Easy Virtue By Mia Asher ♥ Sale Bliz

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Easy Virtue by Mia Asher is NOW ON SALE!

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Love is selfish…

My name is Blaire.

I’m the bad girl.

The other woman.

The one who never gets the guy in the end.

I’m the gold digger.

The bitch.

The one no one roots for.

The one you love to hate.

I hate myself too…

Everyone has a story. Are you ready for mine?  

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About the Author

My name is Mia Asher.

I’m a writer, a hopeless romantic, a wanderer, a dreamer, a cynic, and a believer. And, oh yes…I might be a bit crazy – but who isn’t?

Stalk Her: FacebookTwitterWebsiteGoodreadsPinterest

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Challenged By Ryan Michele ♥ Chapter Reveal

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Ardent Prose Synopsis

 

Lust, love, and second chances.

 

Growing up in the fast-paced and rough life of a motorcycle club wasn’t easy. Cleaning up the mess his father had made of Vipers Creed meant sacrifice. Cade ‘Spook’ Baker had given up everything to bring the club life back to what it was supposed to be: a family.

 

The choices he made were not what he wanted, but they were necessary for the club as a whole.

Second chances rarely came to Spook, so when his Trixie walked boldly into his clubhouse, the decision was made. Trixie would once again be his, this time for good.

 

Trix Lamasters was raised by a master—a master con. All grown up, she made her life solid by making it about her club, Sirens. But one bad business decision brought her to her knees, forcing her to call on the one person she had sworn she would never trust again.

 

Pasts have a way of not staying there. Things that were buried deep have a way of finding themselves in the light of a new day. Could something that had once crashed and burned for Spook and Trixie find a way out of the wreckage? With the odds against them, can they find a way to overcome the challenges, or will it all blow up in their faces?

 

**Due to content, mature audiences only.**

 

Ardent Prose Excerpt

 

Challenged (Vipers Creed MC#1) ©Ryan Michele 2016

Prologue

My head filled with a cloudy, dense fog that I couldn’t shake. Even with my eyes open, a filmy haze covered them, making everything blurry. Voices were muffled, as if I were under water, sinking. I thought I recognized one, but couldn’t tell for sure.

Too hard to think.

I attempted to pull my arms up, but they were immediately halted by something. The hard, cold, heavy attachments clinked like metal. Even straining to move them, my muscles were so weak, so lethargic I couldn’t. I tried my legs, and the same thing happened.

A hard surface pressed against my back as the cool air of the room cascaded over my skin, my nipples, my stomach… Oh God, was I naked?

I opened my mouth, wanting to scream as deep panic set in. Unfortunately, nothing came out except air. Even that took more effort than I had in me.

Placing the pieces of the puzzle together, I couldn’t make heads or tails out of anything.

Heat at my side had me turning in that direction, only to see a fuzzy, black figure. I squinted then blinked, trying to get the focus to come back, but nothing. Not a damn thing.

“Hello, darlin’. Welcome to hell.”

 

Chapter One

Trix

A lump gathered in my throat settling like a rock, hard and brutal, sucking the wind out of me. My hand slightly twitched as I dialed the number I never in a million years thought I would call. I switched the phone to my other hand in an effort to shake out the trembling, because nervousness wasn’t an option. Trix Lamasters would not turn into some twit who couldn’t think straight over one phone call. Being a shrewd businesswoman, I’d learned from the best not to let shit get to me, how to compartmentalize things and deal.

I swallowed hard, moving the lump from my throat to settle into my gut like a boulder. As I focused, my breathing evened out. The thick steel in my spine could handle anything life threw at me, including this call. Including the man who would be on the other end of the line.

The green button stared back at me, my finger hovering over it. Then I pressed it and pulled the phone to my ear just as it started ringing.

One ring … two … three …

“What?” was barked through the phone line with a male’s voice tainted by harsh impatience.

“Can I talk to Cade? Shit.” I stopped myself. He wasn’t Cade anymore. I needed to remember that a lot had changed. “I mean, Spook. Is Spook around?”

Silence.

“Hello?” I pulled the phone away from my ear, looking at the bright screen, making sure the call hadn’t dropped. Nope, the little numbers in the corner were still counting away. I pressed it back to my ear, waiting a few beats.

“Who wants to fucking know?” His tone turned gruffer, almost as if he were a protective watch dog of Cade’s, and nothing or no one got past him.

Watch dog or not, I wasn’t about to get eaten.

“This is Trix Lamasters. I need to speak to him.”

More silence, not even a breath or noise in the background.

“Hello?”

His voice came over the line right as I intended to speak again. “Stop fucking saying hello. I’m here.”

Hell, maybe someone pissed in his Wheaties this morning, his attitude having nothing to do with me. Or maybe it was just him.

I slapped my hand to my forehead as the word dumbass rang in my mind.

“Sorry, I thought the call dropped.” Now I apologized to the rude man? Get a grip, Trix.

“What do you need with Spook?” The guard dog didn’t give me an inch. Nevertheless, he didn’t need to know my business.

I needed a diversion.

“Can you just get a message to him to call me?”

“Babe, either tell me what you need, or nothing fuckin’ gets to him.” His tone turned flat and resolute.

“Fuck,” I muttered then heard him chuckle. The damn man needed a bone before he played. Asshole. “An employee of mine has been seen at your clubhouse. I need to talk to her.”

“Call her,” he quipped.

“She doesn’t have a phone,” I retorted, feeling the fire burn in my veins.

“Not my problem,” the man sneered. From his attitude, I knew he would have no problem hanging up on me right now, never telling Cade I needed to talk to him. Good thing I dealt with assholes on a regular basis.

“Look, the bitch owes me money.” Anger raced through my body. I let it be heard through each clipped word.

He let out a deep laugh that was almost intriguing if he weren’t a jerk. “You may as well kiss that cash good-bye.”

My pride had other ideas.

“Fuck no. I want what’s owed to me.” I sighed, needing a different tactic. “Look, can you just give Spook my name?” He would either call or he wouldn’t, but maybe that would get the dog to want to nose around. Maybe curiosity would get him to spread my name at least.

“This is gonna be fun. Hang on.” The man must have covered the mouthpiece with his hand, because everything he said was muffled except for him calling Spook’s name. That, I could hear clearly. My adrenaline spiked at the thought of Cade coming on the line.

“Yeah?” a voice I recognized from my dreams said into the phone. The deep, raspy tenor had grown over time and slithered down my spine all the way to my knees, giving them a slight tremble. It took only one word to make my stomach flip.

Fuck, I knew this was a bad idea, but I wasn’t that girl anymore. He would not have power over me. I wouldn’t allow it.

I paced my small living room, needing the movement to get my knees back in line.

“Cade? It’s Trix Lamasters.”

“First, the name’s Spook. Second, who?”

That one kind of stung. All right, more than stung. It tore another hole in my already battered heart was more like it. The asshole didn’t even remember me, but what did I expect, being one in a sea of many? There was absolutely no reason I would have stood out to him.

“We went to school together,” I tried.

Silence.

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling, hoping divine intervention would give me the gift of patience or a gun. Neither came.

“Whatever. I get you don’t remember me, but you have one of my employees there. I need to talk to her. She owes me money, and I need it back.”

“Trixie Lamasters.” I could hear the devilish grin as his words snaked over the phone. Not going to lie, my pussy quivered.

No one called me Trixie anymore, because once upon a time, he did and I had loved it. After he abruptly left my life, taking the one thing I could never get back, I refused to let anyone call me by that name. Never again would I allow the hollow feeling that name represented to seep through me. Now, hearing him after fifteen years, the vault of memories opened wide, something I did not want to happen. I didn’t want to feel, yet each recollection of the past bombarded my mind.

“Long time.”

I paused mid-step as a flash of younger Cade hit me. Shaking my head clear, I continued to pace through my living room.

“Yeah, very long. Anyway, you have a woman there by the name of Nanette King. Can you hand her over to me?”

I wouldn’t let the smoothness of his voice draw me in like it had all those years ago, reducing me to a pile of teenaged mush. Strictly business, I told myself, because business I could handle.

“How do you know she’s here?”

“I had her followed, and it led to you.”

I guessed he didn’t like the fact that I had found her that way, judging from the muttered curses that followed. Each word made me smile. I had a payroll of people who worked for me now, and some little twit-fart would not run off with my money. That wasn’t how I operated my business.

Nanette had fallen off radar. Cade’s club happened to be the last place she was seen; therefore, I had to call him. I may as well have strapped zip-ties around my wrists, locking them in place.

“First, if she’s at the club, there’s a reason. Second, bitches here don’t go by their real names, so I don’t know if she’s around, because I don’t know a Nanette. Third, you come to the clubhouse, and we’ll talk.”

Business was business, but my heart spiked at the thought of seeing him again.

Cade’s club, Vipers Creed MC, had been in Dyersburg for years. Even before I came into this world, their presence had been well known. This town had tales, but these days, the Vipers were mostly known for Creed’s Automotive where they made custom bikes and cars in their own little world located on the outskirts of town.

I’d hoped to avoid a meeting since I couldn’t see any point to it. I wasn’t in the mood for a high school reunion. The past needed to stay there, locked up tight.

“I’ll describe her to you. Tell me if she’s there, and I’ll send someone over to get her,” I declared, trying to veer him from this path.

Negotiations were something I excelled at. There had to be an arrangement that suited us both, one we could manage over the phone. It would be the best course of action. The less contact I had with him, the better. I could have Ike, one of the bouncers at Sirens, pick her up. Win-win all around.

He chuckled, and my body went on alert because of the slyness in it.

“Babe, you don’t get how this works. You want something from me that I have, bring your ass here, and we’ll discuss it. Tomorrow night, seven.” Silence.

This time when I looked at the screen, the number fifty-seven blinked rapidly. He’d hung up on me.

“That arrogant piece of shit!” I growled, tossing my phone to the couch where it bounced on the cushion.

I should have known he’d still be a dick. Some things never changed. Guess I was going to meet up with Cade after all.

I completely ignored the slight tremor that thought caused.

