Something sinister lurks… Pitch Dark by A. M. Wilson & Alex Grayson is LIVE and it’s exclusive to Amazon!

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Something sinister lurks…

Pitch Dark by A. M. Wilson & Alex Grayson is LIVE and it’s exclusive to Amazon!

Kindle Unlimited members can read Pitch Dark for #FREE

One-click your copies now:
US: http://amzn.to/2gTOIPP
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UK: http://amzn.to/2faLQKJ

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BLURB:

One girl disappeared. After fifteen years, her cold lifeless body was found on the damp forest floor. Not an inch of her was unmarked by the horrors she endured. Alone, malnourished, abused in horrific ways; this was how she died.

One girl was found walking the streets, covered in dirt and scars. She had no memory of who she was, where she came from, or what happened to her. Even though the marks on her body attested to years of heinous abuse, her strength shone through at every turn.

Revenge and justice were sworn.

Years of searching brought up nothing but dead ends. Detective Niko James was too late to save his childhood friend, but he vows not to let down another.

The clock is ticking and the trail is pitch dark.

READ MY REVIEW

https://bookaddict.live/2017/09/14/arc-review-pitch-dark-by-a-m-wilson-alex-grayson/

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About A.M. and Alex:

Avid readers and writers of suspenseful romances, both A.M. and Alex enjoy torturing their readers with twisted tales and crazy dark scenarios.

Find A.M. Online:
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BookBub: http://bit.ly/2vorgvI
Facebook: http://bit.ly/2wE8uES
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Website: https://amwilson.net

Find Alex Online:
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Website: http://www.alexgraysonbooks.com

BLOG Tour: JAGGED EDGE New York Times and USA Today bestselling author JO RAVEN is Now Available!!

 
 

Title: Jagged Edge 

Author: Jo Raven 

Genre: M/M Contemporary Romance

Models: Ryan VanDyke & Jason Dickinson

Photographer Eric David Battershell

Cover design: Clarissa Wild of Booming Covers

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I don’t want Jason Vega. Not at all.
It’s the worst idea ever.
Ah hell…
Jason is handsome. Clever. Dangerous. Hot.
He’s goddamn gorgeous – but he’s also living on the street, hanging out with the local MC gang and selling his body for a living.
Our paths, our lives couldn’t be further apart. I’m crawling toward the light, while he falls into the dark.
But it doesn’t matter how different we are, or what logic dictates.
I really shouldn’t want Jason Vega – but I just can’t stop.
He’s under my skin, and sinking deeper…

Trigger warnings: Violence and rape/sexual abuse

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
Jo Raven is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author, best known for her series Inked Brotherhood and Damage Control. She writes edgy, contemporary New Adult romance with sexy bad boys and strong-willed heroines. She writes about MME fighters and tattoo artists, dark pasts that bleed into the present, loyalty and raw emotion. Add to that breathtaking suspense, super-hot sex scenes and a happy ending, and you have a Jo Raven® story.
 

 

 

 

 
 
 
Find all her books here . 
Be the first to get your hands on Jo Raven’s new releases & offers, giveaways, previews, and more by signing up here 
Meet Jo Raven online – on Facebook
chat with her on Twitter (@AuthorJoRaven) 
 
 
join her readers group for sneak previews of her covers and stories
 
 

 

BLOG TOUR: Rock Me, a sexy new standalone from Carly Phillips is available NOW!

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Rock Me, a sexy new standalone from Carly Phillips is available NOW!

 

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Rock Me
by Carly Phillips
Publication Date: September 19th
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Bodyguard Bad Boys … Sexy, Hot, and oh so protective!

A pop star in danger.

Her reluctant bodyguard.

A past they can’t deny.

Summer Michelle is on the verge of ultimate fame.

Ben Hollander has sworn off mixing business with pleasure.

But keeping his hands off of the sexy songstress is easier said than done and once the threat is neutralized, will she choose fame over love?

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Excerpt:

Her heart was pounding hard in her chest, the thunderous live applause still echoing around her and the rush of success and pride in overcoming what could have been a disaster, had her soaring.
“Did you see that?” she asked Ben. “My earpiece went dead and I nailed it anyway!”
“You totally did,” he said, a huge grin on his face that let her know he understood what a huge moment this was.
She squealed in excitement and threw her arms around his neck, needing to share her exhilaration. Their gazes met and locked, the air around them suddenly crackling with tension and sexual need even Ben couldn’t deny.
She knew what she wanted, knew there was no better time to go about it. Her gaze fell to his mouth and she pressed her lips against his. He jerked in surprise then groaned, thrust his hand beneath her hair, holding her against him as he slid his tongue past the seam of her lips and kissed her back.
He might think he wanted to keep his distance but his body was demanding they get close, his mouth gliding back and forth over hers, razor stubble bristling her cheeks in a sweet burn and his tongue delved deep. Against her stomach, she felt the hard press of his erection, causing desire to sweep over her in waves.
No wonder she hadn’t found a guy she wanted to keep in her life. No one could live up to Ben.
He kissed like he wanted to possess her.
Own her.
Keep her.

Read Today!

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2haD96y
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READ MY REVIEW:

https://bookaddict.live/2017/09/19/arc-review-rock-me-a-sexy-new-standalone-from-carly-phillips-is-live/

 

Meet Carly Phillips:

Carly Phillips is the N.Y. Times and USA Today Bestselling Author of over 50 sexy contemporary romance novels, including the Indie published, Dare to Love Series. She is happily married to her college sweetheart, the mother of two nearly adult daughters and three crazy dogs. Carly loves social media and is always around to interact with her readers.

