 Thank you to Rachel from Rachel's Random Resources for inviting me to participate in the blog tour for Death at Lovers' Leap, the third book in Martha Miller series of cozy mysteries set in a fictional village of Westleham in 1948.  Death at Lovers' Leap Westleham Village 1948 As Valentine's Day rolls around, Martha Miller finds herself unusually melancholy at the state of her own love life. With husband Stan still missing and with her growing feelings for Vicar Luke still shrouded in secrecy, there’s only one place Martha can go - famous local beauty spot, Lovers' Leap. Legend has it that those with a broken heart throw themselves off the bridge that spans the river, but Martha is certainly not about to do such a thing! But it looks like someone else has had other ideas…. Because there in the river, Martha finds a body. But is this misadventure, a moment of lovesick madness, or is foul play afoot? Martha knows one thing…the villagers of Westleham have another crime to solve! Let the investigation commence! Find out if Martha and Luke can catch the killer in a brand new Martha Miller mystery from bestselling author Catherine Coles. Publication Date: February 16, 2024 by Boldwood Books Publisher: Boldwood Books Purchase Link  My thoughts: Death at Lovers' Leap is the third book in Martha Miller Mysteries set in the post-war rural Britain. I'm a big fan of Catherine Coles' writing style- deceptively simple, but extremely engaging and full of realistic memorable details. If you are wondering whether you need to read the first two books before embarking on this one, the beginning of the story contains a very useful recap which will bring a new reader up to speed with the series in no time at all. Martha, despite being quite reserved, is an extremely likeable character who has managed to make quite a few friends in the village. If you read the second book, you will remember we were left on a cliffhanger as far as her relationship with her sleuthing sidekick the dashing vicar Luke Walker is concerned. Their life circumstances seem to make it impossible for them to be more than friends. Of course, we've all been expecting the third book to see if we are going to get more news about where and why Stan Miller disappeared, leaving Martha desperately destitute and lonely. Luckily, she managed to integrate into the village life, not least thanks to her sleuthing successes. When Martha finds another dead body, the victim's mother, who is convinced it couldn't have possibly been a suicide, asks her to find the murderer of her son. The mystery itself is pretty straightforward and you will probably guess the culprit and their motive quite early on. Still, we get more developments on the romance front and other important relationships and get introduced to a few new characters. The book has practically no subplots which makes it easier to read, but also makes it appear an interlude. The important thing is that the story never drags and leaves you both entertained and looking forward to the next instalment. As with the previous books, I really liked the historical details and the bigger context in which the story is set, including the rationing books which play an important part in the story. I would definitely recommend this series to anyone who enjoys historical mysteries. Thank you to Rachel from Rachel's Random Resources, Netgalley and Boldwood books for the review copy provided in exchange for an honest opinion.  Author Bio The daughter of a military father, Catherine was born in Germany and lived most of the first 14 years of her life abroad. She spent her school years devouring everything her school library had to offer! Catherine writes cosy mysteries that take place in the English countryside. Her extremely popular Tommy & Evelyn Christie mysteries are set in 1920s North Yorkshire. Catherine lives in northeast England with her two spoiled dogs who have no idea they are not human! Social Media Links Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/catherine.coles.9847 Twitter https://twitter.com/catherinecoles Instagram https://www.instagram.com/catherinecolesauthor/ Newsletter Sign Up: https://bit.ly/CatherineColesNews Bookbub profile: Catherine Coles Books - BookBub   #Book Blitz #The Master of Midnight by William Michael Davidson #Thriller @Xpresso Book Tours16/2/2024
The Master of Midnight
