Monday, June 19, 2017

New Release: The Wolf Prince by Jaye Raymee #Shifters #Romance #Fey #Irish #Werewolf #Giveaway


HAPPY BOOK BIRTHDAY TO
THE WOLF PRINCE!



The Wolf Prince
A Shifter Romance Novella
Publisher: Roane Publishing
Release Date: June 19, 2017

Keywords: Werewolf, Celtic, Irish, Dublin, shapeshifter, sidhe, fairies, fey, magic, prophecy

Claire O’Neil grew up hearing stories from her grandmother’s Irish homeland.  Her grandmother seemed to be personally acquainted with exotic fairies, mischievous pixies, even powerfully seductive shape-shifters.  On the eve of the older woman’s funeral, Claire is visited again by strangely erotic dreams which began on her sixteenth birthday, dreams which leave her breathless and aroused by the shadowy presence of a mysterious stranger.  At the funeral itself, she is approached by a foreigner who carries a letter from her grandmother.  Following the instructions in the letter, Claire is whisked away to Ireland to discover the legacy left behind by her grandmother.

Once in the Emerald Isle Claire is stunned to learn that her grandmother’s stories were real: the Dubh Sidhe and the Four Fey Courts of Dublin do exist.   More shockingly, an ancient prophecy has tied their fate to hers. At a chance encounter Claire comes face-to-face with the stranger from her dreams, and breathless doesn’t begin to describe the effect he has on her!  As she finds herself caught between rivals for leadership of the shape-shifters, Claire is kidnapped and held in seclusion by the mysterious stranger’s brother as part of their battle for leadership of the their family.  Only Claire can help the mysterious stranger to save himself and his clan from losing their power forever.  If she chooses to…and if she can accept that passion can take many forms.

PURCHASE LINKS


~~~oOo~~~

EXCERPT:
*Contains adult content*


Suddenly, in the full moon light that illuminated the clearing ahead of her as well as day, she saw him. Connor, his golden eyes catching her in their gaze and drawing her in to him. Afraid of him, but more afraid of the claws she could now hear scrabbling on the rock strewn path behind her, she chose the possible safety of his presence and burst into the clearing herself. Without quite realizing how, she found herself in his arms, enveloped in his scent, and his coat whipping around her as if to offer her refuge within its folds. She buried her head in his chest as a child might, to keep out a nightmare.

Abruptly, a howl sounded from outside the clearing, answered by another from the opposite side. They were surrounded!

Still hiding her head, Claire felt Connor’s arms tighten around her and press her closer, and she could feel a rumbling coming from the man, a sound that grew into a low growl. The sound vibrated inside her very skin, and, unable to help herself, she melted even more deeply into his embrace.

Warned away, her pursuers retreated back into the blackness beyond the clearing, and Connor gently raised Claire’s face to his own. Almost glowing in the moonlight, his eyes pierced her deeply, and she was completely unresisting as he lowered his lips to hers, heat pouring from him into her like a flame as his mouth found hers, opening her and exploring her with his first kiss. She found herself responding, her hands reaching up to tangle themselves in his unruly hair, her tongue darting out to taste his, feeling the sharp points of his teeth.

His hands moved to her waist, his lips to her neck, to her shoulders, to the tear in her blouse. The sharp sensation as he found a tender nipple with his fangs caused her to gasp aloud, but she didn’t resist or push him away. Instead, she pressed herself against him, urging him on. Then they were falling together, the rich loam of the Irish earth cushioning them as they tumbled to the ground.

Suddenly, she was the aggressor, rolling on top of him even as she wondered at her wanton behavior. His hands, helped by hers, slid along her trembling thighs, up and under her skirt, while their mouths never lost contact, sharing the same breath and moving as one under the gently glow of the moon.

She could feel the bulge of his manhood straining through his clothes, rubbing against her own intimate flesh. His hands had slid beneath her undergarments and were stroking the sensitive skin there, sending waves of pleasure that were both fire-hot and chilling at the same time. She put her hands between them, freeing him, and moving away from his mouth for a brief moment to look into his moonlit face. Holding his gaze with her own, wondering if her own eyes held the same hypnotic desire that his did, she made a final decision. As she drove herself onto him, impaling her flesh on his, she was doing what she had always wanted, always needed, always been waiting for.

Around them, a chorus of howls accompanied her own cries. This time she felt the howls were voicing their approval, not hunting her, and the sound swept around her as her body went rigid in climax, Connor still hard and deep inside her pulsing flesh. His hands came up to pull off the tattered remains of her top and expose her breasts to the night, to his grasping mouth and questing tongue.

As he pulled her down to meet his mouth, the moon caught the necklace, and a white hot silver light seemed to flash from it. Suddenly, his body stiffened and he cried out, not in pleasure but in pain, and Claire felt his body under her begin to change, his hands to grow claws, the teeth at her bosom narrow into even sharper points, and she, lost in pleasure as she was, still had the energy to shriek as what had once been Connor now turned into a thrashing, struggling wolf beneath her.

Her own cries woke her up, to the bright sunlight of her hotel room and the start of her new day in Dublin.