***

During the entire drive, I berated myself for giving the money to Nanette in the first place. One stupid decision started this path, one I could have avoided if I’d stuck to my rules.

Nanette’s eyes were anxiously cast to the floor of my office as she rung her hands together absently.

When she didn’t talk, I prompted, “Speak.” It sounded like a command I would give a dog, but at times like these, when people wouldn’t get on with their shit, it was deserved. I had shit to do, and she obviously needed something.

“I need to borrow five thousand dollars,” she said in a surge.

I leaned back in the leather chair behind my desk, my brow raised as her eyes looked everywhere but at mine. Nervous? No, she was damn near petrified.

I waited out the quiet for her eyes to meet mine, the fear coming across loud and clear.

When they did, I asked, “For what?”

I wanted to hear her out, because if she had problems, I needed to know whether those problems would blow back onto Sirens. It was always about the business.

“The bank’s gonna foreclose on my house if I don’t come up with the money by Friday.” Her eyes filled with moisture.

While I wasn’t a cruel and heartless bitch, this wasn’t my problem. She was a grown adult and needed to handle her own problems, including money to pay her bills.

“No,” I answered firmly. “You can go now.”

Nanette’s face turned to dismay as my answer rolled around in that head of hers. Her skin paled, her nose twitched, and she swallowed hard, as if not to puke. She began to say words; only, they came out as sounds of mumbled breath as she lost her composure.

I held up my hand in an effort to stop her choking rambles. “Stop trying to talk. Listen. I’m not a bank; I’m not an ATM machine; I do not run cash advances. You need money, you work for it. That’s how the world goes round.”

“Please,” she started in a rush. “I’m taking care of my dad. He’s sick, and if I lose the house, I’ll have nowhere to make sure he’s okay.”

“Not my problem.” This was one of the reasons I closed myself off from the people around me, only letting a small few into my tight-knit circle. I had heard so many sob stories over the past five years running Sirens that not much penetrated the thick wall around me.

“Trix, I’ll pay you back every penny with interest. Please. You’re my last hope. My dad has lung cancer, and it’s progressing quickly. All my money goes to his treatments, and because of that, I got behind on the mortgage. I just need an advance on my checks. I’ll work extra shifts, and come in whenever you want.” Her words strung together like a melody, and fuck me, I felt her panic.

She continued, “He has no insurance, so I’m paying for everything out-of-pocket. It’s bleeding me dry. I don’t know what else to do.” Tears rolled down her face. Judging from her body language, which I had learned from the best how to hone in on, the bitch was telling the truth.

Fucking hell. I didn’t want to feel it. I tried to push it back. The businesswoman inside of me screamed, ‘No fucking way!’ while the woman inside of me was proud of how Nanette took care of her father. Was I really going to do this? Shit.

“Twenty-five percent interest to be paid in full six months from now.”

Nanette’s eyes lit up in shock. “Really?”

“That’s six thousand two hundred fifty dollars in my hand six months from this date. A fucking day late, I’ll make your life a living hell.” I would, too, finding every way possible.

“Okay,” she said, swiping away the remnants of her tears, a flash of relief snaking into her eyes.

I folded my hands, placing them in front of me. “I’m not fucking around, Nanette. These are the terms.” I pulled out the gun from the holster attached under my desk, setting it on the hard wood. Her eyes widened. “Every last penny in six months,” I reminded her. “You sure you wanna do that?” It was the only out she would get if she agreed.

She nodded her head then spoke, “I understand. Six months, sixty-two fifty in your hand.”

I put the gun back in its holster, my warning as clear as I could make it.

“Out. I’ll have the money for you by the end of your shift.”

My damn pride would not let this go. The bitch owed me a lot of money. I wanted it back. I wanted her. If that meant I had to go into unfamiliar territory with a guy I did not like, so be it.

***

“Oh, my God, he’s coming this way,” my friend Beth practically screeched.

I hit her arm, trying to get her to stop embarrassing the hell out of me, as the hottest guy in school walked our way. Most considered him on the bad boy list, and damn if that didn’t send my heart a flutter.

His eyes locked on mine. I couldn’t stop staring; he had some sort of trance over me. Those blue eyes held mischief and intrigue.

“Hey. How you doin’?” His voice was deeper than most of the other boys in school, making him seem older and more mature.

“Fine,” I responded, my nervousness coming through on that one word.

“Wanna go out?” he asked as my heart squeezed. The hottest guy in school had just asked me to go out with him. Holy fucking shit.

“Sure,” I replied as calmly as I could.

“Cool. Meet me at six at Regan’s.”

Regan’s was a local diner hangout that we all went to regularly.

“Okay.”

He winked then turned, striding off.

Beth’s wide smile mimicked mine as we closed our eyes and did a silent, little, open-mouth scream. I had a date with the Cade Baker.

As I pulled myself out of my thoughts, my breath hitched at the monstrosity in front of me: huge cinderblocks stacked one on top of the other, higher than my two-story house. The ends looked like princess parapets with sharp points in the roof. Windows all around them provided a view of every direction. At closer look, I noticed men standing inside them, their eyes trained on me. I felt like I was going into a war zone instead of a motorcycle club.

I rolled up, stopping the SUV at the closed gate to the entrance.

Unease whispered around me due to the heavy security. Who in the hell were they protecting in there, the fucking president?

A large man built like a stubby Mac truck with a goatee and light brown hair came up to my window, his eyes covered by black glasses. I hit the automatic button to lower my window, waiting for it to clear all the way down.

“What can I do for ya?” he asked, bending into the window with a smirk on his face. He made no qualms about looking down the front of my shirt at my ample cleavage. I hadn’t worn the shirt for that purpose, but I had very few shirts that didn’t show off the girls.

I snapped my fingers three times in quick succession, and his eyes met mine. “My eyes are up here.”

“But down there is just as fucking good.” He licked his lips as lust blazed off him.

Men, they were all the same Booze, bitches, and boobs.

“I’m here to see Cade.” Dammit, I needed to stop that. Cade wasn’t his damn name any more, but separating the two came as a challenge. “I mean Spook. He’s expecting me.”

“Fuck, boss man always gets the prime pussy.” He groaned in a way that suggested this type of occurrence was routine, an idea which I pushed out of my head as soon as it entered.

I arched my brow. “No one gets my pussy but me,” I combated, tilting my head just a touch.

I told things like they were and didn’t back down from a fight or a challenge. That being said, I had also learned how to cut my losses and get the hell out of a bad situation. Burly man here would not intimidate me.

“Doubt that one.” He nodded to one of the guys in the tall tower, and the steel gate slowly started to open with a loud creak in front of me. “Have a good time, and when you’re done, come find me.”

“No, thanks,” I murmured, driving away from him with no intention of searching him out ever.

The wide area felt vast, almost like a whole city block. I had lived in Tennessee all my life, so of course, I’d known of the Vipers Creed. Everyone did. However, to actually see their compound, to be in their space, unnerved me. There was an aura of power that I felt down to my bones, causing me to fight back a shiver.

Vipers Creed MC had bought an old army compound many years ago. The structure on the outside reminded me of the classic war movies I passed by on television. Inside the gates, though, looked nothing like the starkness of the outside.

Several buildings outlined the space. An enormous structure looked like it had two, maybe three, levels to it. I assumed that was the main building, because several smaller concrete structures surrounded a large courtyard with bright green grass and a fire pit off to the side. Some actually looked as if they were homes with plants and flowers around them. It seemed homey, comfortable in a way, like a family lived here and took care of it.

Off to the far left sat Creed’s Automotive, with several hot rods and a few bikes lining its parking lot.

A spot near the larger building came into view. I parked my car, turned off the ignition, and then sat back in my seat, giving myself a moment. I did this before every business meeting just to make sure I got my head on straight. Too bad this meeting had to be with Cade. If rumors over the years served me right, he was the president of Vipers Creed. The two guys I had talked to confirmed it with the boss man bullshit.

People changed a lot over time, going different paths, some good and some not so good. I wasn’t a judge, jury, or executioner in this scenario, but I had to wonder, with all the security, exactly how much Cade changed from the boy I’d known all those years ago. Did his life happen to be so dangerous that he had to be behind cement walls with guys guarding them? And if it were that dangerous, why would he choose this life?

I wanted to bang my head on the steering wheel. It didn’t matter. I was here for one reason and one reason only. I should have found comfort in the knowledge that the meet was business, but it didn’t come.

With a heavy sigh, I opened the SUV door then hopped down to the blacktop. I pulled my shirt down, readjusting myself and making sure the girls were covered. I’d gone simple, wearing a pair of ripped jeans, a blue V-neck top, and flats. I loaded myself up with silver on my wrists and a couple of chains around my neck. I didn’t do much with my hair besides run the brush through it. I liked having my chestnut tresses fall in thick waves down my back.

“Hey, mouse,” a man with a bald head and a tailored beard said from my left. Black sunglasses covered his eyes, and his lips were lifted into a sexy smirk. He wore a leather vest, which had a Secretary patch on it, over a dark blue T-shirt. He was attractive in his own unique way.

Mouse was a strange greeting, but I went with it.

“Hi, I’m here to see Ca—Spook,” I told him, lifting my hand to block the penetrating sun that my sunglasses had no chance of hindering.

“I bet you are.” He chuckled, running his hand over his beard as he appraised me.

I should have felt heat from his intense stare, but I didn’t. Okay, maybe a flicker if I was being honest with myself. I knew how I looked, considering I saw myself in the mirror every morning.

My body drove some guys crazy because I had an abundance of tits and ass. I understood that. It was even flattering that men found me attractive. At the moment, though, I didn’t his need his appraisal or anyone else’s. I just wanted to get this shit over with. In and out. Wipe my hands clean of Cade again.

“Can you tell me where he is?”

The bald man walked closer, holding out his arm with a crooked elbow like an usher would do at a wedding. I smiled. It was cute, especially from a burly man like him. I placed my hand in the bend of his firm arm.

“Let me show you to him,” he said.

We began to walk, and all the while, the heads of the guys sitting in the courtyard area turned and whistles erupted. I ignored the noise, falling into step with the man.

“Thanks,” I told him with a pat on the arm.

