Monday, September 30, 2019

Blog Tour & Review ~ When the Marquess Was Mine - The Wager of Sins Series by Caroline Linden



When the was Mine by Caroline Linden
On Sale: September 24, 2019
ISBN: 9780062913593
E-ISBN: 9780062913609
Digital Audio ISBN: 9780062963123

About the Book:
In the game of love…

Georgiana Lucas despises the arrogant and cruel Marquess of Westmorland even before learning that he’s won the deed to her friend Kitty’s home in a card game. Still, Georgiana assures Kitty the marquess wouldn’t possibly come all the way to Derbyshire to throw them out—until he shows up, bloody and unconscious. Fearing that Kitty would rather see him die, Georgiana blurts out that he’s her fiancé. She’ll nurse the hateful man back to health and make him vow to leave and never return. The man who wakes up, though, is nothing like the heartless rogue Georgiana thought she knew…

You have to risk it all

He wakes up with no memory of being assaulted—or of who he is. The bewitching beauty tending him so devotedly calls him Rob and claims she’s his fiancée even as she avoids his touch. Though he can’t remember how he won her hand, he’s now determined to win her heart. But as his memory returns and the truth is revealed, Rob must decide if the game is up—or if he’ll take a chance on a love that defies all odds.

Buy Links:




Excerpt:
Chapter One
1819

It was to be a bacchanal for the ages.
As Heathercote remarked, a man only turned twenty-nine once. Marlow pointed out that a man also only turned twenty-eight, or thirty, once as well, but they were well used to ignoring Marlow’s odd points of reason, and this one was promptly forgotten.
Heathercote planned the entire affair, inviting the most dashing, daring rogues and scoundrels in London. He declared it to be the invitation of the month, and that he’d turned away several fellows for lacking wit, style, or both. “You mean they aren’t up to your standard of mayhem,” said Westmorland, whose birthday it was, to which Heathercote mimed tipping his hat in acknowledgment.
After a raucous dinner at White’s, they decamped for the theater. The production was well under way when they invaded the pit in search of amusement. By the time the show ended, they had drunk a great deal of brandy, thrown oranges at the stage, and lost Clifton to the company of a prostitute.
Everyone’s memories ran a bit ragged after that, with vague recollections of singing in the streets and Marlow casting up his accounts somewhere in Westminster, but eventually they settled at the Vega Club. It was so late, the manager tried to dissuade them from play. Mr. Forbes knew every one of them could wager for hours, and the Vega Club closed its doors at dawn.
But Heathercote persuaded him to let them in and to give them the whist salon all to themselves. “We’ll leave by noon,” he promised, patting Forbes on the chest as he slid a handful of notes into the man’s hand. His words were remarkably steady for a man who’d been drinking for eight hours. Grim-faced, Forbes let them in, where they commandeered the main table and called for yet more wine.
A few intrepid souls followed them from the club proper. Forbes tried to stop them at the door, but Forester recognized one and waved them in. “We don’t mind winning their money,” he said with a hiccup.
They played whist, then switched to loo. One loser was dared to drink off the contents of his full flask in one go, which he did. The room filled with cigar smoke and ribald language, and the wagers grew extravagant. Marlow won a prize colt off Forester. Heathercote wagered his new phaeton and ended up with someone’s barouche. Sackville won the largest pot of the night, and everyone pelted him with markers.
And then one of the hangers-on spoiled it. He had the look of a country fellow new to London, with an arrogant bluster that was initially amusing but eventually turned annoying. He’d played well enough, winning a bit and losing with colorful curses that made the rest of them roar with laughter. But it became abruptly clear that Sir Charles Winston was in over his head when he wagered his house.
Marlow laughed. Heathercote picked up the scribbled note Winston had put forth and read it with one brow arched. “Can’t wager property, Winslow.”
The man was already ruddy from drink, and now he turned scarlet. “Can so! Your fellow wagered a horse.”
“Horses are portable,” said Forester, his Liverpool accent bleeding through. “Houses are not.”
“Houses are worth more!”
“Aye, too much more.” Heathercote flicked the note back across the table. “Markers.”