~~~oOo~~~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Jaye has been writing since at least the age of eight, and still cherishes that very first manuscript about a knight kissing a maiden. While the subject matter has evolved from those days, the human condition in all its varied forms and all its joyful expressions of intimacy remains central to Jaye's writing. Found anywhere from a small town on California's San Francisco Peninsula to the wild corners of Ireland, Jaye can often be spotted quietly scribbling in a series of notebooks, where stories are born. You may have run into Jaye just this morning at your local cafe and never realized it.

You get a peek at Jaye's Notebook at or follow the Twitter feed @JayErotica. Reader feedback is always encouraged…and every fantasy is interesting…

LINKS:


~~~oOo~~~

GIVEAWAY!

A $10 ROANE PUBLISHING GIFT CARD!


Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use a RoanePublishing.com Gift Code.  No purchase necessary, but you must be 18 or older to enter. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter, and announced on the widget. Winner well be notified by emailed and have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. The number of entries received determines the odds of winning. This giveaway was organized by Roane Publishing's marketing department.

Friday, June 16, 2017

#FREEBIE #FRIDAY Excerpt from DREAM ARCHITECT by Sharon Hughson #Romance



Ashlin Taylor yanked the door to Taylor and Sons Custom Designs closed. She almost welcomed the lines at the bank and the questions at the title company, anything to escape the animosity between Uncle Mike and Daniel Peters.

She adjusted the messenger bag filled with her deliveries and inhaled the grease-and-exhaust-scented air, sighing as the cool breeze dispelled her tension. She frowned at her uncle’s one-ton truck parked beside her Mazda 3 and slipped her bag behind the driver’s seat. The car rumbled to life. Four cylinders never sounded so sweet, regardless of what her brothers said. She checked her mirror, both directions–like she could see through the bulk of the company truck–and eased backward.

An explosion rattled the coupe.

Her gaze flew to the rear view mirror, green eyes widening. A body bounced off the spoiler and rolled to the ground. Ashlin stomped the brake pedal, shifted to neutral and engaged the parking break. The thrumming of her pulse drowned the slam of her door.

Between the two cars, a body twitched.

She gasped, jaw dropping before she could cover it with her hand, and tripped over her feet to kneel beside the battered bundle. Asphalt scraped against the tights beneath her tweed skirt. When the face turned toward her, she inhaled sharply again, but for a totally different reason.

She had backed over Mr. Drop-Dead Gorgeous.

Eyes the color of a stormy sky blinked at her out of a broad, bronzed face.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Are you alright?”

A gloved hand pushed off the pavement at her feet, the other hand adjusted the stocking cap covering his hair. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I can’t see around the truck.” A smile wobbled her lips when he straightened.

They stood up together, her hand grasping his arm for balance. As if she could help. Her head barely reached his chin. The goose bumps on her arm had to be from the sudden breeze, although gripping his bicep might have contributed.

She followed him to the back of her car and stared at the crumpled bicycle beneath her bumper.
“Looks like my bike got the worst of it.” His tone drew Ashlin’s attention and his jaw jumped.
“I’ll pay to fix it,” she said.

“It’s not your responsibility.”

“I feel terrible.” Ashlin wrung her hands together. “Please.”

He finally met her gaze. His expression was carefully blank, but his mouth relaxed. Was he relieved?
“Let me give you my number,” she said, turning toward her car door.

“My bike isn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry.” Her cheeks heated, negating the bite in the afternoon air. “I’m working now, but I’ll give you a ride when I finish.”

He studied her car and his eyebrows rose. “I can take the bus.”

