Blitz + Excerpt and Giveaway: Torc by J.E. Hunter

The Torc
by J.E. Hunter
Genre: NA Fantasy Romance
Release Date: December 13th 2017

Forgotten Treasures Hold Forbidden Dangers... 

Aurora Daniels has just finished her first year of university and is ready for summer fun when she meets Garret, the mysterious older brother of her best friend, Ivy. Garret isn't what Aurora expected, yet her connection to him is undeniable. But something lurks beneath Garret's charming exterior, a danger that Rory isn't prepared for. 

As Rory spends more time with Ivy and her brother, she grows closer to Garret, until the undeniable attraction turns into something more. But a relationship with a cursed soul isn't simple. As Garret's mysteries are slowly revealed, Rory learns that she isn't all that Garret wants. He wants something else, too. Something that would mean giving up her family and her future to undertake a dangerous journey through a land lost in mist and fog. A journey that will change her life forever. A journey that might lead her to her grave.

Amazon.com (for ebook and paperback)  https://www.amazon.com/Torc-Artifacts-Avalum-Book-ebook/dp/B0788FC9ZW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1517102220&sr=8-1&keywords=the+torc+J.E.+Hunter

Amazon.ca https://www.amazon.ca/Torc-Artifacts-Avalum-Book-ebook/dp/B0788FC9ZW

iBooks https://itunes.apple.com/au/book/the-torc/id1329998773?mt=11

Nook https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-torc-je-hunter/1127742682?ean=2940155064978

Smashwords  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/768145
Kobo  https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/the-torc

Excerpt

My iPhone directed me to Ivy's place. There was a long gravel drive leading off the highway in the direction of the river. Just as I spotted the house in the distance, I came upon a gate. The gate was made from black wrought iron, affixed on both sides by short brick walls. The gate and wall wouldn’t have stopped anyone from gaining access to the property if they really wanted to, but it looked nice. Official.

The gate was open and I drove straight through, past rows of small hedges. Beyond the hedges were fields of green wheat. I knew that Ivy and her brother weren’t farmers, but they owned all of the land surrounding the estate and rented it out to farmers, keeping only the house for themselves. The house was built well away from the river valley—which I could see curving off in the distance—to ensure that it was built on a solid foundation. As I approached the house, I sucked in a deep breath.  Two stories, bricked exterior—which was practically unheard of in the prairies—and lots of large, bright windows. The brick was grey and the shingles were black, and the porch was small and held up by two columns bricked in the same material as the rest of the house. I pulled up in front, driving around a small, circular roundabout of baby pine trees that weren’t even close to the giants they would be one day. There were a few groups of bushes in the distance, and a bright green, manicured lawn around the house. 

Ivy ran out the front door—a broad, black thing—with a gorgeous smile on her face. "Welcome to Chateau Creepsville!" she said as I stepped out of the car. 

"It does have a certain gothic air about it.” I rested my arm on top of the car and glanced up at the exterior. “But it’s gorgeous. And huge!”

The sun was bright and hot, but the house was like a dark spot in the middle of a spotlight. I'd never seen a house like it before, except maybe the one time my parents had taken me to the United Kingdom. The house was entirely out of place on the prairie, and would have fit in much better somewhere near York—the city I’d visited with my parents. 

“Yeah, some crazy old guy built it. Garret got it on sale. I don't think anyone else wanted it on account of the ghost." Ivy laughed when I looked her. "Don't worry," she said with a wink, "I'm sure it's a friendly ghost. Leave your car here, Gil can move it later." Ivy pulled opened the back door of my car and loaded her arms up with my stuff. 

I opened the other side and grabbed my suitcase while nursing my latte. "Who's Gil?"

Ivy frowned. "I haven't mentioned him? Well, he's our butler, for lack of a better word. Though maybe you would consider him Garret's personal assistant?"

“Your brother has an assistant?" I glanced up at the house again, looking for a face in one of the many windows, but there were none. The house could have been entirely empty for all I knew. "I mean, I’ve never met your brother, and now I find out he has an assistant? He must be pretty important.” 

Ivy ah-hummed as she stepped into the house. The entrance was grand. A black and white checkered floor filled the space between two staircases, one running up each side of the foyer. A chandelier hung from the double height ceiling above. There was a decorative table to my right with a mirror hung above it and fake plants set on top. Not the tacky kind, but the expensive kind that you had to touch in order to know if they were real or not.

"Let's go put this stuff in your room and then I’ll give you the grand tour,” Ivy said. “Garret's still sleeping so we'll have to be quiet. He works with the other side of the world so his schedule’s completely backward.”

 Ivy led me up the staircase to my left. It was covered in plush, heavy carpet that was so clean I thought it might never have been stepped on. It had a Persian rug-type design of deep red and golds, which complimented the white walls with their black trim. It was the kind of house you'd see in a designer magazine. The decorations were slightly eccentric but came off as totally stylish. Not that it was a house, really, but more of a mansion, or an estate. Was there really any difference? No matter what word I used, the house would still be enormous. Up the stairs, the air was crisp and smelled like tropical waterfalls. Plenty of natural light poured in from the open windows. On the second floor, Ivy again turned left. We passed two open rooms, one on each side. The first was a library, filled wall to wall with books. A solitary writing desk was placed directly under the window and in the centre of the room were two armchairs facing each other. The second room was a home gym complete with a pilates machine. At the end of the hall was a large bathroom, with a glittering, white marble floor. 

