Mystique Rogue by Diane Taylor

Genre: Paranormal/Romance

Scarred and cynical, Carmen Marshall and her security team are hired to protect master Illusionist The Rogue, and his white tiger. What should be a simple case of protecting a client is made even harder by the mysteries surrounding him, and the very real danger of someone wanting him dead.

With both The Rogue and his tiger proving to be more then they seem, an unknown enemy, and a powerful desire haunting her, Carmen's job is proving more of a challenge than she'd ever imagined. Will the flames of passion burn to ashes, or will they consume all involved.

Excerpt:

Carmen grunted. "Divvy up the bonus equally between the four and put my usual fee in the bank. I don't need the bonus and these guys do. Now, what else have you got on your list of clients that you're planning to foist on me, in my innocence?" 

"Innocent, my ass. Miss Marshall you're the least innocent woman I know." Daria shuffled her papers on the desk, then looked up at the video camera. "What do you know of The Rogue?"

Carmen shrugged. "He's a master of illusion. No one knows what he looks like underneath his mask, which makes him somewhat of a forbidden fruit to the female persuasion. Those who have tried to come on to him have gone away either pissed off or in tears.  Those who have claimed to have slept with him aren't believed. The ones which are rebuffed proceed to slander and smear his name, which is really useless because he never responds to bullshit like that unless it really gets messy, then the person responsible gets a talking to." She made quotation marks in the air with her fingers. "Rumors run thick and fast about what's underneath the mask. They run the entire range of being horribly disfigured to just an affectation so he can go out into public with it off and not be recognized." She smiled slightly at Daria, "The rest of the rumors are just too outrageous to think about."

"Anything else, Oh Great Abundance of Wisdom?" Her boss grinned.

She smiled and took another drink of her coffee before responding. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Daria Randall. As a matter of fact, the tabloids and the internet have commented that his crew and stage hands are very tight lipped. Even his manager won't spill the beans about the props or how his illusions are done, no matter how much money is offered. More than a few people have attempted some of his more dangerous stunts, trying to duplicate and or improve on them."

Carmen arched an eyebrow and looked meaningfully at her boss. "With very fatal results. At the beginning of each performance, everyone is warned not to try these stunts. They make the statement which basically says anyone attempting them is doing so under the full knowledge they were warned ahead of time."

Daria nodded, "Well, according to his manager, someone's trying to sabotage his performances and possibly turn him into an illusion, permanently. From what I've read in the report I have on my desk, all the mistakes have been caught before the actual stunt was performed. But the manager wants to find out what in hell is going on and put a stop to these incidents before something really does go wrong. He's paid double the usual fee, wanting to ensure you and your team will personally handle the assignment. He said The Rogue has specifically asked for you, saying he wishes a face to face meeting before he signs any agreement."

Carmen's eyes widened. "You know my rule on that, Daria. It's held true and every client has agreed to it. If he wants a video conference, we can arrange a time and place.  But I do not meet face to face."

"Oh come on, you can do it just this once." Daria's eyes widened and became pleading on the video screen. "If he doesn't meet you in person, he won't sign the contract. When I mentioned your rule, he said, and I quote, 'If this woman is afraid of me, then perhaps you should fire her and hire more men. At least they aren't afraid to meet face to face.'"

Crimson Frost Books Link       Cover Art by Nekkid Designs

Seeing Red by E.L. Esch

Genre: Romance/ M/M

What would you do if you lost five years of freedom? If everything you'd ever known was torn away from you, all because the one person you counted on to save you didn't come through?

This is the cruel reality for Gabriel “Red” Thatcher, convicted at age nineteen for the murder of his father. Now twenty-five and eight months out of prison, Red has nothing to his name and no one to help him. He is carrying close to him a rage hotter than white flames. Had his sister just testified on his behalf in court, he could have been spared the horrible things that happened to him in the doghouse. Things that'll make him never look at intimacy the same way again.

Red can't take swallowing his bitter rage alone anymore. Unable to kill the growing loneliness and ire with time, he heads into the Flower District in search of a gay bar to drown his sorrows. There he meets the bubbly, easy-on-the-eyes Silo Winters.

When Red learns that Silo did three years in prison for an accidental oil fire, he brings Silo home, not so much for a wild romp as to relieve his aching loneliness. Besides if anyone will understand Red's pain it'll be Silo, who's gone through some of the same horrors he has. However, he definitely doesn't count on Silo becoming so much more than a sexy shoulder to lean on. Now, if only Red can learn to let him in.

Excerpt:

The Flower District was named for what many men lost there—that moment when the lily white of a pure man’s soul turned red with his first taste of carnal lust. This was not my case, however. I’d lost the purity of having an untouched body years ago, and to a man I didn’t even love…or want.