“Anything for the boss man.”

While I didn’t know Cade’s life, I had some assumptions. I watched the television shows about men in motorcycle clubs and all the havoc they raised. I didn’t know if they were actually true, but at least I wasn’t going in completely blind. I did know they had a hierarchy of power, and the men had to ride Harley’s. Other than that, I only knew what the TV shows told me.

Who am I kidding? I was pretty much clueless.

The man chuckled deeply. “So, what’s a hot piece like you coming here for?”

When he asked the question, I looked up at him. Lines sprinkled around his eyes and lips like he’d ridden his bike in the sun for hours. His face matched the tanned color of his head. It wasn’t a look, though; it was him.

A small grin played on his lips, catching my attention. I didn’t know if he already knew the answer to his question and was playing me or if he actually was being inquisitive. Once again, I rolled with it.

“I have word one of my girls is here with you. She owes me money, and I want it.”

He opened a solid, steel door, and we walked into darkness. I ripped my sunglasses from my face as the low hum of the newly turned on lights illuminated the room. The scents of stale booze, cigarettes, and sex permeated the air like a thick haze. I knew those three smells by heart because I smelled them every day. They were my livelihood, the reason I had stepped foot in Cade’s world.

“This way,” he said, pulling my arm.

I followed him into a wide open space. Tables were scattered throughout with chairs at each of them. A long bar sat on the other side of the room with loads of liquor, looking like it could give me a run for my money in comparison to the one I had at Sirens.

I felt kind of strange holding this guy’s arm without knowing his name, so I asked.

He lifted his shades to the top of his head and stared down at me with eyes the color of the ocean. They weren’t blue, and they weren’t green. They were both, and they were breathtaking. I got sucked into them momentarily.

“Stiff.”

“Stiff?” I questioned as he walked me through the space and down a long hallway. What in the hell kind of name was Stiff?

Pictures hung on the wooden planked walls, but at the pace we were going, I had no time to look at them without stumbling over my own feet.

He chuckled. “Yeah, mouse. You stick around, and I’m sure you’ll find out why.” He winked then stopped us in front of a wooden door. With his fist, he banged loudly three times, shaking the pictures on the wall next to the door.

“What?” barked a voice from the opposite side. Even with the wood between us, with that one word, I felt my body instantly awaken, wanting to pull toward the sound.

“Someone here to see ya,” Stiff yelled back.

“Nice intercom you have here,” I murmured.

Stiff chuckled.

Little did I know that opening that door would change my life forever.

 

Ardent Prose About The Author

 

Ryan Michele has a huge obsession with reading, which only came to life after her best friend said she had to read Twilight. After reading that series, her entire world changed in the blink of an eye. Not only was she sucked into new worlds and all of the wonderful words authors put down on paper, she felt the urge to begin to write down the characters that played inside of her head. In doing so, Safe was born. Then Wanting You and the Ravage MC series.

 

When she’s not reading or writing, she spends time taking care of her two children and her husband, enjoying the outdoors and laying in the sun.

 

Author Links

 

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Shift by Drew Elyse ♥ Cover Reveal

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Title: Shift (Disciples’ Daughters #2)

Author: Drew Elyse

Genre: Contemporary/MC Romance

Release Date: April 19, 2016

Cover Design: By Hang Le

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Synopsis

Once a Disciple, forever a Disciple.

After the death of her father, Ash learned an important lesson: being a Disciple is dangerous. The club her father had loved, the club that had been their family, took him from her. She couldn’t stay and wait for the day it would take the man she loved from her, too. So, she left.
Now, she’s the one in danger, and the Disciples are the only ones that can keep her safe. She has no choice but to return to the club and the man she left behind.

A Disciple will fight like a savage for what is his.

Sketch has what he needs: his tattooing, the club, and his bike. Anything else would require a heart, and his was ripped out of his chest a long time ago. It wasn’t coming back.
At least, not until she did.
His heart isn’t the only thing Ash brings with her, though. She has a daughter. A daughter old enough to be his. A daughter Ash claims might not be. But in his heart, Sketch knows the truth. That little girl is his… just like her mom.

This biker knows one thing: a Disciple’s daughter’s return is about to make his whole world shift.

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Excerpt

My feet carried me right to her door. I had the clarity of mind to knock instead of barging in, but I was about to lose patience when the door opened. There, in an oversized Disciple’s supporter tee she’d worn to bed for years, her eyes slightly reddened from tears, was my Ash.

Mine.

“Go away, Sketch.”

Not a fucking chance.

I backed her into the room. She fought it until I muscled my way passed the door frame. Then, she threw up an arm and turned her back to me, walking away to put space between us. I shut the door and silently flipped the flimsy lock on the knob for good measure.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“I didn’t fuck her.”

That affected her. I saw the way her body locked up for a moment before she could hide it.

“Good for you.”

“Ash,” I called.

“I don’t care if you fucked some slut.”

“I didn’t recognize her, not ’til Cami said something. But I didn’t fuck her anyway.”

“Sketch, just get out. I don’t care.”

She could throw attitude all she wanted. I wasn’t going anywhere.

“If I’d realized who she was, I wouldn’t have fucking touched her at all. I would have thrown her ass out.”

Ash didn’t even respond that time. She just turned to glare at me, her arms crossed and her hip popped out just slightly. She was a work of fucking art.

“Doesn’t matter, though. I threw her ass out once I realized I couldn’t fuck her. Didn’t matter that I had no idea who she was.” Still nothing from Ash, so I went on. “I couldn’t fuck her, firefly. I couldn’t have her when she wasn’t you.”

That got through. I watched the nickname her dad had given her as a little girl cause the crack, and my confession impart the shattering blow.

Her first retaliation was anger.

“You expect me to believe you haven’t fucked any club sluts since I’ve been gone? Are you kidding me?”

Call me a pervert, but her anger always did something to me. Ash didn’t get angry easily. She wasn’t one to show that kind of emotion often. When I got it, it always got to me. Probably because I knew I was the only person she would blow up at like that.

“No. I didn’t say that. I’ve fucked other women. You were gone, and eventually I had to accept that. Now, you’re not gone. You’re right fucking here, and I won’t settle for anything else anymore.”

“I—” she stuttered. “What are you saying?”

I moved across the room, not containing my grin when she backed into the wall, trapping herself. I got right up against her, feeling her tits press against me, loving the slight tremble that I knew wasn’t fear moving through her, glorying in the way she jerked from my hard on only to subtly press back against it.

“I’m saying,” I answered, leaning down so my mouth was right at her ear, running my tongue along the shell, “that you’re mine.”

About The Author

Drew Elyse

Drew Elyse spends her days trying to convince the world that she is, in fact, a Disney Princess, and her nights writing tear-jerking and smutty romance novels.
When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found over-analyzing every line of a book, binge watching a series on Netflix, doing strange vocal warm ups before singing a variety of music styles, or screaming at the TV during a Chicago Blackhawks game.
A graduate of Loyola University Chicago with a BA in English, she still lives in Chicago, IL where she was born and raised with her boyfriend and her fur babies Lola and Duncan.
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Mercy By M.N. Forgy ♥ Cover Reveal

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One bad biker. One gorgeous sheriff.

One intense biker romance.

The conclusion of Zeek and Jillian’s romance releases April 4th!

Now Available for Pre-order Mercy here:

Amazon USAmazon UK ~ iBooksKobo

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Blurb

I’m an outlaw. I don’t fall in love and I sure as fuck don’t run… Until Jillian McAdams.

I fell for a law abiding Sheriff, breaking my vows to my own club, and turning her against her family of blue.An outlaw and a sheriff, it can only end in one way… Mayhem.

Now we both have to pay the ultimate price for betraying our families.

I swore to kill my brother, his allegiance sworn to another club, if I ever saw him again.

Yet here I am running to him in hopes to save Jillian’s life…

We both will have to rewrite the rules we know to stay alive.

Even if it means we lose everything we had in doing so…

About the Author

m.n. forgy bio

M.N. Forgy was raised in Missouri where she still lives with her family. She’s a soccer mom by day and a saucy writer by night. M.N. Forgy started writing at a young age but never took it seriously until years later, as a stay-at-home mom, she opened her laptop and started writing again. As a role model for her children, she felt she couldn’t live with the “what if” anymore and finally took a chance on her character’s story. So, with her glass of wine in hand and a stray Barbie sharing her seat, she continues to create and please her fans.

Stalk Her:  Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

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Kaleidoscope Hearts By Claire Contreras ♥ Sale Blitz

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KALEIDOSCOPE SALES BLITZ

Kaleidoscope Hearts by Claire Contreras is NOW FREE!

Grab your FREE copy of this AMAZING

second chance romance at the following retailers:

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1TIhbEl

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Blurb

He was my older brother’s best friend.

He was never supposed to be mine.

I thought we would get it out of our system and move on.

One of us did.

One of us left.

Now he’s back, looking at me like he wants to devour me. And all those feelings I’d turned into anger are brewing into something else, something that terrifies me.

He broke my heart last time.

This time he’ll obliterate it.

This is a standalone.

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EXCERPT

“Look at me, Elle,” he says, using the deliciously low demanding voice that once made my toes curl and my eyes roll back, and I have no choice but to tilt my head to give him my attention. “Forget those lame guys you’re dating.

Let me take you out.”

           My heart, if possible, spikes further in my chest, overriding all warning of the impending chaos that’s sure to come. I try turning my attention to the poster hanging beside me, but the kissing couple makes me look back at him and the deep green eyes that are burning into mine. My stomach does a flip-flop, the way it always does when he looks at me that way and I try to take my hands back because these feelings are too scary for me to deal with right now, but he holds them tighter, bringing them up to his mouth and kissing the tip of my ring finger. Why did he pick that finger to kiss? I pull harder and he finally lets my hand drop.

           “I can’t,” I say, my voice coming out hoarse.

           A myriad of emotions flash in his eyes before they settle on determination and I’m forced to take a step back, away from his scent, away from his warmth, and into the cold closet behind me.

           “Why not?”

           I sigh, finally looking away, back down to his naked feet. “I just can’t.” He knows why not. He shouldn’t ask me that question. “What’s Vic doing, anyway?”

