The coming of the boll weevil and the sharp decline of cotton prices cause drastic changes in the life of the plantation and in the lives of the family members. Carlin adores her Uncle Will. But like the plantation, Will is doomed and his story is an important part of Carlin’s growing up.
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Showing posts with label Description. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Description. Show all posts
Monday, December 14, 2015
Friday, November 20, 2015
between two worlds, only one is real.- DiSemblance by Shanae Branham
As an action-packed romantic thriller, DiSemblance is sure to keep you guessing until the very end.
The secrets of his father’s invention run deep and Jason, his brother Isaac,Boston, the Comfort Killer, and Detective Durante hurtle towards one another on a deadly collision course that leaves everyone’s life hanging in the balance.
Sunday, December 1, 2013
This Reckless & Unreasonable Love by Kayley J. Higgins
Description:
Esmeralda Grant, or Esme as her friends know her, has spent all of high school waiting to get out of her house and live with her boyfriend Peter Campbell. Away from her drug addict mother and her abusive alcoholic boyfriend. Away from the hopeless life she’s lead. Then her world suddenly changes.
Esme and Peter go see a local band play one Saturday night and the last song they play changes her. The band sings about Someone Who loves her, no matter what she’s done, and Who will always love her.
As she learns more, she changes and so does everything and everyone around her. She loses friends and gains new ones. She begins to really care for herself and the life growing in her body. Her life is turned upside down but the new Constant in her life pushes her to become the woman she was designed to be. She holds on to the only thing pulling her out of the darkness, into the light: This Reckless & Unreasonable Love.
Goodreads ** Amazon ** Barnes&Noble
About the author:
Kayley Higgins has been writing for longer than she can remember. She loves her Jesus and her husband. Inspiration can strike anywhere so she always carries a notebook and pencils with her. Kayley was homeschooled from the third grade until she graduated. Her writing skills improved with a writing curriculum her mother got for her and she's progressed ever since. She lives in South Carolina with her wonderful husband and their hyper Miniature Pinscher.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Cover Reveal The Kingdom by Emily Walker
Description:
What happens when Mother Nature is pushed too far....
She becomes a real bitch.
For centuries, man has been the predator over the animal kingdom, until today...
What happens when the deer kills the hunter and pets turn on their masters? Is it evolution or something far more sinister?
About the author:
Emily Walker loves creating worlds and stumbling around in them. She writes under her name and the pen name Lyra Mcken. Lyra writes zombies, Emily writes everything! She is constantly losing her chap-stick, and has an obsession with the color pink. Currently a resident of the mountains and loving the view she writes mostly paranormal fiction, and horror, although a contemporary romance or two sneaks in every once in a while. Her small family consists of her red bearded other half, a rat terrier named Rebel, and a cat called Mr. Creepy.
Website ** Blog ** Goodreads ** Amazon Author Page ** Snow Flowers AfterDark ** Facebook ** Twitter
Cover Reveal organized by Around The Universe Book Tours
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Guest Post Hers To Cherish (Verdantia #3) by Patricia A. Knight
Description:
Who would’ve thought a rogue nobleman and a secret agent tied in shibari knots would be so instrumental in saving a world from sexual slavery.
For disgraced nobleman and accused murderer, Ramsey DeKieran, a pardon is an unobtainable fantasy. When the High Lord of Verdantia offers the prize, Ram knows there’ll be a catch. He accepts the impossible mission – the off-world rescue of a Verdantian noblewoman, one of the last of her kind. The one bright spot: Elite mercenary, Steffania Rickard, is ordered undercover to help DeKieran – posing as his sexual submissive.
For Steffania, assisting the dominating Ramsey on this insane mission will be challenge enough. The damn rogue trips all her triggers – good and bad. But infinitely worse, on the planet, Vxloncia, she must submit as Ram’s sex slave, and there’s no faking it. Bent at his knee, serving his every command, Steffania doubts her carefully hidden desires will remain concealed.
Their mission takes on new urgency when they unmask a heinous program of enslavement, long cloaked in secrecy. Together they must find a way to overcome their initial animosity and recover a woman vital to the future of their race.
In the maelstrom of sex, savagery, domination and submission, they will need all their wits and strength to survive – but the battle for their hearts is lost – to one another.
I was lucky to grow up before rampant STDs and in the neighborhood drug store, Bodice Burners or Hot Historicals smoked up the revolving wire bookracks. Mom wouldn’t let me buy them but I snuck into Winkies every Saturday and “browsed” one in particular until it was dog-eared. Hah! I think “Hawkfeather’s Indian Captive” replaced “the Mom talk” and created my ongoing enthrallment with “burning, thrusting male lances.” Yep, my fascination with hot, graphic, sex was born right there in Winkies’ book aisle. It blossomed into my later-in-life writing career as an erotic romance author.
GUEST POST
Sugar KinK!
Sex without STDs or risk of pregnancy.
I was lucky to grow up before rampant STDs and in the neighborhood drug store, Bodice Burners or Hot Historicals smoked up the revolving wire bookracks. Mom wouldn’t let me buy them but I snuck into Winkies every Saturday and “browsed” one in particular until it was dog-eared. Hah! I think “Hawkfeather’s Indian Captive” replaced “the Mom talk” and created my ongoing enthrallment with “burning, thrusting male lances.” Yep, my fascination with hot, graphic, sex was born right there in Winkies’ book aisle. It blossomed into my later-in-life writing career as an erotic romance author.
I found out the other day there is a special name for what I write – SugarKink – graphic, erotic sex with only mild BDSM – nothing hurtful or trespassing into heavy fetish. Yeah. I like it. SugarKink. That’s me. So here it is, gentle reader – without the sneaking (Winkies is now a parking lot – sob), no STD’s, no fear of pregnancy, and I don’t think you can dog-ear digital—smoking hot sex where the hero is worthy, the heroine loves him and they all live happily-ever-after. Come be a voyeur. Simple! No sneaking into Winkies, no replacing Hawkfeather’s Indian Captive with Anne of Green Gables when the manager looked over. Just some of your time and a willingness to believe in the magical.
Books in series:
About the author:
Patricia A. Knight is the pen name for an eternal romantic who lives in Dallas, Texas with her horses, dogs and the best man on the face of the earth – oh yeah, and the most enormous bullfrogs you will ever see. Word to the wise: don’t swim in the pool after dark.
I love to hear from my readers and can be reached at:
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
9 Killer Thrillers Bundle!
9 thrillers. 9 authors. Some of the top names in the genre. An unprecedented value for a limited time. These are not samples – they are complete bestselling thriller novels from reader favorites at an incredible holiday price of:
Only .99!
For more info on one of the book listed, click the name:
Monday, October 21, 2013
Excerpt Suffering of a Witch (The Savannah Coven #7) by Suza Kates
Description:
SHE WON’T GIVE UP
Kylie Worthington is in love with a man who doesn’t return the sentiment. She’s thrown away her pride and all attempts at pretense, yet Quinn St. Germaine still pushes her away. With the arrival of her trial, she will go where Fate dictates and is destined to fall in love. At least she’ll finally find the man she was meant for. Whether she likes it or not.
HE WON’T GIVE IN
Quinn has spent his life preparing for his family’s prophecy, but no spell or book could have ever prepared him for Kylie. Her passion for him is strong—and persistent—but he must deny what she makes him feel. Though he’s drawn to her beauty and vitality, deep inside he fears her. Quinn already knows what he wants, and accepting her means giving up on himself.
THEY BOTH WILL HURT
United in their battle against evil, Quinn and Kylie can’t see what’s right in front of them. And they never suspected what destiny had in store. Only the worst can bring them together, but will they be forever bound by love? Or by loss?
EXCERPT:
Balancing as she took
cautious steps, Kylie noted the rough waves crashing against the coast. Had a
storm come through? Was one on the way?
Quinn was waiting when she got ready to
disembark. He held out his hand. “Come on. It’s rough tonight.”
You
have no idea. He was especially handsome in the dark.
All lean muscles and quiet strength. No moon in his eyes tonight, though. Only
angry clouds.
She couldn’t take his hand. Couldn’t
stand the heat that always struck deep to her core, making her feel safe and aroused
all at once. She was already too amped up.
“Just take my hand, Kylie.” He’d read
her hesitation for what it was, and the reminder of their strained relationship
spurred his annoyance.
Reaching for him, she clamped her
fingers around his, but as soon as their skin met, he jerked away from her.
“Ow! Damn it!” His look was scathing. “I told you not to use your magic on me.”
With the wind kicking up and blowing
hair in her face, Kylie chose to jump to the dock before she fell between hard
wood and crushing boat. She landed cleanly. “I didn’t.”