“I haven’t got any more markers,” muttered the younger man. For a moment everyone focused in surprised silence on the empty space in front of him. None of them had run out.
“Then fold your hand,” Forester told him. “You’re out!”
Winston’s chin set stubbornly. His mate tried to slide some markers toward him, but he angrily shoved them back. “Give me a chance to win it back.”
“All the more reason to walk away, if you’ve lost ‘em all.” Marlow waved one hand, nearly toppling out of his seat. Mr. Forbes, watching grimly from the corner, came forward. “Forbes, Windermere is done.”
“Sir Charles,” murmured the manager. “Perhaps it’s time to go.”
“Not yet!” Winston scowled at them all, shaking off his friend’s quiet attempts to get him to fold. “Not now, Farley! They got a chance to turn their luck. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Luck is like the wind,” said a new voice. Nicholas Dashwood, the owner of the Vega Club, stepped out of the shadows. “It rarely turns propitiously.”
Winston stubbornly sank lower in his seat. “I deserve ‘nother chance.”
Heathercote slung his arms over the back of his chair. “Well, West? What say you? Shall we let him stay and wager away everything he’s got?”
Lounging in his seat, the Marquess of Westmorland looked up in irritation. “Really ought to go, Winsmore.”
“Wins-less, more like,” snickered Marlow.
Winston sat up straighter in his seat. “Please, my lord.”
“Oh, let him ruin himself,” muttered Forester, shuffling his cards restlessly.
The marquess lifted one shoulder. “Damned if I care.”
“Sir Charles,” said Dashwood evenly, “do not wager what you cannot afford to lose.”
Winston scooped up the scribbled paper and added a line, signing his name with a flourish. “I won’t, sir.”
But he did. Within four hands, he’d won a bit and then lost it all—including the deed. Suddenly he did not look so belligerent or so stubborn. He looked young and quite literally green, staring at the winning hand, lying on the table.
“Should have listened,” said the unsympathetic Heathercote. “Should have left.”
Winston puffed up furiously. “Should have known better than to play with the likes of you!”
“Di’n’t y’know that before you sa’ down?” Marlow’s words slurred together. “Stupid bloody fool!”
“That’s my home!”
“And you risked it at loo!” Heath made a derisive noise. “Idiot.”
Winston was the color of beets. “Don’t call me that.”
Sackville raised one brow. “No? ’S not your home anymore.” He reached out and plucked the scrawled paper from the pile of markers and examined it, although his eyes never quite managed to focus on it. “It ‘pears to be West’s.”
His friends howled with laughter. “He doesn’t need it,” cried Winston. He made a convulsive grab for the paper before his lone remaining friend caught his arm. “He’s got a dozen houses!”
“Set it up as a brothel, West,” suggested Forester. “And give all your mates discounted fees.”
“Free!” yelped Marlow with a wheezing laugh.
Winston drew a furious breath, but instead of continuing the fight he turned and rushed from the room, rather unsteadily; he wrestled with the door, and then almost tripped on his way out, causing more howls of laughter from the table. His friend helped him back onto his feet before the door closed on them both.
“Who invited him?” asked Heathercote in disdain.
“Marlow.”
“Ballocks,” mumbled Marlow, putting his head down on the table. “Never did. Was Forester.”
Forester made a rude gesture. “I vouched for the other man, Farley.”
“Your friends are all bad ton,” said Sackville.
Forester’s face tightened. He rose and swung his wineglass into the air in a toast, spilling some. “Thank you all for a most exciting evening, gentlemen.” Pointedly he bowed only to Viscount Heathercote and Lord Westmorland. Sackville repaid him with a rude gesture at Forester’s back.
Heathercote protested, but Forester waved him off and left. With Marlow asleep on the table and Sackville still giggling drunkenly to himself, Westmorland placed his hands on the table, hesitated as if gathering strength, then heaved himself to his feet. “The carriages, Dashwood.”
Stone-faced, the owner left. Westmorland surveyed the table. “Did I win the last?”
“Aye,” said Heathercote with a wide yawn.
“Credit it all, Forbes,” said the marquess. “God above, I’m tired.”
As expressionless as his employer, the manager stepped forward. With an air of distaste, he picked up the deed promise and held it out. “I cannot credit this, my lord.”
West stared at it. “Damn. Right.” He stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket and staggered out into the morning sunlight with Heathercote, never guessing the trouble that wagered deed was about to cause him.