I sat in the district’s most renowned bar, Divano Messia. I could practically feel eyes cruising over me, but I paid them no mind. I felt bad for the first guy who’d offer to buy me a drink, because I was that one-in-a-million man who wasn’t looking to get laid in a place meant for people looking to get laid. I just wanted to be left alone and drink.

Despite this, I let my gaze wander. I hadn’t gotten any in more than eight months, so I let myself have some eye candy at least. Those times in prison didn’t count. I didn’t exactly find the idea of being forced against some concrete wall by a man I hardly knew a good time. If I wanted, I could have one of these men on my arm in an hour’s time, but because of the past, because of prison, I didn’t. I would never take a one-night stand—that was the promise I’d made to myself eight months ago on my first day outside my prison cell, my first day of freedom.

Besides, I didn’t have much money to buy a guy a drink. All I had in my wallet today was a twenty, enough for two drinks at most and, if I was lucky, a taxi ride home.

I looked down at my reflection in the bar top and sneered. The twenty wasn’t even mine. I hadn’t been able to find work since I’d gotten out of the doghouse, and it stung worse than a rough first time that the money I did have I was leeching off of my sister. I had been for eight months for rent, food, and now alcohol. But as much as I hated being out on the town using my sister’s money, I desperately needed the booze, because if I penned through another to-be-ignored job application sober, I knew I’d blow a gasket.

Thus I ordered the driest cocktail Messia served—a Stinger. It hurt my throat to swallow it, but I sucked up the burn and smacked my lips. It wouldn’t get me drunk, but twenty bucks wouldn’t anyway, so at least I could take my mind off all the shit going on in my life by scalding my tongue.

When I grimaced at my second sip of the cocktail, a man a few seats away from me laughed. I looked up at him, but he wasn’t looking back. I wondered if he’d even been laughing at me as I profiled his average build and cleanly shaven skull. What attracted my attention the most about him were his ice-blue eyes. I only caught a glimpse when he turned to look behind him, but they were astounding. A pale winter blue, almost stark white, just like icicles reflecting the color of the sky. I could almost smell the clean air and feel the frigid chill of winter when I saw them.

Realizing I was staring, I lowered my eyes. Then I caught sight of an array of black bars on the underside of the man’s wrist. A barcode… I gazed back up at his shaven skull and understood, and that’s when he looked at me.

He smiled. His teeth were straight and perfect, though strangely not quite as white as his eyes.

I turned my gaze away, finding his tattoo again and staring. He must’ve noticed, because he folded his arms to conceal it when I brought my gaze up to his face.

Now it could have just been a meaningless tattoo. I’d heard of teens getting barcode tats just so they could scan themselves at stores. He could’ve been inked just for shits and giggles, but I didn’t think so. The way he hid his tattoo from me when he caught me staring…the seemingly pained look in his eyes when he’d folded his arms…his ink was personal. Too personal to have been done for kicks. After all, lots of guys who’d been in prison got tats of their prisoner ID. I knew—I was one of them. Only I didn’t do it to make myself look like some badass, or to brand myself as a rebellious stray lamb. I did it to remind myself that no matter how rough life got, I’d been through worse. Much, much worse…

“Silo Winters.” The tattooed man called across the bar. “That’s my name. Yours?”

“Red…” A large part of me didn’t want to talk to him, because I knew what he was after. A larger part of me realized from the ink on his wrist that he might have been through the same type of hell I had in prison, and that he, like me, could possibly want a shoulder to lean on to get away from it all. But I wasn’t about to kid myself. This was the Flower District’s most popular gay bar, after all.

“Red, like the crayon color?” He rose from his seat and took the one next to me instead.

“I guess.” I sipped my drink again and cringed.

“Why drink it if you don’t like it?” Silo set his elbow on the bar and his chin atop his palm.

“Because I want to.” I drank again, noticing the way he kept eying my cocktail.

“Care to offer me one?” He grinned at me stupidly, with his lips crooked and his eyes squeezed shut.

And though I kind of found it cute, I shook my head and said, “No.”

That quieted him for a minute.

“Well, I won’t make you woo me, if that’s not your thing. How about you just take me home and we skip the formalities?”

Talk about coming on too strong. Part of me was a bit disappointed this man had ended up just like the rest, mostly because I yearned to hear the story behind the tattoo on his wrist. I looked for it again. Realizing it was hidden, I scratched my own instead.

“Sorry, I’m not looking for anything like that.” I promptly asked the bartender for my bill, and then again for my change when he gave it to me.

“I won’t rob you or anything.” Silo stared at me as I rose from my seat, an odd pleading look in his bluish-white eyes.

“Sorry.” I set a dollar on the bar and left, feeling those icicle eyes burning into my back as I stood up to head out the door.

“Hey wait, sugar.”

Against my better judgment, I turned back to face Silo. “What?”