“You shocked the hell out of me by
accident?” His brows were scrunched together, his mouth tight.
“I—” She broke off when a searing yellow
streak leapt from her hand toward Quinn. Tucking her palm against her stomach,
she shook her head. “I didn’t. I promise.”
Another bolt materialized from the air
above, striking between her feet and splintering into tiny white cracks of
energy that shimmered into the planks. More roiling clouds barreled in from the
east.
Lightning didn’t frighten Kylie. Though
deadly to most, the strikes caused no pain. No injury. Not to her.
Electricity was her life force. Her
special gift.
But she’d never been the center of an
uncontrollable, miniature storm.
Magic sparked from her body now, moving
toward the water, the wooden pier, and the beach beyond. It flew into the sky
and from the clouds, shooting in both directions. The essence of her power was
communing with the thunderheads.
No, the blistering flashes of pure
energy didn’t have her quaking where she stood. Her trembling hands and heaving
breaths were a response to something far more dangerous to her well-being.
Another crack split through her
poorly-constructed foundation when her gaze clashed with Quinn’s. His eyes
filled with recognition, understanding. He knew what the phenomenon meant.
She had to say it before he could cut
her down with whatever words were forming in his head. “Quinn.” She held out
her hands, harnessing the bolts, channeling them into her as they struck again
and again. “My trial is starting.”
He nodded tightly. And gulped.
She couldn’t stay here any longer. “I’m
going to the house.” Her little tempest was fading, now that she’d opened
herself up and accepted her fate. Her calling. Her prophesied challenge.
But considerable damage had been done,
and not by the power that pounded from the sky. She couldn’t stay with Quinn,
because the expression on his face was a dagger to the heart.
Her trial had arrived, and it was her
turn to face the Amara. To succeed in her own unique quest. And as destiny
decreed— to fall in love.
Quinn knew the prophecy better than
anyone. He knew its pattern. That’s why Kylie had to run. Why she couldn’t bear
to see his reaction.
Because there was no doubt that her time
had arrived.
And he was terrified.
About the author:
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Excerpt To Love a Highland Dragon (Dragon Lore #1) by Ann Gimpel
Published: September, 2013
Description:
A modern day psychiatrist and a dragon shifter stranded in time can’t escape their destiny, no matter how unlikely it seems.
In a cave deep beneath Inverness, a dragon shifter stirs and wakens. The cave is the same and his hoard intact, yet Lachlan senses something amiss. Taking his human form, he ventures above ground with ancient memories flooding him. But nothing is the same. His castle has been replaced by ungainly row houses. Men aren’t wearing plaids and women scarcely wear anything at all.
In Inverness for a year on a psychiatry fellowship, Dr. Maggie Hibbins watches an oddly dressed man pick his way out of a heather and gorse thicket. Even though it runs counter to her better judgment, she teases him about his strange attire. He looks so lost—and so unbelievably handsome —she takes him to a pub for a meal, to a barbershop, and then home. Along the way the hard-to-accept truth sinks in: he has to be a refugee from another era.
Never a risk-taker, Maggie’s carefully constructed life is about to change forever. Swept up in an ancient prophecy that links her to Lachlan and his dragon, she must push the edges of the impossible to save both the present and her heart.
EXCERPT:
TOUR SCHEDULE
Kheladin listened to the rush of blood as his multi-chambered heart pumped. After eons of nothingness, it was a welcome sound. A cool, sandy floor pressed against his scaled haunches. One whirling eye flickered open, followed by the other.
Where am I? He peered around himself and blew out a sigh, followed by steam, smoke, and fire.
Thanks be to Dewi— Kheladin invoked the blood-red Celtic dragon goddess— I am still in my cave. It smelled right, but I wasna certain.
He rotated his serpent’s head atop his long, sinuous neck. Vertebrae cracked. Kheladin lowered his head and scanned the place he and Lachlan, his human bond mate, had barricaded themselves into. It might have only been days ago, but somehow, it didn’t seem like days, or even months or a few years. His body felt rusty, as if he hadn’t used it in centuries.
How long did I sleep?
He shook his head. Copper scales flew everywhere, clanking against a pile that had formed around him. More than anything, the glittery heap reinforced his belief that he’d been asleep for a very long time. Dragons shed their scales annually. From the looks of the pile circling his body, he’d gone through hundreds of molt cycles. But how? The last thing he remembered was retreating to the cave far beneath Lachlan’s castle and working with the mage to construct strong wards.
Had the black wyvern grown so powerful he’d been able to force his magic into the very heart of Kheladin’s fortress?
If that is true— If we were really his prisoner, why did I finally waken? Is Lachlan still within me?
Stop! I have to take things one at a time.
He returned his gaze to the nooks and crannies of his spacious cave. He’d have to take inventory, but it appeared his treasure hadn’t been disturbed. Kheladin blew a plume of steam upward, followed by an experimental gout of fire. The black wyvern, his sworn enemy since before the Crusades, may have bested him, but he hadn’t gotten his slimy talons on any of Kheladin’s gold or jewels.
He shook out his back feet and shuffled to the pool at one end of the cave where he dipped his snout and drank deeply. The water didn’t taste quite right. It wasn’t poisoned, but it held an undercurrent of metals that had never been there before. Kheladin rolled the liquid around in his mouth. He didn’t recognize much of what he tasted.
The flavors are not familiar because I have been asleep for so long. Aye, that must be it. Part of his mind recoiled; he suspected he was deluding himself.
“We’re awake.” Lachlan’s voice hummed in the dragon’s mind.
“Aye, that we are.”
“How long did we sleep?”
“I doona know.” Water streamed down the dragon’s snout and neck. He knew what would come next; he didn’t have to wait long.
“Let us shift. We think better in my body.” Lachlan urged Kheladin to cede ascendency.
“Ye only think that is true.” Kheladin pushed back. “I was figuring things out afore ye woke.”
“Aye, I’m certain ye were, but…” But what? “Och aye, my brain is thick and fuzzy, as if I havena used it for a verra long time.”
“Mine feels the same.”
The bond allowed only one form at a time. Since they were in Kheladin’s body, he still had the upper hand; the dragon didn’t think Lachlan was strong enough to force a shift without his help. There’d been a time when he could have but not now.
Was it safe to venture above ground? Kheladin recalled the last day he’d seen the sun. After a vicious battle in the great room of Lachlan’s castle, they’d retreated to his cave and taken their dragon form as a final resort. Rhukon, the black wyvern, had pretended he wanted peace. He’d come with an envoy that had turned out to be a retinue of heavily armed men…
Both he and Lachlan had expected Rhukon to follow them underground. Kheladin’s last thought before nothingness descended had been amazement their enemy hadn’t pursued them. Hmph. He did come after us but with magic. Magic strong enough to penetrate our wards.
“Aye, and I was just thinking the same thing,” Lachlan sniped in a vexed tone.
“We trusted him,” Kheladin snarled. “More the fools we were. We should have known.” Despite drinking, his throat was still raw. He sucked more water down and fought rising anger at himself for being gullible. Even if Lachlan hadn’t known better, he should have. His stomach cramped from hunger.
Kheladin debated the wisdom of making his way through the warren of tunnels leading to the surface in dragon form. There had always been far more humans than dragons. Mayhap it would be wiser to accede to Lachlan’s wishes before they crept from their underground lair to rejoin the world of men.
“Grand idea.” Lachlan’s response was instantaneous, as was his first stab at shifting.
It took half a dozen attempts. Kheladin was far weaker than he’d imagined and Lachlan so feeble he was almost an impediment. Finally, once a shower of scales cleared, Lachlan’s emaciated body stood barefoot and naked in the cave.
*
Lacking the sharp night vision he enjoyed as a dragon, because his magic was so diminished, he kindled a mage light and glanced down at himself. Ribs pressed against his flesh, and a full beard extended halfway down his chest. Turning his head to both sides, he saw shoulder blades so sharp he was surprised they didn’t puncture his skin. Tawny hair fell in tangles past his waist. The only thing he couldn’t see was his eyes. Absent a glass, he was certain they were the same crystal-clear emerald color they’d always been.
Lachlan stumbled across the cave to a chest where he kept clothing. Dragons didn’t need such silly accoutrements; humans did. He sucked in a harsh breath. The wooden chest was falling to ruin. He tilted the lid against a wall; it canted to one side. Many of his clothes had moldered into unusable rags, but items toward the bottom had fared better. He found a cream-colored linen shirt with long, flowing sleeves, a black and green plaid embroidered with the insignia of his house—a dragon in flight—and soft, deerskin boots that laced to his knees.