-- EXCERPT: Otto Haines climbed out of his black Dodge Charger and noted the time. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning. The crime scene tape had already been set up and blocked off a section of Marina Vista Park. Crime scene technicians worked beneath the ocher-colored glow of streetlights and the briny ocean mist that rolled in from Marine Stadium, only a stone’s throw away. Officer Dave Hemelrick of the LBPD greeted Otto as he strode toward the perimeter. “Finally made it, huh?” Dave asked. “And no partner tonight? Already scared off the rookie?” “She’s on another call,” Otto said without telling him the full story: two incidents had been called in, nearly back-to-back. The other was a few miles away, in front of Wilson High School. It was unusual, for sure. Two homicides called in minutes apart from each other was an aberration. Otto couldn’t remember another instance of it. “Any witnesses here?” he asked, and Hemelrick’s expression darkened as he cleared his throat. “We got two. One homeless, probably on drugs. We have a young woman too. She’s the one who called it in. Finishing up questioning now.” “Good. I’d like to speak with both—especially the woman. Have them wait.” “Will do.” “Any ID on the victim?” A similar, grave expression passed over Hemelrick’s face. The flashing lights of the emergency vehicles reflected in his large, dark eyes. “No, no ID. Not much of a body either.” Otto understood what Officer Hemelrick meant only a few moments after showing his badge to several officers along the perimeter and ducking below the crime scene tape. Where Otto normally would have found a body—shot, stabbed, or strangled—there was only an arm on the sidewalk, mere inches from the grass. Nothing more. For a moment, it didn’t look real. While a technician snapped photographs of the scene, Otto bent down to examine the grotesque sight. There was a very small splatter of blood on the sidewalk near where the arm had been severed, which was just below the elbow. It appeared to be a grisly, jagged dismemberment; if this were a horror movie and not a crime scene, Otto might have guessed the arm to have been bitten off and spat onto the grass by some foul creature. He was able to determine a few things. This appeared to be a male. Thick arm. Dark hair. Caucasian. It took him a moment to note by position of the thumb that this was the left arm. The fingers were ringless. “Where’s the rest of him?” Otto asked without turning around. When Hemelrick didn’t respond, Otto turned to him. “That’s what I’m saying. That’s all we’ve got.” 
GIVEAWAY! -- From the blurb: In April Asher's new Supernatural Singles novel, a witch takes decides to take a stroll on the wild-ish side, saddling her with her very own Guardian Angel—who happens to be her new roommate.Olive Maxwell much prefers teaching about the supernatural world to taking part in it and leaves the magical shenanigans to her two sisters—the Prima-Apparent and Bounty Hunter-In-Training. But after assigning her college students a project designed to nudge them outside their comfort zones, Olive realizes that she’s never once stepped a toe over her own…and it’s about time that changed. Her first trip into the unknown? Moving in with her long-time crush—and friend…tattooed, motorcycle-riding, and pleasantly pierced, Baxter Donovan. Bax Donovan, Guardian Angel not-so-extraordinaire, has acquired so many black marks on his record it looked like a scantron sheet. He’s given one last chance to keep his Guardian wings intact, a high-profile Assignment he knows all too well. Olive is usually as low-risk as it got. Hell, she wrote the safety manual. But something landed her on the Guardian Affairs radar and his guess was it had something to do with the heart-pounding stunts she’s determined to check off her Dare I Docket list. Keeping Olive out of trouble is about to be his toughest assignment yet, and not because he’s forced to shake the dust off his feathers and embrace his inner aerialist. He’s at real risk of shattering the only Guardian Angel Code of Conduct Rule he’s yet to break: Don’t fall in love with your Assignment. And he isn’t so sure that’s a bad thing. If love didn’t play by the rules, why should they? Publication Date: February 13, 2024 ISBN 9781250808035, 1250808030 Publisher: St.Martin's Griffin Series: Supernatural Singles Book 1 Not the WItch You Wed Book 2 Not Your Exes' Hexes  My thoughts: And our favourite Maxwell Triplets are back! If you've read the first two books in April Asher's Supernatural Singles Series, you must have been waiting for Olive's story and here it comes... First of all, the book can be read as a standalone fun romcom as there is enough backstory to ease you in into this crazy post-Reveal (the great coming out of various supernatural species) world and you also get to see the happily-ever-after of the other two Maxwell sisters: Vi and Rosie. If you have choice, start from Book 1 so that you won't miss out on April Asher's storytelling. Quiet, organised and studious, Olive was the sister that intrigued me the most. I knew she'd come into her own and her tattooed biker guardian angel friend Bax will have something to do with it. Olive's roommate situation was getting incredibly difficult and our girl clearly needed a break to help her preserve her sanity. It's just that if you decide to move in with the guy who happens to be an epitome of everything you find hot and sexy (tattoos, piercings, permanently deshevelled dirty blond mane, supernaturally hard abs- you know what I mean), you must accept the idea that resisting this kind of appeal isn't going to be easy and your friendship status might have to be re-defined. Olive knows she's been stuck in her good girl routine for too long. When she gives her students an assignment to draw up a list of things that would