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The Third Ring
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- SNEAK PEEK: “He told me to seduce you,” he confessed, and I couldn’t help the laughter that burst out of me. His own lips quirked up into a smirk, amusement dancing in his bright eyes. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Omega’s Choice
-- EXCERPT: I’m not planning on attending this year.” Aldric crumpled the offending piece of paper and threw it into the trash can beside his desk. “I refuse to parade around in hope of being chosen when we all know that’s not going to happen.” He stopped pacing long enough to point out the large scar that ran from his left temple across his cheek to his chin and down his neck before disappearing into his shirt. “Brother, you’re the alpha of our pack and it’s your duty to attend this gathering. Not only is it a decree by King Leonidas, but who is to say an omega won’t choose you. You’re a respected and strong alpha, our pack is large, and we have our own town and over five hundred acres of wooded lands to let our wolves run free without fear. There are a lot of benefits to becoming the alpha mate and omega to our people.” Godric stood and retrieved the invitation from the garbage, flattening it out on the desk as best he could and handing it back to Aldric. “Your brother is right, son. You must attend. We have a strong relationship with the king and queen, which has been fortuitous since our lands touch on their northern borders. To refuse an invitation to the yearly Omegas Celebration by any unmated alpha would be an insult.” Aldric’s father, Karl, stood and placed his hand on his son’s back. “I know it has been hard for you, son, since Senorfra. That battle claimed far too many of our brave men, but bless the gods you survived, protected our king, and came back to us.” Admittedly, it was odd that even in this modern age of convenience and technology, most supernatural beings lived by the old code of fealty, honor, and loyalty. Considering most lived to be well over one thousand years, having rules to live by and a king to follow ensured the safety and health of all werewolves. “True, we fought bravely and many men never returned from that damned forest, but the rest of us came back scarred in one way or another. My scars cover my body, and there’s no omega out there who will choose me. When will any of you see this? Omegas are rare and wield powerful magic. They can pick any alpha and any pack they wish and be given anything they desire because of the blessings they will bring to that pack. I’m not saying that an omega doesn’t deserve such things, but none would want a battle-scarred alpha, no matter how wealthy or strong our pack is. Perhaps if Godric went, he—” “No, don’t even finish that sentence. I am no alpha, brother. I couldn’t even dream of taking your place. This pack—hell, the entire town looks to you for leadership. You have given all of them a safe place to live and thrive with their families. I respect you, brother. You will always be my alpha.” Aldric stared at his reflection in the window. He knew he was a scary-looking man; his wolf was even more imposing. His human form stood at 6’7” and weighed over 280 pounds of muscle, which had been hard earned through his years as a general in King Leonidas’s army before the war ended and Aldric had settled with his family and pack on these lands. His black hair was braided halfway down his back, just as his father’s and brother’s, but his dark blue eyes came from his mother. Tattoos covered his right arm, wrist to shoulder blade, depicting his family lineage and his position as alpha. They revealed themselves on the day Aldric assumed his position as alpha. Should he ever be chosen as mate, his blank left arm would reveal his mating tattoo, indicating the lineage of his mate, their joining, and any future offspring. The tattoos his kind wore could not be given by their own hands or magic; they were given by the gods, either at birth or upon claiming their birthright. Aldric knew in his heart that his left arm would always remain bare. His great size alone would be a deterrent to most omegas, who typically feared a larger predator, but the scars from his many battles that littered his body made sure to keep all would-be mates away. Normally, a werewolf could heal most injuries without leaving so much as a scratch, but the ogres had coated their blades with dark witches’ blood, which was poisonous to all werewolves and much more difficult to heal, leaving many warriors with these scars. He just couldn’t figure out why his family chose to ignore these facts and continued to make him attend these celebrations, which allowed omegas of age who had come into their powers to choose an alpha as mate. 