 

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Connect with Carly:

Sign up for Carly’s Newsletter at: http://www.carlyphillips.com/newsletter-sign-up/
Sign up for Blog and Website updates at: http://www.carlyphillips.com/blog
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Friend Carly on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/carlyphillipsfanpage
Hang out at Carly’s Corner! (Hot guys & giveaways!) http://smarturl.it/CarlysCornerFB
Instagram: https://instagram.com/carlyphillips
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/carlyphillips
Website: http://www.carlyphillips.com

 

 

Entropy Series: ( Entropy, Duality, Gravity ) by Joshua Edward Smith

Series: Entropy Series

Titles: Entropy, Duality, Gravity

Author: Joshua Edward Smith

Genre: Erotic Romance

Available Now 

“Joshua Edward Smith’s gift of delivering the themes in an understated yet deeply thought provoking manner provides a medium for the lives of Sir and Lisa.” – Author Maggie Jane Schuler

“Dark, Hopeful and Provocative” – Amazon Review

“A story of personal epiphanies that transform inner worlds and intimate connections between family, friends and lovers…” – Amazon Review


Lisa and Sir have finally managed to balance their kinky love life with the vanilla world of suburbia. But when Sir starts training a sexy young submissive, the strength of his relationship with Lisa is tested. Could polyamory be the key to maintaining the stability Lisa needs while giving Sir the variety he craves? This captivating sequel to Entropy is a provocative journey through the complex world of physical and virtual sexuality.
Lisa and Sir have finally managed to balance their kinky love life with the vanilla world of suburbia. But when Sir starts training a sexy young submissive, the strength of his relationship with Lisa is tested. Could polyamory be the key to maintaining the stability Lisa needs while giving Sir the variety he craves? This captivating sequel to Entropy is a provocative journey through the complex world of physical and virtual sexuality.
A chance meeting brings Sir and Lisa together after five years. But Sir is in a budding relationship and Lisa’s life is in chaos. Could a radical change in Sir’s situation finally let things work between them? Gravity is a complex and moving exploration of the turmoil older people face bringing romance and commitment back to single life.
Joshua Edward Smith is the author of three novels (Entropy, Duality, and Gravity), several shorter works, and innumerable blog posts and tweets. He is also a technology executive, jazz musician, ballroom dancer, father of three, and husband. He lives in central Massachusetts.

 




HOSTED BY:

Book Tour: Slasher Sam by Simon Peterson

Horror
Date Published: March 31, 2017
Publisher: Darkwater Syndicate, Inc.
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Beware: this book is not for the faint of heart, the weak of stomach, or the soft of bowels. In these pages are the blog entries of one of the most depraved serial killers of the 21st century—Slasher Sam.
Taking inspiration from several generations of horror films, Sam guts countless victims in creative ways, and posts these exploits to SlasherSam.com for the world to see, putting readers so close to the action that they’re practically in the splash zone when the blood goes flying.
 
And is there ever blood—Sam’s a savvy killer, too well-versed in horror film lore to make rookie mistakes, which is why the kill count scores well into the double digits.
 
Visit http://www.SlasherSam.com if you dare, just remember: in cyberspace, everyone can hear you scream…

EXCERPT:

A snap of a twig, a rustle of leaves, her head spins around in fright.
“Who’s there?” she says. “Randy, is that you?”
Silly girl. She’s just signed her own death warrant—as if she hadn’t already when I caught her and her boyfriend smoking weed a few moments ago. I’ve been stalking these two for about half an hour, and now he’s gone off to piss somewhere and she’s about to be offed in the opening scene.
To be fair, she’s exactly the sort of girl you hate to see get killed off so early in a slasher movie. Long blonde hair pours out of a red beanie, framing a face so pretty it could sell moisturiser. A tight white puffer jacket hugs her fantastic figure, and skinny jeans accentuate her long legs and ample ass.
I think I’m in love. But rules are rules. I don’t make them; I just enforce them, and she’s going to die tonight.
“It’s not funny anymore, Randy. I mean it. Quit clowning around and get back here right now. I’m really scared.”
I fight the urge to call back, “You should be.” Instead, the rustle of the bush is her only answer as I move out from my hiding place behind a large evergreen and walk back to the well-worn hiking trail where she’s standing, flaring her flashlight in all directions for any sign of her loser boyfriend.
When she sees me, her eyes grow so wide that it’s comical. Rendered immobile by fright, we both just stand and look at each other for a moment or two—her on the verge of a nervous breakdown, me on the verge of killing her. The tension between us is so thick that you could cut it with my machete. I try. What I cut instead is her head open.
It’s like one of Thomas Savini’s finest special effects, but, oddly, less messy. Blood and brain matter abound, of course, but it’s really more like piercing a coconut than splitting an overripe melon. Either way, the blade makes a satisfyingly heavy thunk sound as it punctures the cerebrum, ensuring that she’ll never get to learn French, read another book, or do anything ever again.
When I pull the machete out of her skull, she plummets like the quality of the Friday the 13th film franchise after Part VII: The New Blood. But I don’t have time to dwell on the disappointing Jason Takes Manhattan or the frankly unwatchable Jason Goes to Hell right now; I shouldn’t have even brought them up, because I’ve got a boyfriend to kill. He’s not my boyfriend, asshole. I mean the boyfriend of the girl I just killed. He’ll be back here at any moment.
Propping the girl up against a nearby tree, I pull the hood of her coat up over her bloody beanie and the gaping wound in her head. Even in death, she’s lovely. Now it looks like she’s just having a wee rest. Well, if you’re stoned or stupid anyway.
Fortunately, the boyfriend is a potent mixture of both. I hear him tearing through the jungle and spouting inane babble and sexual innuendo long before I see him from my hiding place in the black forest, opposite the sleeping dead girl.
“Hey babe, I just saw a really big snake,” he says while he’s still out of view. “Oh wait, it was only my penis. False alarm.” He laughs at his own lame joke. “I’m really horny. We should fuck again, if you’re interested. Seriously, you don’t have a choice, let’s do it.”
Wait, didn’t she call this guy Randy a minute ago? That’s a bit on the nose, don’t you think? It’s like a guy called Bob who can’t swim well, a dick called Richard, or if the parents of that blowhard politician who wants to build a wall to keep the Mexicans out and likes wearing a bad toupee had christened him ‘Racist Asshole’.
When I finally get a visual on this walking-talking meat puppet, he’s strutting up the track like a man relieved. Dressed in a black puffer jacket and a trucker cap—in spite of the fact that it’s the middle of the Goddamn night—he proudly wears a shit-eating grin through a stubbly beard like he won it in a contest. I just can’t wait to end him.
“You sleeping babe?” he says, bending over the resting corpse of his dead girlfriend. “Come on, rise and shine sleepyhead. I’m horny.” When she doesn’t reply, he shakes her. “Come on babe, I’m not kidding around. You need to wake up right now.”
Frustrated, he gives her a short, sharp shove and she flops over.
Impatience vanishes and terror takes control now. Whimpering like a sad puppy whose owners have abandoned it next to a busy highway, he slowly peels back her hood to see exactly the sort of damage that a sharp machete will render to a person’s forehead. He lets out a prodigious scream that’ll continue to ring in my ears a number of hours later, and then flurries around in fright when he feels a soft tap on his shoulder.
It’s me, lumbering behind him in my very best Jason Voorhees impression.
Shock, horror and frank disbelief are plastered all over Randy’s terrified face; for all intents and purposes he is face to face right now with the hockey mask-wearing psycho from the Friday the 13th series. What do you do in that situation? What do you even say?
“What the actual fu—”
But I guess we’ll never know his final words, because I cut him off mid-sentence with a swing of my machete and punt his head away like a soccer ball.