get them step out of their comfort zone, she wonders if she should do the same. Luckily for her, she gets assigned her own Guardian Angel to watch over her, while she embarks on this little experiment of hers. Friends to lovers isn't an easy trope to do well- there are so many subtle aspects to develop and thin lines you don't want to cross or maybe you do when you are truly ready. When the author manages to create lovely, relatable characters and make them feel crazy attraction to each other, sparks will fly and the reader will enjoy the buildup and inevitable fireworks of passion. Given that this is book 3 and we met the protagonists in the previous books, don't be surprised that things start getting steamy almost straight from the beginning. Another thing I found peculiar the were pop culture references the book abounds in. They did make me wonder what age the target reader would be. Olive is thirty four, but we, romcom lovers come in all ages and colours. Maybe this one is just exactly what you're looking for- a fun, witchy romance to curl-up with on a rainy day. Looking forward to April Asher's trademark oneliners, banter and a fair amount of spice in her future books. Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the review copy. All opinions are my own and were not influenced in any way.  APRIL ASHER was hooked on romantic stories from the time she first snuck a bodice-ripper from her mom's bedside table. By day, April dons dark blue nursing scrubs and drinks way too much caffeine. By night, she still consumes too much caffeine, but she does it with a laptop in hand. She pens rom-coms with a paranormal twist, but also writes high-octane romantic suspense as April Hunt. She lives out her own happily-ever-after in Virginia with her college-sweetheart husband and their two children.
#Book Blitz #Plucked by the Orc (Regency Monster Romances 1) by Jenna Larkin @Xpresso Book Tours13/2/2024
Plucked by the Orc
-- EXCERPT: Duncan Higgins, the Second Duke of Barrington, tucked his muslin cravat tighter underneath his Parisian greatcoat. The evening performance of How You Like It had been crowded with patrons eager to see the new gas lighting at the Theatre-Royal. It was difficult to tolerate the stares his massive form and green-tinged skin attracted, but he could ensure his attire reflected the latest demands of the season. Better to be respected, or even feared, than to find himself an object of scorn. His father had stepped foot in London eighteen years prior, the first orc to do so. But Duncan’s height, the horns curling back on his head, and his unusual coloring—unusual on the streets of this city, at least—still drew stares. As in all things connected to the frivolous ton, no one stated anything outright. Rather, he was subject to the averted glances of children seeing one of his kind for the first time. Or the pursed lips of a mother with a daughter of marriageable age looking to catch a gentleman’s eye. A gentleman of wealth, manners, and title. A human gentleman. They were not eager for their daughters to marry Duncan Higgins, even if he were five and twenty and met their other requirements. He’d learned that lesson well enough. So be it. Duncan would remain at a distance, observing and taking notes on human society as a scientist would a colony of lemurs or some such. His younger brother, Albion, would have deemed that too harsh. Albion and their mother came to London from the Hidden Realm two years after Duncan accompanied Father here. He didn’t understand what it had been like for Duncan in those early days. When grown women had screamed at the sight of orcs, no matter how fine their English clothes, and boys hurled rocks at their backs. As he stepped out to the street this evening, an assortment of dandies packed the space outside the venerable theater, waiting on the carriages that would propel them to the next stop on their nightly rounds about the city. Despite the chill in the air, they left their greatcoats open, the better to showcase ruffled shirts, cravats folded crisply on the cross, and fitted trousers. Albion often laughed at Duncan’s propensity for tracking human fashion, whilst Duncan argued that all manner of human customs were of interest. The apparel chosen for a particular season spoke to the values and aspirations of the ton. When living as an outsider, one could never know too much about a culture. And Duncan was an outsider who literally stood out in a crowd. He ducked under the arches outside the theater’s foyer, side-stepping a matron with two daughters prancing before her. The ladies wore stunning multi-colored sapphires—pink, orange, amber, in every shade and gradient—sparkling on pendants hanging from the short pearl necklaces that were all the rage this season. The rare gemstones originated in his land and were the source of his family’s wealth. Nevertheless, when the mother caught him glancing at her daughters’ jewels, she called them closer to her. Their finery was for the benefit of the human dandies. Not Duncan Higgins. Even if he could have made either of them a duchess. At