He slid the shirt over his head and wrapped the plaid around himself, taking care to wind the tartan so its telltale insignia was hidden in its folds. Who knew if the black wyvern—or his agents—lurked near the mouth of the cave? Lachlan bent to lace his boots. A crimson cloak with only a few moth holes completed his outfit. He finger-combed his hair and smoothed his unruly beard. “Good God, but I must look a fright,” he muttered. “Mayhap I can sneak into my castle and set things aright afore anyone sees me. Surely whichever of my kinsmen are inhabiting the castle will be glad the master of the house has finally returned.”
Lachlan worked on bolstering a confidence he was far from feeling. He’d nearly made it to the end of the cave, where a rock-strewn path led upward, when he doubled back to get a sword and scabbard—just in case things weren’t as sanguine as he hoped. He located a thigh sheath and a short dagger as well, fumbling to attach them beneath his kilt. Underway once again, he hadn’t made it very far along the upward-sloping tunnel that ended at a well-hidden opening not far from the postern gate of his castle, when he ran into rocks littering the way.
He worked his way around progressively larger boulders until he came to a huge one that totally blocked the tunnel. Lachlan stared at it in disbelief. When had that happened? In all the time he’d been using these passageways, they’d never been blocked by rock fall. If he weren’t so weak, summoning magic to shove the rock over enough to allow him to pass wouldn’t be a problem. As it was, simply walking uphill proved a challenge.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between a grimy thumb and forefinger. His mage light weakened.
If I can’t even keep a light going, how in the goddess’ name will I be able to move that rock?
Lachlan hunkered next to the boulder and let his light die while he ran possibilities through his head. His stomach growled and clenched in hunger. Had he come through however much time had passed to die like a dog of starvation in his own cave?
“No, by God.” He slammed a fist against the boulder. The air sizzled. Magic. The rock was illusion. Not real.
Counter spell. I need the counter spell.
Maybe I don’t. He stood, took a deep breath, and walked into the huge rock. The air did more than sizzle; it flamed. If he’d been human, it would have burned him, but dragons were impervious to fire, as were dragon shifters. Lachlan waltzed through the rock, cursing Rhukon as he went. Five more boulders blocked his tunnel, each more charged with magic than the last.
Finally, sweating and cursing, he rounded the last curve; the air ahead lightened. He wanted to throw himself on the ground and screech his triumph.
Not a good idea.
“Let me out. Ye have no idea what we’ll find.”
Kheladin’s voice in his mind was welcome but the idea wasn’t. “Ye are right. Because we have no idea what is out there, we stay in my skin until we are certain. We can hide in this form far more easily than we can in yours.”
“Since when did we begin hiding?” The dragon sounded outraged.
“Our magic is weak.” Lachlan adopted a placating tone. “’Tis prudent to be cautious until it fully recovers.”
“No dragon would ever say such a thing.” Deep, fiery frustration rolled off Kheladin.
Steam belched from Lachlan’s mouth. “Stop that,” he hissed, but his mind voice was all but obliterated by wry dragon laughter.
“Why? I find it amusing that ye think an eight foot tall dragon with elegant copper scales and handsome, green eyes would be difficult to sequester. A hesitation. “And infuriating that we need to conceal ourselves at all. Need I remind you we’re warriors?”
“Quite taken with yourself, eh?” Lachlan sidestepped the issue of hiding; he didn’t want to discuss it further and risk being goaded into something unwise. Kheladin chuckled and pushed more steam through Lachlan’s mouth, punctuated by a few flames.
Lost in a sudden rush of memories, Lachlan slowed his pace. As a mage, he would have lived hundreds of years, but bonded to a dragon, he’d live forever. In preparation, he’d studied long years with Aether, a wizard and dragon shifter himself. Along the way, Lachlan had forsaken much—a wife and bairns, for starters, for what woman would put up with a husband who was so rarely at home?—to bond with a dragon, forming their partnership. Once Lachlan’s magic was finally strong enough, there’d been the niggling problem of locating that special dragon willing to join its life with his.
Because the bond conferred immortality on both the dragon and their human partner, dragons were notoriously picky. After all, dragon and mage would be welded through eternity. The magic could be undone, but the price was high: mages were stripped of power and their dragon mates lost much of theirs, too, as the bond unraveled. Lachlan had hunted for over a hundred years before finding Kheladin. The pairing had been instantaneous on both sides. He’d just settled in with his dragon, and was about to hunt down a wife to grace his castle, when the black wyvern had attacked.
“What are ye waiting for?” Kheladin sounded testy. “Daydreaming is a worthless pursuit. My grandmother is two thousand years old, and she moves faster than you.”
Lachlan snorted. He didn’t bother to explain there wasn’t much point in jumping through the opening in the gorse and thistle bushes and right into Rhukon’s arms. An unusual whirring filled the air, like the noisiest beehive he’d ever heard. His heart sped up, but the sound receded. “What the hell was that?” he muttered and made his way closer to the world outside his cave.
Finally at the end of the tunnel, Lachlan stepped to the opening, shoved some overgrown bushes out of the way, and peered through. What he saw was so unbelievable, he squeezed his eyes tight shut, opened them, and looked again. Unfortunately, nothing had changed. Worse, an ungainly, shiny cylinder roared past, making the same whirring noise he’d puzzled over moments before. He fell backward into the cave, breath harsh in his throat, and landed on his rump. Not only was the postern gate no longer there, neither was his castle. A long, unattractive row of attached structures stood in its stead.
“Holy godhead. What do I do now?”
“We go out there and find something to eat,” the dragon growled.
Lachlan gritted his teeth together. Kheladin had a good point. It was hard to think on an empty stomach.
“Here I was worried about Rhukon. At least I understood him. I fear whatever lies in wait for us will require all our skill.”
“Ye were never a coward. It is why I allowed the bond. Get moving.”
The dragon’s words settled him. Ashamed of his indecisiveness, Lachlan got to his feet, brushed dirt off his plaid, and worked his way through the bushes hiding the cave’s entrance. As he untangled stickers from the finely spun wool of his cloak and his plaid, he gawked at a very different world from the one he’d left. There wasn’t a field—or an animal—in sight. Roadways paved with something other than dirt and stones were punctuated by structures so numerous, they made him dizzy. The hideous incursion onto his lands stretched in every direction. Lachlan balled his hands into fists. He’d find out what had happened, by God. When he did, he’d make whoever had erected all those abominations take them down.
An occasional person walked by in the distance. They shocked him even more than the buildings and roads. For starters, the males weren’t wearing plaids, so there was no way to tell their clan. Females were immodestly covered. Many sported bare legs and breeks so tight he saw the separation between their ass cheeks. Lachlan’s groin stirred, cock hardening. Were the lassies no longer engaging in modesty or subterfuge and simply asking to be fucked? Or was this some new garb that befit a new era?
He detached the last thorn, finally clear of the thicket of sticker bushes. Where could he find a market with vendors? Did market day even still exist in this strange environment?
“Holy crap! A kilt, and an old-fashioned one at that. Tad bit early in the day for a costume ball, isn’t it?” A rich female voice laced with amusement, sounded behind him.
Lachlan spun, hands raised to call magic. He stopped dead once his gaze settled on a lass nearly as tall as himself, which meant she was close to six feet. She turned so she faced him squarely. Bare legs emerged from torn fabric that stopped just south of her female parts. Full breasts strained against scraps of material attached to strings tied around her neck and back. Her feet were encased in a few straps of leather. Long, blonde hair eddied around her, the color of sheaves of summer wheat.
His cock jumped to attention. His hands itched to make a grab for her breasts or her ass. She had an amazing ass: round and high and tight. What was expected of him? The lass was dressed in such a way as to invite him to simply tear what passed for breeks aside and enter her. Had times changed so drastically that women provoked men into public sex? He glanced about, half expecting to see couples having it off with one another willy-nilly.
“Well,” she urged. “Cat got your tongue?” She placed her hands on her hips. The motion stretched the tiny bits of flowered fabric that barely covered her nipples still further.
Lachlan bowed formally, straightened, and waited for her to hold out a hand for him to kiss. “I am Lachlan Moncrieffe, my lady. It is a pleasure to—”
She erupted into laughter—and didn’t hold out her hand. “I’m Maggie,” she managed between gouts of mirth. “What are you? A throwback to medieval times? You can drop the Sir Galahad routine.”
Lachlan felt his face heat. “I fear I do not understand the cause of your merriment … my lady.”
Maggie rolled her midnight blue eyes. “Oh, brother. Did you escape from a mental hospital? Nah, you’d be in pajamas then, not those fancy duds.” She dropped her hands to her sides and started to walk past him.