 

 
 
About the Author

Simon Petersen is an experienced journalist and popular blogger from Auckland, New Zealand. By day he writes about craft beer, world travel, and professional sport; by night he dreams up horror movie scenarios that’d scare the striped sweater off Freddy Krueger. Visit him at www.SlasherSam.com.
 
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Book Tour & Giveaway: The Darkest Loop by Author James Fant

Historical Fiction
Date Published: 9/4/2017
 
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Dallas Anderson is stuck in a time loop that repeats Labor Day 2001 to September 11, 2001. He thinks he must prevent the terrorist attacks to break the loop. But each loop challenges that theory, igniting a fiery romance between him and his best friend’s sister and exposing the dark truth behind Déjà vu.

 

EXCERPT:

 

It was the fourth September 10th, 2001 we had spent in New York City. And each of those Mondays discouraged us even more. Hanging around the World Trade Center for a month (real time) got us no closer to the unfettered access we needed. The possibility of being stuck in this ruthless rut forever was starting to weigh heavily on my soul. That, and the image of my mother all Mr. Hyde like, rampaging through my father’s house slashing and slicing people up. The way he told the story made me believe him even though I didn’t want to. I wanted the last image of my mother to be that woman that kissed me and Angel on the cheek before she left for the office. The one that told me to look after my little sister. The one that told me she would see us later that evening. It was hard to reconcile the sweet woman who left us with the deranged monster that my father swore ambushed him. But oddly enough, I believed him. What did he have to gain by lying to me? Which left me to wonder one very important and haunting thing. What had gotten into my mother that made her into a raving lunatic?
Because only a lunatic could harness the power of crazy and pick up a full grown (and very muscular, I might add) man and slam him into the floor. And what was up with her talking about nuclei or neutrons?
“What’s wrong?” Thena asked.
We were standing on the Observation Deck of the South Tower and I hadn’t said a word since we got there. And now, I was looking over the edge of the railing like I might just jump over it. Wouldn’t do me any good, though, considering there was a jumper’s net not far below. And even if there wasn’t, a fall from 110 stories wouldn’t do me any harm, unless you call waking up in my bed remembering absolutely nothing harm.
“What’s wrong,” she asked again.
I replied with a shake of my head but inside I said what wasn’t wrong. All the talking about what we were going to do and how it was going to go felt so foreign now that we were here.
“Is it the dream?” Thena asked.
“Look, it wasn’t a wet one if that’s what you’re thinking. It was actually more like a nightmare.”
“But one in which you kept screaming out Zoe’s name.”
I hung my head, resting it on the upside-down teepee created by my thumb, index and middle finger. In my dream, my other was attacking my father and his girlfriends, a bloody foursome of sorts. Only it was just my mother’s body. But the head was Zoe’s. And she had that same crazed look in her eyes that my father described. I watched as she stabbed my father over and over again. And then, as he lay there in a pool of his own blood, she took a Phillips head screwdriver and slowly, sinfully twisted it right left right, into my father’s temple. He screamed but the screams were my voice. Begging for Zoe to stop.
“The dream was nothing,” I said. “And everything is cool.” The lie was better than the truth. The truth was I was coming unglued. Destabilized by this loop which faithfully kept twirling us round and round. I was a moon trapped in its orbit. And its gravity was slowly tearing me apart.
I couldn’t face Thena because my eyes would surely tell her the truth. So I turned and stared at the skyline. A gray mist settled over the buildings below, like the buildings were hiding under a fluffy blanket, wary of the coming danger. The sky was gloomy like it knew that the planes were coming. It was weird that the following morning it would be clear and a beautiful blue. For a little while. Because the smoke billowing from the towers would darken the sky. Likewise, my heart was darkened because we hadn’t found our way in.
Security had tightened since the 1993 bombing. In fact, most of the building was off limits to the public. So on the occasions that we visited the inside of the towers, it was only the lobby that we were able to freely peruse and of course the observation decks on the South Tower. There was also the restaurant, Windows on the World, on the 107th floor of the North Tower. We had dinner in the restaurant—or at least tried to. Sitting there amongst a dining area filled with people who didn’t know that all of this would soon come crashing to the ground snatched away our appetites. Our food basically watched us as we stared out of the window at the beautiful, yet haunting sky line.
We had dinner there each evening of September 9th, getting there at 8pm each time. We sat at the same table and was waited on by the same waiter: a slender man from Maldonado. The staff was diverse, reminding me of staff you’ll find on cruise ships. From various countries. Various accents. A melting pot 107 stories in the sky. We ordered the same entrées. Perhaps eating the very same food over and over again. Giving brand new meaning to the idea of recycling. And each dinner I was quiet, thinking mostly about our mission. But also about my father’s story about my mother.
I was thinking about her then as we took in the cool air atop this man made mountain. On the Observation Deck, I considered telling Thena about what my father said. But I couldn’t figure out how to do it without sounding like a lunatic. Finally, when I didn’t answer she said, “I get it. You’re imagining the planes coming at us.” I looked around us. People were smiling and chit chatting, talking about the show they were going to see that evening. The trip to the Statue of Liberty. The visit to the Museum. None of them knew. My heart really broke when that one little kid asked, “Mommy, can we come back up here tomorrow morning?” And the mother replied, “Sure. Weather man says it should be clearer tomorrow.”
“We’re powerless,” I moaned.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s been almost a month and all we’ve done is witness this building fall three times,” I whispered forcefully. “I don’t know if I can take another.”
“Did you think we’d figure this out over night? I didn’t. I knew it would take some time because of all the variables. But we will be successful. Were that not the case, we wouldn’t keep getting all these chances to make things right.”
Not far from us, a man in a dark blue work suit was waving at…well…the North Tower. His thick arms just flailing recklessly and I thought to myself, great, I’m not the only one going crazy.
“What’s up with that guy?” Thena asked.
“He’s waving at his wife.” We didn’t see the rail thin man who said that standing there until his words made me jump. “She’s in the restaurant over there, I suppose. Hank claims he can see her. But I can’t. Can you?”
The man was wearing an identical dark blue suit, though not as starched and pressed as the waving man. I saw from his tag his name was Selwyn. Selwyn tugged on the pudgy man’s shirt and said, “You had enough? You’re scaring the tourist.”
The man turned around. His pear-shaped face a light in an otherwise dreary space. He seemed to have a smile that would light up a room. Kind of like my mother—the sane version of her, at least.
“He’s just jealous of me and my Annie,” the man said. His tag read Parl. I was staring at it when he said, “If you’re wonderin’, she’s my wife, not my sister.” He laughed and his round belly bounced. “Stuff we do in the bedroom is illegal for siblings to do in this state.”
I wasn’t wondering about whoever she was. I had no idea there was a she. I was looking at his last name and wondering if letters were missing. Shouldn’t it be Parlor? Where was the O and the R?
“First time in the Big Apple?” he said.
“Yes.”
“I’m a lifer myself. But being up this high and seeing the Manhattan skyline, still can’t get used to it.”
He had several chins and blotchy skin. Thin blonde hair attempted to cover his head. His jowls shook when he laughed and it appeared he liked to do a lot of laughing. And his lips were locked into an endless smile.
“The Misses and me come up to the top ever so often, ya know? Hold hands. Some times on our lunch break. She’ll come over.” He smiled and his face spread like it was a bean bag and some invisible person had sat on it. “Let’s settle this once and for all.” Settle what? He slapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, pointed to the North Tower and said, “Do you see her?”
“See who?”
“The Misses.
“The Misses?” I said. For the first time realizing how this strange conversation even started. “Your wife is in the North Tower?”
“Yep. She works there. Maintenance same as me. That’s actually how we met. Started working for the Port Authority same year.”
“And they’re the most sickening couple you’ll ever wanna meet,” Selwyn said.
“Your wife works maintenance…just like you?”
The man removed his hand. His smile disappeared. “There’s nothing wrong with a woman working maintenance. She can outwork the best of them. Especially this lazy no count pitiful excuse for a maintenance man standing beside me.”
“Watch it, Porky!”
Thena and I looked at each other at the same time and stared at each other for a few seconds.
“What?” Hank said.
“Let’s let these good people enjoy their visit and get back to work,” Selwyn said. As he was guiding Hank away he said, “Say, you gotta work tomorrow?”
“Bright and early,” Hank replied. “Annie too.”
“Can’t catch a break, huh?”
Their words trailed off as Thena and I just stared at each other, optimistic that we had finally caught a break.

 

James Fant is an award winning author who lives in Charleston, SC with his lovely wife and two hilarious children. He received a degree in biology from College of Charleston and a master’s in business administration from Charleston Southern University. His love for literature was forged by the works of Eric Jerome Dickey, Walter Mosely, and Stephen King. He also finds inspiration from screenwriters Shonda Rhimes, Aaron Sorkin and Kurt Sutter. Literarily, James has always been drawn to intelligent yet imperfect characters and he writes novels with them in mind.
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Ten Terrifying Tales of Horror and Suspense Volume 3, SHADOW & TEETH

Horror
Date Published: June 15, 2017
Publisher: Darkwater Syndicate, Inc.
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Out of the shadows and meaner than ever, volume three of this award-winning horror series packs international star power. Featuring ten brand-new stories by the legendary Guy N. Smith, the prolific Adam Millard, master of horror Nicholas Paschall, and others, this collection is certain to keep you up at night. Take care as you reach into these dark places, for the things here bite, and you may withdraw a hand short of a few fingers.
 