"This is my room," Ivy said, indicating to the left. Her door was open, displaying a perfect room complete with canopy bed and lilac purple carpet. There were deep purple curtains and a leather chaise in the far corner facing a wall-mounted television. "I've decided you should be in this room," Ivy said, opening the door on the other side. It swung open, revealing a space so blue that I felt like I was underwater. All the walls were a deep, royal navy colour, but the bed was so white and soft looking that it could have been a cloud. There was a papasan chair tucked into the corner, and a small dresser, also white, under the window. 

"It's gorgeous!" I said, rolling my suitcase into the room. "I feel like I'm staying in a hotel, not at my best friend’s house."

"I hope it feels a bit more homey than that!" Ivy said, a touch of sadness in her voice. 

"Definitely homier," I said with a smile. 

Ivy walked over to the bed and sat down, crossing her legs underneath her. Her jean shorts and blue t-shirt matched the room, but the pink streaks she must have painted in her hair that morning did not. 

"Thanks again for inviting me," I said. "I didn't realize how it would feel to drop my parents off at the airport. I thought I would be more excited but..."

"You felt a bit abandoned?" Ivy suggested when I didn't finish my sentence. 

I nodded. 

"I get it," Ivy said. "Come on. Leave your stuff here. I want to show you the garden."

I followed Ivy back downstairs. We didn't go to the west side of the second story, since Ivy said that was where Garret was sleeping. I bit my lip, wanting to meet this mysterious older brother. The one who had raised Ivy since the death of their parents when Garret was seven and Ivy was a baby. Someone must have looked after them before Garret was of age, though it had never occurred to me before. Ivy might understand my current emotional state, because her past had been much worse. My parents were just going on vacation. I couldn't imagine how I would feel if they never made it back. 

From the foyer, we headed to the back of the house and into a bright, spacious kitchen. Cast iron pots hung from the ceiling and deep wooden counters stretched along the walls. I was startled to see an older gentleman cutting up a flank of meat. He looked up and caught me with two sharp, dark eyes. 

“Ah, our guest has finally arrived.” He spoke with a slight accent that sounded upper class—surprising for an assistant. The man placed the long, sharp knife he was holding down beside the raw flesh, and slipped off a blood-splattered glove to hold a hand out to me. He was much taller than I was, which was surprising since I was nearly five-foot-nine. He only smiled with one side of his face, and his eyes remained dark, assessing.

“Aurora, this is Gil, Garret’s assistant. He does most of the cooking.” Ivy indicated the man who could have been anywhere between the age of fifty and seventy-five. She didn’t look at him, however, but stared past him at the set of French doors at the back of the kitchen. 

I was frozen, a little appalled at the idea of taking the hand that had been so recently butchering meat. I reminded myself that he’d been wearing gloves, and shook hands with him to be polite. “It’s nice to meet you,” I said. 

Gil tilted his head down toward me. He was thin, but rigid with sinuous muscle. He had shallow cheeks and short grey hair. “It’s a pleasure, of course.” He spoke slowly, his voice was deep. 

“We’re just going out to the garden.” Suddenly, Ivy was at my side, pulling me toward the sunlight streaming in through the open doors. When had that happened? I felt strangely disjointed, like I’d been staring too long out a window, lost in thought, when I’d only just spent a second shaking Gil’s hand. 

“I’ve put the recliners out by the fountain for you and your guest.” Gil half-smiled at me again. I looked away, a unsettled tingling in my lungs. “There’s a carafe of sangria out there, too, and some snacks, since supper won’t be served until nine o’clock, as per your brother’s instructions.” Gil slipped the glove back on and went back to chopping the meat. 

I stepped out of the kitchen and into the sun, but still I shivered. It was warm enough that I would need a generous layer of sunscreen to keep from burning, but I felt chilled, and decided to forget the lotion for the moment. 

I warmed up quickly enough as Ivy led me through a waist-high maze of hedges, back toward a large, circular fountain. There were rose bushes around the edges of a small gravelled area, a few choice sculptures of cherubs, and two lounge chairs, just as Gil had said there would be. There was also a pitcher of sangria. 

“Gil mixes drinks for you?” I settled into the chair furthest from the house. Out in the country, it was quiet. The prairie sky was blue and peaceful. A few birds chirped from the hedges, and there was the slight burble from the fountain, but that was it for noise. The sounds succeeded in chasing away any lingering feelings of uneasiness.

Ivy laughed and gave me a naughty look. “Of course. Gil does everything. Personally, I could have gone for margaritas, but sangria will do. Before my brother forced me to move here, I was living in Spain. Everyone drinks sangria in Spain. At least, everyone I know does.” Ivy poured me a goblet full of the deep red liquid, and I took a generous sip to steady my nerves. I’d expected Ivy to come from money, she’d never hid that, not exactly. But I hadn’t expected her house to be an amazingly decorated gothic mansion. I laid back in my chair and looked up at the house. I could only see the western half, and the window I imagined was Garret’s. He was six years older than Ivy and a complete mystery. I couldn’t wait to meet him.