“No. Wait. Please, wait.” Lachlan cringed at the whining tone in his voice. The dragon was correct that the Moncrieffe was a proud house. They bowed to no one.
She eyed him askance. “What?”
“I am a stranger in this town.” He winced at the lie. Once upon a time, he’d been master of these lands. Apparently that time had long since passed. “I am footsore and hungry. Where might I find victuals and ale?”
Her eyes widened. Finely arched blonde brows drew together over a straight nose dotted by a few freckles. “Victuals and ale,” she repeated disbelievingly.
“Aye. Food and drink, in the common vernacular.”
“Oh, I understood you well enough,” Maggie murmured. “Your words, anyway. Your accent’s a bit off.” His stomach growled again, embarrassingly loud. “Guess you weren’t kidding about being hungry.” She eyed him appraisingly. “Do you have any money?”
Money. Too late he thought of the piles of gold coins and priceless gems lying on the floor of Kheladin’s cave. In the world he’d left, his word had been as good as his gold. He opened his mouth, but she waved him to silence. “I’ll stand you for a pint and some fish and chips. You can treat me next time.”
He heard her mutter, “Yeah right,” under her breath as she curled a hand around his arm and tugged. “Come on. I have a couple of hours and then I’ve got to go to work. I’m due in at three today.”
Lachlan trotted along next to her. She let go of him like he was a viper when he tried to close a hand over the one she’d laid so casually on his person. He cleared his throat and wondered what he could safely ask that wouldn’t give his secrets away. He could scarcely believe this alien landscape was Scotland, but if he asked what country they were in, or what year it was, she’d think him mad. He wondered if the black wyvern had used some diabolical dark magic to transport his cave to another locale, and then thought better of it. Even Rhukon wasn’t that powerful.
“In here.” She pointed to a door beneath a flashing sigil. He gawked at it. One minute it was red, the next blue, the next green, illuminating the word Open. What manner of magic was this? “Don’t tell me you have temporal lobe epilepsy.” She stared at him. “It’s only a neon sign. It doesn’t bite. Move on through the door. There’s food on the other side,” she added slyly.
Feeling like a rube, Lachlan searched for a latch, didn’t find one, and pushed his shoulder against the door. It opened, and he held it with a hand so Maggie could enter first. “After you, my lady,” he murmured.
“Stop that.” She spoke into his ear as she went past. “No more my ladies. Got it?”
“I think so.” He followed her into a low ceilinged room lined with wooden planks. It was the first thing that looked familiar. Parts of it, anyway. Men—kilt-less men—sat at the bar, hefting glasses and chatting. The tables were empty.
“What’ll it be, Mags?” a man with a towel tied around his waist called from behind the bar.
“Couple of pints and two of today’s special. Come to think of it,” she eyed Lachlan, “make that three of the special.”
“May I inquire just what the special is?” Lachlan asked, thinking he might want to order something different.
Maggie waved a hand at a black board suspended over the bar. “You can read?”
“Of course.” He resented the inference he might be uneducated but swallowed back harsh words.
“Excellent. Then move.” She shoved her body into his in a distressingly familiar way for such a communal location. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed the contact if they were alone and he were free to take advantage of it… “All the way to the back,” she hissed into his ear. “That way if you slip up, no one will hear.”
He bristled. Lachlan Moncrieffe did not sit in the back of any establishment. He was always given a choice table near the center of things. He opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it.
She scooped an armful of flattened scrolls off the bar before following him to the back of the room. Once there, she dumped them onto the table between them. He wanted to ask what they were but decided he should pretend to know. He turned the top sheaf of papers toward him and scanned the close-spaced print. Many of the words were unfamiliar, but what leapt off the page was The Inverness Courier and presumably the current date: June 10, 2012.
It had been 1683 when Rhukon had chivied him into the dragon’s cave. Three-hundred twenty-nine years, give or take a month or two. At least he was still in Inverness—for all the good it did him.
“You look as if you just saw a ghost.” Maggie spoke quietly.
“No. I am quite fine. Thank you for inquiring … my, er…” His voice trailed off.
“Good.” She nodded approvingly. “You’re learning.” The bartender slapped two mugs of ale on the scarred wooden table.
“On your tab, Mags?” he asked.
She nodded. “Except you owe me so much, you’ll never catch up.”
Lachlan took a sip of what turned out to be weak ale. It wasn’t half bad but could have stood an infusion of bitters. He puzzled over what Maggie meant. Why would the barkeep owe her? His nostrils flared. She must work at the establishment—probably as a damsel of ill repute from the looks of her. Mayhap, she hadn’t been paid her share of whatever she earned in quite some time.
Protectiveness flared deep inside him. Maggie should not have to earn her way lying on her back. He’d see to it she had a more seemly position.
Aye, once I find my way around this bizarre new world. Money wouldn’t be a problem, but changing four-hundred-year-old gold coins into today’s tender might be. Surely there were still banks that might accomplish something like that.
One thing at a time, he reminded himself.
“So.” She skewered him with her blue gaze—Norse eyes if he’d ever seen a set—and took a sip from her mug. “What did you see in the newspaper that upset you so much?”
“Nothing.” He tried for an offhand tone.
“Bullshit,” she said succinctly. “I’m a doctor. A psychiatrist. I read people’s faces quite well, and you look as if you’re perilously close to going into shock on me.”
Where am I? He peered around himself and blew out a sigh, followed by steam, smoke, and fire.
Thanks be to Dewi— Kheladin invoked the blood-red Celtic dragon goddess— I am still in my cave. It smelled right, but I wasna certain.
He rotated his serpent’s head atop his long, sinuous neck. Vertebrae cracked. Kheladin lowered his head and scanned the place he and Lachlan, his human bond mate, had barricaded themselves into. It might have only been days ago, but somehow, it didn’t seem like days, or even months or a few years. His body felt rusty, as if he hadn’t used it in centuries.
How long did I sleep?
He shook his head. Copper scales flew everywhere, clanking against a pile that had formed around him. More than anything, the glittery heap reinforced his belief that he’d been asleep for a very long time. Dragons shed their scales annually. From the looks of the pile circling his body, he’d gone through hundreds of molt cycles. But how? The last thing he remembered was retreating to the cave far beneath Lachlan’s castle and working with the mage to construct strong wards.
Had the black wyvern grown so powerful he’d been able to force his magic into the very heart of Kheladin’s fortress?
If that is true— If we were really his prisoner, why did I finally waken? Is Lachlan still within me?
Stop! I have to take things one at a time.
He returned his gaze to the nooks and crannies of his spacious cave. He’d have to take inventory, but it appeared his treasure hadn’t been disturbed. Kheladin blew a plume of steam upward, followed by an experimental gout of fire. The black wyvern, his sworn enemy since before the Crusades, may have bested him, but he hadn’t gotten his slimy talons on any of Kheladin’s gold or jewels.
He shook out his back feet and shuffled to the pool at one end of the cave where he dipped his snout and drank deeply. The water didn’t taste quite right. It wasn’t poisoned, but it held an undercurrent of metals that had never been there before. Kheladin rolled the liquid around in his mouth. He didn’t recognize much of what he tasted.
The flavors are not familiar because I have been asleep for so long. Aye, that must be it. Part of his mind recoiled; he suspected he was deluding himself.
“We’re awake.” Lachlan’s voice hummed in the dragon’s mind.
“Aye, that we are.”
“How long did we sleep?”
“I doona know.” Water streamed down the dragon’s snout and neck. He knew what would come next; he didn’t have to wait long.
“Let us shift. We think better in my body.” Lachlan urged Kheladin to cede ascendency.
“Ye only think that is true.” Kheladin pushed back. “I was figuring things out afore ye woke.”
“Aye, I’m certain ye were, but…” But what? “Och aye, my brain is thick and fuzzy, as if I havena used it for a verra long time.”
“Mine feels the same.”
The bond allowed only one form at a time. Since they were in Kheladin’s body, he still had the upper hand; the dragon didn’t think Lachlan was strong enough to force a shift without his help. There’d been a time when he could have but not now.
Was it safe to venture above ground? Kheladin recalled the last day he’d seen the sun. After a vicious battle in the great room of Lachlan’s castle, they’d retreated to his cave and taken their dragon form as a final resort. Rhukon, the black wyvern, had pretended he wanted peace. He’d come with an envoy that had turned out to be a retinue of heavily armed men…
Both he and Lachlan had expected Rhukon to follow them underground. Kheladin’s last thought before nothingness descended had been amazement their enemy hadn’t pursued them. Hmph. He did come after us but with magic. Magic strong enough to penetrate our wards.
“Aye, and I was just thinking the same thing,” Lachlan sniped in a vexed tone.