Huge 5 Steamy, Steeping Teacups for thew newest by Caroline Linden! When the Marquess Was Mine, the latest in the Wagers of Sin series is sure to be a bestseller! I absolutely loved this tale and Linden is truly one of the best in Historical Romance, she knows the craft and the period so well one might think she truly has lived in the Regency period. Not going to give you any spoiler's but you are going to love, Georgiana, Kitty and "Rob" The Marquess of Westmorland! This tale just takes the reader on an amazing ride of deep passion, love and lots of surprises at the turn of the page! I most highly recommend this book for any die-hard historical romance fan!
About Caroline Linden

Caroline Linden was born a reader, not a writer. She earned a math degree from Harvard College and wrote computer software before turning to fiction. Since then the Red Sox have won the World Series four times, which is probably not related but still worth mentioning. Her books have won the NJRW Golden Leaf Award, the Daphne du Maurier Award, and RWA's RITA Award, and been translated into seventeen languages.


Join her VIP readers' newsletter at https://www.carolinelinden.com/ to get informed about new books, special bonus features, and a free short story exclusively for members. She can also be found on Facebook (@AuthorCarolineLinden), Instagram (@linden.caroline), and Twitter (@Caro_Linden)

Book Tour & Giveaway ~ The Legend Series Box Set by McKayla Schutt



The
Legend Series Box Set
Books
1-9
by
McKayla Schutt


Genre:
Paranormal Romance 

A
witch and a wolf imprint, what could possibly go
wrong??


Celina
Celina
is faced with the one choice she never wanted to make between her mate
and her child how would she choose?

Red
Eclipse
Alia’s
ready to vanish until a werewolf claiming to be her mate emerges and
changes everything…

Blood
Moon
Maria
knows nothing of the magical blood flowing through her veins… when
she imprints with the alpha, everything starts changing.

Summer
Solstice
New
beginnings aren’t supposed to start with werewolf imprint…now
Carmen must choose, her wolf mate or her old way of life and time
isn’t on her side.

Angie’s
New Moon
Angie
desires a life with a mate so she pushes down her fear and travels…
but things she feared are coming true and she can’t stop what’s
coming.

Solar
Eclipse
No
one believes Walter when he says, danger is coming, sticky spells and
imprinting with Amethyst could prove him right or destroy the
wolfpack coven.

Hunter’s
Moon
Finding
her mate should be the easiest part of Luna’s witchy life but he’s
been raised to hate witches, will he abandon her like her parents or
stay with her till death?

Jina
Tragedy
and lies have been Jina’s whole existence but now she needs her
second chance with her werewolf mate, she’ll find it or die
trying.

Final
Eclipse
Love
is the last thing on Samara’s mind, as a hunter of supernatural
beings she needs to stay focused, but Devin calls to her in a deep
level that puts both of their lives on the line.

Fall
in love with the Legend Series wolves and witches today.


Grab
all 9 books for under $1 a book!









McKayla loves to
write books about sexy werewolves.
Now a USA Today
Bestselling Author!
She's a stay at home
mom of two in the state of Wyoming. Born in California, she misses
the hot weather all of the time. Her goal- to write as many sexy
books as possible. However, being a mom of two little ones can take
time but she is pushing to finish her work to get more books out for
her lovely fans.
Ever since she was
little she wanted to be a writer but doubters said that it would be
impossible to make money at it. She is pushing herself hard to show
them they are wrong.
She would like to
remind everyone to review what you read, it's important!










Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive content and a giveaway!





Book Tour & Giveaway ~ The Universe Chronicles by Claire Davon


Shifting
Auras
The
Universe Chronicles Book 1
by
Claire Davon


Genre:
Paranormal Romance 

Maya
Wingfield was raised to trust no one—least of all the dueling U.S.
and Russian paranormal agencies, Universe and Night Stars, who’d
love to harness her mind-reading gift.


She
thought Richmond a safe place to escape their influence and hide from
a rising psychic malevolence that drove her out of San Diego. But
when she gets yet another call to retrieve her drunken roommate, her
mind shows her an amber-eyed Universe operative with an impenetrable
net around his deepest secret—and a voice that sends shock waves of
awareness down her nerve endings.

