Monday, 25 March 2019

Spells, Salt & Steel Tour and Giveaway! #KindleUnlimited


Spells, Salt, & Steel
Season One
by Gail Z. Martin & Larry N. Martin
Genre: Comedic Horror

When all else fails, the ass end of a carp makes a damn fine weapon.”

Your new favorite monster hunter has arrived! Bubba the Monster Hunter has some competition in this horror comedy collection from best-selling author duo Gail Z. & Larry N. Martin!
By day, Mark Wojcik can be found elbow-deep in engine grease, making cars and trucks safe for the highway. By night, he can be found traipsing through the wilds of Pennsylvania, making the world safe for humans. He’s more than just a mechanic, he’s a New Templar Knight. He travels the backroads and byways fighting weresquonks, ningen, selkies, ghosts, and…gnomes? Is that gnome…naked? (sigh).



Season One collects the first four novellas in the Spells, Salt, & Steel series –
Spells, Salt, & Steel
Open Season
Deep Trouble
Close Encounters



Goodreads * Amazon * Amazon UK

When all else fails, the ass end of a carp makes a damn fine weapon.
I’d been lying in wait for the ningen to show up, and by the wee hours of the morning, I was tired and cranky and out of coffee. As soon as the sun went down, I pulled in to the Linesville, Pennsylvania, spillway. The tourists were gone, and the concession stand’s gates were closed. Still blows my mind how many people will come look at a bunch of fish. Even if those fish are a boiling, writhing mass of three-foot long, twenty-pound carp that look like something out of a Biblical plague.
I’m Mark Wojcik, mechanic—and monster hunter. I gank things that go bump in the night so that most people never have to know supernatural uglies exist outside of bad horror movies. No one chooses this life; it chooses you, usually in a violent and awful way. In my case, a deer hunt turned into a wendigo hunting us. I survived—barely—but my father, brother, uncle, and cousin didn’t. Neither did the wendigo, when I was done with it.
The carp weren’t my problem. Tourists loved throwing day-old bread into the water to watch the carp roil over each other, mouths gaping. Tonight, they weren’t the only ones with an unnatural interest in big fish.
A corpse-pale creature balanced on the low concrete rim of the spillway catch basin. It stood about five feet tall, slender with long arms, and a body that looked like a giant white tadpole with arms and skinny, short legs. Ningen can get as big as sixty feet, or so the cryptid sites say, but then again, they say that ningen are only found in Japan, so I don’t put much stock in them.
“Koko ni sakana no kao ga kuru,” I called to it, betting that a Japanese monster might understand Japanese. Then again, I’d looked up key phrases on Google Translate, so God only knows what I actually said. “Come here, fish face,” I repeated in English, in case the ningen was bilingual.
The ningen cocked its round head and blinked its solid black eyes. I leaned over the railing and waved my bait at it, a nice piece of salmon I’d paid fifteen bucks for at the supermarket, thinking the creature might want an upgrade.
“That’s it,” I coaxed, dangling the prime wild salmon and giving it a shake. “That’s a good little sekana no neko.” That’s the magic of translation: “fish fucker” sounds classier in a foreign language.
If the ningen felt offended, it didn’t look it, although for all I knew, maybe I’d been descriptive instead of insulting. The ningen raised its head and opened its mouth, scenting the air. It shuffled toward me on its stubby legs, like it had its pants down around its knees. I grinned, keeping the sharpened iron harpoon blade concealed behind my back in my right hand.
At the speed the ningen hop-walked, it might take it ten minutes to get to me, but once I ganked him, I’d be back home relaxing with a nice cold beer.
That’s when the damn thing leapt into the air like a horny salmon going to spawn and grabbed the filet in my hand so hard he pulled me over the fence and into the carp-filled water. I lost the piece of fish, but managed to keep the harpoon. When I fell in, fully-clothed and in my steel-toe boots, I thought I’d sink, but I fell onto the roiling carp that made a moving, lumpy.
net beneath me. They buoyed me along just long enough for me to regain my wits and scramble onto the small stretch of rocky shore between the overflow basin and the wall below the fence. The ningen crouched, eyeing me as it shoved the raw salmon into its mouth, and I got a look at its jagged, sharp teeth—something else the cryptid reports had been less than accurate about. I realized then that the small strip of land around me was covered with fish bones. Those all-black eyes kept staring at me, and although I’d heard long pig tasted like chicken, this jagoff looked like he was wondering how much I’d taste like fish.
It sprang for me, and I rolled, gritting my teeth as the sharp stones and fish bones jabbed through my
jacket and jeans. I brought up my harpoon gun and got off a shot. The barbed iron blade hit the ningen in the shoulder instead of the chest like I’d hoped, but it must have hurt like a mother since the thing let out an ungodly howl that would have put any loon to shame.