one time, such a snub would have caused Duncan great shame. Now, however, these women meant no more to him than the portraits he might examine at a public exhibition in one of the city’s galleries. He tipped his bespoke hat in their direction and continued, wanting only to locate a hackney coach so he might return to his townhouse in a timely manner. Despite the indulgence of taking in a performance this evening, he wished to abide by his customary schedule, drafting three pages over a glass of port prior to retiring for the night. Duncan aspired to publish a book in the Hidden Realm so the orcs who came to London in the future were better prepared than he had been. Considering additional comments for his section on the shenanigans of human mothers, Duncan neglected to mind his feet. Distracted, he stumbled over one of the humans milling in front of the theater, tipping a woven basket filled with flowers over in the process. The blossoms hit the sodden ground in a colorful spray of wilting clumps—pansies, snowdrops, and clematis. He nearly tumbled down beside them. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, reaching for his handkerchief, twice the size of those used by other gentlemen, to wipe away the mud that had spattered his new coat. And just as the French styles were once again making their way across the Channel. Thanks to that scoundrel Napoleon Bonaparte, London had been deprived of Parisian fashions for several years. “Hey there, ‘ya big lug!” a female voice called, rising above the din of the humans still bustling out of the theater. “Watch where you’re putting them huge green feet of yours, kitten.” Duncan had been called many names in his life, but “kitten” had never before counted among their number. It took him a moment to realize the young woman was addressing him. She clicked her tongue between her teeth as she attempted to reclaim the flowers. “A girl’s tryin’ to make a living here, you know.” Her voice held the distinctive tinge of the East End, an accent he sometimes heard from shopkeepers. This woman’s outlandish appearance matched the Cockney drawl. Her walking dress and pelisse, both of which might have been a startling bronze hue when in fashion five years ago, clung to her slender figure in an indecent manner. A flamboyant blue-purple iris, its petals shaped like the fleur-de-lis of the old French royal family, with a jagged shot of golden color in the center, topped her bonnet. To make matters even more ridiculous, he found himself staring at this woman, whose delicate form and features were at odds with the boldest feminine voice he’d had the pleasure of hearing since he left the Hidden Realm. In Duncan’s homeland, women were not given to the performative modesty of the ton. What was that phrase he’d heard a human gentleman use to describe a beguiling young lady who had only recently arrived in London from the country? A diamond in the rough. At the time, the expression had confused him, but now he thought he understood what it meant.
GIVEAWAY! --
Kilo
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: The elevator stopped on the twenty-sixth floor of the fifty-two-story hotel, and the doors opened. I didn’t look at Alpha. I didn’t need to. We were both staring at the redhead as she barely glanced up and stepped onto the elevator. Now I knew why the agent wanted to meet at the Four Seasons in Manhattan. The target’s mistress. In the flesh. I recalled that one line of intel I’d read. Artist, depleted bank account, no recent address, born with dual citizenship, third acquired. The elevator doors closed, and I did what that agent was incapable of. I got real intel. The smooth sheet of red hair was recently brushed. Her four-inch heels that were nothing more than a couple straps of thin leather were hurting her feet as she shifted from one foot to the other. The beige-colored dress, tight over her ass, was designer. The brand-name bag on her shoulder was more carry-all than purse, and she was fucking nervous. Starving artists didn’t wear designer. They also didn’t have perfect posture, smell like expensive perfume and look like they’d just walked off the runway of a fashion show. This woman was well-bred. Too well-bred to be mixed up with an arms dealer. The doors opened. The noise of the lobby hit, and she slipped out, heading toward the restaurant. I glanced at Alpha. We didn’t need to speak. My gaze quickly cut to the redhead. His chin tipped toward the opposite direction. In a coordinated move we’d done countless times, we flanked out. Alpha went right. I moved left. Heading away from the front entrance of the hotel, striding deeper into the crowd, my gaze was locked on her. Everyone’s gaze was locked on her. The crowd parted. Men stared. Women glared. She looked past every one of them. Head held high, back straight, shoulders proud, her hips and that sheet of silk hair swayed with every step in those high heels. I closed the distance and hit her six. Then I scanned the lobby one more time before I made my move. She reached for the glass door of the restaurant. I reached around her. Covering her hand with mine, caging her in, I leaned down to her ear and issued an order. “Remember my voice.” She flinched, her lush lips parted with a sharp inhale, and she lifted her head. Amber eyes met mine in the reflection of the glass, and time fucking stopped. Then she hit me with a soft, sexy voice. “Pardon?” “You heard me.” Pulling the door open, I scanned the patrons in the restaurant before giving her the push she needed to start moving. “Walk inside.” Slow, as if she was afraid to look, she started to glance over her shoulder. I was already gone. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Sip of Pleasure Anthology