“I’m not offended by a rejection.” He laughed. “Stay. Drink. That’s why you came, isn’t it?”

I narrowed my eyes. He was right. Besides, I’d only finished half my cocktail. “Fine…” I slowly took my seat again.

“So what’s got ya sucking down a throat-stinging drink like that, sweetheart?” Silo asked.

I hadn’t thought he’d continue talking to me, but as long as he didn’t make any more passes at me, I didn’t mind.

“Life,” I grumbled.

“Hah! That’s what’s got me here too, sweetheart.” I hadn’t intended to sit with him and talk. After all, I couldn’t give him the night of fun that he wanted. But the moment I saw him, his beautiful icicle-blue eyes captured me. They demanded my attention every time I looked at him. And when I’d felt them on my back as I’d turned to leave the bar, I’d sensed them looking beyond the surface of my skin and down into my core. That was one of the reasons I’d sat back down at the bar. That and my insatiable curiosity about the barcode tattoo on the underside of his wrist. Mostly, though, it was the look of quiet understanding in Silo’s eyes when I caught him staring at my similarly tattooed wrist.

Before I knew it, we’d been talking for hours, mostly about things that had no meaning, like our favorite bars in the Flower District. Silo was a huge flirt and hit on me more often than not, but nothing serious. He always laughed when he dropped some cheesy line or batted his eyelashes, almost as if he were emphasizing that it was all a joke. At intervals he still seriously asked me to take him home, and—because of my personal principles—I declined.

“Crayon…” Silo said suddenly. He tapped the side of my martini glass with a terribly chewed nail. The ping echoed around the bar, lost in the conversations of other men. “Do you come here every night? I’ve never really seen you around here.” He smiled.

I shook my head. “No.”

Silo grinned and settled his cheek against the palm of his hand. “I see.”

I could see the barcode tattooed on the underside of his wrist again with the way he was sitting, and my curiosity flared up once more.

Now normally I would in no way bring up prison, because if I did, the conversation was bound to route back to me and what’d I’d done to get locked up. Normally I avoided the topic like the plague, but here I was with a man who may have gone through that very same hell and all I wanted to talk about was prison since I’d met him, because for the first time in eight months, I’d found someone whose gaze didn’t develop that repelling glare when it passed over the barcode inked into my wrist. And just knowing someone like that existed made my soul cry out to him as a fellow comrade-in-arms. If I was wrong about it all—about him and his past being just like me and mine—then oh well. I would take that chance, because eight months of having no one to talk to were driving me crazy. If I did turn out to be wrong about him, then he’d simply become just another stranger judging me silently with his pale, wintery eyes.

So as casually as I could, trying to show Silo I wouldn’t care no matter how he answered, I asked, “So I’ve noticed you’ve got a barcode tat. Shits and giggles, or have ya done time?” while tapping my ink.

“You finally asked, huh? I wondered who would be the first.” Silo chuckled, almost spat as he raised his head and looked at my face. He shucked off his leather jacket and pointed to a fleshy red burn on the right side of his neck.

“Three years.” Silo craned his neck as if to give me a better view. “Trespassing. Apparently I’m dumb enough to cause an oil fire right in front of my own face.”

I scratched my wrist. “You didn’t?”

“Fucking tank fell off the truck. Driver started the vehicle and then…” Silo clenched his fist before my face and then stretched his fingers wide. “Boom. Luckily it was a small tank, but there I was, a twenty-three-year-old nitwit proving the size of my balls to a couple of drunk college buddies. A convenient excuse. They convicted me on the cigarette I’d thrown to the ground minutes before the tank just rolled off the truck and started a fire. I’d tossed the stupid thing right next to the truck’s tire too, and of course there were no witnesses of it being an accident. My college friends had bailed on me, afraid of getting caught. Bullshit. I just got out a month ago.” Silo held up his hand and ordered a Balalaika when the bartender was within earshot.

The bar master exchanged a nod with Silo, turning to find his mixer. When Silo received his drink, he sipped it daintily, his anger seeming to have already cooled. “Ah, that’s good. I missed this damn place.”

“Amen to that.” I held up my drink in a hypothetical toast.

Silo sipped his cocktail with a finesse that matched the catlike grace with which he handled the glass. As he brought the glass away from his lips, he smiled sadly at the barcode tattooed on the underside of his wrist. “You have one too, huh?” He gestured at my similarly placed ink. “What do you think possesses us to remind ourselves of the shit we went through in there?”

I laughed, merely because I was happy to understand what he meant. “That it only gets better?” I snorted. “Or worse.” I examined my ink and shook my head. After what had been done to me in that hellhole, I could only pray that things couldn’t possibly get worse. “So were you one of those dudes who couldn’t stand the blood, Silo?”