About the Author

J.E. Hunter lives in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, and began writing as an excuse to stay inside during the cold winters. Her favorite season is the fall, and her favorite hot beverage is currently a peppermint mocha. Most recently, J.E. Hunter released The Torc, the first book in the Artifacts of Avalum romantic adventure series. She is also the author of the Black Depths Series, which consists of five books, beginning with Sea-Witch. When not writing, J. E. Hunter can be found reading, walking through spooky woods, drinking coffee and coloring books, or listening to audiobooks at the gym.

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Cover Reveal: All the Little Lights by Jamie McGuire

All the Little Lights
Jamie McGuire
Publication date: May 29th 2018
Genres: YA Crossover / Romance

From #1 New York Times bestselling author Jamie McGuire comes a riveting tale of first love that starts young but runs deep. 

The first time Elliott Youngblood spots Catherine Calhoun, he’s just a boy with a camera, and he’s never seen a sadder and more beautiful sight. Both Elliott and Catherine feel like outcasts, yet they find an easy friendship with each other. But when Catherine needs him most, Elliott is forced to leave town.
Elliott finally returns, but he and Catherine are now different people. He’s a star high school athlete, and she spends all her free time working at her mother’s mysterious bed-and-breakfast. Catherine hasn’t forgiven Elliott for abandoning her, but he’s determined to win back her friendship…and her heart.
Just when Catherine is ready to fully trust Elliott, he becomes the prime suspect in a local tragedy. Despite the town’s growing suspicions, Catherine clings to her love for Elliott. But a devastating secret that Catherine has buried could destroy whatever chance of happiness they have left.

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order

Author Bio:

Jamie McGuire is the #1 New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of Walking Disaster, the Maddox Brothers series, the Providence trilogy, and the international bestseller Beautiful Disaster, which paved the way for the new-adult genre. She was the first independent author in history to strike a print deal with retail giant Walmart, and her work has been translated into fifty languages. She lives in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, with her husband, Jeff, and their three children. To learn more about Jamie, visitwww.jamiemcguire.com, or follow her on Twitter @JamieMcGuire. 

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

Blitz + Excerpt, Teaser, and Giveaway: Hostage by Annika Martin & Skye Warren

Hostage
Annika Martin & Skye Warren
Publication date: January 30th 2018
Genres: New Adult, Romance

I NEVER KNEW WHEN HE’D COME TO ME. ONLY THAT HE WOULD.
I’d never even kissed a boy the night I met Stone. The night I saw him kill. The night he spared my life. That was only the beginning.
He turns up in my car again and again, dangerous and full of raw power. “Drive,” he tells me, and I have no choice. He’s a criminal with burning green eyes, invading my life and my dreams.
The police say he’s dangerously obsessed with me, but I’m the one who can’t stop thinking about him. Maybe it’s wrong to let him touch me. Maybe it’s wrong to touch him back. Maybe these twisted dates need to stop. Except he feels like the only real thing in my world of designer labels and mansions.
So I drive us under threat, until it’s hard to remember I don’t want to be there.
Until it’s too late to turn back.
HOSTAGE is a dangerous standalone romance by New York Times bestselling authors Skye Warren and Annika Martin. It’s set in the same world as PRISONER, but can read separately!

Goodreads / iBooks

EXCERPT:

A calm comes over me. “Are you going to kill me, too?”
“So far, you haven’t shown you can follow orders very well, have you?”
“I won’t tell on you,” I blurt out.
He snorts.
We’re heading west, out of the city. The party seems like a million years ago. They’ll be sitting down for dinner now. Wondering where I am. Will they think I left?
The man’s face is in shadows. Streetlamps flash over his face as the van moves along, revealing a nose carved out of granite and a strong jaw. I wouldn’t call him handsome. He’s too rough-hewn for that, like someone forgot to sand over the angles.
“Please—”
“Be quiet.” His soft menace is directed at me this time. I shrink in my seat.
We’re going into a run-down suburb, Westdale or Ferndale or something, a place with a lot of little tiny box homes. It’s a place I never go. We wind through the streets, deeper and deeper.
It’s hard to even look at him. That means acknowledging what’s happening to me. This is real. I may never make it out of this alive. That’s what I think when I turn my head to the side, glance at him from beneath low lashes. Which makes his gray Henley and dark-wash jeans seem way too ordinary. If this were the day I was going to die, wouldn’t he be wearing something more dramatic?
But that’s just wishful thinking from my panicked mind. He can hurt me wearing anything. I’m so deep in danger it’s hard to breathe.
He slows on a far block and turns. The van headlights hit overgrown weeds and the charred remains of a house. The place burned at one time, long ago.
He circles around and goes into the alley behind it. He shoves it into park and does something to the wires that make it shut off. He turns to me. “I’m gonna get out and deal with this guy. If you move out of this seat, I’ll kill you. And if, by some miracle, you manage to get away, I’m going to kill everybody you called on this phone in the last month. Can you guess how? I’ll give you a hint. A meat hook is involved.”
I suck in a breath. He doesn’t bother to wait for my answer. He gets out, yanks open the back door, and drags the man out—I can tell by the thuds. More punching sounds come from behind the van. The groans and garbled pleas sound worse and worse.
I huddle in my seat, listening to a man get beaten to death.
Bile rises up in my throat. I have only a few seconds to decide what to do—throw up in the van or throw up outside. He’s told me not to leave. He’s threatened my life, threatened to snap my neck. But I have an entire lifetime of my mother’s voice in my head. I have sixteen years of decorum forcing me to fumble for the door handle and push my way out.
I make it two feet away before dropping to my hands and knees and throwing up in the weeds behind the place. For all I know, he’ll kill me for this. For all I know, he’d have killed me for doing this in the van. He’s insane.
There’s not much that lands on the ground. A bottle of smartwater and some strawberries don’t leave a lot to vomit, but my stomach still heaves again and again until I’m sore, until I’m choking on bile, wrung dry.
I sit back on my feet, wiping my face, panting, one hand on the rough concrete, head down. The sounds back there have changed. There’s this grunting and a grinding sound, then a crack. It makes me want to throw up all over again.
If he’s going to kill me, I’d rather not see it coming. I guess I hope he does it fast. That’s what they always say in movies.
I hear a thump in the back of the van and then the sound of the door shutting. Footsteps coming toward me.
I force my breathing to slow. He’s behind me. I stay still.
“You’ve never seen shit like this, have you?” he asks, his voice almost conversational.
It makes me shiver, how he can sound so normal after killing a man.
My voice is low. “No.”
“You’ve only seen—what? Parties? Fancy shit?”
There’s judgment in his voice and something else. Curiosity? I can use that. I have to use that, because it’s the only tool I have. I sit back on my knees, brushing my hands against each other to wipe off the gravel. My white and pink dress is stained with blood and dirt. My cell phone is in his pocket. If I want to survive this, I need to persuade him to let me go.
“Parties,” I force myself to say in agreement. Make him see you as a person. “Tonight was my birthday party.”
He doesn’t say anything.
I look up at him. His face is cast in shadows by the moon. Demonic. Unforgiving. I wonder how I look to him, down on the ground in a dirty alley.
“Please just let me go back there,” I whisper. “Nobody has to know.”
He lowers to his haunches and brushes a strand of slick hair from my face. His thumb lingers on my cheek, brushing over my skin. “You’re right,” he says, voice musing. “No one saw me take you. No one even knew I was there. No one has to know.”
“What does that mean?” I whisper.
He stands, sucking in a ragged breath. My heart pounds as his eyes move over me.
I’ve never felt so helpless, so alone. I’m a sacrifice, kneeling at the feet of a beautiful, brutal demon.

Author Bio:

Skye Warren is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance. For those new to her work, consider the following bestselling series...
★ Experience the dark glamour and forbidden love of the Stripped series. The mafia romance prequel TOUGH LOVE is free!
★ Meet the gritty and dangerous men of Chicago Underground... start reading for free with book one, ROUGH.
★ Fall in love with the sexy modern fairy tale the Beauty series, starting with Beauty Touched the Beast.
“This is the story I’ve been dying for, and it’s a story I never expected. Beautifully layered, romantic and sexy, Skye Warren delivers a complex story of fierce loyalty, absolution, and endless love. The writing in this book is as breathtaking as the story is unforgettable. I absolutely loved it. ” – Angie and Jessica’s Dreamy Reads
Don't miss a release! Sign up for the newsletter to find out about new releases and sales:
www.skyewarren.com/newsletter
Annika Martin:
I’m a NYT bestselling author, lover of sexy stories, hot heroes, and big drama. I live in Minnesota with my husband and two cats. I’ve been writing all my life while working various jobs, from waitress at a zillion different restaurants to advertising writer. I’m into running and yoga and helping animals, and coveting other people’s gardens. I also write as RITA award-winning author Carolyn Crane.
Newsletter: www.annikamartinbooks.com/newsletter

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Tour + Giveaway: Elements of Mischief by C.M. Stunich & Tate James

Elements of Mischief
C.M. Stunich & Tate James
(Hijinks Harem #1)
Publication date: October 4th 2017
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance

Four hunky, supernatural plumbers.
One reluctant, slightly drunk human.
A match made in heaven…or in the bathroom, rather.
My name is Arizona Smoke, and I’m the proud owner of a house haunted by my dead Gram, best friend to a cocktail dress loving werewolf, and apparent soul mate to four plumbers who also happen to be elemental dragons. Besides rippling pectorals, tattoos, and…uh, nice, long pipes, the guys also have control of the elements.
Supernatural law (whoever heard of such a thing anyway?) dictates that since I stumbled upon the guys in their alternate forms, I have to marry them. All four of them. Oh, and apparently one lousy (okay, awesome) night of sex means that I’m an elemental, too—and no amount of magical penicillin can cure this disease.
All I wanted was hot running water and toilets that flushed, but now I’m dealing with monsters lurking in the sewers, supernatural politics, and four penniless (but totally hot) plumbers living in my crumbling old Victorian.
I’m Ari Smoke, wine aficionado, ex-barista, and a girl who is completely out of her element.
Having four hot husbands is nice…but the death threats, not so much.

Goodreads / Amazon

Author Bios:

Tate James was born and raised in the Land of the Long White Cloud (New Zealand) but now lives in Australia with her husband, baby and furbaby.
She is a lover of books, red wine, cats and coffee and is not a morning person. She is a bit too sarcastic and swears too much for polite society and definitely tells too many dirty jokes.