GIVEAWAY! -- 
Spies Like Me
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- Only 99c for a limited time! -- EXCERPT: The school’s auditorium stage was bathed in colors. White for the actors. Orange for the wooden set representing the faraway pyramids of Egypt. Blue to emphasize the painted sky backdrop above it all. It was the opening night performance of The Spy Who Loathed Me. Emma Rothchild strutted across the stage in a gorgeous floor-length silk dress, her costume for this scene. Tonight, she craved the eyes of the audience and knew this dress guaranteed their full attention. Emma was deep into character. She was Russian spy Olga Tetrovich. Emma had studied online videos of Russians speaking candidly and mimicked their accents as best she could. Her drama teacher had complimented Emma on her dedication to the craft. The MI6 spy George Bond followed Olga on stage, but hid behind a fake tree. The actor’s rich brown skin might be a shock to the 007 spy traditionalists in the audience, but Emma hoped that his performance would win them over. Bond was following her in this scene, thinking she would lead the English spy straight to the microfilm that was stolen from him by a Brazilian dwarf named Tatu. From a souvenir stand, Emma picked up a clay model of the pyramids, something a tourist would buy at a market. She smashed the stage prop against the table in dramatic fashion and held up the roll of microfilm hidden inside so the audience could see it. George Bond made his move. He crept up behind Emma without detection while she slipped the microfilm into her small hand purse. Emma’s hand came out holding a cap-gun revolver. She pivoted on her heels, making her dress swoosh around her ankles, and aimed the gun at Bond. The move looked great in rehearsals. “I don’t think so, Mr. Bond,” Emma said, with her gentle Russian accent. “Our brief partnership is at an end. I have what my government wants. Now I will take my revenge. Do you remember that man you killed in Vienna?” “Yes, I do,” George Bond said. “He was my lover.” Emma waited for Bond’s next line. But the actor hesitated. Emma was about to lose it. Did Lewis forget again? They’d rehearsed this scene, like, twenty times. “What do you have to say about that, Mr. Bond?” The line was an ad-lib, something to draw the next line out of the boy’s mouth. Lewis’s face was a river of sweat as his eyes glazed over, the actor turning himself into just another tree on stage. “Your silence is a good enough confession for me. Any last words before I fire?” Emma went off script, but Lewis could pick his line up there. She was trying to help him. But the boy shook his head. Lewis wasn’t taking the hint. Emma pulled the trigger and the gun hammer snapped forward. She squeezed the trigger numerous times in a series of loud snaps. Emma dropped the weapon. “You planted that empty gun in my handbag, didn’t you?” Lewis nodded. Okay, he’d reacted to that ad-lib. It was a sliver of hope, so Emma went with it. “Then I’ll have to kill you with my bare hands.” Emma approached Lewis with her arms raised in a karate-looking stance. The boy blinked, still trapped inside his scary place. What could Emma do now? Physically attack him? Bond was supposed to seduce the Russian agent, not have her attack him. Then a breath of inspiration hit her. Emma grabbed Lewis’s shoulders. She guided him over to a bench on the set and made him lie down. Emma plopped her body on top of Lewis and pretended to struggle with him. Emma whispered into his ear, “Now get up and glare at me, Lewis.” His eyes blinked again. Lewis rolled out from under her and stood on stage. Emma pressed her back against the seat of the bench and stayed there while Lewis glared. Emma labored her breathing, as if she were being seduced. “Oh, why can I not kill you, Mr. Bond? What power do you hold over me?” Lewis didn’t move, his glare frozen on his petrified face. Emma knew this would work better if Lewis helped sell it, but…she lifted herself from the bench like a graceful ballerina, trying to act seduced by Bond’s man-powers. “Why can I not kill you, Mr. Bond?” she repeated. Emma went for his lips, kissing Lewis with passion, as if the male spy had successfully messed with her brain. As Emma eased her lips away from his…life came back into Lewis’s eyes. He gripped Emma and pulled her towards him and they kissed again. Finally, the boy was acting. 