“Pft, no. Tattoos don’t hurt that much. I actually thought about getting another.” He stopped to take a drink of his cocktail. “Funny.” He grinned. “You didn’t say anything about my name being weird. Most people would’ve brought it up by now.”

I shrugged. “What would I say? My name’s a crayon color.” I paused, thinking long and hard about saying what I wanted to say next. I passed my eyes over Silo’s figure openly. “I’d rather mention something about that fine body.”

Silo sputtered into his drink and ended up swallowing more laughter than cocktail. “Oh, you’re finally coming around, huh?”

No, he was wrong. I wasn’t looking for any more empty sex in my life. I glanced at Silo and silently apologized for hitting on him, because I hardly had any intention of having yet another forced, emotionless romp. But that nagging fellowship I felt between Silo and me was just too strong to ignore. Maybe his relentless flirting had simply taken its toll on me, because I actually wanted to take him home now just to be close to him, the man who neither judged nor feared me.

So when I simply shrugged, I hoped Silo knew how I felt.

“Don’t come on to me half-assed.” Silo smiled despite his words. He took a swig of his cocktail, twiddling his thumbs around the stem of his glass when he set it back down on the bar. “If you don’t find me attractive, I can go back to the end of the bar.”

“N-no!” I stuttered. “I meant what I said—you do have a nice body. I just—”

“You ever been fucked in prison, Crayon?” He looked me up and down and shook his head. “You look too built to have been bullied like I was.” He snickered, almost like his words didn’t carry the horrors of his past.

The question hit me so suddenly that my mouth went dry. I almost felt like he knew what was going through my head, as if his ice-blue eyes were reading me. So it was true, then—he’d gone through the same shit as me and more in prison, and that was when I knew for sure that I wanted to take him home with me. Because, like I’d hoped, he wasn’t judging me. He understood.

I regarded Silo’s quiet trepidation with care, knowing I was treading on eggshells now. Little did he know, he was doing the same.

“No,” I lied.

Buy Link: Loose-Id 

~About the Author~
I can mostly be found staring into the screen of my PC or laptop into all hours of the night, hyped on caffeinated soda and likely procrastinating something important by losing at Internet Checkers or browsing the web (The day I win a game of Internet Checkers is the day I can write more than a few pages at once without procrastinating). When I'm not doing that, I'm either out being my nerdy self or, of course, writing. I've been writing since the fourth grade, and have no plans to stop. To me, one of the greatest pleasures in life is being able to create worlds and characters whose lives I can share with others.

Author Links:     Website     Facebook   DeviantArt    Blog

E. L. Esch is giving away a digital copy of Seeing Red during her tour.  For a chance to win please fill out the Rafflecopter Below.

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Touched by L.M. David

Genre: Paranormal Romance

Preston Ciora has ruled over the Western Vampyre clans for centuries, though not by his choice. He works the streets as a homicide detective by day. At night he dishes out  justice within the vampyre community.

Nine hundred years since his sire and life-mate died, Preston remains emotionally scarred and alone.

A series of grisly murders rattles those under his protection and threatens to expose his ilk to the mortal world. All evidence points to a delusional vampyre who is in league with an ancient shape-shifter—who has an agenda of his own.

To make matters worse, a strange woman tells Preston he will find love in the arms of a fire-breathing hellion named Lindsey. Despite his efforts to defy the foretelling, Preston finds himself embroiled in a tense war to win her heart—a battle he is intent on losing

Excerpt: 

My never-ending dream usually began this way…

His skin felt like electricity crawling over it like scattering ants. He clawed at malnourished flesh as if trying to shed body cover; he wears tattered, second-hand clothes and lives in a place suffused in shadow. He vacates a room, destroys whatever rests in his path. Voices whisper behind closed, locked doors when he moves along the hall. Those unlocked were latched … the click drawing his attention and infuriated him.

Outside, he slammed the door in his wake. The night fails to soothe his bitter nature but he lets the silence rule. Behind him, he perceived a sigh of relief from those still inside the house.

Someone thought: Perhaps something in the night will devour him…

Did they not know he heard their thoughts?

The pale, gnomish man trembles with bridled rage. Turning, he breaks, yells at the top of his lungs, “Rot in hell, all of you!”

The dream settled yet his bitter presence continued to smother me.

History, this vile creature thinks, has repeated itself—once revered for bestowing immortality’s kiss, his converts now plot to overthrow him. Insurrections bore him. And traitors deserved no mercy.

Come …

The man turned, stared at the night shadows. His head throbs, pain severe enough to drop him to his knees. He strikes himself about the temple in the hope it would offer relief.

It did not.

Who was he? He wondered. Julius. Yes, his name …

“Come …” the voice beckoned again, louder.

Lips drawn tight in a sneer, he crouched, prepared to fight.