Website / Facebook / Instagram

C.M. Stunich is a self-admitted bibliophile with a love for exotic teas and a whole host of characters who live full time inside the strange, swirling vortex of her thoughts. Some folks might call this crazy, but Caitlin Morgan doesn’t mind – especially considering she has to write biographies in the third person. Oh, and half the host of characters in her head are searing hot bad boys with dirty mouths and skillful hands (among other things). If being crazy means hanging out with them everyday, C.M. has decided to have herself committed.

She hates tapioca pudding, loves to binge on cheesy horror movies, and is a slave to many cats. When she’s not vacuuming fur off of her couch, C.M. can be found with her nose buried in a book or her eyes glued to a computer screen. She’s the author of over thirty novels – romance, new adult, fantasy, and young adult included. Please, come and join her inside her crazy. There’s a heck of a lot to do there.

Oh, and Caitlin loves to chat (incessantly), so feel free to e-mail her, send her a Facebook message, or put up smoke signals. She’s already looking forward to it.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter

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Blitz + Excerpt and Giveaway: Shadow of the Moon by Kwen D. Griffeth

Shadow of the Moon
Kwen D. Griffeth
Publication date: September 25th 2017
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Paranormal

The grisly murder of a diplomat’s son in Central Park draw NYPD Detective Gerald Meeker and FBI Special Agent Andee Trakes into a twisted and confusing investigation. Within hours, the evidence indicates the man was executed in the manner saved for werewolves. Andee Trakes is assigned to liaison with a history professor, who is an expert on folklore and legends.
Professor Alwyn Lloyd, handsome, articulate and successful, not only agrees the method of death was indeed an execution, he claims to be a werewolf. Andee is torn between the desire to date the man and the suspicion to arrest him.
From the initial killing in the park, a bloody spree is ignited that soon has Andee and Lloyd forced to work together to protect themselves and family members.
Shadow of the Moon explores the world of werewolves and paints a picture of what is good about them, as well as bad. The story explains what is beautiful as well as ugly about the wolf.
The story is fast paced and full of interesting characters and several twists and turns to keep both the fantasy as well as the suspense and romance enthusiasts entertained.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

“I’m Special Agent Trakes, I’m with the FBI. I drove up from New York to see Professor Lloyd.”
“I’m Professor Lloyd’s assistant. Is he expecting you?” Her smile never wavered, though the hand dropped to her side.
“No, as I said, I’m with the FBI, and we don’t normally make appointments.”
Miranda, with smile still in place, walked to the door leading to the professor’s office as she said, “Let me check with him, but I’m sure he will be able to meet with you. I keep his appointment calendar, so I know he’s not overly busy.”
“Hey, I was here first, and I’ve waited thirty minutes.”
Trakes turned back to the office and noticed a blonde had stood to announce her displeasure. She tried to show her indignation with the agent, but her glare fell short.
Trakes smiled at the student and held out her FBI credentials for the blonde to see.
“I’m with the FBI, sweetie. We get cuts.”
Behind her, she heard Miranda say, “Sit down, Shelly, you know as well as I do the professor won’t change your grade.”
Trakes turned back to Miranda and waved the credentials one more time.
“These are really the only announcement I need, but thank you. I’ll just pop in. Then the professor and I will get acquainted.”
Before Miranda could object, the agent turned and stepped through the door.
Her first impression of the office was the desk. It was large, made of wood and appeared antique… Professor Lloyd sat behind the desk.
He studied papers with his head lowered, and her first glimpse of him took in the breadth of his shoulders and his hair. It was thick and dark, almost black down the center of the head, but shaded to grey by the time it reached the man’s ears. It was combed back, but a natural part down the center caused it to fall to each side. She wondered what it felt like, then forced herself to refocus.
As she stepped through the door, Trakes announced, “Good afternoon, I’m…”
He looked up from his papers.
The eyes were a pale blue. Ice blue. The shade of blue used to sell breath mints, and her intake of air seemed fresher as it travelled to her lungs. The eyes were hard and unwelcoming. Andee wished she had waited to be announced. She stepped into the room and tripped on the edge of the rug. She whispered a curse, caught her balance, held her blush to a minimum and muttered an apology.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Those eyes, still focused on her, softened enough to indicate his irritation at the interruption had grown into a mild curiosity. As he studied her, he allowed an eyebrow to raise and his head to cant to one side. She suddenly felt exposed, and her blush from the ungainly entry deepened. Her heart paused, and then quickened. Her stomach tickled, then settled into nervousness. Her underarms damped and a question about deodorant flashed through her mind. She tried again to introduce herself, but discovered she had forgotten her name.
“Professor, I’m…a…I’m…”
Her words came in a small squeak. It may have been the squeak a mouse makes when she sees the hawk dive, but it was certainly the squeak of prey. She froze. The corners of his mouth turned.
“Uncle Alwyn, you stop this. Stop it, right now.”
The commands came from Miranda, and the professor looked past Trakes to his niece, who was standing in the doorway. As he broke eye contact, Andee gulped air. She realized she’d forgotten to breathe.
“Uncle Alwyn, I’m ashamed of you,” Miranda continued, and she took Andee’s arm and assisted her to one of the chairs in front of the desk. Andee smiled her gratitude as she felt dizzy. She looked up at the assistant, who smiled down at her.
“Don’t mind my uncle. He does that sometimes. It’s because he is an Alpha.”
“He’s a what?”
Andee felt as if she was clearing a fog.
“He’s an Alpha, and sometimes he takes advantage.”
“An Alpha? Is that a fraternity?”