I yanked on the rope attached to the base of the blade with all my might. The ningen stumbled toward me. Then it grabbed the rope and pulled. And I found myself face down in the water, getting smacked in the head by carp the size of toddlers.
I scrambled back onto the rocky bank. What little I could find about ningen, that was written in English, said it would have less power on land. I yanked the rope again, getting angry now, and the ningen bared its barracuda teeth at me and gave another ear-splitting shriek.
The iron had an effect on it; I could see black veins radiating from where the blade lodged in its shoulder, spreading across the once-perfect white skin. I just didn’t know how long the iron blade would take to kill the creature, or if it would do the job completely. My gun was safe and dry in my truck, since I’d figured going for a forced swim was likely. But I had a couple more tricks up my soggy sleeves.
The ningen closed in on me, and I grabbed a kada, one of those martial arts sickle blades, from a scabbard on my back. I didn’t know if Japanese weapons were extra-lethal on Japanese monsters, but I fully intended to go ninja on its ass for leaving me soggy and freezing and smelling like carp.
“Let’s see you shi’ne, you piece of fish shit,” I muttered. I watched as much anime as my Crunchy Roll subscription could handle, and I’d picked up on a few overused phrases. “Die” seemed like a good one.
Except that the ningen didn’t seem to take it the way I’d intended and jerked me back into the water.
I managed to roll so I got the kada blade between us and swung as hard as I could, sinking the point of the curved blade into its chest where I hoped its heart might be. The black veins from the iron blade had spread across its entire torso, up its fish-belly white neck, and down its overly long arms.
But it wasn’t dead yet, and it came at me again, forcing me to fall backward in the water into another mass of carp. I kicked with my legs to get some distance between myself and the ningen.
The carp weren’t pleased to have me land on them, and one of the fish jumped out of the water and landed in my arms, all thirty pounds of him.
Instinct took over, and I wrapped both arms around the carp’s middle and thrust its powerful tail toward the ningen. The fish wriggled wildly in my grip, its tail slapping back and forth with sharp scales and fins. It knocked the harpoon deeper into the ningen’s chest, as the black lacework of the iron’s poison spread across the rest of its skin.
I got my feet under me and dragged myself onto the shore, still holding a pissed-off carp between me and the monster. The ningen lurched forward, grabbing for me with its long, skeletal arms and clammy, dead white hands. Then it fell over and lay face-down amid the carp, completely covered by the deadly pattern of the iron’s taint running through its veins.
“Tora, tora, tora that, fish fucker,” I muttered. I dropped the carp, and it disappeared into the roiling mass of its companions.
I hauled myself back up on the rocky shore and caught my breath. The night was warm, but that’s a relative statement in this neck of Northwestern Pennsylvania, and I started to shiver. The ningen lay where it fell, and I was just about to pull it out of the water when I saw its body twitch.
“Oh, no you don’t!” I growled, but before I could climb up the wall to get my gun out of the truck, the carp began to thrash. My stomach turned as I realized that the ningen wasn’t moving on its own; its body jerked and moved because dozens of carp were nibbling at its flesh.
In the next moment, the ningen’s form sank lower, pulled down by the fish. The pale body vanished beneath the water, and the fish fought each other to get closer, obscuring it from view. “Hey buddy! No fishing!” I turned and got a face full of flashlight beam, blinding me. The perfect end to a lousy
evening would be getting arrested for monstercide. Or in this case, fishing without a license.
“Oh, it’s you, Mark.”
I blinked and recognized a familiar voice. Louie Marino, a guy I’d known since first grade, and one of Linesville’s Finest.
“Not fishing, Louie. Honest. Just business.” Louie’s one of the few area cops who know what I really do. He gets it—mainly because when he had a nasty little infestation of demon-possessed rabid raccoons a few years back, I took care of it for him, no questions asked.
“Keeping busy?” he asked, angling the flashlight so I could see again.
“Always. They pay you enough to be on fish patrol at this hour?”
Louie shrugged. “Workin’ nights this week. Drew the short straw. Just another day in paradise.” He wrinkled his nose. “You stink like carp.”
“I’ve heard of ‘swimming with the fishes,’ just didn’t intend to take it literally,” I replied, wringing out the water from the hem of my flannel shirt.
“Do I want to know?”
I shook my head. “Probably not. If the rangers at the Spillway say anything about their fish count being down, tell them it’s been taken care of.”
Louis grinned, taking in my utterly disreputable condition. “You’re just lucky I was on duty tonight, or you’d be going from the fish tank to the drunk tank.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny,” I mumbled, although I knew he was right. “Oh, and Louie?” I said as we headed back to our vehicles. “If I were you, I wouldn’t eat any carp out of the lake this season. I think their diet’s been a little…off.”