“J…uliu…sss.” The voice surrounded him on a strong current of chilled air.

“Show yourself!” Julius screams at the night.

Hearing nothing, he stumbled across the uneven dirt surface aiming for a mountain range ahead. It took a while but he finally located what he sought—a crevice leading into the foothills. The passage is narrow but he maneuvered easily, the only sound is gravel crunching beneath his worn out shoes.

The path opened into a large cave, illuminated with a faint glow where no light should be. Something indistinct vacillated in a dark shadow—a willowy shape then emerged into the faint afterglow shrouded in a cloak; the garment hood pulled close exposing only a brown, knotty chin. “At last, we meet.” It greeted.

“Who, what are you?” Julius demanded in a low, taut growl.

“One who walked thousands of years before the Nazarene,” It answered—something under the cloak behind it twitched—“I am Thad…de…ussss.”

Buy Links:  Amazon    Barnes & Noble     Smashwords

About the Author:

L.M. David has been writing novels since Jr. High school. Originally drawn to the genre of Science Fiction, she developed a fascination with paranormal/urban fantasy/romance, attracted to the dark erotic world of vampires which sparked a deep interest with the folklore and legends.

L.M. is an avid reader and in her spare time builds computers, quilts and makes jewelry. She has worked as a legal assistant and now as an insurance medical biller and coder. Born in New Jersey, she relocated to California and now considers herself a Southern Californian.

Author Links:  Site     Facebook    Twitter

Vows by Tamaria Soana

Genre: Romance

Addison Klein’s marriage is falling apart. She’s contemplating whether she should fight to keep her family together or walk away. After the sudden death of her best friend, Peyton, and a vicious fight with her husband Tyler, Addison knows she needs to finally decide her future.

Just when she thinks she's all alone in making this life altering decision, she gets a little guidance from her guardian angel. Addison rediscovers herself and realizes that the vows she said on her wedding day meant something to her... for as long as we both shall live.

Addison sets a plan in motion to seduce her husband.

Excerpt:

Peyton's funeral was beautiful and emotionally overwhelming for me. Tyler went to his parents’ house after the church service to pick up the girls. He was never good at showing emotion or handling it when I did.

I accompanied Colin to the graveside service and the funeral brunch afterward for continued moral support. He was a wonderful man, but he wore his emotions on his sleeve. After the brunch was over, the immediate family and I went back to Colin’s house. We spent the day consoling each other and telling stories about Peyton and her antics. We talked about how she seemed to have a sixth sense, a feeling about how things were going to turn out. I finally said my goodbyes and headed home.

I looked over at the clock on my dashboard as I pulled back into the driveway and was stunned by how late it was. I was tired and emotionally drained. I just wanted to go to bed. I opened the door and set my purse and keys down on the table, slipping off my shoes.

"Nice of you finally to come home," Tyler snarked before I saw him walking into the foyer.

"What?" I asked, shaking my head and trying to figure out what he meant.

"You’ve been gone all day," he snipped.

I started to walk away from him and down the hall. "I was with Colin. Where did you think I was?" I replied just a snarky.

"Is there something going on with you and Colin?" he spat, ripping what little was left of my heart out.

I spun around to face him. "You have got to be kidding me! Really, Tyler? Is that what you think?" I took a deep breath and my body started to shake. I was on emotional overload and about to explode. "Do you really think I would do that to Peyton?” I seethed as I wiped the tears running down my cheek with the back of my hand. 

"That's what I mean. You ask if I think you could do that to Peyton and I’m wondering if you would do it to me," he yelled.

Buy Links:   Amazon     All Romance eBooks      Barnes & Noble

~About the Author~
Tamaria Soana is middle aged, but just feels her life has begun. She writes sexy contemporary romance stories that always end with a ‘happily ever after’. Growing up she loved to read and make up new places in her head to escape to. In her late teens she began writing short stories and poetry; it wasn’t until her late thirties before she began to spin a full story. 

She’s married and a stay-at-home-mom of two beautiful young girls, they reside in Western New York. Cuddling up with a good book under an electric throw is her way to escape the cold Buffalo nights.  Besides writing, she co-owns Shades of Rose Marketing and hosts a talk show on Talkshoe called Live with Tamaria ~ Giving authors a voice.

Author Links:    Site     Facebook Author Page     Twitter

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The Cliff by Christie A.C. Gucker

Gere: Romance

Can a childhood pact affect the lives of three adults?

Love and betrayal surrounds the lives of lifelong friends Lanie Rhodes, Grant Bennett, and Dane Voight. Years ago, they made a pact to remain together as friends forever. The boys also made another secret pact that same day—to never vie for Lanie’s love.

Grant and Lanie have secretly been pining for one another since they were children.

Now grown up, they finally admit their feelings for each other and what ensues is a twisted tale of deception as Dane does everything he can to stop them.