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo --
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Renewed Hope by Carmen Peone #Western #Contemporary Romance @Xpresso Book Tours7/2/2024
Renewed Hope
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble -- EXCERPT: “What’s wrong?” Chad took her shoulders and moved her aside. “Oh, crap. That’s not good.” Her paintings were strewn over her worktable. Every single one—the meadows, deer, rivers, wolves and coyotes, mountains, birds—had been marked up with a black, permanent marker. And each of her nine-by-twelve-inch canvases appeared to have been sliced with something the With quaking fingers, she made a call. “No way.” Her face and ears turned red. “What’s the matter?” She shook her head and made another call. “I can’t believe this.” “What?” “Both Matt and Olivia’s phones are no longer in service.” She shoved the cell into her back pocket. “What are we going to do? How am I going to find my son?” “Chuck will find him.” He had to. Chad strode to the table and began stacking the paintings. “Don’t bother. Matt’s behind this mess. Besides, we’ll figure out where he has Basin before his fingerprints are processed.” Sophie ambled over to one of her wooden easels that lay splintered on the brown carpet. “When I left, this canvas . . . was on the . . .” She pointed to the easel. “It was yellow with The owl painting now lay crumpled on the floor, a dirty footprint across the top. She picked up the piece and traced the rough gash puncturing its heart. “How will we find Basin? How will I provide for him? I need money to pay rent. It’s due tomorrow.” Sophie squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, God, why? Why Basin? Why Chad brought her to his chest and let her cry. Releasing an animal-like howl, she collapsed into his embrace. “He’ll pay for this.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Art of the Chase
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: “It really is odd that Gustave went for this painting, isn’t it?” Fleur said. She closed her laptop and stretched her long frame out on the bed, allowing herself to relax into nostalgia despite herself. “It did occur to me.” The sound of a lighter flicking and Renata taking a drag off a cigarette followed. “It seems like something he’d take if he specifically wanted us to chase him, you know? It’s easy enough to find out that I have a particular relationship with Artemisia’s work.” “You’re saying it feels personal?” “I guess I am, yes. But didn’t it always with him?” Fleur and Renata had spent nearly a year chasing him all over Europe. Four thefts in that time, and each time the games grew more byzantine, more public. He had found in Fleur and Renata some sort of favorite adversaries and would often leave taunts aimed squarely at them. “I suppose it did. Like the typewritten note he sent after the Cezanne in Amersfoort?” “He complimented my jacket.” Renata sounded newly annoyed by it. “The cashmere Prada? It was beautiful.” “Of course it was, because I don’t wear shit. But it was very creepy, you know?” “Don’t worry. When we do catch him, I’ll rough him up a bit for you.” Renata chuckled again. “You would deny me the pleasure of doing it myself?” Fleur was still feeling a little loose from the wine. “Oh, forgive me. I would never want to deny you pleasure.” It slipped out sounding suggestive, and she hadn’t intended it to, but a stubborn little voice in her said Don’t you dare apologize. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Drawn to Murder
-- EXCERPT: “Sam, it’s your turn.” I jolted out of my daydreaming, looking up at the dark-eyed, even darker-haired man across from me at the table. From the intensity of his expectant stare, you’d think we were plotting world domination, not playing a simple getting-to-know-you game. If you could call revealing unexpected or odd facts about yourself a game. Everyone was just trying to one up each other in achievements, fame or outright weirdness – because this was a group of artists, after all. “Uh, sure. I’m Sam. Samantha, but everyone calls me Sam,” I said, stumbling over my words and sure that my cheeks were as bright red as they felt. Whatever I had been planning to say was instantly forgotten. Was there anyone who actually enjoyed these kinds of introductions? “I’m here from Boston,” I continued. “I just graduated from school in the spring and I’m…taking a kind of gap year at the moment. I