“We trusted him,” Kheladin snarled. “More the fools we were. We should have known.” Despite drinking, his throat was still raw. He sucked more water down and fought rising anger at himself for being gullible. Even if Lachlan hadn’t known better, he should have. His stomach cramped from hunger.
Kheladin debated the wisdom of making his way through the warren of tunnels leading to the surface in dragon form. There had always been far more humans than dragons. Mayhap it would be wiser to accede to Lachlan’s wishes before they crept from their underground lair to rejoin the world of men.
“Grand idea.” Lachlan’s response was instantaneous, as was his first stab at shifting.
It took half a dozen attempts. Kheladin was far weaker than he’d imagined and Lachlan so feeble he was almost an impediment. Finally, once a shower of scales cleared, Lachlan’s emaciated body stood barefoot and naked in the cave.
*
Lacking the sharp night vision he enjoyed as a dragon, because his magic was so diminished, he kindled a mage light and glanced down at himself. Ribs pressed against his flesh, and a full beard extended halfway down his chest. Turning his head to both sides, he saw shoulder blades so sharp he was surprised they didn’t puncture his skin. Tawny hair fell in tangles past his waist. The only thing he couldn’t see was his eyes. Absent a glass, he was certain they were the same crystal-clear emerald color they’d always been.
Lachlan stumbled across the cave to a chest where he kept clothing. Dragons didn’t need such silly accoutrements; humans did. He sucked in a harsh breath. The wooden chest was falling to ruin. He tilted the lid against a wall; it canted to one side. Many of his clothes had moldered into unusable rags, but items toward the bottom had fared better. He found a cream-colored linen shirt with long, flowing sleeves, a black and green plaid embroidered with the insignia of his house—a dragon in flight—and soft, deerskin boots that laced to his knees.
He slid the shirt over his head and wrapped the plaid around himself, taking care to wind the tartan so its telltale insignia was hidden in its folds. Who knew if the black wyvern—or his agents—lurked near the mouth of the cave? Lachlan bent to lace his boots. A crimson cloak with only a few moth holes completed his outfit. He finger-combed his hair and smoothed his unruly beard. “Good God, but I must look a fright,” he muttered. “Mayhap I can sneak into my castle and set things aright afore anyone sees me. Surely whichever of my kinsmen are inhabiting the castle will be glad the master of the house has finally returned.”
Lachlan worked on bolstering a confidence he was far from feeling. He’d nearly made it to the end of the cave, where a rock-strewn path led upward, when he doubled back to get a sword and scabbard—just in case things weren’t as sanguine as he hoped. He located a thigh sheath and a short dagger as well, fumbling to attach them beneath his kilt. Underway once again, he hadn’t made it very far along the upward-sloping tunnel that ended at a well-hidden opening not far from the postern gate of his castle, when he ran into rocks littering the way.
He worked his way around progressively larger boulders until he came to a huge one that totally blocked the tunnel. Lachlan stared at it in disbelief. When had that happened? In all the time he’d been using these passageways, they’d never been blocked by rock fall. If he weren’t so weak, summoning magic to shove the rock over enough to allow him to pass wouldn’t be a problem. As it was, simply walking uphill proved a challenge.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between a grimy thumb and forefinger. His mage light weakened.
If I can’t even keep a light going, how in the goddess’ name will I be able to move that rock?
Lachlan hunkered next to the boulder and let his light die while he ran possibilities through his head. His stomach growled and clenched in hunger. Had he come through however much time had passed to die like a dog of starvation in his own cave?
“No, by God.” He slammed a fist against the boulder. The air sizzled. Magic. The rock was illusion. Not real.
Counter spell. I need the counter spell.
Maybe I don’t. He stood, took a deep breath, and walked into the huge rock. The air did more than sizzle; it flamed. If he’d been human, it would have burned him, but dragons were impervious to fire, as were dragon shifters. Lachlan waltzed through the rock, cursing Rhukon as he went. Five more boulders blocked his tunnel, each more charged with magic than the last.
Finally, sweating and cursing, he rounded the last curve; the air ahead lightened. He wanted to throw himself on the ground and screech his triumph.
Not a good idea.
“Let me out. Ye have no idea what we’ll find.”
Kheladin’s voice in his mind was welcome but the idea wasn’t. “Ye are right. Because we have no idea what is out there, we stay in my skin until we are certain. We can hide in this form far more easily than we can in yours.”
“Since when did we begin hiding?” The dragon sounded outraged.
“Our magic is weak.” Lachlan adopted a placating tone. “’Tis prudent to be cautious until it fully recovers.”
“No dragon would ever say such a thing.” Deep, fiery frustration rolled off Kheladin.
Steam belched from Lachlan’s mouth. “Stop that,” he hissed, but his mind voice was all but obliterated by wry dragon laughter.
“Why? I find it amusing that ye think an eight foot tall dragon with elegant copper scales and handsome, green eyes would be difficult to sequester. A hesitation. “And infuriating that we need to conceal ourselves at all. Need I remind you we’re warriors?”
“Quite taken with yourself, eh?” Lachlan sidestepped the issue of hiding; he didn’t want to discuss it further and risk being goaded into something unwise. Kheladin chuckled and pushed more steam through Lachlan’s mouth, punctuated by a few flames.
Lost in a sudden rush of memories, Lachlan slowed his pace. As a mage, he would have lived hundreds of years, but bonded to a dragon, he’d live forever. In preparation, he’d studied long years with Aether, a wizard and dragon shifter himself. Along the way, Lachlan had forsaken much—a wife and bairns, for starters, for what woman would put up with a husband who was so rarely at home?—to bond with a dragon, forming their partnership. Once Lachlan’s magic was finally strong enough, there’d been the niggling problem of locating that special dragon willing to join its life with his.
Because the bond conferred immortality on both the dragon and their human partner, dragons were notoriously picky. After all, dragon and mage would be welded through eternity. The magic could be undone, but the price was high: mages were stripped of power and their dragon mates lost much of theirs, too, as the bond unraveled. Lachlan had hunted for over a hundred years before finding Kheladin. The pairing had been instantaneous on both sides. He’d just settled in with his dragon, and was about to hunt down a wife to grace his castle, when the black wyvern had attacked.
“What are ye waiting for?” Kheladin sounded testy. “Daydreaming is a worthless pursuit. My grandmother is two thousand years old, and she moves faster than you.”
Lachlan snorted. He didn’t bother to explain there wasn’t much point in jumping through the opening in the gorse and thistle bushes and right into Rhukon’s arms. An unusual whirring filled the air, like the noisiest beehive he’d ever heard. His heart sped up, but the sound receded. “What the hell was that?” he muttered and made his way closer to the world outside his cave.
Finally at the end of the tunnel, Lachlan stepped to the opening, shoved some overgrown bushes out of the way, and peered through. What he saw was so unbelievable, he squeezed his eyes tight shut, opened them, and looked again. Unfortunately, nothing had changed. Worse, an ungainly, shiny cylinder roared past, making the same whirring noise he’d puzzled over moments before. He fell backward into the cave, breath harsh in his throat, and landed on his rump. Not only was the postern gate no longer there, neither was his castle. A long, unattractive row of attached structures stood in its stead.
“Holy godhead. What do I do now?”
“We go out there and find something to eat,” the dragon growled.
Lachlan gritted his teeth together. Kheladin had a good point. It was hard to think on an empty stomach.
“Here I was worried about Rhukon. At least I understood him. I fear whatever lies in wait for us will require all our skill.”
“Ye were never a coward. It is why I allowed the bond. Get moving.”
The dragon’s words settled him. Ashamed of his indecisiveness, Lachlan got to his feet, brushed dirt off his plaid, and worked his way through the bushes hiding the cave’s entrance. As he untangled stickers from the finely spun wool of his cloak and his plaid, he gawked at a very different world from the one he’d left. There wasn’t a field—or an animal—in sight. Roadways paved with something other than dirt and stones were punctuated by structures so numerous, they made him dizzy. The hideous incursion onto his lands stretched in every direction. Lachlan balled his hands into fists. He’d find out what had happened, by God. When he did, he’d make whoever had erected all those abominations take them down.
An occasional person walked by in the distance. They shocked him even more than the buildings and roads. For starters, the males weren’t wearing plaids, so there was no way to tell their clan. Females were immodestly covered. Many sported bare legs and breeks so tight he saw the separation between their ass cheeks. Lachlan’s groin stirred, cock hardening. Were the lassies no longer engaging in modesty or subterfuge and simply asking to be fucked? Or was this some new garb that befit a new era?
He detached the last thorn, finally clear of the thicket of sticker bushes. Where could he find a market with vendors? Did market day even still exist in this strange environment?