The story weaves around this uneven love triangle. What will happen to the pact? Will friendships be destroyed? Will lovers emerge?


Excerpt:

My phone beeped.  I just stared at it.  It was Samantha.

“Dane, Samantha is calling. I have to answer,” I said very nonchalantly.

“Fine.  Hurry back.”  Now he was getting annoyed with my blasé attitude.

“Hi Samantha.”

“Lanie, turn the news on, now!”

“Why?  What the hell could possibly…”

“Turn it on!”

I turned on the news channel to breaking news and almost threw up.  Plane crash, and it had departed from our airport, more details to come.

“Samantha!  I have to go.  I have to go call the airline.”

“What flight was he on?  They haven’t said what airline or flight yet.”

“I’ll call you back.  I switched lines.  “Dane, get over here now.  There’s been a plane crash.  I need all of Grant’s flight info.  Now.  Get over here now!”

“I was panicking.  I couldn’t breathe.  I knew it.  I’d known it all along.  It wasn’t the client that was bothering me.  It was the flight.  I never should have let him leave.

“Lanie, Grant left hours ago.  I’m sure it’s not his plane.”

“Dane, get your ass over here with everything you have.  Don’t question me.  Do it.”  I hung up the phone.  I unlocked the front door and headed to my office to check the Internet.

I started my computer and heard Dane coming running up the stairs.

“I have everything.  Go to Eclipse Airline’s website.”

I got to the site and immediately saw the alert on their home page.  My stomach knotted and I felt the color drain from my face.  I started to hyperventilate.

“It’s his airline.  It’s his.  Oh my God, Dane.  Oh my God.”

“Lanie, hold on.  They’re the major airline out of our airport.  There were lots of flights leaving today.  I’m going to read you his flight info.  Did they post a manifest yet?”

“No, just the flight number.”

“He was on flight 3” – Oh shit! Oh shit! I was starting to gag.  I was holding my breath.

“4” – No, no, this can’t be happening…

“7” –  I just stared at the screen.  I thought I had died.  My body went cold; I couldn’t move.  My heart shattered into a thousand pieces.  No sounds could escape my lips, because there was no air in my lungs.  My eyes started to burn and I couldn’t focus on the screen anymore.  I felt the room begin to spin.  Even the sounds in the room became jumbled and disjointed.

“1”  Dane was saying something.  My brain had stopped processing everything.  Did he just say one?

Buy Links:  Amazon          Barnes & Noble       Smashwords



About the Author:

Christie A.C. Gucker lives in NJ with her husband, two daughters, and a menagerie of pets. Being a mother is one of the greatest joys of her life. She has worked in the advertising industry for over 20 years as a degreed artist, but also works in the fine arts, especially stone sculpture  and snapping photographs. Christie is also a singer and musician, and can be found singing on a few CDs.

After the death of her father, Christie searched for something to fill her desire to make a mark in this world. Her love of the arts and creativity allowed her to search for a new medium, which she found with a pen instead of a brush. Being an avid reader her whole life, and with her family cheering her on, she decided to take her shot and began writing.

Christie is fascinated by the supernatural and sharks, and studies both avidly. You’ll be sure to find something spooky lurking somewhere in her stories. Her greatest joy is sitting on a beach with her family 

Author Links:  Site       Facebook         Twitter

Guardian Angels by Andrew P. Weston

Genre: Paranormal

In a series of terrifying events, otherworldly beings intervene to save innocent lives. The world community reacts with relief as they realize that angels may in fact exist, and they are diligently protecting us.

But there are those who would seek to stop what they feel is a threat against their livelihoods. How far will some go to battle the Guardians? Is the fairy tale over before it even begins?

Guardian Angels is a powerful and compelling story about the catalyst that has the power to unite society in the hope for a better future. The spark of hope is fragile—can it last?

Excerpt:

Making his way across the muddy fields behind the house of the Drake residence, David Collins had to smile to himself in satisfaction.

Sure enough, while the family had beefed up security at the front of their home, he had been correct in his assumption that they wouldn’t bother much with the back.

The low wire mesh fencing separated the home from miles of open farmland bordered by statutory brambles, thorns, and thistles.

They obviously didn’t think anyone would try to get through. And they were right—who in their right mind would traipse through this muck?

David amused himself with the fact that he probably wasn’t in his right mind. The people he represented were not just anyone.

That’s why he couldn’t afford to mess about any longer. They would want results, and he was here to get them. Heavily shielded, a taser tucked snugly in one pocket and a dart gun in the other, he was determined to come away with answers.

No more Mr. Nice Guy, he thought.

Coming at last to the back fence, he looked around to ensure no one was in a position to see it bend under his weight.

He climbed over. A dirty plastic swing and a deflated plastic paddling pool in the back yard confirmed he was in the right place.