 
 

EXCERPT:

 

My body crumpled forward, my forehead resting on the floorboards. I would have remained this way, if I had not been roused by a shout from behind me. Rosario roared and shook his head like an enraged bull, stamping his feet and frothing between gritted teeth. He clutched his temples and shook his head, and when he had gathered enough clarity of mind, he leveled a penetrating stare at the djinni and yelled, “Enough!”
All around Rosario, the peasant men stood frozen as though they were statues, eyes on the djinni. Clenching his jaw, he staggered forward a step, inadvertently brushing against one of the men. The man instantly spilled to his knees in supplication, droning, “I adore thee, oh my lord!” in such rapid succession that the words were hardly perceptible.
Scowling with rage at this irreverence, Rosario let fly an uppercut swing with his hook. The metal flashed in the dim candlelight and caught the man in the crook of his lower mandible. The man did not so much as scream, so overawed was he by the djinni.
Rosario raised his arm aloft, lifting the man fully erect, looking like a fisherman with a prize catch. Then he tore his dagger out of his belt with his opposite hand and plunged it into the side of the man’s neck between the skull and the shoulders. The skin at the peasant’s neck pulled apart, opening his throat as though his shoulders were yawning wide, until at last the weight of his collapsing body snapped his head off his neck. The body slumped to its knees and spilled headlong, gushing blood in spurts from its severed arteries.
Something like a sigh came from the djinni. Then it said, “Man is a foolish child who calls many things gods. Man knows not the gods.”
Its skin seemed to dull, losing some of the magnificent radiance it exuded, and I found that I was no longer overawed in its presence. Rosario helped me to my feet and together we addressed the djinni. The remaining three peasants all were unconscious, seemingly asleep on the floor.
“In the name of the most high, I command you to speak your name, djinni!” I yelled, thinking it could be cowed in the same manner as a demon might.
The djinni’s eyes widened. If it had eyebrows, they would surely have bobbed at my effrontery. Its eyes narrowed into angry slits that contained all the deadly chill of a winter snowstorm. “Hadst thou instead come to visit me, I would have attended thee in the manner befitting of a guest. I would have filled thy mouth with rotten pus until thy belly were full. Thou wouldst have told me a great many wondrous things of thy life, and I, having learned such, would have sent thee home with an anus so full of scorpions the trail of blood behind thee would stretch for miles.”
The images each word represented, along with the concepts and sensations those phrases conveyed, flashed in my mind as the djinni spoke. They are as vivid now as then—by God, I still taste the pus! These images are always in the forefront of my mind, constantly playing out before my eyes, and it is hard to focus on anything else except through purposeful concentration.
“Wherefore hast thou brought me here?” it asked.
Seeing how my last attempt at communication had failed, I bowed my head and spoke in lowered tones. “Djinni, we have called you to ask a favor.”
“Indeed,” it cut me short, “it is always so when mortals call upon the djinn. Impudent humans! What boon seeketh ye? Be it pleasure? I shall show ye such pain that the greatest pleasure would be anticipating its end! I ask again: wherefore disturbest me thou?”
It was then I explained we sought to spare your daughter from the ailment that would surely take her, and requested the djinni’s succor.
The djinni sighed, if otherworldly beings can be said to sigh. “Alas, thy mortality is a concept thy limited intellect can only dimly grasp.” It looked down at the floor as it considered this, then raised its gaze to make eye contact with me. “What wouldst thou have me do? The child is already dead.”
An image of her flashed in my mind’s eye. I was there, in the room with Bernadette as she languished in her bed, delirious with fever. The eyes I saw her with were not my physical eyes, as they saw more than human eyes could ever hope to detect. Bernadette’s body was like a red-hot fireplace poker, glowing orange from her core. The glow collapsed on itself, giving way to lifeless, cold black, shriveling into her center like a bonfire shrunk to embers. I knew she was dead when the light faltered and snuffed out, leaving nothing but a dreadful stillness in its passing.
Brother, do not think for a moment that so terse an account of your daughter’s death should mean I was hard-hearted about the matter. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was my niece, and—by God!—my only living relative; that is, save for you of course, if ever you should return to read this.
Her passing crushed me. It opened wounds in me, wounds that weep much as my eyes might weep. And while time has dried my tears, it has done nothing to soothe the ache of missing her.
I was flashed back to my study with the djinni standing before me. The realization that Bernadette was dead weighted my body; I crumpled to my knees and collapsed to all fours.
All of this, for naught! Frustration churned the searing bile in my stomach. “You must be able to do something,” I pleaded.
The djinni cocked its head to one side. “Thou hast misunderstood. I can do a great many things.”
“You could not save her!”
“Thou didst not ask.”
My mouth went dry on realizing it was right—I had not asked it to save her from the disease. “Save her!” I blurted, figuring this was as good a time to ask as any.
“I cannot. She has died.”
I plunged my fingers into my hair and clawed at my scalp. “Quit speaking in circles!”
“I speak as plainly as I can. Ye men possess little aptitude for understanding.”
“If you cannot save her, then…” I stammered. At the time, I did not know why I had broken off; I was only aware that I had stopped mid-sentence. I had found that strange, especially since I had already deliberated on what it was I wanted to say before saying it. In retrospect, I think I know what halted my tongue—some combination of my conscience and divine intervention giving me one last chance before I could commit a heinous sin.
“Then… bring her back,” I finished my sentence.
“It is already done.”
I blinked, and then again, looking upon the djinni in mute shock as its words sunk into my mind. Was Bernadette alive? When had she been brought back—when I asked, or sometime prior? Had she even died? It was not lost on me that the djinni could be lying, but before I could ask any questions, it said, “Thy niece lies upon her deathbed. Lay her body down in this circle before moonrise tomorrow night, and thou shall have what thou seeketh.”
A thought occurred to me then that I wanted to give voice to, but I stopped myself. To even reflect upon it sent shivers down my spine. What might the djinni want of me in exchange?
As if it had sensed my thoughts, the djinni said, “Thou wonderest what thou must offer to uphold the bargain. Rest assured, human, thy debt is paid in advance.”

 

 
 
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Our award-winning horror series brings together the very best in international horror. Volume three features the UK’s legendary Guy N. Smith, the prolific Adam Millard, and master of horror Nicholas Paschall, among other established names in the genre.
Bio For Series Editor, Ramiro Perez: 
Born in Cuba in 1941, Ramiro Perez de Pereda has seen it all. Growing up in a time when then-democratic Cuba was experiencing unprecedented foreign investment, he was exposed to the U.S. pop culture items of the day. Among them: pulp fiction magazines, which young Ramiro avidly read and collected. Far and away, his favorites were the Conan the Barbarian stories by Robert E. Howard. Ramiro, now retired from the corporate life, is a grandfather of five. He devotes himself to his family, his writing, and the occasional pen-and-ink sketch. He writes poetry and short fiction under the name R. Perez de Pereda. He serves Darkwater Syndicate as its Head Acquisitions Editor—he heads the department, he does not collect heads, which is a point he has grown quite fond of making. Indeed, it’s one reason he likes his job so much.
 