“Holy crap! A kilt, and an old-fashioned one at that. Tad bit early in the day for a costume ball, isn’t it?” A rich female voice laced with amusement, sounded behind him.
Lachlan spun, hands raised to call magic. He stopped dead once his gaze settled on a lass nearly as tall as himself, which meant she was close to six feet. She turned so she faced him squarely. Bare legs emerged from torn fabric that stopped just south of her female parts. Full breasts strained against scraps of material attached to strings tied around her neck and back. Her feet were encased in a few straps of leather. Long, blonde hair eddied around her, the color of sheaves of summer wheat.
His cock jumped to attention. His hands itched to make a grab for her breasts or her ass. She had an amazing ass: round and high and tight. What was expected of him? The lass was dressed in such a way as to invite him to simply tear what passed for breeks aside and enter her. Had times changed so drastically that women provoked men into public sex? He glanced about, half expecting to see couples having it off with one another willy-nilly.
“Well,” she urged. “Cat got your tongue?” She placed her hands on her hips. The motion stretched the tiny bits of flowered fabric that barely covered her nipples still further.
Lachlan bowed formally, straightened, and waited for her to hold out a hand for him to kiss. “I am Lachlan Moncrieffe, my lady. It is a pleasure to—”
She erupted into laughter—and didn’t hold out her hand. “I’m Maggie,” she managed between gouts of mirth. “What are you? A throwback to medieval times? You can drop the Sir Galahad routine.”
Lachlan felt his face heat. “I fear I do not understand the cause of your merriment … my lady.”
Maggie rolled her midnight blue eyes. “Oh, brother. Did you escape from a mental hospital? Nah, you’d be in pajamas then, not those fancy duds.” She dropped her hands to her sides and started to walk past him.
“No. Wait. Please, wait.” Lachlan cringed at the whining tone in his voice. The dragon was correct that the Moncrieffe was a proud house. They bowed to no one.
She eyed him askance. “What?”
“I am a stranger in this town.” He winced at the lie. Once upon a time, he’d been master of these lands. Apparently that time had long since passed. “I am footsore and hungry. Where might I find victuals and ale?”
Her eyes widened. Finely arched blonde brows drew together over a straight nose dotted by a few freckles. “Victuals and ale,” she repeated disbelievingly.
“Aye. Food and drink, in the common vernacular.”
“Oh, I understood you well enough,” Maggie murmured. “Your words, anyway. Your accent’s a bit off.” His stomach growled again, embarrassingly loud. “Guess you weren’t kidding about being hungry.” She eyed him appraisingly. “Do you have any money?”
Money. Too late he thought of the piles of gold coins and priceless gems lying on the floor of Kheladin’s cave. In the world he’d left, his word had been as good as his gold. He opened his mouth, but she waved him to silence. “I’ll stand you for a pint and some fish and chips. You can treat me next time.”
He heard her mutter, “Yeah right,” under her breath as she curled a hand around his arm and tugged. “Come on. I have a couple of hours and then I’ve got to go to work. I’m due in at three today.”
Lachlan trotted along next to her. She let go of him like he was a viper when he tried to close a hand over the one she’d laid so casually on his person. He cleared his throat and wondered what he could safely ask that wouldn’t give his secrets away. He could scarcely believe this alien landscape was Scotland, but if he asked what country they were in, or what year it was, she’d think him mad. He wondered if the black wyvern had used some diabolical dark magic to transport his cave to another locale, and then thought better of it. Even Rhukon wasn’t that powerful.
“In here.” She pointed to a door beneath a flashing sigil. He gawked at it. One minute it was red, the next blue, the next green, illuminating the word Open. What manner of magic was this? “Don’t tell me you have temporal lobe epilepsy.” She stared at him. “It’s only a neon sign. It doesn’t bite. Move on through the door. There’s food on the other side,” she added slyly.
Feeling like a rube, Lachlan searched for a latch, didn’t find one, and pushed his shoulder against the door. It opened, and he held it with a hand so Maggie could enter first. “After you, my lady,” he murmured.
“Stop that.” She spoke into his ear as she went past. “No more my ladies. Got it?”
“I think so.” He followed her into a low ceilinged room lined with wooden planks. It was the first thing that looked familiar. Parts of it, anyway. Men—kilt-less men—sat at the bar, hefting glasses and chatting. The tables were empty.
“What’ll it be, Mags?” a man with a towel tied around his waist called from behind the bar.
“Couple of pints and two of today’s special. Come to think of it,” she eyed Lachlan, “make that three of the special.”
“May I inquire just what the special is?” Lachlan asked, thinking he might want to order something different.
Maggie waved a hand at a black board suspended over the bar. “You can read?”
“Of course.” He resented the inference he might be uneducated but swallowed back harsh words.
“Excellent. Then move.” She shoved her body into his in a distressingly familiar way for such a communal location. Not that he wouldn’t have enjoyed the contact if they were alone and he were free to take advantage of it… “All the way to the back,” she hissed into his ear. “That way if you slip up, no one will hear.”
He bristled. Lachlan Moncrieffe did not sit in the back of any establishment. He was always given a choice table near the center of things. He opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it.
She scooped an armful of flattened scrolls off the bar before following him to the back of the room. Once there, she dumped them onto the table between them. He wanted to ask what they were but decided he should pretend to know. He turned the top sheaf of papers toward him and scanned the close-spaced print. Many of the words were unfamiliar, but what leapt off the page was The Inverness Courier and presumably the current date: June 10, 2012.
It had been 1683 when Rhukon had chivied him into the dragon’s cave. Three-hundred twenty-nine years, give or take a month or two. At least he was still in Inverness—for all the good it did him.
“You look as if you just saw a ghost.” Maggie spoke quietly.
“No. I am quite fine. Thank you for inquiring … my, er…” His voice trailed off.
“Good.” She nodded approvingly. “You’re learning.” The bartender slapped two mugs of ale on the scarred wooden table.
“On your tab, Mags?” he asked.
She nodded. “Except you owe me so much, you’ll never catch up.”
Lachlan took a sip of what turned out to be weak ale. It wasn’t half bad but could have stood an infusion of bitters. He puzzled over what Maggie meant. Why would the barkeep owe her? His nostrils flared. She must work at the establishment—probably as a damsel of ill repute from the looks of her. Mayhap, she hadn’t been paid her share of whatever she earned in quite some time.
Protectiveness flared deep inside him. Maggie should not have to earn her way lying on her back. He’d see to it she had a more seemly position.
Aye, once I find my way around this bizarre new world. Money wouldn’t be a problem, but changing four-hundred-year-old gold coins into today’s tender might be. Surely there were still banks that might accomplish something like that.
One thing at a time, he reminded himself.
“So.” She skewered him with her blue gaze—Norse eyes if he’d ever seen a set—and took a sip from her mug. “What did you see in the newspaper that upset you so much?”
“Nothing.” He tried for an offhand tone.
“Bullshit,” she said succinctly. “I’m a doctor. A psychiatrist. I read people’s faces quite well, and you look as if you’re perilously close to going into shock on me.”
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About the author:
Ann Gimpel is a mountaineer at heart. Recently retired from a long career as a psychologist, she remembers many hours at her desk where her body may have been stuck inside four walls, but her soul was planning yet one more trip to the backcountry. Around the turn of the last century (that would be 2000, not 1900!), she managed to finagle moving to the Eastern Sierra, a mecca for those in love with the mountains. It was during long backcountry treks that Ann’s writing evolved. Unlike some who see the backcountry as an excuse to drag friends and relatives along, Ann prefers her solitude. Stories always ran around in her head on those journeys, sometimes as a hedge against abject terror when challenging conditions made her fear for her life, sometimes for company. Eventually, she returned from a trip and sat down at the computer. Three months later, a five hundred page novel emerged. Oh, it wasn’t very good, but it was a beginning. And, she learned a lot between writing that novel and its sequel.
Around that time, a friend of hers suggested she try her hand at short stories. It didn’t take long before that first story found its way into print and they’ve been accepted pretty regularly since then. One of Ann’s passions has always been ecology, so her tales often have a green twist.
In addition to writing, Ann enjoys wilderness photography. She lugs pounds of camera equipment in her backpack to distant locales every year. A standing joke is that over ten percent of her pack weight is camera gear which means someone else has to carry the food! That someone is her husband. They’ve shared a life together for a very long time. Children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out their family.
Around that time, a friend of hers suggested she try her hand at short stories. It didn’t take long before that first story found its way into print and they’ve been accepted pretty regularly since then. One of Ann’s passions has always been ecology, so her tales often have a green twist.