Ashlin shifted her weight from one foot to another. Why was he being so difficult? She followed his gaze to the fender well on the passenger side of her car. A gouge magnified a dent now marring the navy blue finish. Her hand flew to her mouth and she bit back a squeal.

Three months and the car was ruined.

“It’ll cost more to repair your car.”

She saw regret in his eyes when she returned her attention to him. Dark brown hair peeping out from under the black beanie, fluttered over his forehead.

“But I can still drive it,” she said, swallowing to relieve the tightness in her throat. “Your bike wasn’t so lucky.”

Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Cover Reveal: Braving the Elements a #Fantasy #Anthology by @RoanePublishing


Braving the Elements
A Fantasy Anthology
by Various Artists
Publisher: Roane Publishing
Release Date: September 4, 2017

Keywords: Fantasy, Anthology, Medieval, Epic, Sword and Sorcery, Elements, Magic

The Dragon, The Witch, and the Swordswoman
By Claire Davon
As the person responsible for calling the bronze dragon that destroyed her village, Losha is tasked with killing it. Failure to do so means she will be outcast from everything she has ever known. Yet one she is on the road, two local women in tow, she finds that she is strangely reluctant to harm the beast that lurks in her mind.
After an encounter with an oddly familiar old woman and a knight in a small hamlet Losha is more confused than ever. On one hand, failure to slay the dragon means she cannot return to the promise of marriage from a local boy yet the more she learns about the dragon the less she wants to harm it.  It, like the bronze sword that is her only defense, speaks to her in a way nothing else has.
The stage is set for a final showdown between knight and beast when the knight’s true quest is revealed and Losha must choose between all she has ever known, or the companionship of an old woman…and a dragon.

Forging Mettle
By Michael Siciliano
Xander, a teenaged street thief in the grimy slums of Low Town, discovers he has an innate magical talent on the same night his father is killed. Intent on getting revenge, he attempts a risky robbery which goes bad. Rather than face the hangman’s noose, Xander agrees to accompany a group of soldiers intent on finding a powerful magical artifact. But the Beggar’s Hand isn’t what the King’s sorcerer thinks. Deep in the mountains, Xander must make life and death decisions, not just for himself, but the Kingdom he calls home.

The Myth of Mt Agony
By Kelly Said
Meadow’s mere presence ensures the Morningstar farm produces with preternatural abundance. A dirt-dusted foster-child, she hungers for harmony with Auric’s lands.
Valcone is the reclusive prince of Auric. Confined to his room—for the safety of his subjects—he craves control over his persuasive powers.

The prince and the farmgirl’s powerful personalities will collide with epic force when a war erupts between Auric and a neighboring kingdom. With Auric’s fate on the line, Valcone tests the limits of his ability. He amplifies his steady push into a forceful shove against Meadow’s gentle Nature. The Earth-shaper finds herself between a rock and a hard place, literally, where the only choice to save her family may lie in surrendering to the destructive force of her ground-breaking ability.

Mist Weaver
By Terri Rochenski
Dolan wants nothing more than to escape his village for the big city where his small stature and unpleasant features won’t make him the recipient of constant ridicule by the lord of the manor and his heir, Gilroy. The mist that dances to the sweet notes of Dolan's flute is his only camaraderie and the only beauty in his life—except for Keavy. 
When the kind milkmaid is faced with unwanted attentions, Dolan must defend her honor with a choice that will ultimately change his life. 

Alice and the Egg
By Rebecca Hart
Alice would do anything for her father, the only parent she’s ever known since her mother’s death in childbirth. When he falls ill, Alice doesn’t hesitate when the opportunity to barter her life for his is presented by Jayden, the prince and only heir to the Dragorean throne.
It doesn’t take long for Alice to realize the palace has secrets. Ones that relate to her own past more than she could ever have imagined. If she can find a way to play the game of secrets well enough, not only could she save her father, she just manage to save herself as well.

