: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/haunted-by-the-king-of-death-paranormal-romance-novel.php

Haunted by the King of Death – Excerpt

Grave kicked off hard, his left boot skidding on the loose black earth as he propelled himself to his right. He rolled across the ground, evading the meaty fist that had been aimed at his head and came up on his feet. Behind him, the demon male turned on a snarl and Grave dipped his body low and swept his left leg out in a swift arc, catching the male across the back of his knees as he launched another attack.

The large demon hit the earth with a thud and a growl, and Grave sprang to his feet, scooped up his fallen blade and brought it down in a fast arc, little more than a blur of silver cutting through the low evening light of the Seventh Realm.

It sliced through the demon’s neck just as easily.

Blood sprayed in a burst of crimson and then dwindled to a steady trickle that pumped in time with the male’s heart as it slowed to a halt.

Grave breathed hard, the scent of blood overwhelming as it drenched the churned earth and the bodies strewn across it. Several of his men had fallen, their corpses resting in tangled heaps beside those of their allies, the demons of the Seventh Realm, and their enemies, the demons of the Sixth.

He licked his bloodied fangs, savouring the rich tang of his victims. The darkness within him pushed harder and he embraced it, savoured it as he savoured the blood. Nurtured it.

Asher, his second in command, a male with ice blond hair stained crimson in places, halted beside him for a heartbeat, long enough to check on him and give a brief nod before he kicked off, a blur in the falling darkness.

The male knew better than to coddle him in battle, or question him, although it had been clear he had wanted to do both.

With a low snarl, Grave stalked forwards, prowling through the fallen demons and vampires, his scarlet eyes locked ahead of him on the battle where it had moved back towards the border.

They were winning, driving out the demons of the Sixth Realm who had dared to invade the Seventh.

The battle still raged, hundreds of demons of the Sixth Realm, marked by their golden-brown horns, chestnut hair and golden eyes, clashed against his men and the demons of the Seventh. The sound of war filled his ears, and his heart, the constant din of battle axes and swords striking and agonised bellows as warriors fell mingled with shouts of victory.

Gods, he loved war.

Courted it almost as fervently as he courted his bloodlust.

Foolish were the vampires who feared it.

He licked his fangs and bit back a moan as he thought about sinking them into demon flesh together with his claws, tearing apart his foes to sate the dark hunger riding him.

A dark hunger that gave him strength, power to defeat any foe he met in battle. Bloodlust that had given him the reputation he had fought for and deserved. A reputation that meant more to him than anything else.

Two large demons of the Sixth Realm cut down one from the Seventh and turned his way, slow smiles curving their lips as they saw he was alone. Fools. They thought they could end him?

He laughed as he flexed his fingers around the black and red hilt of his katana, the sound so out of place in the midst of battle that it gave the demons pause.

Grave used it to his advantage.

With all the preternatural speed of his kind, he closed the gap between them and had his blade buried hilt-deep in the gut of the demon on the right before the male had even seen him. The male let out a garbled cry and the other one turned on him, raising his double-axe to cut Grave down.

He left his blade in the stomach of the first demon and spun to face the second. The axe came down fast and he grunted as he raised his right arm above his head and the thick black handle struck his forearm. Pain splintered in a ring where it had hit, warning of a fracture. Grave paid his body no heed and snarled as he shoved upwards, knocking the axe and the male’s arm up with it.

The demon staggered backwards and Grave sprung forwards, sank the claws of his right hand deep into the demon’s fleshy left shoulder and bit down hard on the right side of his throat. The male roared and grabbed him, and Grave’s fangs tore through his neck as he was ripped away.

He flew through the air and landed hard on a corpse with a grunt.

Bastard.

He licked his fangs and pushed onto his feet, coming to face his foe again.

One of his men was there already, battling the demon male, and Grave growled low in his throat at the sight, the darkness that flowed through his veins growing blacker as his mind whispered dangerous words, taunting him with the fact someone had stolen his prey.