Gail Z. Martin discovered her passion for science fiction, fantasy and ghost stories in elementary school. The first story she wrote at age five was about a vampire. Her favorite TV show as a preschooler was Dark Shadows. At age 14, she decided to become a writer. She enjoys attending science fiction/fantasy conventions, Renaissance fairs and living history sites.

Larry N. Martin is the author of the new sci-fi adventure novel Salvage Rat. He is the co-author (with Gail Z. Martin) of the Spells, Salt, and Steel/New Templars series; the Steampunk series Iron & Blood; and a collection of short stories and novellas: The Storm & Fury Adventures set in the Iron & Blood universe. He is also the co-author of the upcoming Wasteland Marshals series and the Joe Mack Cauldron/Secret Council series.
The Martins have three children, a Maltese, and a Golden Retriever.





Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!





Crazy For You #BookBlitz


Crazy For You
Sophia Henry
(Material Girls, #3)
Publication date: March 21st 2019
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
I’m gonna kill my brother.
I should be in the office keeping our tattoo ink distribution company together. Instead, I’m stuck dealing with a 22-year-old, tatted-up tinkerbell. Em Vicious is a walking, talking contradiction: a sassy, goth fairy with a body inked in flowers, stars, and jewels.
While she’s promoting Ambassador Ink, the flirtatious, free spirit needs a babysitter. And thanks to my brother and his wife who’s about to drop twins, I’m the one who has to accompany her during her tour as a guest artist at tattoo shops across the country over the next four weeks.
Sharing the same space with an immature artist is hard enough, yet something about her has me thinking about my own past.
When the barbs become banter, and desire flourishes from frustration, I should tell her to turn and walk away. I see too much of myself in her–and it scares me. I’m afraid the pressure of money and fame might lead her to the same place it lead me–the peak of a suspension bridge and ready to jump.
CRAZY FOR YOU is a full-length standalone novel in the Material Girls series. Happily Ever After guaranteed. WARNING: Be ready for playful banter, forced proximity, enemies to lovers, and a sexy May-December romance.
EXCERPT:
From Prologue – Emily
Normally, being face-down, ass-up, and waiting to be hand-cuffed would be a welcome Friday night activity.
Too bad it’s Tuesday, and an actual officer of the law is the one doing the cuffing.
Before all the commotion, I’d just fallen into an amazing tranquil lull of relaxation. I barely smoke weed anymore, so I can normally get pretty high off a hit or two, but Fozzie’s water bong has a nasty, dark, film of resin on the inside of the base, which means he barely cleans the thing. I needed four hard hits to get any sensation. A part of me wonders if I’m inhaling black mold instead of marijuana.
Though his couch is probably coated with more disgusting fluids than a motel comforter, I’m sprawled out with my hands clasped behind my head. If I allowed myself to think about how much shit has been spilled and jacked onto this dirty-ass piece of furniture, I’d never even come over, let alone lay on it. But Fozzie’s my oldest friend, and sometimes you suck it up and forget about housekeeping habits for people you love.
Fozzie, or Franklin Thomas the Fourth, which is how our teacher introduced him when he joined our class midway through our third-grade year, sits on the floor sorting packets and counting cash.
“When are you going to stop selling that shit, Foz?” I ask.
“When North Carolina legalizes it,” he responds, holding up a thick stack of bills. “Wanna spread it out on my bed and roll around in it?”
“Nah, we did that last Tuesday,” I tease.
For the record, I have never rolled around in drug money. I may have done it after being paid in cash for the first major back piece I tattooed, but it was totally a joke.
I really wish he’d stop selling weed, but I know he needs the money to make ends meet while his band, Drowned World, carves their place in the music scene. I’ve offered to loan him cash on multiple occasions, but he always turns me down. Stupid male ego shit. Thankfully, they’re climbing the charts fast and getting recognized by more people every day, so he should be able to leave his dealing days behind soon.
I’m not hating on it, because I totally get the hustle. I almost resorted to selling weed back when I first left my parent’s house. But as much as I wanted to piss them off at the time, I knew I’d ruin their reputation if I got busted for something like that and I just couldn’t have that on my conscious. I don’t hate them, I just don’t want to be a part of their lifestyle.
“If you need to use the bathroom, use the one upstairs, okay?” He lifts his head, a shock of bleach blond hair falls, covering one eye. The rest of his head is shaved, except a patch on top that’s been bleached, gelled, and sprayed to stay in place.
“Got it.” I don’t think anything about his request. Fozzie lives with two other guys —and none of them take any steps to keep any of their rooms clean. The bathrooms, especially, are always disgusting.
The electronic, 80’s vibe of Missio’s “Rad Drugz” fills the air, slowing bringing me to another level of relaxation. I’ve almost fallen into a wonderfully hazy state of mind when a booming bang on the door startles me out of my dazed haze. A muffled voice announcing themselves as “the police” calls for us to open the door.
Everything is a blur from there. Probably because my mind immediately switched from a luxurious relaxed state to ultra-paranoid within seconds.
“Fuck!” Fozzie jumps to his feet, kicking the bags of weed under the couch before heading to the door. He glances at me over his shoulder, waiting as I shove the bong between two couch cushions and tug an afghan over it before he opens the door.