Other toys were littered around the poorly kept garden—a bike, a ball, some cars along with a few “Action Man” figures, all scattered and abandoned along the concrete path. The back door was conveniently ajar.

Perfect!

Removing both the dart gun and the taser from his pockets, he started along the path, quickening his pace as he drew nearer.

Burst in, stun them, read them and then out through the front door with my face covered until I’m out of camera shot, then I’m away, he thought.

A rear window was also open, and he could hear the mother shouting to the boy inside to shut up, as she was trying to listen to the BBC Broadcast. He thought he heard something about her wanting to hear what the Guardian was saying.

He was surprised. Oh, they turned up then?

However, that wasn’t as surprising as what happened next.

He was about three yards from the door when he suddenly heard a thrumming sound and found a glowing, golden blade of light held about two inches from his throat.

He froze, looking along and over the long blade at the startling woman who held it there, her magnetic grey eyes boring into his soul, a look of warning flashing in their depths.

At six feet tall, and with a physique that looked as if a goddess had somehow been poured into her black uniform and molded into liquid marble, David knew instantly who had figured him out. Shit!

He felt an invisible pressure hold him still.

A voice in his mind spoke. Hello, David, my name is Victoria. Do I have your attention?

His eyes darted about, flicking from the blade to her, then to the house before returning to the blade again.

The same voice spoke again. Don’t worry about the people in the house. They’re blissfully unaware of our presence and we’re nice and safe within your chameleon shield. I asked you a question, David. Do I have your attention?

“Err, yes!” he replied, too shocked to utter a full sentence.

He looked more closely into the face of his adversary. Her dark flowing hair was tied back, cascading over one of her shoulders. Strong features highlighted just how beautiful she was. But those intensely grey eyes terrified him; they burned with a barely restrained power that caused his teeth to ache.

Taking a deep breath, David repeated more fully, “You have my full and undivided attention, yes.”

He relaxed as the Guardian sheathed her plasma baton, and David found he could move again.

We believe you may represent a group of people who have made several uninvited approaches to our members recently in the vain attempt to offer positions of employment to them.

While every member of the Guardians is free to do as they wish, you should be aware that we are very loyal to the cause we serve, and none of us appreciate your attempts. While we don’t know your reasons, we feel they must be of a somewhat darker disposition than we would prefer. Otherwise, you would have openly made contact with us.

Make sure you tell those you serve that they would be foolish to confuse our restraint with weakness. Just because we choose to act with patience does not mean our patience is limitless, understood?

“Yes, I understand.”

I hope you do, because we do not expect to have to bump into you, or your people again under these circumstances. Understood?

“Yes.”

Oh, David, not to labor the point, but that includes circumstances like this one, yes?

“Yes, I understand clearly. I’ll make sure that’s passed along.”

Tell those you serve that this boy is protected. He is not only important to us, but to the whole world. If your people make another ill-advised attempt to gain access to him, not only will they regret it, but those making the attempt will never be in a position to harm anyone ever again. Am I making myself crystal clear?

“Yes, Ma’am”

Also, while I am fully capable of mind-reaming you where you stand and leaving your skull empty of information or coherence, I won’t. Instead I will extend to you and your people something you have failed to extend to us, simple courtesy.

It is clear you are all gifted in some way. The world needs people like you, now more than ever. Seriously think about the path you are on, because if you don’t, you will all face the consequences. Is that clear?

“Yes, very clear.”

And with that, David experienced a moment’s disorientation and found himself standing on the sidewalk next to his hired car more than a mile away.

Needless to say, he was on his phone and updating his superior within seconds, very glad to be away from that compelling woman who was so terrifyingly beautiful.

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About the Author:

Andrew P. Weston was born in the city of Birmingham, UK and grew up in the towns of Bearwood and Edgbaston, eventually attending Holly Lodge Grammar School for Boys where he was School Captain and Head Boy.

He was an active sportsperson and enjoyed rugby, martial arts, swimming, and was a member of athletics teams throughout the city.

On graduation in 1977, he joined the Royal Marines fulfilling a number of roles both in the UK and abroad.

In 1985, he became a police officer with the Devon & Cornwall Constabulary, and served in a variety of uniformed and plain clothed departments until his retirement in 2008.

Over those years, he wrote and illustrated a selection of private books for his children regarding the life of a tiny kitten, called The Adventures of Willy Whiskers and gained further qualifications in Law and Religious Studies. He was an active member of Mensa and continued to be an active sportsperson, providing lessons free of charge to local communities.

An unfortunate accident received on duty meant Andrew had to retire early from the police force, but after moving to the sunny Greek island of Kos to speed up his recuperation, he was at last able to devote time to the “Guardian Concept” he had developed over his years in the military and police.