In addition to writing, Ann enjoys wilderness photography. She lugs pounds of camera equipment in her backpack to distant locales every year. A standing joke is that over ten percent of her pack weight is camera gear which means someone else has to carry the food! That someone is her husband. They’ve shared a life together for a very long time. Children, grandchildren and three wolf hybrids round out their family.
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Friday, October 18, 2013
Except and Giveaway Indelible by Jove Belle
Description:
Angie Dressen’s goal in life is simple. She wants her son, Oliver, to have the childhood she never had. She remembers coming in second to the never-ending stream of girlfriends her father brought home, and she wants Oliver to know he comes first. Besides, between working full time as a waitress, struggling to finish her degree one class at a time, and raising her son, Angie doesn’t have time for love. Or so she thinks.
Luna Rinaldi is the wild-haired, leather-wearing embodiment of all Angie’s relationship fears. She’s a well-respected tattoo artist with a long list of past lovers and a reputation for leaving in the middle of the night. She’s also kind, thoughtful, and adventurous, with a serious soft spot for Angie and Oliver.
The two enter into a tenuous relationship, one that leaves Luna wanting more and Angie resisting the promise in Luna’s eyes. When they are together, though, Angie wants to believe in love, trust, and the possibility of forever.
EXCERPT:
Finally, she saw Angie, like some sort of sexy apparition, standing in the meat department. Should she say hello? Or should she just duck and be done with it? But Angie looked so good in her faded jeans and worn T-shirt, trying to pick out the perfect roast. Luna resisted as long as she could, then succumbed to the magnetic pull. She strolled as casually as possible to where Angie stood.
“Hi, Angie.”
Angie smiled briefly, then her eyes hardened. “What are you doing here?” She said it like she owned the store. The attitude simultaneously pissed Luna off and turned her on. She squirmed; moisture and leather were a horrible mix.
“Came in for a steak.” Luna noticed a boy next to Angie and wondered how long he’d been there. Probably the entire time. She was a little single-minded when it came to Angie.
“Hi, you must be Angie’s son.” Unsure how to greet a child, she extended her hand like she would with an adult. He took it with a smile.
“I am. Who are you?”
“Right, sorry. I’m Luna. A friend of your mom’s.” Were they friends? She doubted Angie thought so, but hoped she’d let her get away with saying it.
While she was introducing herself, Tori joined them, her smile much more genuine than Angie’s. She bumped hips with Angie and placed a bottle of red wine in the top of the shopping cart. Luna was jealous of their casual intimacy, but grateful that the gestures held no sexual vibe. They were obviously friends only.
“Luna? What a coincidence.” The way she emphasized coincidence made Luna suspicious. Perez, after all, was responsible for the outing to the grocery store as well as the one to The Cadillac. She pictured Tori and Perez laughing as they plotted to bring Luna and Angie together. She felt manipulated.
“I’m Oliver,” Angie’s son interjected, unwilling to be pushed aside as the adults moved on with the conversation. “I like your tattoo.”
“Thanks.” She’d gotten the angel on her right bicep on the first anniversary of her mother’s death. The grief that everyone told her would lessen had stayed with her, hard and unrelenting in the pit of her stomach. It swarmed up and engulfed her at the least likely moments. The angel she’d chosen in tribute to her mother shocked those who knew Angela Rinaldi. Rather than a soft, flowing design, Luna had chosen a hard-lined relief image. The tattoo lacked angelic details, but conveyed strength and certainty.
“Did it hurt?” Oliver asked with youthful exhuberance, and Luna hoped Angie didn’t blame her for his enthusiasm.
Before she could defer the question, Tori chimed in. “Yeah, did it?”
“A great deal.” The answer surprised Luna, since the actual tattoo had been little more than irritating. The pain behind it had been crippling.
“Oh.” Their simultaneous response made Luna smile. Disappointment looked the same regardless of age.
“It was nice seeing you, Luna.” The look on Angie’s face didn’t agree with her statement. “But we need to get back to our shopping.”
She started to move away and Luna panicked. When would she see Angie again? “Wait.” She placed a hand on Angie’s arm. It was a light touch, but the power of the contact jolted her. “I want to see you again.” Luna cringed. Instead of cool and smooth, her mouth opted for bumbling and forceful. Again.
Angie looked at her far longer than was comfortable and Luna squirmed. Still she couldn’t stop her mouth from charging forward without her brain. Later, when she had a moment to think, she would likely regret her lack of control. Angie left her defenseless, and she wasn’t sure yet if that was a good or a bad thing.
“Let me take you out. I know Saturdays aren’t good, but surely you have a night off. I could take you to dinner or a movie or—” Luna clamped her lips shut, aborting her stream of babble, and waited.
“Oliver, get a loaf of bread,” Angie said, her voice level.
“But—”
“Now, son.”
“Okay, fine.” Oliver inched his way toward the bakery section.
“Tori?”
“Hmmm?” “Go with Oliver?”
“Not a chance. No way am I missing this. It’s better than daytime television.”
Luna suddenly wished she could accompany Oliver on his quest for baked goods. That would certainly be more fun than whatever Angie had in store for her. The woman did not look happy. Luna squared her mental shoulders and waited.
“What are you doing here, Luna?” The question held a lot more judgment than it did the first time Angie asked it.
“Getting steak, I told you.” Luna smiled, then remembered that her charm didn’t seem to work on Angie. “I came over to say hi when I saw you because I didn’t want to be rude.”
Angie didn’t look convinced. “And what was that? Just then? With the dinner invitation in front of my son. You do not get to bring him into this.”
“I’m sorry. You were leaving and I couldn’t just let you go.”
“Luna, you’re not being fair. I told you, I’m not comfortable with this… this…whatever this is. You have a girlfriend.”
“She’s right, you do.” Tori’s contribution was not helpful. Luna ignored her.
“What do you want, Angie? You want me to break up with Ruby?” As soon as the words left her mouth, Luna felt overwhelmed. The truth in the question left her breathless and lightheaded. The thought of losing what she shared with Ruby was surprisingly easy to accept. But the fact that she was willing to do so for a woman she barely knew, a woman who acted like she didn’t want to know her, was emotionally murky. She wasn’t ready for the very real feelings that fueled her attraction to Angie. Until that very moment, she’d been able to lay it off as lust. Now she had to confront her intentions. She clutched the side of Angie’s cart like it was a life preserver.
Tori squeaked and clapped. Angie’s expression, however, did not change. “Would you?”
“Yes.” The simplicity of the answer furthered Luna’s shock. It also strengthened her resolve. She didn’t know what was happening inside her, but her mother would be disappointed if she didn’t have the courage to find out.
“You don’t even know me.” Angie’s statement, blunt and to the point, made Luna cringe.
“I want to.” God, what was it about Angie that made Luna abandon all reason? She was going along great, then she met Angie and wham! Sharp left on illogical street. All her emotional self-preservation instincts abandoned her at the same time.
“Why?”
“Let me show you.” Luna struggled to control the situation. She’d already laid herself out for Angie, Tori, and every other person shopping in the meat department. She wasn’t about to give Angie an itemized list of why she was attracted to her, not with an audience. Besides, she wasn’t sure she could vocalize her feelings in a concise, easily quantified manner. Emotions were sloppy. Maybe it was the way Angie fidgeted and chewed her lip when she was nervous. Maybe it was the steeled confidence to say what she thought, to ask questions others would leave alone. Maybe the combination of sexy girl-next-door mixed with nurturing lady Madonna. Maybe the shy smile that made Luna want to protect Angie, even as she pushed her away. Maybe it was just Luna’s relentless hormones driving her to chase the girl who said no. Maybe it was all that, along with a million other little things that Luna had yet to discover about Angie.
Angie’s smile was small and a bit uncertain, but Luna felt victorious. She’d finally said the right thing.
“Now what?”
“A date.” Feeling more confident than she had since she saw Angie across the aisle, Luna expanded on her intentions. “Have a little food, drink a little wine. Get to know one another.” She took ahalf-step closer to Angie.
“Stop there.” Angie took a matching half-step back.
“I’ll stay three paces away from you at all times if that’s what you want.” It would kill her, but she’d do it. “But sometimes it’s good to not think, isn’t it?”
Oliver returned with the loaf of bread. “This the right one, Mom?” At Angie’s nod, he tossed it into the cart. “Are you two done, or are you going to send me to get something else?”
“We’re done.”
Luna didn’t agree, but didn’t want to push her luck. Still, she had to ask one more question. She hesitated. Angie hadn’t reacted well when she asked in front of Oliver before. She had to be careful. “When would you like…” She was proud of herself. The desperate clutching she felt in her chest at not cementing the date didn’t make its way into the question. She sounded confident, even if she couldn’t finish.