~~~oOo~~~



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Monday, June 5, 2017

New Release: RETROUVAILLES by Bill Chastain #Romance #WomensFiction #Giveaway



HAPPY BOOK BIRTHDAY TO
RETROUVAILLES!


Retrouvailles
A Romance Novel
Release Date: June 5, 2017
Publisher: Roane Publishing
Keywords: Contemporary, Romance Women's Fiction

Alex Overstreet is exceptional.

Mature beyond his years, he understands the value of education and where having one can take him. Adverse circumstances are no match for the "anything is possible" residing in his soul, a place where self-pity need not enter. His future is mapped in his mind. Staying the course will bring a worthwhile end game.

Enter India Blue Kirkland.

The most popular girl in school is the unknown Alex failed to factor into his carefully calculated life plans. She is everything he is not—outgoing and popular. A chance encounter with her sets into place a life-long love affair.

Together they find a passion and embrace the best of their different worlds while exploring the wonder of love.  Both are more than ready for a future together. But Alex’s family situation looms in the background, and eventually catches up to him, forcing him to make sacrifices that change the course of his relationship with India.  Though driven apart, their love never wavers.

Years later, Alex is successful on a large scale professionally, yet emptiness clings to him like free-floating lint to a dark suit. India should have been a part of it all.  He's never moved on from her. She is the love of his life.  Meanwhile, India is trapped in a marriage and longs for what she had with Alex.  One glance of Alex at her father’s funeral sparks a romance that never died.

Retrouvailles validates the compelling power of first love and how the snapshots of moments together matter most. Those snapshots representing sweet moments in time can be more compelling than a lifetime spent together.


~~~oOo~~~

EXCERPT:


Alex sipped a Presidente while sitting on the deck outside “The Parched Pelican.”

Indian Rocks Beach had fancier places than the open-air tavern facing the Gulf of Mexico. Alex just preferred the dive with the dowdy name. The hand-painted sign showing a cartoon pelican with muscles and tattoos cracked him up—Florida tacky at its finest. Plus, no steel drum bands, no Tiki torches and, best of all, few patrons at that time of day. You could drink a cold beer and just be. Alex preferred to blend in with the scenery, be invisible, thus, serenity.

A salty breeze grazed his face and the rhythm of the gentle surf performed the duty of a fairy-tale sandman, making heavy his eyelids. Giving in to such an urge would be his normal inclination. Take a few steps down to the beach, stretch out in the sand underneath the azure sky, and suddenly he’d be blowing Z’s like Dagwood Bumstead.

Not today.

Beads of sweat formed on his upper lip while his thumb picked off the label from the bottle of Dominican beer. He stared at the naked green bottle, hoping a state of nothingness would come to him. If he studied the inanimate object long enough he might forget the troublesome reality weighing heavy on his mind.

Maybe they’d waltz around the subject of her pending doom, tiptoeing like one of those Russian gymnasts on the balance beam, tension…tension…tension, but cool. Dying was an extremely personal matter and something she might not want to share with him. If she did, he couldn’t show pity and pity was hard to disguise. The slightest sign of it would piss her off. Taking a direct approach suited India.

Alex undid the top buttons of the light cotton shirt he wore loose at the waist and ordered another Presidente. Several months had passed since he awoke wearing socks and a monster hangover, unable to remember where he’d parked the car. The moment frightened him into an abstinence pledge.

Feeling too good for too long had brought him to the conclusion that his initial solution felt too much like Alcoholics Anonymous. He rationalized the step lacking from the guiding twelve steps was moderation; and all that guilt if you fell off the wagon for a couple of drinks. Besides, he enjoyed alcohol too much to quit. Common sense told him that all the alcohol in the world would not change his life. Thus, hoping to avoid self-destruction, he imposed a three-beer limit, installed like a father does a governor to his son’s go-cart to prevent him from driving too fast.

Alex’s eyes closed and he rocked back in his chair, evoking a sad moan from the deck constructed of rough-hewn two-by-fours. Balancing his body with one leg resting on an adjacent chair, he heard steps approach. A cold palm touched his face, then two moist lips met his for a lingering moment.