primarily work in ceramics and sculpture, especially miniatures.” I paused, willing anyone else to make a comment or ask a question, anything to save me from having to think of an interesting fact to share. What was there to say that was appropriate for this group? I grew up in New York? I have a cat named Paul? I once tripped over the body of a dead famous sculptor who’d been poisoned? There were polite smiles around the table, which I returned, slightly nodding my head, signaling that I was done with my intro. I was saved from further humiliation-by-spotlight by the woman on my right, who moved her wheelchair closer to the table so everyone could see her. “I’m Tony. Tonya, but everyone calls me Tony,” she said, throwing a small smile my way. “I’m here from LA, where I make immersive installations that challenge viewers’ perceptions of their interactions with, and limitations within, the physical world.” Tony waited a beat, tilting her chin as if daring any of us to ask the obvious question. There were more polite smiles, although I noticed about half of our group were studiously avoiding eye contact. Unfortunately, only Eliot took the bait. “What inspired you towards that kind of work?” he asked with a kind of forced obliviousness. I didn’t think any of us needed more of an introduction to Eliot: over the course of the previous twenty-four hours since we’d gotten to the Winterbrook Artist Residency, he’d made himself known as the type of pompous, arrogant artist that gives the rest of us a bad name. “Well, Eliot,” Tony said, returning his tone. “I’ve used a wheelchair since I was a kid, after a spinal injury. So after all these years experiencing a very different side of the physical world, I thought I’d give other people the chance to have a similar view.” The pair politely smiled at each other (although, one did have to admit – and admire – that Tony’s smile had more than a hint of crocodile to it) while the rest of us avoided engaging. “But if you’ll forgive me, I think I’ll actually head up to bed now,” Tony said, wheeling away from the table. “It was great to meet all of you!” she called cheerily as she turned towards the door, her wheelchair making an unmistakable bumping motion over Eliot’s foot as she left. I couldn’t help but grin. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Urbex Predator
-- EXCERPT: “However, that’s the shortest way!” Out of the corner of his eye, Zander Regan watched the rest of the group with his arms crossed. “Are you telling me that I have to crawl through a bush and then climb over a wall for a photo shoot? Really?” Yelka handed Vivian her sneakers. She was carrying her flip-flops in her right hand, like she was carrying a purse. Vivian’s outfit for the trip to the abandoned barracks was far from practical, especially her choice of hot pants and a spaghetti-strap top. “I must admit, Yelka,” added her manager Damon, “I’m quite irritated about this location too. Isn’t there an official entrance to the site?” He lifted his sunglasses and glanced at Yelka and Zander, eyebrows raised. Zander ignored Damon’s gaze, pretending to check his watch. Vivian and Damon were already starting to get on his nerves. This could have been a fun trip, but he was used to their behavior. It was likely that one of them would become dramatic at the slightest opportunity. The other sure bet was that Yelka would try to appease her sister, his pretty Yelka. Oh, if only she knew how much he desired her … “Zander really tried everything, Viv. This is the fastest way to the barracks—and your photos.” She smiled. “You’re going to look more than gorgeous, darling sis. The barracks make an impressive backdrop, right, Zander?” There she was again, Yelka with her velvety voice and twinkling eyes that made his legs feel weak. Zander didn’t understand why Vivian, not Yelka, was the Instagram model. It was like a joke. I am a model on Instagram. Yes, and I’m a mercenary in Call of Duty. “Isn’t that right, Zander?” repeated Yelka. “Huh? Oh yes,” Zander stuttered as if he had been caught in a lie. “The barracks were abandoned after German reunification and have lain fallow ever since,” he explained. “The area is in the middle of a 6,000-acre woodland and consists of barracks, a civilian settlement, and a military hospital. All areas are separated from each other, but are supposed to be connected by underground bunkers …” “For fuck’s sake, can you please wake me up when he’s done with his monologue?” Annoyed, Vivian glanced at Damon. “Viv, please.” “6,000 acres is pretty darn big,” Damon hooked in. “I hope we don’t have to trek for miles through the woods. Tonight we have to post our stories, and by tomorrow morning the pictures. And our designers still must retouch them before.” “This is the fastest way. We’ll be there in half an hour,” Zander meekly assured. “I’m supposed to spend another half hour …” “Get down! Down!” shouted Zander and Yelka at the same time. As they walked along a dirt path next to a weathered stone wall, a car approached. 
GIVEAWAY! -- |
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