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Fraternize, an all-new sexy standalone from #1 New York Times Bestseller Rachel Van Dyken is available NOW!!

 

Fraternize, an all-new sexy standalone from #1 New York Times Bestseller Rachel Van Dyken is available NOW!!

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Fraternize by Rachel Van Dyken
Release Date: September 12th

Genre: Contemporary Romance

New York Times bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken kicks off a brand-new series in which romance is a game and love is a touchdown.

Emerson just made her dream come true as a professional cheerleader for her favorite pro football team. But even though the plus-size athlete is breaking down boundaries, she still has to contend with the massive rulebook. Carbs? Nope. Chocolate? Definitely not. Still, Emerson loves her curves, and she’ll rock the hell out of this job even if it kills her. Except for one mandate that is easier read than done…

No fraternizing with the players.

Problem one is Miller Quinton: Emerson’s first love, first sex, and the guy who still ignites her daydreams and R-rated fantasies. Thrown back together, Miller and Emerson feel the undeniable pull of passion again, even if the conflict that tore them apart seems insurmountable. Then there’s way-too-sexy Grant Sanchez. He has a serious reputation with the ladies, and when it comes to winning someone he wants, he doesn’t let anyone stand in his way.

Now Emerson is breaking every rule in the manual. But what she doesn’t know is that she’s part of a wicked little game—one that could steal both her dream and her heart.

Excerpt:

“The best.” His lips grazed my ear. “Curves, know this,” His breath was hot on my neck, “If you need to cry, I’ll hold you until you’re done. Sometimes the only way to get over things, is to walk through them, but that doesn’t mean you have to do it on your own.”

My breath hitched in my chest. “Does that mean you’re going to walk with me?”

“That’s all I’ve wanted since meeting you.” He pulled back and gripped my hand. “You know, other than sex.”

I laughed, “You’re ridiculous, you know that right?”

“But, I did just make you laugh, when minutes ago you were crying. I hate those tears, Curves. Never want to be the cause of them, ever.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m not.” He said it so sternly that I sucked in a breath. “I think I need to use that hand now…maybe on your chest, possibly that shirt.”

Fraternize-AN

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Meet the Author:

Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.

She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!

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Taming Mr. Flirt, a sexy all-new standalone from A.M. Madden & Joanne Schwehm is available NOW!

 

Taming Mr. Flirt, a sexy all-new standalone from A.M. Madden & Joanne Schwehm is available NOW!

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Taming Mr. Flirt by A.M. Madden & Joanne Schwehm
Genre: Contemporary Romance

Publishing Date: September 12th, 2017

Here’s a tip: never say never.

It all started in a barn, rolling around in the hay with a hot brunette. When I hooked up at my best friend’s wedding with the bride’s best friend, I had hay in places it should never be. And how my bowtie ended up around my dick was an entirely different story. I’ll give you a minute to consider the possibilities.

That first romp set the tone, and each sexual encounter with her that followed became more intense. The fact that all my fantastic orgasms were coming at the hand of one woman baffled me.

A lifetime of observation taught me that monogamy equated to boredom. Variety was the spice of life, in and out of the bedroom. I enjoyed the company of a sexy, smart, confident woman. It was my kryptonite. I was a master flirt, and my sexual skills were unrivaled.

Until her.

With this woman, I had met my match.

Her carnal appetite a perfect match for mine, and she also taught me a few things along the way.

She called me Mr. Flirt, and could bring me to my knees at every turn.

Lesson learned: Sex always trumps sanity.

Excerpt

We both stood staring at the hay strewn all around the barn. “That looks very scratchy,” Vanessa said with a frown.

“Allow me.” I removed my monkey-suit jacket and spread it over a mound of hay that was closest to us. A quick glance toward the door ensured we were out of sight if someone were to walk in. “Better?” With an enthusiastic nod, Vanessa lowered herself on my jacket, rested on her bent elbows, and stared up at me. I looked down at her and considered all the things I could do to her with my tongue. “That dress looks amazing on you, but I bet having it pushed up around your waist would make it look even better. I can’t wait to see if there’s a thong under it or lace panties. I’m a thong guy.”

“You talk a lot. Are you just going to flirt with me or are we going to put this hay to good use? You owe me an orgasm.”

“Oh, you’ll get one. Trust me.” My dick was in agreement as it came to life in my pants. Poor thing had struggled throughout the entire ceremony.

With each look and smile Vanessa gave me, my cock responded. There were a few times I had to glance at Brae’s great aunt Myrtle just to calm him down. But now, there was no calming down in his future.

There wasn’t anything romantic about this encounter, then again she didn’t seem to be into that bullshit. Neither was I, and that was what made our connection perfect.

TMF-AN

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About A.M. Madden:

A.M. Madden is a USA Today bestselling published author with Loveswept/Random House as well as Ever After Romance.

A.M. is a wife, a mother, an avid reader of romance novels, and now an author.

“It’s all about the HEA.”

A.M. Madden is the author of the popular Back-Up Series, as well as several other contemporary romances. She is also a published author with Loveswept/Random House.

Her debut novel was Back-up, the first in The Back-Up Series. In Back-Up, A.M.’s main character Jack Lair caused readers to swoon. They call themselves #LairLovers, and have been faithful supporters to Jack, as well to the rest of his band, Devil’s Lair.

A.M. truly believes that true love knows no bounds. In her books, she aspires to create fun, sexy, realistic romances that will stay with you after the last page has been turned. She strives to create characters that the reader can relate to and feel as if they know personally.