Author Bio:
Award-Winning Author, Sophia Henry, is a proud Detroit native who fell in love with reading, writing, and hockey all before she became a teenager. She did not, however, fall in love with snow. So after graduating with an English degree from Central Michigan University, she moved to the warmth of North Carolina for the remainder of her winters.
She spends her days writing books and tweeting too much. When she's not writing, she's chasing adventure with her two high-energy sons, watching her beloved Detroit Red Wings, and rocking out at as many concerts as she can possibly attend.

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The Good Girl’s Guide to Being Bad #CoverReveal


The Good Girl’s Guide to Being Bad
Cookie O’Gorman
Publication date: April 2019
Genres: Contemporary, Romance, Young Adult
Seventeen-year-old Sadie is tired of being a good girl.
Her Career Aptitude Test results say she’s ideally suited for a career in the clergy (aka a nun), and on top of that, she receives yet another rejection. An aspiring dancer/choreographer, Sadie dreams of being featured on Dancer’s Edge—but they say she’s too sweet, needs more life experience. Her BFF, Kyle, and her oldest friend, 79-year-old Betty, agree: Sadie is in desperate need of a life makeover.
But she’ll need a coach.
Sadie doesn’t lie, cheat or steal–heck she doesn’t even curse (part of the reason she hasn’t checked off anything on her “Carpe Diem List”). Sadie doesn’t know the first thing about being bad. But Kyle’s twin brother, Colton, does. And he’s willing to teach Sadie on one condition: she has to do everything he says for the next month.
A dazzling first kiss, two smokin’ hot brothers and a bet that changes everything. In this enemies-to-more YA romance, Sadie learns:
Breaking the rules can be fun—especially when it leads to happily-ever-after.


Author Bio:
Cookie O'Gorman writes YA romance to give readers a taste of happily-ever-after. Small towns, quirky characters, and the awkward yet beautiful moments in life make up her books. Cookie also has a soft spot for nerds and ninjas. Her novels ADORKABLE and NINJA GIRL are out now! Her third book, THE UNBELIEVABLE, INCONCEIVABLE, UNFORESEEABLE TRUTH ABOUT ETHAN WILDER, was released April 5, 2018!

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Father of Contention #Blitz


 photo Lanie Mores - Father of Contention - Book Blitz_zpsnyl8mwkv.jpg
Science Fiction and Fantasy, Paranormal Romance
Date Published:  April 9, 2018
Publisher: Tellwell Talent

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There was only ever meant to be one Creator.

In 1972, German scientist Renner Scholz travels to Barbora Bay, Washington where he meets the love of his life, Milena Nowak. Only believing in things proven by science, he becomes obsessed with determining the underlying genetic basis of Milena’s psychic gift.