He had been weak again, and now someone had taken what was his.

He hunched forwards and roared out his fury, and both the demon and the vampire stopped with their axe and sword in mid swing.

He would kill both of them. The demon for the fun of it and the vampire because the impudent bastard had stolen his prey.

No one took what was his.

No one.

He ran at both males and the vampire was gone in a flash, disappearing from the fray like the pathetic creature he was. He would deal with him later. He snarled as the demon swung the axe at him and threw himself feet first under the blow, skidding across the ground and ending up next to the first demon.

Grave grinned.

He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword and slowly pulled it free of the corpse as he rose onto his feet.

His senses warned of the demon behind him.

He took his time wiping the blade clean on the corpse’s leathers.

Could almost feel the fetid breath of the second demon on the back of his neck and hear the whisper of death as the axe sliced through the air aimed for his head.

Fool.

Grave dropped to his knees and the demon’s axe cut through the air above him. He twisted as he shoved onto his feet and arced his blade upwards, cutting across the demon’s broad chest. The male bellowed and stumbled back two steps before recovering and swinging the axe again. Grave dodged right but the blade nicked his shoulder, cutting through his black shirt, and the scent of his own blood laced the air, strong on his senses.

He saw red.

In a blur of speed, he came around behind the demon and drove his sword forwards, piercing deep into the male’s side, a wound meant to slow rather than kill.

This one had cut him, and that meant this one died by his fangs.

The male staggered forwards and tried to turn, but Grave leaped on his back and tipped him off balance. The demon landed face first on the bloodied black earth and Grave slammed into his bare back. He grabbed the demon’s left horn and yanked his head back as he struck hard, sinking his fangs into the right side of his throat. The male struggled, bucking wildly, and Grave bit deeper and raked his fangs through the male’s flesh, cutting long grooves into his skin. Blood poured from the wound, flowing so quickly he almost choked on it as he tried to swallow it all, his bloodlust demanding he didn’t waste a drop.

He gulped it down and groaned as the demon’s struggles weakened and his heart began to falter. There was no sweeter thrill than this for him, not anymore. War. Gods how he craved it.

Each blow that bruised his flesh, shattered bone and tore muscle.

Each dance with death.

He would wage war for free, but the Preux Chevaliers traditionally worked for the highest bidder, and who was he to turn down a tidy sum of gold?

He had been raised an aristocrat, born to one of the most powerful pureblood vampire families, and as an aristocrat he had grown accustomed to a certain level of comfort and convenience, and that required money.

He wasn’t an elite, those born to a family with lowly turned humans in their ranks or sired by such a creature.

He was an aristocrat.

A pureblood.

As all in the Preux Chevaliers were.

They were the most powerful of their kind. Faster, stronger, superior in every way to an elite. Bred from the purest blood, able to trace their ancestry back to the elves.

But with pure blood came what many in the vampire world viewed as a terrible curse—bloodlust.

He released the demon when his heart gave out and sat back on him, breathing hard and grinning as his blood thundered in his veins, pleasure rolling hot and sweet through him.

Pleasure his bloodlust gave to him.

Pleasure that had become his everything.

Only a fool would deny themselves the ecstasy of sating their bloodlust. With every step closer to the edge that he took, that ecstasy only grew more intense, more satisfying, until he was chasing the next high, aching for it to be better than the last.

His crimson eyes scanned the battle that had moved further from him, nearing the black mountains that formed the border between the Seventh Realm and the Devil’s domain, the path the demons of the Sixth had taken to avoid entering the Fifth to reach the Seventh.

He gave himself another minute to savour the high of his kill and then lumbered onto his feet, pulled his blade free and cleaned it on the dead male’s dark gold leathers. He could feel his bloodlust fading again, satisfied for now, but it would soon rise again, returning to embrace him and deliver him another high, and another victory.