           His body moves into mine so quickly that I don’t have time to react to his large hands clutching my arms or his face dropping until we’re nose to nose. I just stare, wide eyed, waiting for his lips to fall over mine, but they don’t. He just looks at me, breathes on me, lets me breathe on him, and he groans. And that fucking groan travels from his body into mine and crawls into the core of me, draping over every fiber inside of me.

           “What do you want, Oliver?” I whisper against his lips. “What do you want from me? You want to kiss me? You want to fuck me? You want to come into my life like the hurricane that you are and tear down everything I’ve rebuilt and disappear just as quickly?”

           His lips brush slightly against mine, just a breath of a touch as he stands there, crowding me like he’s about to devour me. But he won’t. He never goes in for the kill. He just lures me, casts me, reels me in and pulls away. His hands drop and his face leaves mine with the same quickness and I feel a pang deep inside me that I wish wasn’t there.

           “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, shaking his head in a movement that makes his hair sway back and forth. His eyes are soft on mine now and I can almost hear his thoughts: I should have never kissed her. I should have never—

           My brows rise in surprise at the apology, though. There are so many things I can say to him, but the sudden defeated look in his eyes keeps my mouth shut. Finally, I exhale and push off the wall, standing in front of him, with enough distance between us that we can’t reach out and touch each other.

           “It’s okay just… don’t do it again. The kiss the other day was a mistake…” I stop talking and walk past him, putting my bra away and sorting through my underwear drawer like it has some sort of hidden treasure or something. This time when I feel him come up behind me, I drop my head and exhale. He really needs to stop sneaking up behind me.

           “Oli—“ I start and gasp when I feel his lips on the back of my neck, soft and warm. My heart thunders and my hands begin to shake inside the drawer so I close my eyes and focus on breathing. He drops another kiss right beside that spot. I never knew the back of my neck was so sensitive. The feeling sends a ripple of sensation down my arms and through my body.

           “It wasn’t a mistake,” he says in a husky whisper that makes my flesh break out in goose bumps. “You’ve never been a mistake. You want me to tell your brother that I want to take you out? Is that what it would take?”

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About the Author:

claire bio

Claire Contreras graduated with her BA in Psychology from Florida International University. She lives in Miami, Florida with her husband, two little boys, and three dogs.

Her favorite past times are: daydreaming, writing, and reading.

She has been described as a random, sarcastic, crazy girl with no filter.

Life is short, and it’s more bitter than sweet, so she tries to smile as often as her face allows. She enjoys stories with happy endings, because life is full of way too many unhappy ones.

Website: http://clairecontreras.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CContrerasBooks

Twitter: https://twitter.com/ClariCon

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Heartless by Kelly Martin ♥ Blog Tour

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HeartlessHeartless by Kelly Martin

Series: Book 1 of 3
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publication Date: January 17, 2016

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Some things can’t be saved.
What would you do if your guardian angel wasn’t sent to protect you from the world but to protect the world from you?
For thirteen years, Gracen Sullivan dreamed about a red-eyed demon named Hart Blackwell who tortured her every night. Her mother freaked when she found out about her daughter’s “hallucinations” and forced Gracen to go to the doctor, who prescribed some very powerful medication which kept Hart out of her head for five years.
A week ago, Hart came back and brought a friend.
But something has changed, and Gracen is seeing Hart when she’s awake too. And the other “friends” in her dreams? They have been found dead.
The police want to talk to her.
Her boyfriend has become distant.
Her dreams are becoming more and more intense.
Hell wants her.
Heaven has to stop her.
When push comes shoving, can Gracen fight the evil eating away inside her or will she be forced to embrace it and destroy the world?
Book 2: Soulless (2/14/2016)
Book 3: Breathless (9/4/2016)

EXCERPT
@sullyGray: What ya up to today?

I sip my decaf coffee—which totally defeats the purpose of coffee, I understand that, but regular coffee gives me worse migraines than I already get—and stare a hole into my monitor. Yeah, I’m still one of those people who have a monitor. I have a desktop, a keyboard, a computer chair, and the whole mid-2000s thing going on in my bedroom/office. It’s the one room in the apartment where I can get away from everything. My place to shut the door, turn up the music, and dance if I want to dance. And I do want to dance. Nineties’ music is my specialty, and I use that word very loosely.

My room is my place to shut out the world. To stay awake and not sleep. To hide from my nightmares. To hide from Hart.

Every morning for the past week, it’s the same routine. I get up and rub my throat, because it hurts like a mother from all the screaming I apparently do in my sleep. As a side note, this is why I try not to sleep now when Sam’s here. Which means I don’t get a whole lot of sleep, but what’s sleep when you are eighteen? Eighteen year olds don’t need sleep. We need parties and friends and boyfriends to not think we are crazy.

Oh, I’m sure Sam does, though, because he’s caught me on a few occasions. Screaming. Yelling. Trying to fight Hart. Especially that first night. I had the honor of falling asleep in Sam’s lap while we watched a movie downstairs. Then, BAM, Hart was there. I was on the table. The same table I hadn’t seen in five years. Hart smiled. Hart cut.

Apparently, I screamed.

Sam woke me up, all big eyed and scared. He poured me some red wine, covered my shoulders with a blanket, and waited for me to talk about it. I drank every bit in about three swigs—incidentally, the best wine ever—and told him it had just been a nightmare.

He knows about the five pills I take every night before bed and four I take in the mornings. He doesn’t know what they are for. We’ve been dating for two years, and I haven’t felt the need to tell him about it—okay, I’m scared the heck out. I’m afraid he’ll leave me if he finds out. Sam is, well, he’s Sam. Samson David Asher. He’s perfect and good and all that other stuff I’m not. And up until a week ago, he’s been wonderful. Bless him…. He tries. He’s at Crimson Ridge on a football scholarship, so you know he’s athletic. It’s just that I don’t want to ruin this. He’ll think I’m crazy. His father, the therapist, will know I’m crazy. I’ve met him one time. That was the one and only time Sam took me over to his house. Plenty for me. He spent all of supper not necessarily breaking his Hippocratic Oath, but damn well coming close. He never used names, but I could tell ole Jane Doe was as batty as a belfry.

And Doctor Asher would laugh.

And Mrs. Asher would laugh.

Sam wouldn’t laugh.

I’m so glad Sam didn’t laugh.

Didn’t mean I wanted him to know about me.

At the time, there wasn’t much to tell. It wasn’t that I was lying. I took medicine to keep the scary dude from eating me in my dreams every night. That’s all. And it worked. It all worked. So I didn’t have to tell Sam.

That’s why I didn’t.

Then we moved in together, which my mother hated even though I told her we weren’t sleeping together or even in the same room. Even then in the back of my mind, I was scared that maybe the dreams and Hart would come back.

Looks like I was right.

Yay me.

When I finally roll out of bed, Sam’s already gone for the morning. He gets up before God and goes running. Then he goes to the gym. Then class. I don’t see how he can keep that up for the rest of the semester, but if that’s what he wants to do, who am I to complain? Makes it easier to fake being normal when I’m alone.

I sit and fidget with my coffee in my hands, staring at the screen, waiting for a reply. I need someone to talk to. Someone human. I’ve talked to Hart all night. He cut me open and the girl… well, she watched.

You try living with the same nightmare. You try being ripped apart every night in your dreams. For the past week, I’ve had to do it all over again. I thought it was over. I still take my damn medicine and nothing—he’s still there. He’s still torturing me, and I have no idea why. It’s getting to me, though. Seeing those red eyes in the middle of that boyish face. In fact, it’s those red eyes that stand out with Hart. Not sure why I named him that either. He’s just always been Hart. Like I’ve always been Gracen, and Sam’s always been Sam.

He’s always been my tormentor.

If it weren’t for the eyes, Hart wouldn’t be very bad looking. Tall, tan, toned, big muscles, which he uses to pull my skin off. By the way he tugs and rips, it seems like difficult work. I have the easy job. All I do is lay there naked and scream.

Hart has longish brown hair, which gets coated in blood sometimes. Lovely. I totally blame him for it. It’s longer now that he’s been gone for a few years. Funny how the mind thinks of weird things like that.

He isn’t real, of course. It’s just my brain doing what my crazy brain does. Some people dream of rainbows and kittens. Occasionally, they will have a clown or a possessed doll thrown in for flavor. To remind them that their mind is a pretty screwed up place. Sometimes a person will see themselves hanging down from the ceiling and scream while they sleep. Me? I’d give anything to see a freakin’ clown in my dreams. All I have, all I’ve ever had, is Hart.

I’m a lucky duck.

But, despite all that, I try very hard to be normal. Whatever that means. I smile when I figure I should smile and laugh when it seems appropriate to laugh. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty socially messed up. I hate crowds, and if I don’t have a backspace, well, I’m screwed. Royally. I like backspaces. The world needs a backspace. Imagine how awesome everything would be with backspaces.

For the most part, except for a few glitches—like the one time I dated Earl Flynn… and my entire sophomore year—I think I’ve done rather well for myself in the I’m-just-like-you department. It’s been exhausting, worrisome, and entirely too stressful, but I did it. And I’d been fairly good at it until this week. Until I’d moved away from home. Moved in with Sam. Drank a little extra wine every night. Sam offered, and who am I to turn it down even if I’m underage. The one bad thing I do in my life. And then I started dreaming of Hart again. My inner demons came out in my dreams. Very deep.

I thought I’d gotten out of the woods. I thought Hart was gone, and everything until the end of time would be hunky dory, all sunshine and roses.

I never should have thought that.

Idiot.

Is Tina ever going to message me back?

Seriously, I have class in like thirty minutes, and I need to finish getting ready. I know she’s online. The little green dot tells me that. And yeah, I guess I could wait for her on my phone, but keyboards are so much more convenient. To me anyway.

Tina is from California. I’d think she wouldn’t be up at the central time crack of dawn—or seven a.m.—but she is. She’s usually up before me. Messaging me. Asking me if I’m okay. If I slept well. Typical friendly Internet banter. A side note: I enjoy typical friendly Internet banter. It’s relaxing. There are no expectations. There is no judging. And yeah… backspace city up in here.