A self-proclaimed hopeless romantic, she loves getting lost in a good book. She also uses every free moment of her time writing, while spending quality time with her three handsome men. A.M. is a Gemini and an Italian Jersey girl, but despite her Zodiac sign, nationality, or home state, she is very easy going.

She loves the beach, loves to laugh, and loves the idea of love.

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About Joanne Schwehm:

Joanne is a mother and wife and loves spending time with her family. She’s an avid sports watcher and enjoys the occasional round of golf.

Joanne loves to write and read romance. She believes everyone should have romance in their lives and hopes her books bring joy and happiness to readers who enjoy modern day fairy tales and breathless moments.

She is an independent romance author and has written several contemporary romance novels, including The Prescott Series, Ryker, A Heart’s Forgiveness, The Critic and The Chance series.

Joanne looks forward to sharing more love stories in her future novels.

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#Book Tour# The Knights of Boo’Gar By Art Roche

Middle Grade Humor, ages 7 to 12
Date Published: April 4, 2017
Publisher: Andrews McMeel / AMP! Kids
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Princess Phlema’s pet goat Babycakes has been kidnapped from Castle Boo’Gar, and the ransom note demands the kingdom’s sacred Book of Loogey in exchange for the goat’s safe return. King Mewkus summons the Knights of Boo’Gar to track down the kidnappers, but the Knights have been on furlough for so long that only one person responds to the call: a 13-year-old boy named Rowland. Undaunted by the lack of reinforcements, Rowland agrees to take on the quest, enlisting the help of his pet turtle and his trusty steed, who happens to be an ostrich. While Rowland treks through the Dark Woods, encountering dangerous obstacles and fearsome creatures, Princess Phlema takes matters into her own hands.
 
The Knights of Boo’Gar is a quirky adventure set in an engaging world of heroes, nose goblins, a spunky princess, giant bats and way too many cantaloupes. Packed with full-color illustrations, this wacky chapter book emphasizes the importance of friendship, bravery and is a delightfully easy read for kids and grown-ups alike.

EXCERPT:

 

