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Brian and Mina’s Holiday Hits
-- EXCERPT: It’s after dark when we arrive at the Windsor Estate. The heavily guarded iron gate extends around Drake Windsor’s massive property which seems to go on for miles. I grip Brian’s arm and lean in to whisper in his ear as we walk along the well-lit path up to the front door. “What about weapons?” I whisper. “No weapons,” he says. “They’ll pat us down and send us all through a metal detector inside.” “Then how in the f**k are we going to do this? Are you planning to kill him with your bare hands?” Brian shrugs. “I could. He’s too refined to get his own hands dirty. He’s old money.” “What does he do? Besides hiring assassins to kill all his enemies.” You’d think Brian would have listed this man’s profession on the murder wall. “Oil magnate.” “Is that even still a thing?” “Apparently,” he says. “I thought you’d tell me he was in the tech industry.” Brian laughs. “I said old money.” “Fossil fuel. Checks out.” Dinosaurs are for sure old. I stop talking as we get closer to the house. It’s so big, even the word mansion doesn’t quite cover it. The security detail are all big burly guys wearing suits and electronic ear pieces. They give us both a once over, their eyes staying on me a bit longer than is actually necessary. The first one pats Brian down, and then goes for me, but Brian closes a tight grip over the man’s wrist. His voice is low and calm when he speaks. “Elvin, I swear to every power living and dead that if you touch her, you will not survive to see your daughter’s first Christmas.” The guard swallows hard. “I have orders…” “You have metal detectors. You and I both know that’s the real security. This pat down business is just security theater—a display of Windsor’s power and nothing more. You think about whether it’s worth your life to participate in this charade.” He nods. “Go on in, Mr. Sloan.” Then he nods at me, “Ma’am.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Take Me Home for Christmas
-- EXCERPT: “Do you know who Everett West is?” Madelaine asked. Everyone with access to a television knew who Everett West was. He’d been a globe-trotting war reporter for the past thirty-five years. “He’s writing his memoir,” Elle responded. “We are serializing it in the magazine. The number of readers downloading the chapters has quadrupled over the past three months.” Helen beamed at her. “Impressive. You know your stats about other aspects of the magazine besides your own.” “The serialization is meant to whet the appetite of readers in hopes of getting them to order the book when we release it in July,” Madelaine explained. “The problem we have,” Helen added, “is that Everett hasn’t quite finished the manuscript despite signing a contract stipulating he would complete it by the first of this month.” “Oh.” Elle looked between the two women, still unsure what this had to do with her. Helen shook her head. “Mm. Men aren’t always good at keeping their promises as I’m sure you are aware, Elinor.” Whoa! Was Helen apologizing for her worm of a grandson? Madelaine leaned forward in her chair. “We need Everett to finish this book by the end of the year, or the magazine will run out of material to serialize.” “And we won’t have any way to fulfill those preorders,” Elle added. “Exactly!” Helen slapped her palm on the table. Elle continued to gaze at the two women, trying to divine some sort of explanation as to why they were telling her this. “That’s a serious problem for the entire company.” “Everett doesn’t seem to be able to focus on the manuscript here in New York.” Madelaine sighed. “Too many distractions.” “Too many cronies to go out drinking with, you mean,” Helen muttered. If Madelaine agreed with her boss’ sentiments, she was too professional to show it. “We need him to go someplace quiet, someplace with a lot slower pace and fewer diversions so he can buckle down and get the job done.” The man had reported from deep below the ocean inside a Polaris submarine, while rumbling along in a tank in Iraq, and even while embedded in the Afghan desert with special forces. Surely, he didn’t need a convent to finish his memoir? He already knew the ending, after all. “Do you need me to research some potential places?” Elle asked. “No, no, dear girl.” Helen waved a hand. “In fact, Jeremy gave me the most brilliant idea earlier this week when we met for dinner. He was reminiscing wistfully about the wonderful times he spent when you two visited your mother’s inn in North Carolina.” Elle tried not to bristle. Why would Jeremy be “reminiscing wistfully” about the Tide Me Over Inn? He only visited there twice. Now that she thought about it, both times he found something to complain about—from the inn to Chances Inlet. He’d found the whole town to be “provincial.” “My mother’s inn? You want Mr. West to go there to finish his book?” Both women nodded. “Um, sure. I’m happy to check with her to see what