GIVEAWAY! --
The Revenge Game
-- EXCERPT: He didn’t even recognize me. My mind can’t let go of that fact. It lodges in my brain like a corrupted file that keeps trying to load. How is it possible that someone who starred in my nightmares for four years, who shaped every decision I made from which hallway to take to which college to choose, doesn’t even remember my face? There was that time in gym class when we played volleyball, and Justin and his friends decided that instead of spiking the ball over the net, they would aim for me. And one of them struck the ball so perfectly that it hit my stomach with a loud thunk, winding me. I still recall that dizzy breathlessness, my panic when I couldn’t draw oxygen into my body, the struggle to make my lungs recover from fright and remember what their job actually was. That’s exactly how I feel now. How could he not recognize me? How? How? Okay, due to my late growth spurt, I’m a few inches taller than I was in high school, rounding out to a decent five foot eleven. Back then, my dark hair was a floppy mess, whereas now, it’s been carefully cut in a style my barber assures me is the latest fashion. And my face has slimmed down since high school, along with my standard-issue nerd glasses being replaced by a trendier pair. But I’m still recognizable. I haven’t changed that much. In all the time I’ve spent thinking about this moment, I never considered the idea he might not recognize me. How did I miss that possibility? But then, why would he recognize me? I’m a tiny blip in his life. Justin Morris is woven so intricately into the tapestry of my teenage years, one of the main antagonists in my story. Meanwhile, I was simply some mild entertainment to amuse him when he was bored. My features are not etched into his consciousness. He has not spent years scripting our reunion. I’m nothing to him. A nobody. The unevenness leaves me breathless. But then the phrase repeats in my head in a different voice. Less defeated. More…intrigued. He doesn’t recognize me. According to technology sector analysts, I’m the guy who sees gaps in the market, problems that have yet to be solved. And while it makes me sound like a superhero coding ninja rather than simply a guy who spends countless hours hunched over my laptop muttering to myself, there is some truth to it. While at MIT, I developed a system that revolutionized how computers share information, basically creating digital traffic lights to improve efficiency. On the back of that, I started my tech company, which I sold a few months ago for the kind of money that sounds made up when you say it aloud. Now, my brain is ticking faster than an atomic clock. I take a large sip of my drink. The smooth tones of the red wine linger on my tongue after I swallow. I’m a big believer in karma. What goes around, comes around. If you put enough good into the universe, some of it will return to you. I like to think I’ve always been a good person, and as the balance of my bank account testifies, a lot has made its way back to me. But now, my faith in the all-encompassing might of karma has been shaken. I study the restroom door with the same intensity a cat studies the red dot from a laser pointer. Justin emerges after a few minutes. He weaves through the crowd effortlessly, sliding back into the fold of his friends, who greet his return with shoulder bumps and easy laughter carrying across the pub. My chest constricts with an emotion I can’t quite name—something between rage and despair—watching him hold court. The carefully constructed walls I’ve built between my past and present suddenly feel paper-thin. Because Justin’s still exactly who he was in high school. The golden guy surrounded by a circle of smiling admirers. Yes, it definitely appears karma hasn’t caught up with Justin Morris. Possibilities swirl in my mind. I’m currently footloose, with no set ties or projects lined up. I have almost unlimited funds at my disposal. And there’s that one important, undeniable, inescapable fact. He didn’t recognize me. Maybe just this once, karma needs a helping hand. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Lost and Stolen Gods
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GIVEAWAY! --
Eva is Waiting