Tina, apparently, is one of those up and at ’em folks. I want to be like her someday. She’s my happy buddy, which isn’t as weird or creepy as it sounds. My therapist actually suggested it once. To keep away the demons, he’d said.

Dr. Sheldon took Hart very figuratively. I don’t think he ever thought of him as a person or a thing. Just a crazy hallucination in a crazy girl’s mind.

Maybe Dr. Sheldon is right?

My foot will not stop shaking as I scroll down my page, waiting for Tina to pop up. I know she has a life and kids and a family and she’s never seen me, but still, I need to talk to her. Talking to her makes me feel less insane.

Talking to a person I’ve never met in a room, by myself, makes me feel less insane. Yep, I’m totally normal…

The world is weird.

The shaking of my foot causes the blanket, the one I always have draped over my legs when I’m sitting at my desk, to fall toward the floor. Thanks to my lightning quick reflexes, I grab it before it crashes to the floor and pull it back to its upright position.

I’m freezing.

Then again, I’m always freezing. Always. I can’t ever remember a time when I felt warm. I totally blame Hart—even if he has nothing to do with it. The doctor, an actual medical doctor, said she thinks it’s some kind of hormone imbalance. At eighteen?

I’m falling apart.

Because I needed something else to break me.

I don’t care though. Not really. I can just keep a blanket on me and live in a world of denial where everybody is cold, and the hot or warm ones are mutants. It would be totally awesome if I were the normal person in the world and everybody else were the freaks. It would make my life.

Anyway…

@tinaM Mornin’ Nothing much. Getting ready to head out. You? Everything okay? Did you sleep well last night?

Loaded question. I place my fingers on the keyboard to type out my usual: “I slept fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Peachy. Awesome. Couldn’t be better.” But I freeze. Those words mean nothing to me. They sound like someone who is moving through the motions but her heart isn’t in it. And it’s not. Not really. I feel deflated. I thought Hart was gone, but he’s back. I thought I’d be able to have an awesome life in Crimson Ridge living on my own with Sam. I thought a lot of things. I thought wrong.

“I’m fine” is what humans say to each other if they are dying. Because we are polite and think our problems are nobody else’s problems. They are hurting worse than us—or someone in the world always is—so we shouldn’t complain. We shouldn’t tell anybody what’s bothering us. Not at all. Never. In the scheme of things, it isn’t important. We aren’t important.

I’m not important.

I should tell Tina I’m fine. This morning, though, for some reason, I don’t. My fingers seem to have a mind of their own as they type. Not really. Rough night…

My fingers itch to keep going. To share anything about Hart, the dreams, and the dark-haired girl who joined him last night. It has to mean something, right? It has to be a clue or an omen. I have to be dreaming about these things for a reason. Maybe if I talk about it, tell someone else about it, then I’ll be able to figure it out. A new, fresh brain on the matter, because, frankly, I’ve been thinking about it as long as I can remember. All I can come up with is “Why me?”

And lately, “What the hell are these new visions for?”

The old familiar beating pounds in my temples, and I know it’s coming. A migraine. I have them a lot unfortunately. And mainly when I’m trying to think about Hart. Trying to figure him out. I guess I’m trying to figure myself out, which is a whole new level of crazy. I’d make an excellent research project for someone if I told them the truth.

I can’t even tell Tina.

Even through my uncooperative fingers, my aching head, my anxious innards, I want to tell Tina some form of the truth, but I can’t. I just can’t.

But I’m sure it’ll be okay. I type back to cover myself. I’m a moron for even saying as much as I did. She’ll worry. I’ll have to explain. Lots of steps I don’t want to do.

I’m a thousand times sure it won’t be all right. Might never be all right again. But I say it because I’m supposed to. I’m human after all.

While I wait, the hardship of Internet chatting, my mind wanders. I really do like my apartment. It is nice and cozy. Two stories. The bottom has a ’90s-style kitchen with an eat-in area. A sliding door leads to the backyard. When I say backyard, I mean a little spot of land probably no bigger than a postage stamp. But it’s fenced in, and as a long as we pay the rent, it’s ours.

Ours… my mom doesn’t like me living with Sam. She likes Sam. Likes him as much as any guy I’ve gotten serious with; of course, Sam is the only guy I’ve ever gotten serious with. More for his determination than mine. That boy seemed to really like me when we first started dating, but now…

Anyway, my mom has enough to deal with, and I sure don’t help. Her sister, my Aunt Willow has been, well, she’s in a mental hospital. We aren’t sure exactly what made her snap, but snap she did. One morning she was fine and then… she wasn’t. Mom got a call that her sister was in the emergency room. She’d walked right in front of a car. Suicide they figured, which threw us both for a loop because Aunt Willow had always been full of life. I mean, yeah, she was a little weird at times, but aren’t all aunts? Actually, this all happened about a week before I met Sam. Aunt Willow used to live with us. Took care of me when I was little. She helped out because I didn’t have a dad. I mean, I’m sure I do somewhere, but I just don’t know him. Don’t know if I ever want to know him. That’s a lie. I would like to meet the man someday. Curiosity and all that.

So, Aunt Willow went insane, I met Sam, and two years later, we moved into our apartment at Crimson Ridge for school. Mama worries about the premarital sex since, apparently, that’s how I came into the world and she doesn’t want me to make the same mistake, which is an awesome thing to say to your daughter. Basically calling me a mistake. I know she didn’t mean it like that, but after all the grief I’ve put her through in the last eighteen years, I feel like maybe she meant it. She was young. Didn’t ask to have a kid. And BAM, there I was. It’s not like I was the easiest when I got to be a preteen either with the nightmares and the therapists.

But my mom, if she really knew Sam and me, she’d know that she has nothing to worry about. We’ve been good. No sex—not that I haven’t wanted to. Believe me, I have. But Sam hasn’t. He’s shot me down every time. It’s enough to make a person start to feel bad about themselves. Sometimes, I think that’s part of the problem with us. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate that he’s a gentleman. Still, it’s not easy when it feels like even your boyfriend doesn’t like you.

Overdramatic? Yeah, probably. Can’t help my feelings, though. I can help them as long as I don’t talk about them. Talking is bad. Talking gets you new medicine, and if that doesn’t work, I don’t even want to think about it.

I wonder how many people in the world pretend to be normal. I wonder what normal would be if everyone stopped trying to be it and actually acted like themselves. I bet the geeks would inherit the world because everyone is at least a closet geek. Who doesn’t freak out over TV shows and Internet memes of their one true paring? Or fangirl? I do in the comfort of my own bedroom, staring at my own little computer, in my own little slice of Heaven. I love it here. Sam’s room is down the hall. The bathroom separates us. Like I said, he doesn’t venture to my end of the world very often.

I love my room. It’s white, clean, and cozy. I have dark purple curtains on the windows, shutter style doors on the closet, a starry fairytale lamp next to my bed, a quilt that looks homemade that I bought from the store, and my desk. All the comforts of home without having to hear my mom crying every night.

I should probably call her.

In here, in my little room, I’m safe. Or at least I used to be. I’d shut the door and everything would just go away. Now? Now I have Hart back, invading my dreams, killing me, bringing people to watch (which is extremely creepy, believe it or not). He invades my happy place and makes me feel uneasy in my own room.

I hate it.

I hate him.

I hate myself for not being strong enough to push through the nightmares.

I hate myself for having that little sliver of doubt—that little nagging feeling in the back of my mind—that maybe Hart Blackwell isn’t imaginary. That maybe he’s real. Or maybe I’m getting as crazy as Aunt Willow.

@tinaM: GRACEN! What’s up with you? Did you fall off your chair again or something? Helllllooooo…

So I sort of forgot to answer her. I suppose that happens. Happens to me when I start thinking and my mind wanders. #dangerous

@sullyGray Yeah, sorry. I’m here. Just thinking.

Like I said, thinking is a dangerous thing. And admitting to thinking when trying to act all fine is a dangerous road. I don’t like dangerous roads. I’d rather just stay on the straight and narrow. That sounds pretty good to me. Straight. Narrow.

Wait? Which road leads to Hell? Because I’d like to take the other, thanks.

@tinaM Panic attacks again?

Sometimes, I wish I’d never told her about the panic attacks. I’ve never mentioned Hart, obviously, but on the day the nightmares started coming back—has it really just been a week?—I messaged her. I guess I didn’t have my wall up completely yet, and I let it slip that I might possibly be having some anxiety issues. Now, my anxiety issues are all about the crazy dude in my head and not actually me… is it weird that I think of us as two different people? Yes? No? Maybe?

I so don’t want to think about that.

The thing is, I did tell Tina about the panic attacks and I regretted it exactly a millisecond after hitting the send button. I’d been careful to put the wall back up ever since.

I should tell Tina the truth, or some sane variation of it. I should give her some reason to stick around, because I do need to talk. Not to a therapist or a shrink, though I’m sure my mother wishes I would visit Dr. Sheldon more regularly. But a friend. An actual friend. Someone I can just talk to. Someone who understands…

Then again, who can understand this?

Part of me is afraid I’m going crazy.

Part of me is scared I’m not, because if I’m not, if what is going on in my nightmares is real, then I’ve got 99 more problems to deal with.

That’s why I can’t tell Tina. It’s why I can’t tell anybody. There is something inside me that will not allow me to have a meaningful conversation with people. It’s like part of me is missing. Not just the scary part either. It’s like I’m missing some important part of myself that everybody else has and God forgot to put inside me. Like everyone else has a nice awesome soul and I have… Hart.

So not a fair trade.

I sit up straighter and place my hands on the keyboard, ready to tell Tina something without telling her anything at all. It’s how humans communicate, right? I’ll tell her that, yeah, I’m having some anxiety issues. It’s the second full week of college, of living with Sam, of being away from home. College assignments are different from high school, and I’m a little stressed about doing well on them. I won’t tell her about Sam or the weird fight we had last night. Almost like he wanted to pick it so I’d go upstairs and leave him alone. I’ll tell her it’s anxiety and not that I haven’t slept more than two hours a night in a week. I’ll tell her a lot of things because she is my friend and that’s what friends do.