When not writing, Andrew enjoys Greek dancing and language lessons, being told what to do by his wife, Annette, and hunting shadows in the dark.

Author Links:  Website   Facebook  Twitter 

The Unforgiven by Storm Savage

Genre: Romance

The Burning Hearts Series Book Three

She thought Twilight War was the end only to discover it’s just the beginning. Flame is in for the shock of her life when a man from her past returns unexpectedly. This time, she faces a more dangerous mission than before when the evil realm ups the stakes. Only one woman—and only one man—have what it takes to beat the odds.

Flame must follow instead of lead this time, in order to reach an island inhabited by immortal fiends and challenge the Twilight Realm on their turf. In a culture where men are considered the weaker species, will Flame finally see a man as her equal? Will her natural enemy become her greatest ally in her quest for the ultimate gift?




Excerpt

She gave a relenting sigh. “You have a good memory. I see the wounded look in your eyes, you think I don’t trust you yet, even after all the risks you took to betray the evil realm and help me win the war.”

“Do you blame me?”

“No, you’re right. I have to learn to let my guard down a little. I’ve been a loner for so long, just not used to letting people get too close.”

“We drank each other’s blood…does it get any closer than that?” He grinned roguishly.
Her thoughts drifted back for a moment. “Mm, that was hot…you make a good point.” She glanced at her palm. “Let’s play a little.”

“Oh? My serious warrior woman actually wants to let down and play?”

“Playing with you is fun. I need more fun in my life with all this immortal drama around us.”
“I’m game.” His sexy wink stirred her deep inside.

“Since we’ve already engaged in the blood-bond, it is permissible and even encouraged for us to practice the act in order to increase the power of the bond.”

“Sounds like you want to channel more of my supernatural talents.”

She smiled. “Of course. And in return, you gain a deeper connection to my soul. That is what you want, isn’t it?”

“Definitely.”

“Then let’s give it a go. Only this time, while you’re sucking my blood, reach into my mind and try to see my last name. We can channel each other, exchange gifts to strengthen the bond and our combined power.”

“Damn, woman, you are undeniably hot.” He released a heavy sigh. “You know what a turn-on that ritual is. Are you prepared for a long night?”

She glanced up at a bright first quarter moon, relieved that the crescent phase had passed. She didn’t care to see another crescent moon for a long time. “I can handle a wild night with you, Von Calder, under that enchanting moon.”

“Rub it in, why don’t ya,” he teased with a laugh.

“Don’t worry, you will know my full name soon enough. Now where’s that badass knife of yours?”

He reached into the black leather jacket lying beside them on the sandy beach. She watched in enthralled anticipation as he slid the blade across his left palm. Instantly, blood surfaced from the cut. Offering her left hand to him with palm facing up, she stared into the heated gaze already locked on her. She never winced when he used the same knife to make a clean slice on her palm.

They sucked the blood from each other’s wounds while maintaining intense eye contact. A wave of heat washed over her followed by a surge of sexual arousal. She could tell by the sudden change in his expression that he felt the same. His eyes looked heavy and a passionate glaze enhanced the already captivating blue-green color.

He shifted his weight just slightly so that the hard bulge in his pants pressed between her thighs. The ache inside intensified. Fully aware of what that skintight black leather concealed, she shivered at the mere thought of him filling her with his awesome self. Their faces were mere inches apart when she felt him reaching into her mind. Her body tensed as the energy from his immortal soul inundated hers. They groaned in unison, euphoric in their connection.

He seemed amazingly aware of the transmission between them and took his time so as not to end the exchange too soon. His eyes lingered on her, seduced her, made love to her mind while his tongue soothed the cut on her hand. Tingles of excitement shot through her. She, herself, barely kept control and began to realize that perhaps this man could be her equal. In her world, it would take one hell of a strong, secure alpha male to rise to such a level.

And right here, right now, Von had taken the lead. He held her in place while they dangled on the precipice of rapture. For the first time in her life, a man stirred a raging wildfire in her soul yet at the same time, he exhibited total self-control. She couldn’t be more turned on. She panted for breath and licked the heady taste of his blood from her lips when he eased his hand away. In turn, he released her hand and drew back just slightly.

“I—”

He pressed one gentle finger to her lips. “Sshh…I know.”


About the Author

Storm is a multi-published author in many different genres with Extasy Books.

Her novels feature her many diverse interests from vampires to rock music to her love for animals, Harleys and whatever else sparks her muse at the time.

Writing has never been a hobby to her. Writing is a way of life and a coping mechanism to deal with what comes her way.

Her wish for you, the reader, is that she can sweep you away to the better worlds she creates in her novels. Her characters are edgy and dark, sweet and hot, tough and full of passion. You just never know what lurks around the corner in Storm's books so prepare yourself for the unknown.

And most of all...enjoy the ride!

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