Stumbling upon an occult ritual, Renner is connected to the spiritual realm where he discovers an unrivaled power that fuels supernatural abilities. But, the answers he’s been searching for come at a cost—his soul.

Driven by new darkness that resides within him, Renner has a breakthrough in his research—able to genetically produce psychic abilities in humans. Milena helplessly watches as her husband becomes deceptive, volatile and both physically and mentally more powerful. Can Milena save Renner from this evil presence? Or will she become an unwilling participant in his next experiment—one of the darkest kinds?


Excerpt

Renner was wracked with an emotion he hadn’t experienced in a while—guilt. The sensation was pushing past a barrier, fighting for him to notice.

How could he have done that to Milena? He loved her. She was his wife. His beloved. He hadn’t meant to explode, lose control of himself, and even now was having trouble remembering all that had happened, parts of his memory missing. But he knew he had hurt her. Her blood had stained his knuckles.

Of course, his day had already been going badly. There was that.

First, catching Paul rummaging through his lab files. Problem number one.

The second problem—the catalyst to his fury—was the interrogation by his boss and the policemen. Renner felt he handled himself well, shirking suspicion from his shoulders. But, the meeting rattled him.

Renner couldn’t manage to calm down after that, unable to focus on his work, his mind completely distracted by Paul’s betrayal and the pending investigation. He ducked out early, wanting to go home and plan a way to get Paul off of his back. Just needing a drink to settle his nerves. A few minutes to himself. But, Milena just wouldn’t leave him alone.

She provoked you. It’s all her fault.

What the voice said was true. Stuck her nose in where it didn’t belong. Pressing and pressing. Problem number three. And hadn’t he asked her nicely to give him some space? If she had just listened, none of this would have happened. But, had she deserved what he had done to her?

Yes, she did deserve it. You did what you had to do. She was going to leave you.

But, he had reacted as his biological father would have. Where had that anger, that violence, come from? Never in a million years would he have thought he was capable of that depth of aggression. Milena was helpless against his fury.

I love her, he thought. I honestly do. How could I do that to her?

Would it have been better if you let her go? You need her, remember? She can’t leave. Not now, not ever.

It was true. He could never live without her. And he also needed her for his research. She was essential to his plans, and even though up until now he had gained her compliance through his elaborate ruse to fake her illness, he would not have to trick her anymore. Everything was much easier this way.

Slowly, his guilt—assuaged by the voice in his mind—abated, and his focus on the prize returned. The timing was actually opportune; did Milena’s last set of blood tests not tell him so? All of his preparations were leading to this point. She was finally ready.

It is time.


About the Author

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Lanie Mores resides in Ontario with her family, although she enjoys traveling to alternate realities through reading, binge-watching Netflix or playing video games.

She has worn many hats throughout her life: cashier, medical records secretary, psychotherapist, hypnotherapist, personal trainer, mom and now author.

Inspired to write by Stephen King, Diana Gabaldon, Jean M. Auel, and Margaret Atwood, Lanie works diligently to complete her four-part FATHER OF CONTENTION series.

With her writing, Lanie hopes to inspire her readers to think and live outside the box, to be courageous in following their own passions, and live a life of purpose.


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Sunday, 24 March 2019

At War With a Broken Heart Tour and Giveaway


At War With a Broken Heart
by Dahlia Donovan
Genre: M/M Contemporary Romance


What's the perfect recipe for an emotional MMM romance?
One autistic coffee shop owner, one morose mug maker, and a mostly cheerful police detective.
Fie Morogh Russell goes off to war with a broken heart and returns with a shattered spirit. He hermits away in Bideford, Devon, making mugs, with his service dog, Haggard, for company. Post-traumatic stress turns every memory into a minefield, and life is dismal with one or two rare exceptions.
Davet Heuse drags his younger brother to Bideford for a new start. Both autistic, the two siblings have fought hard to enjoy freedom by the seaside. While Davet runs a coffee shop from his tiny house, his brother pursues his dream at university.
Detective Sidney Little has transitioned from military service to the police force easily. His unrequited crushes and his estranged father are the only points of frustration in his life. He hasn't quite figured out how to deal with either problem.
When a tragic accident brings Davet's world crashing down around him, can Fie and Sid help him through the pain of loss?
In this May-December romance with a twist, three men struggle through one obstacle after the other to somehow find themselves in love on the other side.



Amazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Amazon Uk



“You refused to call me anything at all for years. And how is where I live any of your business?” Fie honestly didn’t want to revisit their failed relationship. “What’s changed? Did your latest fling kick you out?”
“I missed you. Us, even.” Edmund gestured towards Haggard, Fie’s blue merle border collie service dog, stretched out across a blanket in his corner of the pottery shed. “I can help. What can your old mutt do that I can’t?”
“Help? You broke me. You lost the right to put me back together.” Fie wiped absently at the sheen of sweat on his brow; he hadn’t even gotten close to his kiln yet. Why am I suddenly overheating? “Sod off with you back to your posh London penthouse.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hell.” Fie dragged a hand roughly through his greying hair. His dark brown eyes examined Edmund and found him relatively unchanged. Still as selfish as ever. He’d missed seeing the fault in his ex-lover’s personality until far too late. “Well, I hope the apology made it all better for you. I still feel like shite.”
“I’m sorry.” Edmund was trying for heartfelt, but it came out sulky to Fie.

“You sent me off to war with a broken heart.” Fie stood up suddenly, knocking his stool over. He dwarfed Edmund with his tall, bulky, almost bearlike frame. “Now I’m shipping you off to London. I imagine it’s far less dangerous than disarming explosives in the desert, and you’re certainly not as emotionally shattered as I was.”


Dahlia Donovan wrote her first romance series after a crazy dream about shifters and damsels in distress. She prefers irreverent humour and unconventional characters. An autistic and occasional hermit, her life wouldn’t be complete without her husband and her massive collection of books and video games.



Follow the tour HERE for exclusive content and a giveaway!




Mimic by C.L. Denault #blitz


Mimic
C.L. Denault
(The Prodigy Chronicles #2)
Publication date: March 22nd 2019
Genres: Dystopian, Romance, Science Fiction, Young Adult
In 2012, one cycle of an ancient calendar system came to a close. Humanity predicted its downfall, but it wasn’t the end of their evolutionary climb. It was the beginning.
Willow Kent is discovering that life as a second-phase prodigy comes at a price. Trapped in the London Core, her choices are limited, made difficult by her forbidden romance with Reece and the presence of a new commanding officer who establishes harsh rules. With unpredictable skills and a growing distrust in her birth parents, she is struggling to play the Core’s game. But when opportunity arises in the form of a mysterious shapeshifter, Willow realizes there’s more to her own evolution than meets the eye. She soon learns that keeping secrets is a key move, and the more dangerous they are, the greater her need to evolve into the powerful prodigy nature intended her to become.
But those closest to her have their own secrets, and her status has made her an easy target for betrayal. Who will she turn to, when nothing is as it seems?
Sequel to:
EXCERPT:
The blow shouldn’t have stunned me. I’d grown up in a tavern, defending myself, and had spent plenty of time training with Kane and Tem. I knew how to take a hit.
This was more than a hit. Kristoffe’s swing was fast and brutal, with a force behind it that rivaled my own—enough to knock me off my feet and send me flying down the hall.
Sensations took over. There was the feel of backward motion. Loss of control as my body hit the floor. More motion from sliding, and the hot sting of my flesh scraping tile. Ceiling lights blurred into white lines. Pain throbbed in my cheek.
But it was the tightness in my throat that hurt most. The tiger clawed like mad as we slid. Her screams pierced the fog in my brain, parting it, carving out a path. If I didn’t stop her, she would use it to climb up and take control.
Let me in!
I managed to shake my head.
You need me!
“No,” I whimpered, bumping into the limp body of an elevator guard. One of his arms stopped me, and I sat up quickly, recoiling. He was spread-eagled, face down among his comrades, his fingers wrapped around a retinal scanner. I cringed. Was he dead? Had the tiger killed them all? Then my eyes fell on the laser resting at his hip.
Take it.
I couldn’t. I’d never fired one before.
He’ll kill us!
Not sure who she meant, I jerked my head around. The man with the sabre was still gone. But Kristoffe and his patrol were marching in my direction, dragging Toby with them. He struggled violently until one of them drove a fist into his stomach. A savage tug tore through my belly. Gasping, I leaned over, fumbling for the guard’s laser.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Kristoffe signaled for his men to stop, but continued walking toward me. He didn’t waver, not even when I grasped the laser in both hands and aimed it at him.
“That’s far enough,” I said.
He kept coming.
“I’ll shoot.” My finger instinctively hugged the trigger. “I mean it.”
Spreading his arms, Kristoffe made a target out of his broad chest. His smile was icy. “Go ahead, then. Shoot.”
Was he bluffing? I couldn’t tell. He might have a defensive shield. On the other hand, he might go down with one shot. There was no way to know. But somehow, he’d survived the tiger. This laser was my only hope.
Do it, the tiger spat.
My pulse spiked. “I will shoot.”
He kept coming.
Shoot him!
“Stop,” I cried, my hands shaking.
But he didn’t stop, and the closer he came, the harder I choked on the tiger’s fury. Her strength was more than I could handle. He was only a few feet away when her hissing cry forced me to pull the trigger. A matching cry left my lips. The laser clicked, shuddered—
—and died.