They lie to each other so they can make each other feel good.

@sullyGray I’m fine. Really. Just Monday morning, kwim? I’m ready for it to be Friday again. Whoot!

@tinaM Tell me about it! Mondays are so hard! Gotta go. Talk to you later. Have a great day!

@sullyGray You too!!!!!!

And then I add some smiley emoticons, because that’s just what a person does. I hit send and lean back in my computer chair. Monday morning. Time for Professor Mitchell’s class. Time to see Marcy, AKA the best Teacher’s Assistant in the world, and listen to the professor talk about some random event that happened in the Civil War. Because that’s what he does. He talks about random events that didn’t matter to anybody but does it in such a way that you care. Professor Mitchell is one of those teachers who just makes you want to learn, makes you want to listen. He has something special about him. Something no other teacher has had, and I’ve only had him three times. I have his class Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday. A great way to start the week, and a great way to end it.

Can’t exactly say enough about Professor Mitchell. I mean, he’s him.

Sweet, intelligent, awesome, and at least twenty years older than me. Handsome in that old guy way. Not that I’d want anything to do with him—not in that way. Not feelin’ that, but I know some other people in the class wouldn’t mind.

The professor loves talking about the Civil War. More than just the war, the families involved, the real people behind the “Hollywood machine,” as he calls it.

I shut down my computer and stretch in my chair. Yeah, it’s Monday, but it’ll be a good Monday. It will. I’ll go to class with a positive attitude. I’ll listen. I’ll take notes. I’ll text Sam—funny how he’s not sent me one before now—and I’ll be happy.

Or, at the very least, I’ll pretend to be happy.

That’s all people really want, right?

Sunshine. Marcy, the T.A. for Professor Mitchell. Tina. Sam—somewhere. I’m living my life. I’m moving on. I’m totally ignoring Hart, who is currently whispering in my head about candles.

I’m fine.

I’m totally normal.

Heartless Teaser

 


Kelly MartinKelly Martin

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If you ever have a question or comment, feel free to email her at kellymartin215 @ yahoo . com ♥ You can follow her writing adventure at www.kellymartinbooks.com

Kelly Martin writes paranormal, contemporary, historical, and YA fiction. She has been married for over ten years and has three rowdy, angelic daughters. When she’s not writing, she loves taking picture of abandoned houses, watching horror gamers on YouTube– even though she’s a huge wimp– and drinking decaf white chocolate mochas. She’s a total fangirl, loves the 80s and 90s, and has a sad addiction to paranormal TV shows. {Basically, she likes creepy stuff.} Her favorite characters are the very flawed ‘good guys’–and ‘bad guys’ who don’t know they are evil. She loves giving her readers books with unexpected twists and turns, but (here’s a hint) most of her books have the ending spelled out in the first chapter. See if you can figure it out.

 

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Tyrant By Nashoda Rose ♥ Book Tour

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Meet Kilter & Rayne in

Tyrant by Nashoda Rose! #ParaRomance

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New York Times & USA Today Best Selling Author Nashoda Rose brings a fresh twist to the paranormal romance world with ‘the Scars’.

“I don’t do nice. Period.” -Kilter (nickname: Off-Kilter)

Kilter is crass, reckless and stubborn. He has alienated everyone—just the way he likes it. Until the day he meets Rayne and emotions he buried long ago reawaken.

“I was nothing but a science experiment.” -Rayne

Rayne has been locked away and used for research ever since she was a child. The abuse caused her to withdraw into a tomb of numbness where she’s found a safe place to hide. But her safe place isn’t safe at all, it’s slowly killing her.

When Kilter rescues her and she is unexpectedly drawn to his raw honesty, Rayne must decide whether to trust him and fight for what she can’t see or drown into the depths of darkness.

For some Scars, it’s the story of healing and redemption, for others it’s the beginning of a tortured existence. Which will it be for Kilter and Rayne?

A band of fierce warriors walk in the shadows of the human world with capabilities derived from the senses: Trackers, Sounders, Healers, Tasters, Visionaries and the rare Reflectors. They are known as the ‘Scars.

*Stygian must be read first. 18+

Scars of the Wraiths Series

Stygian (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 1)

Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 2)

Take (Scars of the Wraiths, standalone)

Credo (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 3) (coming 2016)

Author’s Note: Tyrant (Scars of the Wraiths, Book 2) was originally titled “Step” (Senses Series). The book has been completely re-written. However, please check your Kindles before purchasing.

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tyrant rayne

I sat on the cold cement floor of the bathroom, knees to my chest, arms tight around them as I waited for the door to open.

Booted steps strode through my adjoining bedroom toward me.

Closer. Louder.

Goose bumps scattered. My body trembled as raw fear gripped me. It was like I was hanging off the side of a cliff by my fingernails, knowing I’d eventually fall and the pain would come.

Unbearable pain.

He’d come. My husband or whoever he’d sent to get me.

There was no escape. No where to run.

The heavy thuds stopped outside the bathroom door, and I glimpsed the tall, dark shadow that filtered through the two-inch gape.

I put my chin on my knee and closed my eyes, afraid to look. If I didn’t look, then no one was here. My breath came in short, sharp, quiet gasps and I dug my fingers into the sides of my thighs so hard, blood trickled down my skin through my pants.

For almost a month, I’d expected this day to come, stomach churning every time I heard someone in the corridor outside my bedroom. Living in a black hole, I was desperate to get out, but knew the day I did, it was to face punishment for helping the Scars escape the compound.

The door pushed open with what sounded like a kick of a boot.

Tears pooled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. I squeezed my eyes shut harder as fear drilled into me like tiny darts piercing my skin.

Another step.

Then another.

Then nothing.

Please don’t let it be Ben. Anyone but Ben.

“Fuck, babe. What the hell?”

My breath hitched at the sound of the familiar, deep voice. A voice I’d never forget. A voice that gave me hope then snatched it away with his lies.

I raised my head and locked eyes on the Scar I’d helped escape.

Well, more like he used me in order to help him and his friend escape.

He was also the man who had haunted my dreams for weeks since then. And they were haunting because he was scary. Not ugly scary, far from it, but intense scary.

He had a chiseled jaw with a few days of scruff and defined cheekbones. His look was old-world, which made sense since the Scars were immortal, but he definitely wasn’t an old-world English gentleman. More like a Highland Scot.

A long, jagged scar dragged from his right brow to his ear and another across his neck, which attributed to the scary factor. But that wasn’t what did it—that gave him character, it gave him a story.

It was his eyes that really intimidated, black and cold without a hint of compassion. And after spending a night in an air duct with him, I knew, compassion was not part of his disposition.

Actually, he’d been an asshole and didn’t try to hide it.

“Get up.”

I didn’t move.

I didn’t know what to do. He’d used me before, so I guessed he was here to use me again, although the reason was unclear because my husband didn’t have any Scars in his compound for this guy to break out.

“Babe, don’t have time for this shit. Get the fuck up.” He didn’t wait for me to get up, but bent, grabbed my forearm, and hauled me to my feet with a rough yank. I landed against him, my palms on his chest.

I quickly shoved back, but his hand remained locked on my forearm, and he didn’t allow me further than arm’s length. Staring, he performed a quick assessment, his dark eyes narrowing and trailing down the front of me.

“You look like shit. Worse, actually.” With the calloused pad of his thumb, he haphazardly wiped the tears from my cheeks.

I had no response. I was confused as to why he was here and how he managed to get into the basement and find me without the alarms blaring.

He cupped my chin. “You hurt?”

Not really, but I was an emotional wreck. Did that count?

“You need to answer me when I ask you a question.”

He was right, I did, and not because he told me to, but because there was a sliver of hope. I always had it. Most of the time, it was buried deep, but when my eyes hit the Scar… it surfaced whether I wanted it to or not.

So, that hope was him, and pissing him off was going to kill it.

“No,” I said. He frowned. “I’m not hurt.” Then I had a moment of bravery that came with the hope. “Ummm, why are you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Not really. But the answer wasn’t important, because he’d lied to me before, so no matter what he said, it was highly probable it was complete bullshit. And so was my hope.

His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed; yet his hand on my chin was soft and gentle. “Do I need to fuckin’ carry you?”

What was he talking about? “Carry me? Carry me where?”

His lips pursed together as he glared at me with black, unforgiving eyes. “Listen, babe, I don’t feel like becoming some guy’s lab rat, so I need you to pull your shit together, answer my questions, stop asking them, and maybe we’ll get out of here alive.”

Get out of here? The hope plowed back into me, but I was afraid to grab onto it because I didn’t dare believe the Scar had come back to get me out of here. Why would he?

But there was something different in him than three weeks ago. Maybe it was the way he gently wiped my tears away or how he held me right now, his fingers no longer bruising, but holding me steady as if he knew I needed the support.

He was tall, probably six foot two, and I’d noticed when I was against his chest that my head tucked under his chin. I also noticed, beneath his black T-shirt, he was rock-hard with ridges and valleys of muscles.

His hand moved to the back of my neck. It wasn’t exactly gentle, but more like he was attempting to get my attention. He already had it, but I was still confused.

“You want to get out of this pisshole? ‘Cause if you don’t, tell me now so I can leave you here and get the fuck out.”

I tried to lower my head, but his grip on the back of my neck tightened and I was forced to meet his eyes. “I hate him.” Why did I say that? I mean, I did, but he didn’t ask me that.

His brows drew together and his grip on my neck tightened. “Yeah, I got that, babe.”

Logically, I should be terrified of him, yet I wasn’t. It was more nervousness than anything.

There was a hint of something I recognized in his eyes that was oddly comforting. And I recognized it because it was the same look I saw in myself; the haunting tornado of emotions trapped behind a wall.

Our walls were very different, though. His wall was a shield of anger. Mine was a shield of numbness.

He let me go, eyes scanning the bathroom before grabbing my sweatshirt hanging on a hook on the wall. “Arms up.” I did and he pulled it over my head. “It’s cold and you don’t have an ounce of fat on you,” he said while his gaze traveled the length of my body. “Jesus, you look like you’ll break in a gust of wind.” He swore beneath his breath and shook his head. “You good to run?”