~~~oOo~~~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:


Bill Chastain is a sports journalist who is the author of two previous novels, PEACHTREE CORVETTE CLUB and THE STREAK. He also has penned non-fiction sports titles including THE STEVE SPURRIER STORY: FROM HEISMAN TO HEAD BALL COACH; PAYNE AT PINEHURST: THE GREATEST U.S. OPEN EVER; HACK’S 191: HACK WILSON AND HIS INCREDIBLE 1930 SEASON; SEPTEMBER NIGHTS: HUNTING THE BEASTS OF THE AMERICAN LEAGUE EAST; and JACKRABBIT: THE STORY OF CLINT CASTLEBERRY AND THE IMPROBABLE 1942 GEORGIA TECH FOOTBALL TEAM.

Links



~~~oOo~~~

GIVEAWAY!
A $10 Roane Publishing Gift Card!


Open only to those who can legally enter, receive and use a RoanePublishing.com Gift Code.  No purchase necessary, but you must be 18 or older to enter. The winner will be chosen by rafflecopter, and announced on the widget. Winner well be notified by emailed and have 48 hours to respond or a new winner will be chosen. The number of entries received determines the odds of winning. This giveaway was organized by Roane Publishing's marketing department.

Friday, June 2, 2017

#FlashFictionFriday Upon Awakening by Claire Davon #Flash #FFF

Upon Awakening

by Claire Davon

He was in the distance an indistinct, fuzzy figure as if she saw him through sheets of plastic. Osanna tried to call to the man, but when she opened her mouth no sound came. Then he was gone again, like he had vanished around a bend.


Frustrated, Osanna gave chase although her feet were bare and she was clad only in a diaphanous gown that for all its sheerness could not be seen through. He was around the corner, she was sure of it. Why it was so important to find the man she couldn’t have said, but it was all she could think about.


There.


She saw him again, a figure retreating into the mist that lay around them. Osanna ran as fast as she could, but made little headway against the man she kept glimpsing. No matter how quickly she dashed to the space he last stood, her legs flashing with every leap forward, she came no closer to the man. He held the answer to something, although she couldn’t have said what it was. Distant half-remembered images of him, a hazy recollection that she couldn’t quite decipher kept urging her forward.


The landscape, if that was what it was, couldn’t be seen through the heavy air except as the barest suggestion of shapes. Was that a mountain on the horizon? Did a sun burn overhead? She felt as if both things were true and yet not true, as if they would be real if she needed them to be. Osanna had the fleeting impression of a city in the distance, one that she would see if the mist cleared, but the cover stayed. That was what mist did in dreams—it cloaked the man, and the rest wasn’t important. He was the only thing that mattered.


He was always two steps out of reach no matter how fast or how far she ran. Yet she never tired. The mist surrounded her like a cloak, the ground beneath her running feet as indistinct as the horizon. It was neither warm nor cold. There were shapes in the cloudy air but she never hit them. Her gown—made of material like the clouds—moved with her, never impeding her. It could never have kept her warm in the real world, but here it was all she required. She had the sensation of another world, one that she was not meant to see. She was here for him.


Wait for me, she cried, once again the words soundless, but it seemed as if the man hesitated. Clenching her fists in determination, Osanna ran faster, her strides eating up the earth she couldn’t see. He kept wavering, vanishing and reappearing like the Aurora Borealis she had only read about.
As she ducked her head and pushed

 forward, Osanna collided with something solid and unyielding. She yelped, except as before she made no sound, and her heart sped up in panic. She backed up, horrified at the thought she had finally run into something in this vague misty nowhere land. The man she’d been chasing stood tall in front of her as if coalesced from shadow, Startled, she put a hand out and encountered solid flesh, so warm his heat went through her like a hot water bottle.

Or a promise.

She met his eyes and everything else fell away. They were blue and piercing, and somehow familiar. Fire burned in his eyes. He had a look of the Mediterranean in his slightly hooked nose, high cheekbones and olive complexion. He looked to be no older than she was. A hint of an uncertain smile tilted his lips up. He studied her with a puzzled air, as if he had not known she’d been chasing him. His hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs stroking her cheekbones. His mouth formed a word. She narrowed her gaze, trying to pick it out. Was it…hello?