Author Bio:

Winner of Readers’ Favorite Silver Award for Historical Fiction/Western, Kwen knew he wanted to be a writer when he was fourteen years old. He felt the urge when he finished Earnest Hemingway’s masterpiece For Whom The Bell Tolls. The story touched him in a way no other book ever had. It transported a kid born and raised on a farm and ranch in Idaho to the mountains of Spain. It took him back in time forty years to witness the Spanish Civil War. Kwen knew he wanted to share that wonder with other people.
John Lennon said, “Life is what happens while you make other plans.” While Kwen lived a full and varied life, his dream of writing remained in the back of his mind.
Finally, in 2012, he wrote a novella named Dear Emma. He self-published through Amazon and asked people to read it. “The best way to see if I can write is to let people check it out,” he said. Like it, they did. Currently, Dear Emma enjoys a 4.8 out of 5 stars rating on Amazon.
Often asked what genre he writes, Kwen replies he writes stories about people and uses the genre that best fits the story. “I think of the genre, or setting as another character that interacts to help tell the story,” he says.
His most often received and constant comment is how real his characters seem. Upon the completion of his historical fiction trilogy Sam and Laura books, a reader telephoned Kwen and directed him to write more stories about the couple. When asked why the reader was so adamant about more stories, he replied he “wasn’t ready to tell Sam and Laura good bye yet.”
Kwen considers that comment one of his highest compliments.
Kwen’s books are getting some attention from the literary community. The Law of Moses, the Silver Award winner from Readers’ Favorite, and The Tenth Nail both received the Gold Award from Literary Titan Book Review. The Gold Award is given to books “found to be perfect in their delivery of original content, meticulous development of unique characters in an organic and striking setting, innovative plot that supports a fresh theme, and elegant prose that transforms words into beautifully written novels.” Many of Kwen’s books have received the Gold Award from Literary Titan. In addition, The Law of Moses was awarded five 5 Star Reviews from the reviewers of Readers’ Favorite.
Kwen’s books are available in several formats; e-Book, paperback, and audio. He invites you to check his writings out. Who knows? He might become your next favorite author. 

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Blitz + Excerpt and Giveaway: Shadow Weave by Annette Marie

The Shadow Weave
Annette Marie
(Spell Weaver #2)
Publication date: January 12th 2018
Genres: Adult, Urban Fantasy

Clio might be a nymph living in exile among humans. And she might possess the rare ability to mimic any magic she sees. And she might have just seriously ticked off the most powerful family of spell weavers in the Underworld.
But she is not in love with an incubus.
Lyre is the rebellious black sheep of said weaver family, and he’s the only reason she survived her recent Underworld “vacation.” He’s also the sexiest thing she’s ever seen. Together, they have to track down a catastrophically dangerous magic—a magic he created, she sort of stole, and they both lost—before his family gets their hands on it. And that means fighting alongside him in a desperate attempt to avert complete disaster.
But she is definitely not in love with him. At least, she’s pretty sure she’s not.
Mostly sure. Maybe sure? …Crap.

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EXCERPT:

As though summoned by her thoughts, the sex fiend himself breezed into the room. Hair damp and tousled, the kind of face that made women’s hearts skip, broad shoulders that tapered to a toned torso. His tattered clothes should have ruined the look, but they added an extra edge—dangerous and exotic.
The others in the kitchen noticed his arrival, but they dismissed him just as quickly. Unlike most daemons, incubi were easy to recognize even in glamour. No other caste possessed that stunning combination of golds—white-gold hair, warm golden skin, vibrant irises like a dark patina over rich yellow gold.
Yes, they recognized him as an incubus—and they didn’t bother to hide their curling lips and wrinkling noses. Lyre either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he swept over to her, his expression brightening for the first time in two days.
“Clio,” he purred, voice too low for even keen-eared strangers to hear, “your powers of seduction would put any succubus to shame.”
She blinked at him, the bowl of whisked eggs in her hands and a hot pan sizzling in front of her. His mood was so different from earlier that she couldn’t quite grasp it.
“Huh?” she managed. How articulate.
“This is entirely unfair. I have no power to resist such tactics.” He waited a beat. “Are you planning to do something with those eggs?”
She blinked again, trying to unscramble her brain. Scramble. Right, the eggs. She dumped the mixture into the hot pan. “What are you going on about, Lyre?”
“Bacon,” he sighed dreamily. “Pancakes. Scrambled eggs. You slay me, my love.”
On the words “my love,” her heart screeched to a stop so fast it might have left skid marks on her ribs. It kicked back into gear at three times its previous speed and she concentrated so hard on the spatula that she almost went cross-eyed. “You—you can’t be that excited about my cooking. You don’t even know if it’s any good.”
“I can tell already. It’ll be delicious.”
She shivered. The way he said that word should be illegal. As she hurriedly stirred the eggs with a spatula, he stood so close he was almost touching her, his body angled toward her as though she held his entire attention. But his gaze, sliding coolly from one watching daemon to another, was distinctly unfriendly.
She scraped the eggs off the pan, then rescued the bacon from the oven—triggering a stir among the waiting daemons. With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she pulled a plate from the cupboard, loaded it with food, and held it out to Lyre. She’d cooked an elaborate late-night breakfast to cheer him up, but now second thoughts were crowding her brain. Too late to change her plan now.
His smile only fueled her blush as he fished a fork out of a nearby drawer, loaded it with eggs, and scooped them into his mouth. She held her breath. The entire room went silent.
His eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “So good,” he moaned.
Bang.
She jerked around. The female daemon had dropped her heavy book on the floor. As everyone looked over at her, pink tinged the woman’s cheeks. She snatched up her book and beat a hasty retreat out of the room.
Clio swallowed hard, envious of the woman’s ability to flee. Lyre’s moan had been so sensual it had been downright scandalous, and if Clio didn’t put space between them soon, she was going to start swooning like a complete fool.