Chapter 3 – The Knights of Boo’Gar

In the castle courtyard, King Mewkus and Edwart had assembled the royal court to receive the Knights of Boo’Gar as they marched majestically through the gates. Brightly colored flags hung from the castle walls, and a small band of flutes and drums played the Mewkus family overture. It was a bouncy tune called “A Hasty Retreat.”
The lords and ladies of the royal court had been advised of the tragic kidnapping, so they had gathered in their most solemn attire, their puffy red faces looking damp and concerned under a hot morning sun.
The king had changed into his formal crown, and Princess Phlema stood tall in her tiara, dressed in her favorite blue velvet jumper and wearing her favorite tool belt. She was the picture of composure now, and no one would ever guess that she’d been crying earlier. Now she stood, proud and determined.
The two monks of the Green Order, Pik and Flik, lingered behind the king and princess, wearing their stiff ceremonial robes. Pik nervously fingered the cuff of his sleeve.
Edwart the wizard stood calmly, his fingertips touching as he surveyed the festive scene, nodding to the assembled nobility and trying to look extra magical.
King Mewkus looked around the courtyard. It had been years since he felt so important and in charge. Perhaps this kidnapping was just the thing he needed to get his kingdom back on track and to start ruling like a king again—more like his father.
He pictured the scene to come. Perhaps five hundred knights would ride into the courtyard and bow to him. He’d say something inspirational and the crowd would cheer. It was going to be grand.
Perhaps he would lead the knights into battle against the evil kidnappers and ride back into the castle carrying Babycakes. His daughter would be so proud of him.
“A rider approaches!” shouted a teenage girl perched high up on the castle wall.
A ripple of movement went through the crowd as they moved toward the gate to see the gleaming armor of the imposing champions riding under their colorful banners. The atmosphere was charged with excitement and everyone held their breath and waited for that moment—the moment they’d tell their grandchildren about.
Princess Phlema stood on tiptoes to see over the crowd. “Who is it? How many are there? How handsome are they on a scale from one to ten?” she bobbed her head to see. “Um, is that an ostrich?”
Sir Rowland rode alone through the gate to the triumphant blare of the royal trumpets. The Mewkus overture reached a thundering crescendo, which unfortunately spooked Rowland’s timid ostrich. Tulip jumped back, throwing Rowland into the air and landing him in a coop full of chickens.
The royal court looked on in horror as chickens flew everywhere. Rowland’s ostrich squawked and then pooped right in the courtyard.
“I’m fine. Not a problem!” shouted Sir Rowland from beneath twenty chickens. He jumped up pulling feathers from his hair and walked over to the king. The musicians stopped playing.
“Your Majesty!” Sir Rowland squeaked.
He pulled a small, tattered card out of his pocket and read aloud so that the crowd could hear him. “I am Sir Rowland Pockmyer, son of Rufus. I have come in answer to your call. How can the Knights of Boo’Gar assist you?”
Everyone stood in stunned silence. Princess Phlema frowned and looked back at the gate. King Mewkus plucked a chicken feather out of his teeth.
The wizard Edwart spoke up first. “Uh, good Sir Knight. Shouldn’t we wait for the other knights to show up?”
Sir Rowland looked back at the gate, hopefully. “Umm, actually, I think I’m pretty much it, Your Wizardship.”
More silence. Somewhere, a chicken squawked.
“You gotta be kidding me!” cried Princess Phlema. She turned to look at her father.
“Good Sir Rowland,” asked the king. “Are there not hundreds of you under my command?”
Sir Rowland cleared his throat. “Actually—ahem—there’s a funny story behind that. See, most of them have retired. I’m the only one left,” said Rowland uncomfortably.
“What about Sir Winston?” asked Edwart.
“Oh, he started a weasel stand in Sneezix.”
“I think I remember a Sir Justin?” asked the king.
“Yes, unfortunately Justin quit to start a boy band,” said Rowland.
Princess Phlema stepped forward. “How old are you, kid?”
“I am almost fourteen, Your Ladyship.”
The royals turned to look at each other. Edwart shrugged his shoulders. The princess crossed her arms and scowled. The king’s dreams of leading a brave army evaporated before his eyes as he looked Rowland up and down.
King Mewkus thought to himself, “Has my kingdom finally come to this? A thirteen-year-old ragamuffin is my only knight?”
The king sighed. “Well, perhaps I should bring you up to speed on the situation then,” he said with solemn emphasis. “You see, there’s been a kidnapping.”
“A what?” said Sir Rowland.
“A kidnapping,” said the king. “One of our royal goats has been taken.”
“And you think bees are responsible?”
“Bees? No, no—a person took the goat. It’s a kidnapping,” said the king with irritation. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“Oh . . . I see, well,” said Rowland slowly. “We mostly deal with bees. At least, that’s what I was trained for.”
“You mean all you do is practice battling bees all day?” asked the wizard.
Rowland continued with confidence. “Yes, it made sense since that’s what we were asked to do last time. We developed a number of very effective . . .”