Grave prowled through the corpses towards the battle, itching with the need to hurl himself into another fight, to feel fists striking his flesh and cracking his bones. The darkness that had been ebbing away began to flow back again, slowly filling his veins as he stalked towards his next victim, hungry for more.

Itching for another fix.

He singled out the male he had decided led the Sixth Realm demons, one who stood at least three inches taller than the rest and he had caught barking orders at the others. He wielded his broadsword with devastating skill, cutting down a demon of the Seventh and injuring one of Grave’s men in the process. The demon commander whirled to face three vampires who had come up behind him, and Grave snarled as he spotted his second in command among them.

“Asher,” Grave barked and the blond looked in his direction. Grave shifted his gaze from him to the demon and snarled, “Mine.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Asher bowed his head and signalled to his two men, and together they backed away from the demon as he turned to face Grave.

The male shoved bloodstained fingers through his wild chestnut hair, preening it back from his face, and smirked at him. Crimson coated every inch of his broad bare chest and had soaked into his deep gold leathers, forming dark veins across the material. The demon flexed the fingers of his other hand around the hilt of his broadsword, a blade that matched Grave in height, and stared him down, his golden eyes glowing brightly in the darkness.

“Come, Little Vampire.” The warrior crooked a clawed finger, his English sounding rough with his demonic accent, and grinned again, flashing fangs as his horns curled from behind his pointed ears, twisting around like a ram’s. “Let us see who is the true King of Death.”

Grave readied his blade and pressed the ball of his right foot into the black earth, preparing to launch at the male and do just that.

Darkness rolled over the land, visceral power that pressed down on him and chilled his blood.

Around him, the battle stilled, warriors frozen in position, locked in combat for a heartbeat before they all broke apart and turned as one towards the black mountains.

Grave looked there.

A male stood on a huge rock at the base of the mountain, just metres beyond the edge of the battle. He towered over them, black eyes surveying every warrior below him, gold elliptical pupils flashing as his gaze shifted quickly from one male to the next. His stance was casual, the black gauntlet covering the lower half of his right arm resting on the hilt of a huge black broadsword that stood beside him, the point buried into the solid rock, but Grave had the feeling this male hadn’t come to the edge of the Devil’s domain just to watch them fight.

The demon straightened and curled his clawed fingers over the pommel of his sword as his black eyebrows pinched low and his broad lips flattened.

Grave watched him closely, wary of the newcomer. He was young, appearing little more than in his early twenties to mortal eyes, but that meant nothing when it came to demons, especially those of the Devil’s ranks.

This male could easily decimate both sides of the warriors gathered before him.

It was rare for one of his kind to leave the Devil’s realm, although as far as Grave could tell, the male still stood within the threshold of his dark lord’s lands.

The sensation of death and power that he exuded seemed to grow stronger as he searched the faces of the warriors, and many of them began backing away from him, some of the Preux Chevaliers included.

Grave remained where he was, beyond the line of demons and vampires now forming between him and the newcomer.

The young male ran the claws of his left gauntlet around the curve of his polished black horn and then ran the pad of his thumb across the pointed tip. They looked as if they had been sharpened, made even more deadly.

The longer Grave watched him, the stronger a sensation within him grew, a feeling that he knew the male even though he also felt sure he had never met him before.

He was oddly familiar.

But then, most demons looked the same to him.

The male’s broad bare chest shifted in a deep sigh and he moved his left foot, his shoulders twisting as he went to turn away.

His eyes landed on Grave.

He stilled and narrowed his gaze, and his demeanour darkened, the sense of power that flowed from him becoming a crushing wave as he turned back to face him and lifted his left hand.

Pointed right at Grave.

“You,” the male snarled through sharp fangs and Grave had half a mind to point a finger at his chest and blink hard.

Instead, he remained perfectly still and held his calm façade even as a question pounded in his mind.

What had he done to deserve the bastard’s attention?