openings she has. Christmas time is usually as popular as the summer months in Chances Inlet, though. I can research some backup inns just in case.” Please, Mom, don’t let your inn be full. “No need.” Helen grinned. “I’ve already spoken with your mother. She’s arranged a suite for Everett through the end of the year.” “Oh.” Elle was surprised her mom hadn’t said something to her. “That’s great. Do you need me to make any other arrangements for him?” “Everything is all taken care of.” Helen stood. “You’ll both be flying out first thing tomorrow. Everett has less than five weeks to finish his damn book. I’m counting on you, Elinor, to see that he does. If it comes down to it, chain him to a chair. Stand over him twenty-four hours a day. Whatever it takes.” She gave Elle’s shoulder a gentle squeeze as she walked past. “I know you’re up to the task.” The publisher was out of the room before Elle realized the impact of her words. “Wait. What?” she whispered. “No, no, no.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Inked in Blood and Memory
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: You never forget your first ritual sacrifice. So why had I? That seems like something you’d remember. It’s not something most American families gather for. Hey, Má. Could you pass the rau răm? Oh, and what time is the sacrifice tonight? And yet, I had forgotten. I had forgotten the little things, too. My mother’s laugh, her abrupt chortles that often devolved into giggles. My childhood nickname. We eat pho the night our own parents sacrifice one of my best friends. It’s weird what sticks with you after years of trying to forget. We eat in silence, though I haven’t yet realized the reason for the solemn mood. My nine-year-old brain doesn’t quite grasp the idea of “sacrifice.” I can’t wait to wear my new ceremonial cloak. I begged my parents to let me wear it through dinner, but they refused. “It’s too special,” they say. “You don’t want to ruin it, do you, con gái?” No, I don’t want that. Still, my eyes wander to the piece of clothing that hangs on the coat tree next to the front door. The intricate symbols fascinate me. The only other place I’ve seen them is on the book. Not just any book. The book. I get to see it on special occasions during the four months out of the year our family guards it. The other eight months are split between two additional families. My best friends’, Sophie Vanguard and Jeremy Berg-Nilsen. We’ll join them later for the ceremony or the “thanksgiving,” but not that Thanksgiving. We are not pilgrims, but our three families are special. Chosen. And today, Jeremy is the most special. “Ông xã, are you sure this is the only way?” Má squeezes Ba’s arm. Ba remains quiet for so long I almost ask him if he’s heard Má. I’m not sure what she means by her question or why it’s gotten even quieter than before. Ba answers before I speak. “It’s too late to back out. Maybe we could have years ago, but not now. This is how we keep our family safe.” He kisses my mother’s hand and stands to clear the plates. I knit my brows together. Why are they so serious? It’s like they’re sad. But it’s the day of the thanksgiving. They should be happy. Later that night, I beam proudly in my cloak with the strange symbols, relishing the feel of the velvet hem between my fingertips. Incense burns in a corner, permeating the air with a smoky aroma that I’ve always hated, but it reminds me of the days we celebrate the four equinoxes. The adults hug and talk amongst themselves excitedly. All but Mrs. Berg-Nilsen, Jeremy’s mom. She stands against the wall, keeping to herself. Her long blonde hair covers most of her face, but I can tell her cheeks are wet. I ponder this as I sit cross-legged on the antique rug with Jeremy in his family’s living room. We sip Capri-Suns and talk about what we think will happen in a few minutes. “Happy birthday, Jeremy,” Sophie says after arriving with her parents and barreling through the adults’ legs. She holds a cloak that matches mine out behind her as she runs like she’s a superhero or a bat and plops down on the rug between us. “Thanks, Sophie,” Jeremy mumbles, staring at his Capri-Sun. Of the three of us, Sophie is the most frenetic. I think that’s the word Ba used. The adults are always hiding the sugar from her. She channels her chaotic energy for good most of the time. At school this past week, a couple kids from our grade cornered Jeremy. Sophie took me by the hand and came to Jeremy’s aid, not letting up until the kids backed off. “Why is your mom crying?” I ask Jeremy. His eyes move from his drink to his shoes, and he tugs at the laces. “Dad says she’s happy, but she won’t look at me.” “Grownups are weird,” I say, watching Jeremy’s parents lead the rest into the kitchen. “I think I did something real bad,” Jeremy says. The door swings closed, and I’m on my feet, ignoring Sophie’s questions and drawn to the conversation happening behind the closed door. 