“I’m off on Monday.”
“Should I call you to confirm?” It required a great deal of tact to ask for a phone number with Angie’s son two steps away. In her club days, she’d simply say, “Hey, babe, can I have your number?”
That wouldn’t work with Angie.
“Sure.” Angie scribbled it on the bottom of her grocery list. Before turning it over, she looked at it, shook her head once, then handed it to Luna. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Me either.” Tori laughed. “But I love it.” She high-fived Luna when she walked by.
Luna tucked the number in the back pocket of her leathers and slapped her hand against Tori’s outstretched one.
She was halfway home before she realized she’d forgotten the steak.
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About the author:
Jove Belle was born and raised against a backdrop of orchards and potato fields. The youngest of four children, she was raised in a conservative, Christian home and began asking why at a very young age, much to the consternation of her mother and grandmother. At the customary age of eighteen, she fled southern Idaho in pursuit of broader minds and fewer traffic jams involving the local livestock. The road didn’t end in Portland, Oregon, but there were many confusing freeway interchanges that a girl from the sticks was ill-prepared to deal with. As a result, she has lived in the Portland metro area for over fifteen years and still can’t figure out how she manages to spend so much time in traffic when there’s not a stray sheep or cow in sight.She lives with her partner of eighteen years. Between them they share three children, two dogs, two cats, two mortgage payments, one sedan, and one requisite dyke pickup truck. One day she hopes to live in a house that doesn’t generate a never ending honey-do list.
Incidentally, she never stopped asking why, but did expand her arsenal of questions to include who, what, when, where and, most important of all, how. In those questions, a story is born.
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Cover Reveal and Giveaway Into the Light by Jennifer Burrows
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Expected Release: Early 2014
Description:
After Laney is shot at point blank range, Josh works tirelessly to repair her life threatening internal injuries from the gunshot wounds. What’s worse is he is forced to inform Laney’s parents about the tragic accident. Having only just begun a relationship with the woman he knows in his heart he will spend the rest of his life with, he now has to reveal to her parents that a stalker has been tormenting their daughter. While his only mission is to save Laney’s life, her parents have other plans for their daughter, none of which include Josh. They are determined to find a new doctor for Laney, and if her parents have their way, she will be taken thousands of miles away from him.
Just when Josh thinks his entire world has been turned completely upside down, he finds his sister Jillian has stopped taking her psychiatric medications and has become a person unfamiliar to him. Dealing with her psychotic world becomes even more of a shock, leaving Josh in a horrible dilemma. He is torn between trying to save Laney’s life, keeping her parents from moving her away from him, and providing his sister the attention and help she desperately needs before she has a complete psychotic breakdown.
Will Josh be able to save the love of his life and prevent her parents from taking her away? Will he be able to help Jillian through her mental illness before it takes over her life? Will Laney’s relationship with her parents ever be salvaged? Will Josh and Laney have their happily ever after, or will the hurdles they have to jump through prove to be more than they can handle?
Jennifer is a Registered Nurse, and she holds a Master’s degree in Nursing Administration. She has 15 years of experience working in the Emergency Room and the Intensive Care Unit of a major trauma center. While she is equally adept at all facets of patient care, Emergency room nursing is her passion, and is the inspiration for this story. Currently, she resides in Southern California with her husband and their three amazing boys.
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Thursday, October 17, 2013
Excerpt and Giveaway Soul Games by Monique O'Connor James (Editor)
Description:
When the "Higher Power" grows bored and restless games are made. Souls are torn apart for fun, more souls are used in wicked collector games, and souls are twisted in cruel destinies.
This anthology is a collective piece of work to show different and beautifully crafted ideas of the plight ones soul must endure. Simple love and life are tainted and broken in these stories of love, betrayal, longing, and fate.
EXCERPT:
“Get out of my way!” I shoved at the thick crowd, hearing others curse at me as I pushed them to the side. I didn’t care if they were woman or man; I needed to get through to find the one person who held the one thing that could save me. It was my only mission, and I wanted it to be over, already. Centuries of searching had left its mark on me. I was tired, and I longed for the end.
But she was gone, and I was left alone once more. Exasperated, I stood at the edge of the sidewalk, letting the scorching breeze of the speeding cars along the street hit me, sending my long blonde hair whipping in the air. One step and I could end it. But then, she would win the prize. I had not gone through all this pain—all this time—to let her win. I would never let her claim the prize. It was mine. This I had known since the day we were born.
***
“I wasn’t the one who signed over your soul to that demon Olivia,” Kaiya reached for her hidden blade in her sapphire dress. “You gave it up for power.”
“You banished me to that hell hole!” Olivia’s voice grew deeper. “We could have been so powerful together!”
“I never wanted that,” Kaiya dodged another attack and pointed her dagger at her sister.
Olivia hissed between her fangs that elongated and peeked out from her lips. Kaiya felt her heart break. Her twin sister, once her best friend, had become the very thing they used to hunt. They had been the best demon hunters across the seven kingdoms.
***
“Drake, where are we going?” I asked.
We’re going to my vacation home in Half Moon Bay. I have a feeling that Thaddius is on the hunt for you, and my place is close to the beach, secluded, and safer than here. When you were with him, did you ever get the feeling that he was off, as in—otherworldly—mentally unstable?” Drake glared at me, apparently anxious for a response.
As I glanced up at him over the rim of my coffee cup, my response was automatic, “Yes, on several occasions. But I just chalked it up to him being a complete, pompous asshole. Why do you ask?”
“Because things don’t add up, Shilo. He has no footprints, and there’s no record of his existence in any system. What gives? It’s almost as if he simply appeared.” He tapped his fingers on the table, obviously unnerved by the fact that he’d learned nothing about Thaddius from his investigation.
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About the authors:
I am 21 years old and currently a journalism student at my local university. I live in South Africa in a town called Bloemfontein with my family and two beloved dogs. I have been writing since the age of 13 and my first published work is a short horror story titled Dracula’s Mistress. I am busy working on a number of novels and I am an editor/proof reader for Bayou Brew Publishing.
I love writing in the genres of paranormal romance, fantasy fiction and historical fiction and I am a proud bookworm with a mountain of reads stacked up in my room.
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Monique is the mother of two beautiful children and lives in a small community outside of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. She currently works full-time as an insurance agent, but her favorite jobs are mother, wife, and author. On her ninth birthday, her mother bought her a journal and said, "Write whatever you want. Just write." And so, a love affair with words was born.
She wrote poetry and short stories in high school and college, until 1993 when her mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. After her mother's death in 1998, deep in depression, she found herself unable to write. Nine years passed, and only on rare occasions did she attempt to write. Finally, in 2007, under the urging of friends, she sat down and pecked out her first novel. It was raw and unpolished, but the process had been unquestionably cathartic.
The next three years were spent filling her hard drive with seven complete manuscripts. At the beginning of 2011, Monique decided it was time to edit the work and share it with the world. She hopes you enjoy the ramblings of a truly southern girl raised in a state rich with heritage and love.
In June of 2011 her first book, The Keepers, was published by Astraea Press and it has been a whirlwind of excitement ever since. Please check out her website and feel free to contact her at any time via her email, facebook, or twitter.
Alexia currently lives in Las Vegas, Nevada- Sin City! She loves to spend every free moment writing, or playing with her four rambunctious kids. Writing has always been her dream and she has been writing ever since she can remember. She love's creating paranormal fantasy and poetry and loves to read and devour books daily. Alexia also enjoys watching movies, dancing, singing loudly in the car and Italian food.
Feel Free to Come and Bug Her!!!
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Born in New York City and raised in Pennsylvania, Nadege has traveled to five other states and two countries, but aspires to travel the world some day. Her name is of French origin, though she's never been to France. Forever a lover of art and all things pertaining to Literature, she hopes to obtain knowledge from her writing career, rather than popularity or fame. She wrote her first story about aliens and goats in the 8th grade and has had a passion for story-telling ever since. Her friends and family are her biggest inspiration, and the occasional cup of coffee. She enjoys being part of the Indie community and sharing her stories with the world.
Her debut novel, Burning Bridges, is her first completed novel. It isn't her first attempt in the writing world, but it's a tale about two lovers she hopes will change the way people view one another, in both big and small ways.
Carly Wallace is a woman with a dream, living in Texas where the sky is as endless as the heat. Carly pursues her dream of writing while bringing new and talented Indie authors to the front line. She reads and reviews independent books as well as writes promotional blurbs and marketing material. The Paranormal Book Club, Alchemy of Anne's Anomalies, PDMI inc and Injected Ink Publishing comprise her literary family. Carly is an ally and great friend to the some of the best independent authors and freshest voices of today.
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