* * * *
“Did you sleep well?”

Osanna nodded, shooting her bustling mother a lopsided grin. Despite what seemed like endless hours of running while she slept, she felt refreshed. The memory of the man’s clear blue eyes and chiseled features lingered in a way unlike most dreams. Usually her visions fell away the moment she opened her eyes, her mind already racing with the demands of the day, but this was different. This had the power of remembrance rather than slumber.


She shuffled into the kitchen and reached into the refrigerator for orange juice when the sound of male voices and clattering silverware stopped her.


“Mother?” she asked, her hand arrested in the act of getting the container. Her mother continued to focus on a pan full of scrambled eggs which Osanna realized was much larger than it would have been for the two of them. Bacon sizzled on the stove, its scent filling the air and making her mouth water. Her solid, unflappable mother had pink staining her cheeks.


“Oh, yes,” her mother replied, her gaze going to the dining room. “We have guests. Ezra from next door showed up with his nephew in tow this morning, here for the summer, like us. They arrived late last night and have no food. He wanted to know if he could borrow a cup of sugar. I told them to stay for breakfast. We have plenty.” Her eyes sparkled as if the meal was not her true reason for asking Ezra to eat with them.


The memories of the tousled brown-haired dream man dried Osanna’s throat. It could be nothing more than coincidence, though. Looking down at her feet she realized they were bare, as they had been in the dream. If her attire wasn’t the same, well, that was the nature of dreams. 


She shook her head at her silliness. With a glance at her mother and a tightening of her bulky robe around her form, Osanna strode into the dining room.

He was no dream.


She blinked, swallowed, and with shaking hands tightened her robe again, needing something to do as she stared at the man who she had already met in that shadow world.

“Hello, Osanna,” her uncle said. The other man rose to his feet, a figure still filling out into his final masculine form. If his dream image had been handsome, the reality of him was a balm to her senses. At 6’2” he was as tall as his spirit self, He had a runner’s build, hard muscles playing under the loose fitting jeans and college sweatshirt.

He held out his hand, his blue eyes bright against his shock of dark brown hair. His gaze glided over her body with a quick appreciation as pleased to see the form he could not discern in her dream gown. His gaze settled back on her face as if trying to show courtesy. 

Sensation began low in her core, spreading a similar warmth as she’d felt the night before through her limbs, making her lightheaded with the feeling. She wondered if he’d dreamed about her as well but there was no way to ask. 

“Hello,” he said and the word echoed through the room with twice the force it should have, as if making up for the lack of sound in that other place. “I’m Tomer.”


Heat blazing on her cheeks, Osanna shook his hand. It held the same warmth she had felt in slumber. “Hi,” she replied. “I’m Osanna.”


His lips curved up in the faintest hint of a smile as his eyes searched hers. He looked down at their joined palms and then leaned down and spoke into her ear.

“Is it really you? Is it possible?”

Heart skipping a beat, Osanna nodded. Tomar relaxed, letting his breath out in a rush. His fingers lingered on hers when he squeezed her palm and then slid his hand away.

“Pleasure to meet you, Osanna. I look forward to getting to know you.” The promise in his words was matched by the sparkle in his eyes when he drew back.

Her mother bustled in with eggs and bacon, the scent of breakfast filling the room. Daring another look at Tomer, the same feeling of promise washed over Osanna as it had in her dreamscape. There was no way to predict the future, but she was certain of one thing.

This was going to be good.

~~~oOo~~~

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Claire Davon is, among other things, a contemporary and paranormal romance author. She does not believe in genre boundaries and will write whatever story calls to her, whether horror, scifi and of course romance in all its forms. Claire has had several short stories and novels published in the last few years and looks forward to many more to come. Claire may be contacted at www.clairedavon.com where she loves to hear from people!


Links:
Website: www.clairedavon.com