GIVEAWAY! --
A Christmas Dream
-- EXCERPT: Another thirty minutes passed, during which time Brant envisioned thick slices of smoky ham encased between fluffy biscuits hot from the oven as he worked. He was just about to suggest to Remington they take a break for the noon meal when a woman as pretty as any Brant had ever encountered breezed into the room carrying a large basket covered with a blue-checkered cloth. “Denver! I thought I’d never find you in this colossus of a house. I saw Colin outside, and he said you were in the library, but so much has changed since the last time I was in here, I thought I might wander around lost until you starved to death.” The woman’s gaze shifted from the carpenter on the second floor, taking in Brant and Remington as they hastily stood. “Oh, hello.” Denver scrambled down the ladder where he’d been working on the trim at the top of a bookcase. Brant was surprised he didn’t fall and break his neck the way he skipped the last four rungs, using just his hands on the sides of the ladder to slide to the floor. It was a trick Brant intended to have Denver teach him another day. “Holland, I didn’t know you were coming today. I would have met you outside.” Denver glanced nervously from the young woman to Brant, and then back to the fetching female as he raced down the spiral staircase. The woman shrugged. “We wanted to surprise you.” Did Denver have a wife and children awaiting him at home in Silver Bluff? In the three years of Hudson House’s construction, Brant had gotten to know the names of every worker and thought he had a thorough mental list of those who were married and those who were not. How had he overlooked Denver’s family? Especially when the man had such an attractive wife? Shiny brown hair she wore pulled back from her face, fastened with a ribbon at the nape of her graceful neck, fell in glorious waves to her waist. Freckles splattered a narrow, upturned nose. Her bottom lip, fuller than the top, rested in a natural pout that was most alluring. Her brown eyes snapped with intelligence and interest when they landed on Brant again. Her features were delicate and decidedly feminine, and she owned such a happy countenance, it made Brant want to smile just being in the same room with her. Denver Drake was a most fortunate man if the woman holding a basket from which delicious aromas emanated was, indeed, his wife. “Who might this be, Denver?” Brant asked, taking a step closer to the couple, curious and oddly interested in the answer. “Holland Drake,” Denver said, taking the basket from the woman and giving her a slight nudge forward. A wave of disappointment washed over Brant. So, she was married to Denver. “My sister,” Denver continued. The desire to raise his fist and cheer was almost more than Brant could contain, but he managed to tamp down his victorious feeling and school his features into what he hoped was a welcoming expression. The lovely woman was not married, at least not to Denver. “Miss Drake,” Brant said, closing the distance between them and taking her hand in his. He raised her slender fingers to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand while holding her gaze. Her eyes widened slightly, though he could see curiosity lingering there, and she quickly pulled her hand away. “I haven’t seen you working around the house before. Are you new?” It was on the tip of Brant’s tongue to tell her the truth. To say he was the one who would eventually live in the house that had once been a dream scattered across multiple sheets of paper. Instead, he decided he wanted to get to know this woman, not as the owner of a fancy home, but as one of the many men helping to build it. “I’m not new, but help was needed in the library today.” That wasn’t a lie, but the stark truth. He and Remington would likely contribute countless hours of physical labor if the house was to get finished by his own self-imposed deadline prior to his sister’s holiday arrival. “Mister …” Denver started to speak up, but Brant gave him a brief shake of his head along with a warning look. The young man swallowed hard and nodded once in understanding. “Mr. Hudson is hoping to be able to use the library soon. It will also serve as his office, and he’d like it to be the first room completely finished. That’s why we’re all working so hard to make that happen.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
It’s Mother-Pucking Christmas!