Haunted by the King of Death is available from Amazon Kindle, Kobo Books, Barnes and Noble Nook, Apple iBooks stores and other retailers. Also available in paperback.

Find all the links, a fantastic 5 chapter downloadable sample of the book, and also enter the giveaway and be in with a shot of winning a $75, $50 or $25 gift certificate at her website: http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/haunted-by-the-king-of-death-paranormal-romance-novel.php

Books in the Eternal Mates paranormal romance series:

Book 1: Kissed by a Dark Prince

Book 2: Claimed by a Demon King

Book 3: Tempted by a Rogue Prince

Book 4: Hunted by a Jaguar

Book 5: Craved by an Alpha

Book 6: Bitten by a Hellcat

Book 7: Taken by a Dragon

Book 8: Marked by an Assassin

Book 9: Possessed by a Dark Warrior

Book 10: Awakened by a Demoness

Book 11: Haunted by the King of Death

About Felicity Heaton

Felicity Heaton is a New York Times and USA Today international best-selling author writing passionate paranormal romance books. In her books, she creates detailed worlds, twisting plots, mind-blowing action, intense emotion and heart-stopping romances with leading men that vary from dark deadly vampires to sexy shape-shifters and wicked werewolves, to sinful angels and hot demons! If you're a fan of paranormal romance authors Lara Adrian, J R Ward, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Gena Showalter and Christine Feehan then you will enjoy her books too.

If you love your angels a little dark and wicked, the best-selling Her Angel series is for you. If you like strong, powerful, and dark vampires then try the Vampires Realm series or any of her stand-alone vampire romance books. If you’re looking for vampire romances that are sinful, passionate and erotic then try the best-selling Vampire Erotic Theatre series. Or if you prefer huge detailed worlds filled with hot-blooded alpha males in every species, from elves to demons to dragons to shifters and angels, then take a look at the new Eternal Mates series.

If you want to know more about Felicity, or want to get in touch, you can find her at the following places:

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Monday, August 1, 2016

Book Tour and Giveaway: Enchanted Guardian Camelot Reborn Series by Sharon Ashwood

Enchanted Guardian

Camelot Reborn Series

Book Two

Sharon Ashwood

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Harlequin Nocturne

Date of Publication: August 1 2016

ISBN: 978-0373009763

ASIN: B01CNMT0DK

Number of pages: 300

Word Count: 85000

Book Description:

Enchanted Guardian- A love of legendary proportion

In another time, in a place once known as Camelot, they had been lovers. Torn apart by betrayal and lies, Lancelot Du Lac and Nimueh, the Lady of the Lake, had each suffered greatly.

But the magic of the fae had reawakened a man once trapped in stone, and Lancelot was determined to find his long lost love. Only, Nim was desperate to hide her fae soul, as she was marked for death by their mutual enemy.

Though centuries apart had not diminished their passion, they would once again face a dangerous test to prove each was the other’s destiny.

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Excerpt:

Lancelot caught her arm, pulling her up short. Nim scowled down at the long, strong fingers. Fine scars ran along his tanned knuckles, evidence of a life around blades. Heaviness filled her, a primitive reaction to the strong, aggressive male taking control of her in the most basic way. Once it might have grown into anger or lust, but now it confused her.

“Take your hand off me,” she said, letting her voice fill with frost.

“No.” He pulled her closer, turning her to face him. “You will answer my questions.”

Nim jerked her arm free. They were so close, she could feel his warm breath against her skin. “About what?”

His nostrils flared as if scenting her. Still, Nim studied his tense jaw and the blood flushing his high cheekbones. The heat of his emotions made her feel utterly hollow. His hand closed around her wrist again, almost crushing her bones.

“There are too many people here,” he growled.

“There are enough people here for safety. Perhaps I don’t want to answer you.”