My legs felt like uncooked spaghetti ready to crack in half at the slightest push and my heart beat erratically, having to work hard to keep my body functioning. I was falling apart, so probably the truth would be a hell no, but I nodded anyway.

He hesitated then nodded, as if satisfied that, regardless of my lie, he thought I’d be able to at least keep up.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me from the bathroom, through the bedroom, to the door.

He pulled a knife from a leather sheath at his hip and opened the door, peering out before looking back at me. “Keep close. Lag behind and I’m not coming back for you. Understand?”

I nodded.

I didn’t trust him, but I did know he would leave me because he’d done it before.

The fight inside me had died years ago, as had the ability to trust anyone. I had trusted. I had fought. Neither had done me any good. So now I trusted myself, and that meant killing parts of who I was.

It meant protecting me.

Burying me.

“Babe?”

I snapped my eyes to his. For a second, I thought his eyes softened, but it was more wishful thinking on my part. He was probably thinking he’d just made the stupidest mistake of his life by coming back here. Escaping my husband’s compound twice had a high probability of failure.

His fingers curled around my fragile hand, squeezed, then tugged me forward. “Let’s get the fuck out of this shithole.”

stygian free

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Meet Nashoda Rose

Nashoda Rose

Nashoda Rose is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Toronto with her assortment of pets. She writes contemporary romance with a splash of darkness, or maybe it’s a tidal wave.

When she isn’t writing, she can be found sitting in a field reading with her dogs at her side while her horses graze nearby. She loves interacting with her readers and chatting about her addiction—books.

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Lost by Alyssa Rose Ivy ♥ Release Day Blitz

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When all that you love is left behind, you are lost…

Owen is devastated. He was willing to give up everything for Daisy, but she refused. He wants to believe there is a way to bring her back, even if it means getting help from the unlikeliest of sources.

Daisy is numb. She has lost any ability to feel human emotion. Her dreams are her only escape from her dull existence, and even those are fading.

Owen and Daisy are both lost, and only their love for each other will bring them back together.

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Never agree to a road trip to New Orleans with your roommate. At least not when your roommate is dragging you along while she reconnects with an ex-boyfriend. Possible consequences of failing to take my advice:

1) Unknowingly going out with a vampire stripper
2) Getting kidnapped by said vampire’s nest mates
3) Falling head over heels for your winged hero

Believe it or not number 3 is the worst one, especially when no one believes you that he exists.

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There’s danger in the beauty…

Two years, six months, and twenty-five days. That’s how long it had been since I’d seen my winged hero— not that I’d been counting. I’d suffered through years of counseling just to convince my friends and family that I wasn’t crazy and knew he didn’t exist.

But he did. And I was done waiting.

Days after college graduation I headed back down to New Orleans to retrace my steps and find Owen again only to find my life was about to get even crazier… thanks to the most beautiful and dangerous of all paranormal creatures, the Allures.

About Alyssa Rose Ivy

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Alyssa Rose Ivy is the bestselling author of more than twenty-five novels with over half a million books sold worldwide. She loves to weave stories with romance and humor, and she is best known for writing about college boys with wings and skinny dipping. After surviving law school and earning her masters in library science, she turned back to her creative side and decided to write. Although raised in the New York area, she fell in love with the South after moving to New Orleans for college. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and two young children, and she can usually be found with a cup of coffee in her hand.

Mark My Words

Gods of the Highlands by Bambi Lynn ♥ Spot Light Tour

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Gods of the Highlands Series
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Neala Comyn, wife of a powerful laird, wants to end the pain and suffering of an abusive marriage. She

is a woman without hope, believing God has forsaken her. When she is kidnapped by a rival laird who

claims to be a god himself, her faith is further shaken. Could Lucan Munro be the salvation she has

prayed for? Or will her sins condemn her to eternal damnation?

Lucan Munro, has the power of a Celtic god. He can conjure his heart’s desire from thin air. But can he

save the woman he loves from a demon hell-bent on claiming her soul?

Excerpt

From his vantage spot he saw her tiny bare feet touch the floor next to the bed. He crawled backwards

in the opposite direction. She rushed across to the table beneath the window and began an onslaught of

such proportions, he wondered again where she found the strength. He opened his mouth to speak, but

thinking better of it, clamped it shut again. She appeared completely without reason, lost in her heated

rampage. Perhaps it was best to let her calm down on her own.

“Ye gorbellied,” she threw the box containing his seal, “toad-spotted,” then the ink vial, “malt worm!”

ending with the empty food tray that crashed against the tub only a breath away from his head.

Lucan had had enough. He was laird of the mighty clan Munro. He was not about to let some slip of a

lass make him cower in his own chamber. He rose from his hiding place wrapping the plaid around his

waist as he did so. “Now see here -”

They both jumped when the door burst open. Lucan turned to see Evie standing at the threshold, her

mouth open wide in surprise. “Get out,” he bellowed at her. The maid barely had the door closed before

the clay pitcher Neala had been about to throw at him crashed against it, shattering to pieces.

He took the opportunity of her distraction to close the distance between them. He wrapped his arms

around her, trapping hers against her body. She struggled like a cat who’d fallen into the burn, cussing

and spitting insults at him that would rival the most battle-hardened soldier.

“Where did ye learn such language?” Lucan fought to control her, ignoring the effect her squirming

against him was having on every inch of his body. He had not been with a woman since well before he

had brought Neala here, and his cock responded eagerly to the pressure against it.

He fought the sensation, recognizing the debauchery in being aroused by a woman so obviously without

her wits. He twisted away, clenching his thighs and trying to fill his mind with thoughts of his long-dead

mother, the repairs that need to be done to the kitchens, his prized mare that was on the verge of

birthing a new foal. Anything to take his mind off the increasing hardening of his body. If only she would

stop writhing against him. He fairly growled when she deliberately pressed her thigh against his groin.

He tried to shield himself, turning his body at an angle, but it was no use.

“What’s yer pleasure t’night, m’laird? D’ye want me to fight ye?” She pressed harder,

painfully against him. “D’ye want me to play the whore?” She reached between them and boldly

grasped his erection in her hand, squeezing it through his plaid and glaring up at him with the look of the

devil. “Is this what ye want?”

Lucan clamped his teeth together, grinding them until an ache developed in his jaw. He would have

thought her a strumpet of some renown if not for the tear that trickled from the corner of her eye and

slid down her cheek. His grip around her waist softened. He reached one hand up to her face, wiping the

single tear away with the pad of his thumb. The gesture only brought more tears. His heart ripped in

half.

“Why did ye save me?” Her cracked voice was barely more than a whisper. “Another month and I would

have been dead.” She closed her eyes and went limp in his arms.

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Tanis:  Gods of the Highlands Series Book 3

Tanis Cleary, laird of a small Highland clan, wants to protect what’s left of his family from the pagan god

who hunts them. But even with his colossal strength, fed by the unholy blood in his veins, he cannot do

it alone. His only ally is an insatiable angel with a chip on her shoulder. Will he desert his clan to follow

the only woman who can save him from eternal damnation?

Kiah is an angel of God, tasked with guarding one of His most sacred vessels. Like any woman desperate

to win her Father’s approval, Kiah will stop at nothing to succeed in her mission. Distracted by the lure

of a man more compelling than any other, Kiah soon finds herself battling the fires of hell, her very

existence in jeopardy.

Excerpt

When Tanis spoke, Kiah let his voice wash over her. She nearly wept, so great was her yearning to feel

the vibration of its rich tone, accented with the lilt common among these Highlanders.

The only other time she had heard him speak, he had been bellowing at her. She could imagine what he

would sound like speaking of love play in that sultry voice, whispering her name, expressing his pleasure.

When the others left, Tanis stayed behind. He walked back to stand by the bed, his expression

unreadable as he stared down at the woman ensconced there. He was the finest example of man Kiah

had ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered, his body was sculpted from years of fighting and living, and

from the influence of pagan blood in his ancestry. He wore his raven-colored hair long and wild. He had

rich brown eyes, windows to his spirit she longed to stare into. He was the kind of man who did

everything with a fierceness that made one long to feed on that essence. He was irresistible.

And dangerous. He had an allure that called to her, despite better judgment. He was proud and

arrogant, every bit her equal. She grudgingly admitted that Tanis was not as weak as most humans. She

recognized that.

He was the kind of man Kiah avoided.

I ken yer spirit, lass. Kiah drew up when he spoke directly to her.

Have ye come to sate yer desire for me? She was as tempted as if Lucifer himself was

standing there. Her wings twitched, anticipating her transformation. But she resisted, easier for her than

these weak humans.

Do ye have sin on yer mind? The urge was almost more than she could hold back. She

reminded herself of her recent failure. She was in enough trouble.

Perhaps ye are afraid of me? ’Tis no surprise. Most lasses flee in fear after just a few days in my

bed. Why should ye be any different?

She could only resist so much. She drifted around the bed and pressed against him. He was tall and

wide. She imagined herself in human form, laying her head against that broad back, wrapping her arms

around him.

Show yourself and learn the true meaning of sin. Kiah moved away from him, prepared to

change into her human form and give in to temptation.

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 Sirona:  Gods of the Highlands Series Book 2

She has the power to heal his body, but can she heal his soul?

Sirona Cleary tries to hide her unholy healing powers from everyone around her, denying her divine

heritage even as she saves those who would see her punished. When she is kidnapped by a rival clan,

she is sure her execution is near. Rhain Comyn is dying from a mysterious disease, and he couldn’t be

happier about it. After the atrocities he has committed, Rhain believes he has no right to a decent life

and welcomes the ailment that leaves him with unquenchable thirst and hunger, extreme fatigue,

blurred vision and ultimately drives him into a deep slumber from which no healer can awaken him. Can

a witch from the clan of his enemy save him?

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Excerpt

Alone with her patient, Sirona relaxed a little. She crept closer to the bed and leaned over him. Rhain

Comyn was by far the handsomest man she had ever seen. Long, thick lashes, dark as soot, laid against

cheekbones made more prominent by whatever ailed him. She wondered if behind that facade,

softened in slumber, was a cruel bully, equally revolting as his brothers.