Author Bio:
C.L. Denault is a speculative fiction writer who loves dreaming up tales of adventure and intrigue. A former systems analyst, she gave up her nerdy code-writing skills to care for her family (including a son with special needs), and currently lives among the vast stretches of cornfields in Illinois.
Writing and working out are her biggest passions, along with drinking coffee and watching sci-fi. When she’s not hanging out with her husband and kids, she can usually be found at a library or tucked away in the shadowy corner of a hip coffeehouse. She’s also been glimpsed sneaking into her garage, late at night, to work on her time machine.
She enjoys connecting with people—especially those from other planets, nearby dimensions, and the future. To find her, just visit her website or social media pages. Or use a Stargate. Whichever is easiest.

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Saturday, 23 March 2019

Wildfire and Roses Tour and Giveaway #KindleUnlimited


Wildfire and Roses
by Hope Malory
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Sparks fly when tenacious mountain climber and hiker Beasley McLemore meets hot smokejumper Will Gregor on a search and rescue mission in Yosemite. Getting together, however, isn’t easy. Strong-willed Beasley is bent on building a thriving landscaping business back home in the foothills of the majestic Smoky Mountains. Busy working 24/7, she has no time or energy for a man in her life...she thinks.


Scorched by love in his past, Will is content to live near awe-inspiring Lake Tahoe where he saves lives and forests as a remote wildland firefighter. He doesn’t need a committed relationship complicating his dangerous lifestyle...he thinks.

Through life-changing events and a family mystery, each must question long held beliefs about work, love, and life. Looming over their blossoming love affair is the 2,400 miles separating their homes and livelihoods. Will love keep them together or distance tear them apart?



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An opening in the trees revealed thickets growing beside a creek with green algae coating the rocks. The afternoon heat working in tandem with the heavy downpour gave way to sweltering humidity. She removed her rain and sweat-soaked shirt in favor of the cooler camisole underneath. Although she had packed a light waterproof jacket, the storm came without warning. The almost horizontal, wind-driven rain swept the ridge, plastering her hair to her head. Drenched, their clothes clung to their bodies. It was impossible not to notice Will’s ripped torso underneath his wet shirt. Stop looking at his body. She observed his stolen glance at her assets when she took off the outer layer. To rid her mind of those thoughts, she shook her head and turned her attention back to the task. She agonized about the frightened little boy, knowing the first twenty-four hours were the most critical. Would he survive the night if they didn’t locate him soon? A sense of unease gnawed at her.
At the same moment she turned toward Ranger Walsh to ask what they would do if they didn’t find him before dark, thunder roared through the forest making her words inaudible. The crunch of twigs and leaves beneath their feet turned into splashes as the rain persisted. They slogged through ankle-deep mud, around jutting rocks, and over blown-down trunks and branches. The wind whipped, and the downpour continued, slowing their progress.

The trail narrowed with sharp drop-offs on the left side. Walking in a single line, Ranger Walsh led, Will followed him, and she took the rear position. In a fraction of a second, she recognized what was happening ahead. Seized by fear, she cried out as Will stepped in a pool of mud, lost his footing, and tumbled down the side of a cliff.


Transported by books as a child, Hope Malory developed an interest in writing in second grade when she discovered poetry. Those early seeds, along with a penchant for happy endings, led her to fulfill her dream of becoming a romance novelist.


After thirty years in the education field, Hope traded in a commute, traffic, and early mornings for inventing strong-willed characters and putting them in unpredictable situations.

Now, whether relaxing on the beach, traveling with her husband, or spending time at home, she is busy writing her next novel.





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