-- EXCERPT: “You’re stalking my client,” Hudson yelled at the old woman, who was completely unfazed by his anger. My teammates’ eyes bugged out like the pugs’, then they all collapsed, howling with laughter, at my feet. Even Coach snickered into his gloves. “You’re the Crusher?” My mouth dropped open. “You’re the one who’s been stalking me for the last five months?” “Stalker? Pshaw!” Granny Murray was offended. “I’m not stalking anyone.” “You’re going to be arrested.” Hudson bore down on the woman. “Don’t arrest my grandmother,” Dakota snapped at him. “She’s stalking him.” Hudson made a knife hand in my direction. “Do you know how much goddamn money this woman has cost me?” “I’m not stalking. I’m leaving him presents and nice notes,” Granny Murray shouted. Hudson slapped a hand to his forehead. “Notes? They’re fucking pornographic.” “Now see here.” Granny Murray wagged her finger at the tall man. “I’m just trying to rile him up for Dakota.” “You frightened him, Gran,” Gracie scolded. “Oh my god.” Erik gasped at my feet, holding his side. “College Boy is afraid of a little old lady.” I sputtered, “Shut your mouth, Canada.” “Are you going to ‘oh heck’ him?” Pete snickered. “Sonny, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You seem like a nice boy.” The old woman patted me on the arm. Hudson slapped her hand away. “As an apology present”—she grabbed Dakota and pushed her toward me—“I will let you have sex with my granddaughter. She puts out, and her boobs are real.” She squeezed Dakota’s chest. “Oh, uh…” I rocked back on my skates. “That’s very kind of you, ma’am, but no. No thank you.” Dakota had the nerve to look offended. My teammates’ mouths dropped open, then they laid into me. “Who the hell are you?” “Fucking Boy Scout.” “Come on, Ryder!” “Jesus Christ, College Boy.” “Dude!” “Shame! Shame to the family. Shame to the team…” Rick slapped his glove. “I’m not having relations with her,” I stammered. “I don’t even know her.” Dakota raised an eyebrow. Pete muscled up to Dakota. “I’ll take the apology present, beautiful. I have a very nice hotel suite—hot tub, big bed. Expense account.” “No! No expense accounts,” Coach barked. Erik shoved Pete aside. “How about a two-for-one deal?” Dakota looked interested. The pretty brunette put her finger to her lips like she was seriously thinking about it. I sucker punched Erik. “Hey!” Coach slapped the back of my head. I didn’t even feel it. “You’re not sleeping with her. Certainly not both of you, ingrates,” I snarled. “Ooh, College Boy is mad!” Rick giggled. “All of you, shut the fuck up!” Coach yelled. “Shaddap!” I sniffed. “Ryder, you’re kind of a prude.” Coach turned on me. “Dial it back. You’re almost thirty, for Chrissake, and for someone who says he wants a family, you’re about as effective as a panda in that department.” Mike applauded. “But they’re trying to… you know… with a fan. That’s against the rules,” I argued. Coach sighed loudly. “Oh.” Dakota piped up. “I am definitely not a fan. In fact, I hate your team. Arctic Avengers all the way. I’d never date the captain of the motherfucking Icebreakers. I will, however, sleep with you all.” She blew me and my teammates a kiss. “Fuck that!” My friends refused. “We’re not traitors.” “Dammit, Dakota!” Granny Murray scolded, “All that work down the toilet.” “Definitely snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory,” Gracie said. Dakota scowled. “Well, that is how the Arctic Avengers do it.” I sneered at her. Dakota gave me the finger. “I hope you lose all your teeth out there.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
My Only Friend, the End
-- EXCERPT: I spent the next two days nursing a chill fever and watching the fires engulf pockets of the city—more slowly than you might expect, with prodigious walls of steam wherever fire met the Missouri floodwaters. Despite the vivid show, there was something anticlimactic about the way the town died so gradually after everyone in it had died so fast. The amoxicillin and painkillers aided the convalescence, but they did nothing for my mental health. Whether awake or asleep, I obsessed over my wife and son. I also immersed myself in a sea of questions that had no answers, questions that begat other questions, borne of illness of the body and mind. Some of the more obvious ones: What to do now? Go find survivors? Stay here