Author Bio:

Annette Marie is the author of the Amazon best-selling Steel & Stone series, which includes Goodreads Choice Award nominee Yield the Night, and fantasy trilogy Red Winter. Her first love is fantasy, but fast-paced adventures and tantalizing forbidden romances are her guilty pleasures. She lives in the frozen winter wasteland of Alberta, Canada (okay, it's not quite that bad) with her comparatively sensible husband and their furry minion of darkness—sorry, cat— Caesar. When not writing, she can be found elbow-deep in one art project or another while blissfully ignoring all adult responsibilities. 

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Blitz + Excerpt, Playlist, and Giveaway: Cross Stroke by Elizabeth Hartey

Cross Stroke
Elizabeth Hartey
Publication date: January 16th 2018
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance

Tracey…
One night left my heart shattered and my reputation ruined, and now my only hope is to transfer to another university far from home. Although I’m a champion figure skater and am used to succeeding, I can’t dump the burden of distrust and intimacy I’m carrying.
But when I literally crash into the cocky captain of the hockey team, sparks fly, and the attraction is as undeniable as it is unwanted.
No way is this arrogant hottie the one to help me move past my fears. Or is he…?
Dak…
Overwhelmed with guilt and remorse, I can’t forget the tragic accident that killed my first love. To avoid ever feeling that kind of agonizing loss again, I vow to stick with one-night stands with every puck bunny who glides my way and focus on keeping my position on the hockey team.
But after I meet a feisty figure skater and am then thrown together with her as a lab partner, I find I want to melt the icy walls we’ve built around our hearts.
If we don’t strangle each other first.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

Tracey
My next trip into unrequited love land occurred with the esoteric art student. He had long flowing hair and haunting amber gold eyes which seemed to hold the secrets of life and made my limbs quiver. Things went pretty much the same with art boy as they did with rock god. Another beautiful friend who was unable to quench my robust desires. I introduced my music friend to my art friend and hearts and flowers bloomed all around—for them. I was happy for them. Really. Sort of. Okay, I was pissed. But I eventually got over it, and didn’t panic.
Having seen that look before, the first time rock god gazed at me, I’m not surprised or bothered by the way I’m imagining the jackass swallowing me with his eyes right now. I know it means nothing. What does bother me is his panty melting body in full view, which I, on the other hand, am more than attracted to. My legs are starting to feel rubbery underneath me. Bambi might be the right name for me after all.
“Maybe you need glasses, Bambi.” The jackass smirks. “You can’t see the big things right in front of you.”
“My eyes are fine. For instance, I don’t see anything big in front of me at the moment.” I glance down at the Thor-size hammer between his legs.
What? I’m certainly not going to tell him he’s been blessed by the gods.
He finally decides to wrap his towel around his miraculous…waist. Doesn’t help though. I’m still aware of the perfect V of his oblique muscles pointing the way to wonderland.
“Never had any complaints before.” He grins. “And I was referring to the big black letters on the door of the locker room.”
“I came in to change my clothes.” I flip my hair back in a perfect ‘f… off’ maneuver.
“I can see that, Bambi.” He arches a brow while taking one more long survey up and down my body. “But this,” he points one finger from side to side, “is the boys’ locker room, and unless you want to start a riot, I suggest you get out of here before the hockey team gets off the ice.”

Cross Stroke Playlist

Pump It –Black-eyed Peas

Shake It Off – Taylor Swift

The Shape of You – Ed Sheeran

No Church In The Wild – Jay Z and Kanye West

The Canon in D – Pachelbel

In your eyes – Peter Gabriel

Only Exception - Paramore

You Matter To Me – Jason Mraz and Sara Bareilles

Distance – Jason Mraz and Christina Perri

I’ll Make Love to you – Boyz To Men

Mine – Bazzi

Author Bio:

As a lover of the northeast US, my husband and I moved to the Poconos several years ago to open a Chiropractic Clinic. Four children and a menagerie of animals later, I have finally found time to fulfill my lifelong dream of writing novels. A dreamer at heart, romance is---of course---the genre I spend most of my time writing and reading into the wee hours of the morning. However, if it's a good book, any genre can keep me immersed in the story for hours.
When I’m not juggling work responsibilities and writing, I enjoy baking, knitting, traveling, hiking the beautiful hills and woods around my home and spending time with my family. 