-- EXCERPT ‘Don’t you have a heater?’ Lily was lying naked on a worn chaise longue with a gossamer thin veil artistically draped over her. ‘Heat burns out creativity.’ Rainer was sitting on a stool with a large pad on his lap, drawing Lily with a stub of pencil. ‘Am I to freeze my nether regions just for a sketch? I thought I deserved oils.’ ‘First, liebling, I make sure I have all the correct proportions in pencil before I commence with charcoal, unless you want to have große Brüste und fette Oberschenkel.’ ‘I think I’ve been inoculated against that!’ ‘You are very funny.’ ‘My mother told me I have a queer sense of humour.’ Rainer got up from the stool and placed the pad and pencil on the seat. He looked at Lily and she felt a surge. Since that amazing night, she had acted upon many urges alone in her room, then had knelt by her bed to pray for forgiveness. In her former school, Miss Rooney had made it clear that self-gratification was against the teachings of Christ. ‘As for adultery and fornication,’ Miss Rooney had said, ‘they are an abomination and will send you straight to hell.’ She had slammed the palm of her hand down on her thigh as she paced about and eyed the young girls seated before her. Young girls who had yet to experience their first period and were still reading books by Enid Blyton. Well, Lily thought, hell it shall be because she was hooked on the greatest drug of all and despite her belief in God, she would rather face His wrath than become a dried-up old prune like Miss Rooney. Rainer knelt in front of her, and she felt his warm tobacco breath… so intoxicating. ‘You are beautiful,’ he said. ‘Make love to me,’ she whispered. ‘An artist sleeping with his model is a cliché, is it not?’ ‘Call it the Spark effect.’ ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘Muriel Spark… she wrote The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie. It’s a novella set in a girls’ school. If they ever make it into a film, I want to play Sandy.’ ‘Sandy?’ ‘She’s the smartest girl in the Brodie set and has an affair with the art master.’ ‘Who is very handsome, no doubt.’ ‘Of course. Unfortunately, Sandy ends their affair and becomes a Roman Catholic nun.’ He chuckled. ‘Is that your destiny?’ She shrugged. ‘Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be.’ She let the veil slip, exposing a youthful breast. ‘My fate is in your hands.’ He repositioned the veil and stepped back. She forced a smile. ‘So, it’s a nunnery for me then?’ He looked at her. ‘I cannot imagine loving anyone more than I do you.’ ‘What about Sylvia?’ ‘She saved my life and has given me a future out of reach of the Russian bear.’ Lily wrapped the gauze tightly around her and stood. ‘I’d better go.’ ‘Please stay. I owe Sylvia, but I want you.’ He pushed her gently down onto the chaise longue and knelt before her.
GIVEAWAY! --
Time Travel Swap
Grab it for FREE from April 9-11 ONLY! -- EXCERPT From Chapter 1 A sigh near her right ear made her flinch. Could there be an old steam radiator behind the wall making those sounds? No time now to investigate. She turned off the lights, opened the door and backed into the hallway, key in hand. Sensing movement close behind her, she spun around once again. No one there. Yet the prickly sensation lingered as though someone was watching her. “Natalie?” There, a few feet away, a tall slender man had just exited a door she’d never seen before. In chino shorts and a polo shirt, he looked like he was heading out for a round of golf. “You’re not Natalie,” he said, his head tilting to the side – a human question mark. He studied her as she studied him. He was a good-looking Asian-American guy with dark hair – a little spiky on top – and large, inquisitive eyes. More European than Asian, she decided. He pulled his door to, triggering a soft buzz and a click as the door locked. “You must be Natalie’s younger sister? A niece?” She had no clue what he was talking about or why he was standing beside a door that didn’t exist yesterday. What the hell! Squinting in the bright light, she was baffled to find the hallway transformed. The antique ceiling globes were gone, replaced by modern light fixtures. The deep green walls were now pale cream and the wainscoting had been removed. Plus, the hallway was longer now with eight doors instead of four. “I didn’t know she had company,” he said, as though trying not to alarm her. “I live here in one eleven.” He gestured at the door from which he’d emerged. “The name is Ian.” She glanced from his door to hers, discovering the heavy wooden door to her apartment had been replaced with a smooth white door. No beveled panels, no woodgrains. Was this a virtual reality projection? If so, it was the most realistic VR she’d ever seen. Must be Hawke’s idea of a prank. She would kill him later. Pranks were not welcome on what could be the most important day of her life. Right now she had to get going. She gripped her key, ready to lock the door and be on her way. But the doorknob no longer had a keyhole. The man moved closer. He seemed so real! This was like an amazing hologram. Where was the projector? Touching the door, it was the same as the door her eyes were seeing – smooth and featureless. And the doorknob definitely had no keyhole. “There’s a keypad,” the man said, pointing. She couldn’t resist touching his arm, but yanked her hand away like she’d burned her finger. Not virtual reality. His expression turned wary, as if he was standing too close to a buffalo in Yellowstone Park that was about to gore him. So if this wasn’t a virtual reality gag, then where was she? And how did she get here? This was not the converted mansion she lived in. “I don’t have time for this!” she cried. 