His eyes held hers a moment, dark fire against the ice of her spirit. That seemed to decide him, for he pulled her close and took a better grip on her arm. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

He didn’t reply, but steered her toward the door, moving so fast she skittered on her heels. She took the opportunity to pull against him, but this time he held her fast. “Don’t.”

The threat was real. Her fighting skills were nothing compared to a knight’s. Lancelot could crush or even kill her with a single blow. Still, that didn’t make her helpless, and she would not let him forget that fact. Rising up on her toes, she put her mouth a mere whisper from his ear. “You forget what I can do. My magic is nothing less than what it was when I was the first among the fae noblewomen. I can defend myself against your brute strength.”

Just not against what he’d done to her heart. She closed her eyes a moment, feeling his breath against her cheek and remembering the past for a long moment before she denied herself that luxury. “Let me go,” she repeated.

In response, he pulled her to the side of the building, refusing to stop until he was deep into the shadows. The ground was little more than cracked concrete there, tufts of grass straggling between the stones. He pushed her against the siding, her back pressed to the rough wood. “Not until I’ve had my say.”

He had both of her arms now, prisoning Nim with the hard, muscled wall of his chest. Anyone walking by might glimpse two lovers in a private tête-à-tête, but Nim drew back as far as she could, something close to anger rising to strike. No one handled her this way, especially not him.

“Then talk,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Aren’t you even surprised to see me?” he demanded.

“Why should I be?” She needed to squash any personal connection between them. Even if she was whole and their people were not at war, he had betrayed her.

He put a hand against her cheek, his fingers rough. She jerked her chin away, burning where his touch had grazed her.

But he was relentless. “I’m told you were caught by Merlin’s spell along with the rest. I know what the fae have become.”

Soulless. As good as dead inside. Lancelot didn’t say the words, but she heard them all the same. “It’s true,” she replied. “It’s all true.”

His expression was stricken as if hearing it from her lips was poison. Good, she thought. Better to be honest. Better that he believe her to be the monster she was.

“Maybe that’s true for some. I don’t believe that about you. You still have too much fire.”

With that, he claimed her mouth in an angry kiss. Nim caught her breath, stifling a cry of true surprise. The Lancelot she’d known had been gentle and eager to please. Nothing like this. And yet the clean taste of him was everything she remembered.

His mouth slanted, breaking past the barrier of her lips to plunder her mouth. The hunger in him was bruising, going far beyond the physical to pull at something deep in her belly. Desire, perhaps, or heartbreak. She wasn’t sure any longer, but she couldn’t stop herself from nipping at his lip, yearning to feel what she had lost. A sigh caught in her throat before she swallowed it down. Surely she was operating on reflex, the memory of kisses. Not desire she might feel now. The warmth and weight of him spoke to something older than true emotion. Even a reptile could feel comfort in the sun. Even she…

Still, that little encouragement was all the permission he needed to slide his hand up her hip to her waist and she could feel the pressure of his fingers. Lancelot was as strong as any fae male, strong enough certainly to overpower her. That had thrilled her once, a guilty admission she’d never dared to make. She’d been so wise, so scholarly, so magical, but an earthy male had found the liquid center of heat buried under all that logic and light. They had always sparked like that, flint against steel.

But then his hand found her breast and every muscle in her stiffened. This was too much. Memory was one thing, but she wasn’t the same now and she refused to have a physical encounter that was nothing more than a ghost of what it should be.

Nim pushed him away. “I don’t want this.”

Something in her look finally made him stop, but his eyes glittered with arousal. “Are you certain about that?”

About the Author:

Sharon Ashwood is a novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the toy graveyard on her desk. As a vegetarian, she freely admits the whole vampire/werewolf lifestyle would never work out, so she writes her adventures instead.

Sharon is the winner of the RITA® Award for Paranormal Romance. She lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.

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Website: http://www.sharonashwood.com

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Tour giveaway

$25 amazon gift certificate + books 1&2 of the Camelot Reborn series

(winner’s choice of paperback or ebook)

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