and make sure I’m visible when the National Guard comes? Some were darker: Did Ronnie and Evan suffer, or did everyone everywhere really drop dead at the same time? The biggest question of all, which I asked myself every few minutes: What the hell happened? And that question’s obvious cousin: Why didn’t it happen to me? A fact that ruled out positive answers: No rescuers had come to the aid of the 60,000 souls of Great Falls, Montana. This, combined with the death of all radio signals from near and far, told me this plague or, I don’t know, supercharged virus or whatever had a potentially planet-wide scope. But since I was alive, other people were alive too, right? At the very least another skydiver. A deep-sea diver. Someone who was immune to this … to this what? Was it a virus? Bioterrorism? How could it kill the people on the ground and the people in my plane but spare me? Did my high-speed fall—115 miles per hour—was that what saved me? My unique movement within a certain pocket of air pressure shielded me from a blast from an otherwise apocalyptic pathogen or radiation pulse or microwave beam? If so, were other jumpers still breathing? Or climbers up on Everest? How about miners and spelunkers and sailors in submarines? I couldn’t be the only one left. 
GIVEAWAY! --
New Beginnings in Twinkle Falls
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks -- EXCERPT: “Man, I suck at this,” I blurt out, while on a jog around the perimeter of the Fall Fair with Jesse. We started hanging out years ago after our sisters became BFFs. “O-kayyy…” He elongates the word, briefly cutting his eyes in my direction. “Do you care to elaborate?” “Ugh, at romancing a woman. It’s like I forgot how to do it, since I haven’t dated for years. Before Kylee, Roxanne was the only woman I’d ever loved. Actually, now that I think about it, I’m sure Roxanne put the moves on me first. Which means, I have no game. Dang, I’m doomed.” “I assume you’re talking about romancing Kylee? Tell me what happened before I give my opinion on the situation. Shaking my head as we run past a seven-foot scarecrow and two smaller ones along the jogging trail, I try explaining. “It’s bad; really bad,” I huff. “One minute, we were sipping wine and cuddling on the sofa after an amazing French meal she made, and the next, something completely different than what I had planned to say came pouring out of my mouth.” “Oh, gosh, what’d you say?” “I said something like… if it’s not clear that I want us to have a future together and to, uh, share a house so we can do more stuff like this—” “Stop!” We quit running as Jesse steps to the side of the trail. “You’re right, you do suck at this.” He chuckles. “That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard a guy say to the woman he loves. What was her response?” “It wasn’t great. She didn’t say anything at first, so I added, unless it’s not something you want. Finally, she grabbed my hand and said she’d love for us to live in the same house, but then she looked confused after she said it.” “Man, I can definitely see why. You need to watch some romance movies or something because you’re right, you have zero game with the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with.” “Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence, buddy,” I quip. As we resume running, I’m suddenly feeling worse than I did before.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Sought By Destiny
-- EXCERPT: Storm stood at the edge of Skyreach, his eyes scanning the charred landscape. The ground, once lush and green, was now a scorched black sea. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt wood. The ruins before him stood as silent witnesses to the battle’s wrath, skeletal remains stark against the early morning sky. Every crack in the earth, every smouldering ember, was a testament to the destructive power he had wielded. For weeks he had been consumed by a rage so intense it charred him from the inside out, a bitterness that pulsed in his veins like a poison. Never had he felt this hollow in his life. An emptiness so profound it had taken control of his mind. The betrayal of his mate that had ripped his heart in a million pieces. Ever since he had met Feylin, he had kept her at arm’s length simply to prevent this kind of attachment to her. It would seem that she did not need the