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Blitz + Excerpt, Fun Facts, and Giveaway: On the Edge by Dani Collins

On the Edge
Dani Collins
(Blue Spruce Lodge, #1)
Published by: Tule Publishing
Publication date: January 16th 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

When Glory Cormer’s father introduces her to ‘their’ new business partner, she’s appalled. Viking-like Rolf Johansson exudes the same alpha-intimidation that jocks used to torment her through high school. After nursing her mother the last several years, she’s trying to break out of her shell and secretly pursue a writing career, but Rolf insists she go through with the rotten deal her father struck with his brother to renovate an old chalet.
Rolf envisions this mountain as a world-class resort for elite athletes and other jet setters. As a downhill champion and owner of a world-renowned sports equipment empire, he knows what it takes to get what he wants. Nothing will stop him, especially not a hotheaded wallflower who turns the ice in his veins to lava.
Bonus Story! This book contains Glory’s novella Blessed Winter, a no-room-at-the-inn Christmas romance.

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EXCERPT:

“I’m saying I don’t know how to deal with it. I’m not a sensitive man. I don’t want to hurt you again.” His fingers crept all the way around her upper arm, thumb stroking her skin as he gently clasped her in his warm grip.
“So don’t,” she suggested with a flash of irritation.
“Okay.” How did he make one word sound so dangerous? Like a dare. “You tell me what hurts more. Resisting or giving in?”
And now she was falling into an eclipse, staring into eyes that were golden and black at the same time, pulling her right out of herself and twisting her around so her body was in a sensual agony, tied up and yearning.
“Should we see?” he murmured, hands touching her with light sorcery, caressing her arm, caressing her throat, tilting up her chin.
She shouldn’t be this stupid, but she did hurt. All the time. With want…
His head lowered, slanted. His mouth hovered so she could feel the magnetic buzz of ions bouncing between their lips. When he nudged, made that first contact, her mouth stung, so hot and sensitized with anticipation she gasped.
He settled his lips over hers, hot and thorough. Confident. He kissed her in a way she had never been kissed before. This man held himself back with monumental discipline, she realized, because when he went for something, he went for it, and he was a force to be reckoned with. He claimed her with irresistible precision, mouth pressing hers open so the connection went from sweet suggestion to overwhelming passion in a single heartbeat.
She opened her mouth and let him in. Kissed him back with more offering than skill, not even hesitating. Compelled. If he was screwing with her—
Whatever she had consciously been thinking sizzled into nothing. She forgot how to form thoughts. All she knew was the feel of his lips against hers, smooth and firm, pulling just enough to make her follow him, then pressing to keep her sealed inside their world.
His hand slid through her hair to cup the back of her skull. His other arm went around her, broad hand slipping beneath her loose shirt to sit against the skin of her lower back, leaving a starfish of heat imprinted there. A shudder went through her, all of her muscles checking out and giving her body over to his strength. All she could do was lift her arms and cling around his neck, plastering herself to him while they devoured each other. Tongues came into play. His. Hers. She moaned, loving the swirling textures. Reveling in their blatant consumption of each other.
He was hard. She felt him against her abdomen and pulses of reaction hit her loins, making her want to grind against him. She wanted to do it already. Now.
As she realized how caught up she was, she yanked back, gasping.
He let her put some space between them, but kept his arm around her. His cheekbones were flushed above his beard, his eyes like liquid gold.
She hadn’t minded that beard, she realized, and wanted to stroke it with her fingers. She touched instead where the soft hairs had scraped against her chin, wondering how that rough-soft abrasion would feel against her stomach. Her thighs.
Her body reacted with a rush of heat and another pulse. She was very aware of the bed right there, while his eyes were halos of light around pupils the size of the moon.
“And that,” he said, accent thick. “Is why it is my business who spends time in this room.”

Five Fast and Fun Facts about On The Edge

1. The working title for On The Edge was Uphill Battles.
2. Glory is a romance author, like me! Also like me: she’s sarcastic, an introvert, and swears a lot.
3. Glory writes a no-room-at-the-inn Christmas romance called Blessed Winter. You read it as you read On The Edge. My husband calls it ‘a book within a book.’
4. Murphy, the dog that Rolf’s brother brings to the lodge and leaves with him (against Rolf’s will!) is real. My brother-in-law rescued him two years ago.
5. The name Blue Spruce Lodge is in memory of my grandmother. She loved Blue Spruce trees. (And romance novels, as do I!)

Author Bio:

Award-winning, USA Today Bestselling author Dani Collins thrives on giving readers emotional, compelling, heart-soaring romance with laughter and heat thrown in, just like real life. Mostly she writes contemporary romance for Harlequin Presents and Tule’s Montana Born, but her backlist of forty books also includes self-published erotic romance, romantic comedy, and even an epic medieval fantasy. When she’s not writing—just kidding, she’s always writing. She lives in Christina Lake, BC, Canada with her husband of thirty years who occasionally coaxes her out of her attic office to visit their grown children. 

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