“Look, this doesn’t have anything to do with bees, you silly child!” interrupted Princess Phlema.
“My goat has been taken and we need you to go get it back,” cried the princess. “And kick someone’s behind. You guys are supposed to be so terrifying and efficient.”
“Your Highness,” called Pik the monk. “This young boy can’t possibly hope to rescue a goat from dangerous captors all by himself.”
“I was actually going to say the same thing,” said Rowland. “I have no weapons. Only my bee-handling equipment,” he continued. “Perhaps I could use one of my nets to . . .”
“Will you drop the bee thing!” shouted Phlema. “There are no bees!”
The king tried to diffuse the situation. “Look, everyone calm down, OK? Can you at least look into this kidnapping for us? We’d really appreciate it.”
Suddenly, the wizard turned around and thoughtfully walked back toward the castle door. The king called out to him.
“Where are you going, Edwart?” he asked.
“I have an idea,” said Edwart. “I’ll be right back.”
The king turned back to Rowland. “We received this note. We need you to venture into the forest and track down these kidnappers. Can you at least try?” He handed the note to Rowland.
Sir Rowland looked at the note, then at Princess Phlema. Her lip trembled with emotion again. She feared she would never see her lovely Babycakes ever again. It was all too much.
Sir Rowland felt a surge of bravery. “I will do my best, Your Majesty. It will be my honor to track down these bees . . . uh . . . I mean these kidnappers.”
He paused in thought. “Are they called kidnappers because baby goats are called kids?”
The king looked at him like he was crazy. “No! They are called kidnappers because they abducted someone against their will. Look, are you sure you’re up for this?”
Some of the nobles in the crowd exchanged concerned glances.
“Ah, of course. Yes, Your Majesty. This will be a piece of cake. Yes,” stammered Rowland.
The wizard returned to the group carrying a long object covered in fine green velvet. He stopped in front of Sir Rowland and, with great ceremony, unwrapped the object.
“Good Sir Rowland,” intoned Edwart. “May I present to you your weapon. Passed down through generations of wizards. Enchanted by the elves of Highmark, and blessed by the friars of Vallejo. I present to you the Staff of Slumber.”
The crowd of lords and ladies recoiled with a gasp.
“Jiminy jaguars,” whispered Princess Phlema.
The wizard held a long, gnarled wooden shaft out to Rowland. Rowland took the staff and looked at it. The wood had a blue-green tint to it. It was carved from top to bottom with ancient symbols, and it felt very heavy and well balanced in his hands. Rowland thought he felt a tingle run through his fingers.
“This will make a fine weapon. Thank you, wizard.”
“Use it wisely, good knight,” said Edwart. “For the Staff of Slumber has great power. All who are touched by its magic will fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.”
“Cool,” said Sir Rowland. He held the staff in both hands, making swiping gestures right and left to get the feel of it.
The princess thought he looked rather knightly after all.
With this, the crowd of lords and ladies erupted in a loud cheer.
“Hooray!” said the crowd.
The band struck up the Mewkus overture again. Three maidens came out of the crowd and threw rose petals on Rowland, and the king and his court clapped enthusiastically.
“Well then,” smiled the king. “It looks like we have our champion after all. Good luck, Sir Rowland!”
Tulip was led into the center of the courtyard wearing a finely crafted new saddle. It was packed with a mountain of fresh supplies. Rowland took his new weapon and climbed up onto the saddle. He looked down at the stable boy holding the reins.
“Uh, sorry about the mess,” said Sir Rowland.
Everyone glanced down at the “deposit” that Tulip had left on the ground. The lords and ladies held lace hankies to their nose. Tulip blushed a deep red.
The monks, Pik and Flik, approached Rowland and called up to him. “Start your search in the Dark Woods.”
“I will do as you say,” Rowland replied. He gave the princess a self-assured look and raised one eyebrow for effect. The princess looked at him and shrugged.
With that, Sir Rowland turned Tulip around and headed out the gates of Castle Boo’Gar to the cheers of a grateful crowd. The band played joyously, and Tulip walked with extra snap in her stride as they marched off into their first great adventure.
“Yo! Sir Rowland!” cried Princess Phlema. “Bring me back my goat!”
The princess then tossed him a single white rose. It floated through the air to the brave knight, rolling against a cruel blue sky. Time seemed to slow down as Rowland reached . . . out . . . to . . . grab . . . it . . . and . . . he totally missed.
There was an audible groan of disappointment from the crowd, as the rose landed in the mud in front of the gate. Rowland chose not to see this as a bad omen and waved enthusiastically to the crowd.
King Mewkus took a step closer to his trusted wizard. “We are in deep doo-doo,” muttered the king.
END OF EXCERPT
The Knights of Boo’Gar
By Art Roche

 
 
About the Author
 

Art Roche is a cartoonist and three-time author, previously published by Sterling Publishing. He is currently the content director for the Charles M. Schulz studio in Santa Rosa, California. Before that, Art worked in video games and was a creative director at Cartoon Network.
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