mate bond consummated to have control of his heart. Feylin… Just the thought of her name had his anger steaming as he recalled the moment he had realized that by some fate-cursed magic, she had discovered a way to break their bond. That was bad enough, but then the same cursed magic had bonded her to Olron, for a reason only she understood. Storm steeled his heart at the thought of her. It was not merely her betrayal that fuelled the flames within him; it was her choice, even if it was a choice that consumed his mind in scorching fury. She had chosen Olron. His once best friend. Someone who had once been so close they had been like brothers. “Storm.” Alaric approached cautiously, sensing his state of mind. His friend had been handling him with gloves lately. Storm knew he had been volatile, and Alaric had given him more leeway than he would have any other mage. “Why are you still out here? It has been a hard-fought victory. You have earned a rest.” “Victory?” Storm chuckled bitterly. They had won Skyreach back from Olron after weeks of Storm ploughing through enemy troops with his magic unleashed at its fullest potential. He had been single-minded. Kill, destroy, get to Olron…but the bastard had not been at the battlefield. He had not shown up for weeks. He had left the trolls, dark Fae and the undead to fight his battle. Was he too occupied with his new mate to remember that they were at war? Storm punched a tree in frustration as he began to pace, the red haze starting to rise in his mind. He knew what it was. The mate madness. This was one of the reasons he had not wanted to consummate his bond with Feylin. He had never wanted to ever be controlled by the whims of the Fates. His father had suffered the mate madness after his mother had died. Very few resisted it. Even fewer survived it. Olron was the one person in recorded history to have survived it without a tether, but even then, he was barely sane. Those that survived with their minds intact had important tethers, like children or other loved ones. Clearly his feelings for Irina had not been as strong as he had thought if he was being driven to the brink of insanity. Irina had been his long-time companion, since childhood. He had thought he was in love with her, one of the reasons why he had rejected his mate bond with Feylin. Now he had no choice of what to feel—jealousy was a living flame in his chest. Last night he had felt her, Feylin, and for the first time in a long while, his soul had calmed. Storm had been in the middle of battle, and it had woken him up like a jolt of pure lightening straight to his veins. He had no idea how she had so easily broken their bond and in the same manner, restored it. The madness was slowly receding with every beat of his heart as he felt her warm, fresh presence down the bond. She was pure and clear like dew in the morning. He had missed her anchoring him. He had never wanted this weakness. Never wanted to be shackled by bonds beyond his control. Yet, here he was. Storm lifted his face to the smoke-stained sky and roared, the sound carrying the potency of his fury. He had tried to prevent this. Had refused to make her his weakness, but none of it mattered. He now understood what the bond was. The mate bond was not just some magic that linked them together. Rather, she was the other half to his soul, blackened though it was. “Storm, old friend,” Alaric said calmly. “Steady your heart. We will find her.” “I will know no rest while my mate lies beside another man,” Storm snapped. He couldn’t dwell too much on that imagery. He had already put Alaric through enough as it was. It had been this way ever since he had first discovered that Feylin was missing. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Made To Last
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks -- EXCERPT: I walk into her place and shut the door, but I linger in the doorway as Ivy heads to the kitchen. She returns two minutes later with a vase full of flowers. She places them on the coffee table next to the couch and then looks at me. 
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #All the King’s Men by Empress Chang (Kingdom of Lies & Truths, 2) @Xpresso Book Tours8/12/2024
All the King’s Men
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GIVEAWAY! -- |
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