Without remorse she realized that if Fergus were lying there instead of Rhain, she would not hesitate to

let him die. She was already damned to Hell, was she not? Everything about her existence went against

God. Saint Peter would never allow such an abomination past the gate. She tried to deny the powers

that marked her a pagan, in the hopes He would not punish her for her tainted blood. But in the end,

she could no more ignore her gift than she could refuse breathing.

What if she defied God and saved this man, only to discover he was the spawn of another sort, evil and

deviant, and she had unleashed him on the world? Was it worth the risk for the promise that she would

be returned to her home? Could she trust that promise?

Sirona eased down on the bed. She took one of his gaunt hands in both of hers. Warmth spread through

her at the touch. Her heart clenched at the possibility she could not save him. She closed her eyes and

let her thoughts fall away, focusing all her energy on the sensation of his skin against hers.

His hand was limp in hers, cold and frail. She sensed his longing for death, born of a sorrow so deep it

seeped into his bones. Tears clogged her throat as she was overcome with profound despair.

What had happened to him to cause such anguish and torment, such hopelessness? She tried to recall

what little she knew of the clan. The Munro had been feuding with them for generations, but it wasn’t

until the laird, Gregor Munro, had been killed, that the hatred and fighting had escalated. Now there

were skirmishes every few months.

Comyn men were renowned for their ruthless brutality. Legend stated they came out of the womb filled

with bloodlust and savagery. Comyn women seldom survived childbirth. The laird’s own sons had been

born to three different wives.

Despite the frailty of their women, the boys grew strong and healthy, populating the clan with a

merciless fighting force. Their only weakness was their small number.

Rhain, the youngest of the laird’s sons, was rumored to be the most ruthless of them all. He had hired

himself out as a mercenary, it was said because there weren’t enough Munros to quench his thirst for

blood.

Sirona shuddered and opened her eyes. Her heart tripped when she found him staring at the rafters

over the bed. She dropped his hand as if it burned and shot to her feet. She took several deep breaths as

she watched him. When he did not move, indeed he did not even blink, she inched closer. “Can you hear

me?” she whispered.

No reaction.

She pressed the backs of her fingers against his cheek. No fever. With one finger beneath his chin, she

gently turned his face toward her until she was in his line of vision. She stared into rich brown eyes,

windows to a deep, dark abyss that promised endless suffering.

“Rhain?”

His eyes focused on hers when she whispered his name.

“I’m here to help. Can ye speak to me?” His eyes wavered back and forth between hers. “D’ye want

something to drink?” She surveyed the room for the first time. Near the hearth stood a table, laden with

food and drink. She crossed to it and poured a cup of water from a flagon.

Returning to the bed, she sat next to him and slid her free arm beneath his shoulders. With her help, he

sat up enough to the drink from the cup she held for him. When he’d drained it, he fell back, what little

strength he had depleted from the exertion.

Sirona cradled him against her. She brushed silky locks from his face and spoke to him in a soothing

voice. “I need you to tell me what you feel. Do ye ache?” He was weak, but did not seem to be in any

pain. She cast relief over him just the same. “Can ye speak to me?” she asked again.

He seemed to be trying to say something, but his voice was so faint, she had to lean close to hear him.

His breath was warm on her ear, but sent a cold shiver down her spine.

“Let-me-die.”

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 Camulus:  Gods of the Highlands Series Book 1

Camulus Vass wants a simple life, absent the power and responsibility that can consume a man. But

being laird of a clan as large as the Munro does not offer such luxury. Always under the domineering

heel of his uncle, Cam has allowed himself to become a pawn. But the arrival of a mysterious newcomer

awakens a beast within him that will not be tamed.

Màili has been given the task of rooting out the spawn of an ancient god. It’s the only way to take her

revenge against the man who betrayed her. But getting what she wants means taking the life of the man

she loves. Will her hunger for a mortal man wreak further havoc on her already bleak future?

FIRST KISS:

Cam pulled the linen from his shaggy, ebony mane and locked his rich brown eyes, glistening with

excitement, on hers. He stepped out of the tub, dropping the linen to the floor. “Come to me, woman.”

Cam wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He claimed her mouth with his,

prying her lips open and invading her with the sweetest tasting tongue she had ever known.

Màili lost herself in that kiss. The power of it sent jolts of pleasure to every pore in her body. She tingled

all over, her senses melding until she could no longer remember anything other than the man before

her. She kissed him back with all the self–pity of a woman who had been betrayed by love and yearned

to get even a piece of herself back.

The power of her desire for Cam surprised her. Màili was certainly no stranger to the ways of men and

women. She had learned a lot over the centuries. This was the first time she had found anyone she

thought could teach her anything. A nagging possibility tickled the edge of her thoughts, but she pushed

it aside.

Màili dragged her mouth from his, nibbling along his jaw and across the pulse at his throat. With her

hands on his chest, she urged him back toward the bed all the while trailing her lips, her tongue down

his body. He tasted like nectar and all Màili could think of was more, more, more.

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Author Bio:

Bambi LynnYes, Bambi is my real name.

I grew up on a farm in South Georgia. My high school was very small with a graduating class of less than

100 people. Shortly after high school, I met my wonderful husband who took me to Belgium, where a

three-year tour turned into fifteen. While living in Europe, I nurtured my love of all things medieval. I

often get homesick for Belgium, but with the world wide web, I’m home with the click of a mouse. I now

live with my husband and son in North Alabama.

When not plugging away at my keyboard, I teach World History. I love to ride my big, black Tennessee

Walker, Jamaica. My husband and I each have a Harley to go with our collection of classic cars and hot

rods.

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What happens when his mission is to get the girl?

Find out in ICE by Kathy Coopmans & Hilary Storm. #MilitaryRomance #ICE

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Blurb

Warning- This book contains explicit language and graphic sexual content.

Captain Jade Elliott of the United States Army spent her entire career working her ass off to get to this point and she couldn’t be more proud. She’s gained notoriety through her actions as well as the respect of her team. She’s one of the first women to graduate as a Ranger and has been called to serve on a secret mission. So why is she about to do something that could throw that all away?

Kaleb Maverick has been called to act as Commander for a vital mission and has done his research. He knows his team very well, in fact he hand selected them. He’s retired, but still very active in the private sector, leading his personal team to countless successful missions. Now he’s going back for one last mission.

What happens when his mission is to get the girl? What if she’s not ready to be captured? Their chemistry is explosive and the heat is intense, but can Maverick come back with his head held high or will she be the first mission he fails?

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Excerpt

Loyalty, Duty, Honor, Respect, Courage, and Integrity… Those are six of the seven cores embedded into a soldier’s brain when you enlist in The United States Army.

I remember like it was yesterday, placing my hand on the bible, while holding my other hand high along with my head, turning my life over to protect my country.  Only, it wasn’t yesterday, it was eight long, tortuous, agonizing years ago.

My reasons for thinking agonizing have nothing to do with the Army.  I live it.  I breathe it.  My life is consumed by it because it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

It’s agonizing because here I stand in complete darkness as one of the first women to graduate from The Army’s Special Ranger’s School.  Agony may be a harsh word to use.  However, no one was more relieved than I was when the law was lifted a few years ago and women were notoriously approved to serve our country in day-to-day ground combat roles.  Our nation has come a long way in allowing equal rights to women.  It’s about fucking time.

For two months I trained, barely slept, and pushed my now well-defined body to the brink of exhaustion.  My dream is now a reality and my right to be here is embedded into my soul.

My mental stability was pushed to the limits, physical strength tested to the point of pain so excruciating that I was ready to give up, surrender, and dare to show them weakness, but I never did.  I would’ve died first.

With the help of a fellow Captain, I pushed harder, became stronger, and passed.  Yet here I stand, ready and willing to throw my dream away, all for a simple quick fuck.  It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought about doing in my life and god help me, I can’t control it, nor do I want to.

I’ve been in the desert a little over a month now, lucky enough to have been given the same orders as that same fellow Captain who encouraged me all those months ago to press forward and prove to myself and everyone else that I could live my dream and become who I wanted to be.

Captain Beau Harris and I have been flirting, eye-fucking each other since we first re-connected in this shit-hole country.  Both of us pissing the time away while we wait for our Commander to arrive so he can deal out our orders.  I crave the day we get to go behind enemy lines and destroy a substantial military target.  It’s a mission that should have been started weeks ago.  The higher ups have been tight-lipped and they’ve been pissing me the fuck off.

Hence, the reason I need sex.  I’m not a slut; in fact, I’m far from it.  But hell, after training and now waiting for someone who should’ve already been here, I’m sexually frustrated.  My pussy needs attention.  It needs to be pounded, fucked, and filled with a great cock before I lose my mind.

So that brings me to core number seven… Selfless Service.  That’s the one I’ve mastered.  Everything I do is for my country or for my subordinates.  I don’t do anything for me, it’s just not allowed.  Well, tonight I’m feeling selfish.

I’m Captain Jade Elliott of The United States Army and I’m about to break every single one of the seven cores I pledged.

Sweaty upper part of female body, hands covering breasts, camouflaged

About the Authors:

Kathy Coopmans

kathy coopman

Amazon Best Selling Author Kathy Coopmans, lives in Michigan with her husband Tony where they have two grown sons.

After raising her children she decided to publish her first book and retiring from being a hairstylist.

She now writes full time.

She’s a huge sports fan with her favorite being Football and Tennis.

She’s a giver and will do anything she can to help another person succeed!

Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website |  Goodreads | Newsletter signup

Hilary Storm

hilary storm

Hilary Storm lives with her high school sweetheart and three children in Oklahoma. She drives her husband crazy talking about book characters everyday like they are real people. She graduated from Southwestern Oklahoma State University with an MBA in Accounting. Her passions include being a mom, writing, reading, photography, music, mocha coffee, and spending time with friends and family. She is the international best-selling author of the Rebel Walking Series, Bryant Brothers Series, Inked Brothers Series, and Six.

Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website |  Goodreads | Amazon Page

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