GIVEAWAY! -- From the blurb: The Invisible Life of Addie La Rue meets This is How You Lose The Time War in this fantastical love story that defies death as two souls reincarnate through the centuries.They've loved each other in a thousand lifetimes. They've killed each other in every one. Evelyn remembers all her past lives. She also remembers that in every single one, she’s been murdered before her eighteenth birthday by Arden, a supernatural being whose soul—and survival—is tethered to hers. The problem is that she’s quite fond of the life she’s in now, and her little sister needs her for bone marrow transplants in order to stay alive. If Evelyn wants to save her sister, she’ll have to: 1. Find the centuries-old devil who hunts her through each life—before they find her first. 2. Figure out why she’s being hunted and finally break their curse. 3. Try not to fall in love.  My thoughts:
Sweet and unexpectedly engaging story that I definitely recommend. The book is written in short, engaging chapters that correspond to the timelines, and you would imagine that there are plenty of places a busy reader would take a natural break, but no, the story keeps urging you to read on and on to explore the myriads possible lives a couple can find their happness (or tragedy) in. All good stories start with the question What if...? and this one just goes as far as possible without losing its brilliant focus. I didn't guess the twist (trust me I had lots of theories), so I would say don't skim and skip, savour the story, the characters and their reversed development, and enjoy the moment when it all becomes clear and makes perfect sense. To sum it up in three words -original, heartwarming, and compelling. Give it a try!
lush
-- EXCERPT: An Hour before the Accident The laughter spilled from the main hall of the yacht club, bright and careless, tangled with the relentless thump of music. I should’ve been out there, smiling, toasting, pretending. Instead, I’d been hiding in this bathroom for nearly twenty minutes, like it could stop the slow, sinking dread pooling in my chest. Smile, Laurene! Smile! Conrad’s great. Really? my conscience said. He was great. Great for the family, great for appearances, great for everything except me. The door opened and shut softly behind me. “It’s over.” I refused to look behind me. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d crack. Instead, I focused on putting on my lipstick, the motion mechanical. I looked immaculate--perfect—the kind of woman my mother would smile at with pride. But I hated the color. This fucking burgundy. The same shade she shoved at me for every happy occasion, every moment she wanted to control. A color that screamed her. Everything she expected me to be. Everything I despised. I met his gaze in the bathroom mirror. He loomed there, his suit rumpled and tie slightly askew, his dark hair rebelliously unkempt. He looked the exact opposite of his brother—wild, unapologetic, dangerous. Everything I wasn’t supposed to want. “Don’t look away.” Every word wrapped around me like a challenge, and that rebellious part of me strained beneath my skin. But he wasn’t asking. He was demanding. And I obeyed. “You shouldn’t be here.” I wanted him here. I needed him. But I couldn’t have him. “I could say the same to you.” In the dim light, his green eyes seemed almost black. “Shouldn’t you be outside? Smiling for the cameras? Pretending you don’t hate every second of this?” “This”—I pointed between us—“ends now. Get out before somebody sees you.” His eyes held mine, and the way he saw me, like he was stripping away every layer, every excuse, was almost too much. I turned. “This isn’t a game, Reese. My mama would burn the entire town to the ground if she knew about us.” “She doesn’t know.” He stepped closer. “I was careful. No one saw me. We still have the plan.” “Please.” I had to get through this night without more tears. “Let’s…let’s just cut our losses. I—I don’t know if I can do it now.” He was behind me before I knew it, his weight trapping me against the counter. I closed my eyes, my breath catching as his exhale grazed the sensitive skin of my neck, hot and tantalizing. “Can we think of something else?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “She always knows, Reese. You don’t understand—” “What I understand,” he said, his voice sharp, “is that you’re miserable. You’re about to marry my brother, and you’re standing here trying to convince yourself it’s what you want. Believe in our plan or is that what you want, Laurene?” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Poseidon’s Daughters: Reckoning
-- EXCERPT: Eirianwen ripped out the earpiece and slammed it onto the desk. Panic swirled at the edges of her mind, but she forced it down. Now wasn’t the time. She grabbed a larger bag from under the desk, slung it over her shoulder, and stormed out. In the closet, she set the bag aside, pressing a hidden panel on the side of her bed. A drawer slid open, revealing her arsenal. Her hands shook as she armed herself, snapping a knife into its sheath and loading a handgun with quick, practiced movements. Now, to find them. Moving swiftly, she ran through the house, slipping out the back door and straight into the storm-charged air. Sullivan’s workshop. If she was going to do this right, she’d need a shovel. She yanked open the heavy wooden door, eyes darting over the mess inside.Where the fuck is it? Why is this place always such a goddamn disaster? A glint of metal under the workbench caught her eye. She crouched, snatched up a spade, and bolted back outside. The rain had started in earnest, cold drops slicing through the thick humidity. She sprinted to where the trackers last pinged, her boots sinking slightly into the softening earth, almost tripping thanks to a low spot. Looking back at the spot, it was all wrong. She knew something was buried there. Gripping the shovel tightly, she drove it into the ground. The soil gave easily…far too easily. The clay should have been a nightmare to dig through. Someone had already done the work for her. Within moments, her blade hit something solid, and dread curled in her stomach. She dropped to her knees, clawing at the loose earth with bare hands until the objects were free. Her breath hitched. Six trackers. All of them. Cold, useless, and buried like a mockery of her own paranoia. Eirianwen sat back on her heels, mud caking her fingers as she stared at the pile in her hands. Someone knew. Her cheeks burned hot, but the rest of her body felt frozen. Tears welled, spilling silently down her face as the questions flooded in. Why? Why would Sullivan do this? Had he done this? He wouldn’t put the kids in danger—would he? Where were they? How long had he planned this? Her stomach twisted. Then, her phone buzzed—a single notification. Hands trembling, she wiped her palms on her pants and yanked it from her pocket. Wi-Fi restored—a new alert. Someone had just crossed the perimeter. “It better be Sullivan and the kids.” Eirianwen exhaled sharply, swiping at the sweat and tears streaking her face. Standing, she brushed the dirt from her clothes as best she could, shoving the useless trackers deep into her pocket. She locked her phone and steadied herself. If the kids were with Sullivan, she needed to stay calm. Normal. They couldn’t see the weapons strapped under her clothing. At least the incoming storm gave her an excuse to rush them inside. She’d get them safe first—then she’d deal with Sullivan. She turned toward the tree line, heart pounding in her throat. The property was massive, and she had built the house at its farthest edge. Finally, headlights cut through the gloom. A vehicle emerged. Not Sullivan’s truck. A cold, electric jolt shot down her spine. Every instinct screamed at her. No one came out here. No one. She had made sure of it. For years, she had meticulously crafted the illusion of a perfectly ordinary life. She knew everyone in town—just enough to avoid suspicion, but never enough to invite curiosity. A delicate balance of friendly but distant. She never gave anyone a reason to visit. She didn’t even use their real address! She picked up all of their mail and deliveries in town. So who the hell thought they had the right to pull up to her house? The SUV slowed to a stop, tires crunching against the gravel. The doors swung open in near unison, and two men stepped out. Sheriff Ford. Deputy Pines. Ford adjusted his jacket, his gaze steady, unreadable. Pines lingered a step behind, eyes sharp, scanning. Ford closed the gap between them and gave Eirianwen a curt nod. 
GIVEAWAY! -- |
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