Maya’s
curves and aquamarine eyes aren’t the only things that jolt Ian
Sanderson’s mental shields, bringing sexual tension thrumming back
to life. It’s a power his Universe-trained mind knows he shouldn’t
trust. And a vulnerability that makes his telekinetic power burn in
his palms to protect her.

But
to Universe, she is just one of too many unanswered questions. A
target for Whisper, a shadowy new group of paranormals with powers
beyond anything Universe has ever seen. Once before, Ian failed to
protect a sensitive from a brain-scrambling attack. He will not fail
again . . . even if it means using his talent—or his body—to stop
a bullet.










Tracking
Shadows
The
Universe Chronicles Book 2

Since
the day Jiana Falco was forced to join the paranormal agency Night
Stars, she’s been planning her escape. She uses her bodyguard’s
split-second of distraction to vanish into the shadows, and burns the
last bridge by saving Quillan Hardis.


But
now, locked in Quillan’s muscular arms, pinned by his calculating
amber gaze, his invisibility talent shielding them both, she’s in
even 
deeper trouble.
If that’s possible.

Quillan
didn’t get to Universe Corps’ highest echelons by being a fool.
The rare shadow manipulator in his grip is too easy a prize to be
anything but a setup. A pretty lure he should send back to Night
Stars. Instead, he holds on—and in changing her fate, he seals his
own.

Under
a secret order to unlock her untapped power—by 
any means
necessary—Quillan takes Jiana on the run with only a precog’s
vague direction, and a spark of desire that blooms into something
warm and genuine. But her fear of being clawed back into Night Stars’
control could drive Jiana so deep into the shadows nothing will get
her out. Not even the light of Quillan’s love.

But
her fear of Night Stars could drives Jiana so deep into the shadows
nothing can lead her out. Not even the light of Quillan’s love.








Claire
can’t remember a time when writing wasn’t part of her
life. Growing up, she used to write stories with her friends. As
a teenager she started out reading fantasy and science fiction, but
her diet quickly changed to romance and happily-ever-after’s. A
native of Massachusetts and cold weather, she left all that behind to
move to the sun and fun of California, but has always lived no more
than twenty miles from the ocean.
In
college she studied acting with a minor in creative writing. In
hindsight she should have flipped course studies. Before she was
published, she sold books on eBay and discovered some of her favorite
authors by sampling the goods, which was the perfect solution. Claire
has many book-irons in the fire, most notably her urban fantasy
series, The Elementals’ Challenge series, but writes contemporary
and shifter romances as well as.
While
she’s not a movie mogul or actor, she does work in the film
industry with her office firmly situated in the 90210 district of
Hollywood. Prone to break out into song, she is quick on feet and
just as quick with snappy dialogue. In addition to writing she does
animal rescue, reads, and goes to movies. She loves to hear from
fans, so feel free to drop her a line.




Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!


















Blog Tour ~ Fatal Strike by DiAnn Mills

Fatal Strike

by DiAnn Mills

on Tour September 1-30, 2019

Synopsis:

Fatal Strike by DiAnn Mills


There’s a killer on the loose in Galveston, targeting law enforcement officials and using a fatal injection of snake venom to take them down. Authorities have reasons to believe the Veneno gang is behind the hits, and FBI Agents Leah Riesel and Jon Colbert team up to track down those responsible. Their best lead is an eyewitness who identifies a young man dumping the third body on a church doorstep. But their suspect has gone into hiding, and those closest to him are reluctant to reveal anything that might help investigators find him.



As Leah and Jon check connections among the victims and dig deeper into motives, they discover appearances may be deceiving. Someone is desperate to keep their secrets hidden, and Leah and Jon must face their greatest fears in order to stop the next fatal strike.


Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense

Published by: Tyndale House Publishers

Publication Date: September 3rd 2019

Number of Pages: 400

ISBN: 1496427106 (ISBN13: 9781496427106)

Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | IndieBound | Goodreads



Read an excerpt:

SPECIAL AGENT LEAH RIESEL scanned the headlines on her phone. A prosecutor from Galveston had been found murdered behind a construction site, the second apparent victim of gang violence in two days. Both deaths were caused by rattlesnake venom injections to the heart. Before she could pull up additional reports on the woman’s untimely death, Leah’s phone

rang.
“Riesel, hostage situation in Galveston,” the SWAT commander said. “Grab your gear. The chopper takes off in five.”
“On it.” She took a last lingering look at the half-eaten blueberry donut and coffee on her cubicle’s desk.
Could this have anything to do with the two murders in Galveston?
Before most of the city began the workday, Leah boarded a Little Bird helicopter beneath whirling blades and the pressure of a critical operation. Dressed in full camo and shouldering her sniper gear, she inhaled the rising temps. Feverish Houston. With the familiar air transport sounds ushering in memories of past missions, her adrenaline kicked in.
A pilot from the tactical helicopter unit lifted the chopper into the air for the twenty-minute ride to Galveston. She recognized him from previous assignments involving aircraft used to deliver SWAT and the elite hostage rescue teams to crisis incidents. This morning her focus eliminated any chitchat.
Leah grabbed sound-canceling headphones and contacted the SWAT commander already on the ground. “Riesel here. Special Agent in Charge Thomas briefed me on a home invasion that’s turned violent.”
The SAC would be watching the operation at the Crisis Management Operations Center.
“Negotiations have gotten us nowhere.” The SWAT commander’s voice rose above the chopper’s blade-snap. “Two unidentified men are holding two women and three children at gunpoint. Galveston PD estimates they’ve been inside the home for at least an hour. Demanding we leave the area after giving them five hundred grand and a gassed-up speedboat.

Clock is ticking with forty minutes max. We’ve backed off as far as they know.”
Leah swiped through pics taken with telephoto lenses and sent to her phone. Each ski-masked man held a child as a shield. Leah detested the savagery and the horrific emotions the hostages

must be feeling.
“We’re located on San Luis Pass Road on the western section of the island. Nearest house is five hundred yards away. Owners are in Europe. We’re in contact with the agency managing it.”

She didn’t need a key to access the home.
The SWAT commander continued. “One of the hostages is the owner of the home, Amanda Barton.”
“Is there a Mr. Barton in the picture?”
“Divorced. Lives in California.”
Unlikely the ex-husband was behind this.
“Agent Jon Colbert will be on scene shortly,” the commander said. “He had a deposition early this morning in Texas City and drove on to Galveston. Over the weekend, his SWAT partner had emergency knee surgery. Out for six weeks.”
And Leah’s partner had left the city yesterday on vacation.
The luck of the draw meant she and Jon would be working together. “I’ll contact you as soon as we land.”
Jon Colbert, a sniper who had excellent marksmanship and a stellar reputation, also worked organized crime. But she and Jon had never worked together. The idea of teaming up with an agent she barely knew made her uneasy. If a sniper mission required a partner, she preferred an established relationship where she would know how the person processed information.
Shoving aside her doubts, she narrowed her thoughts on what lay ahead. The precarious situation and local law enforcement’s inability to negotiate added up to why she and Jon had

been assigned to the case.
She grasped her backpack, lighter than usual with only a spotting scope, ammo, water, communication equipment, extra batteries, granola bar, and a handheld radio. Her Glock, as comfortable in her right hand as a toothbrush, found its spot in her back waistband. She touched her H-S Precision heavy tactical rifle.
The sooner she got to Galveston, the sooner she could provide intelligence and help neutralize the circumstances. Her priority was seeing the women and children freed from these ruthless men.
* * *
Jon received a text from Special Agent in Charge Thomas that Leah Riesel had left the Houston FBI office and was en route to Galveston. He’d met her a few times, and they’d qualified

together. Attractive woman—dark-brown hair, light-olive skin, New Yorker with the accent to prove it. Her professionalism in the violent crime division wavered between exceptional and extraordinary. A touch of toughness. Jon had heard not to make her mad—she had earned the nickname Panther for a reason. He remembered her stats—number three in the US for distance shots. Good thing he wasn’t easily intimidated.
Once the chopper landed, Leah would be transported in an unmarked car to a vacant house more than a quarter of a mile away from the Barton home. No point in making the two men more trigger-happy when they’d warned law enforcement to back off.
The SWAT commander spoke through Jon’s radio attached to his collar. “Thermal imaging confirms four adults and three children inside the Barton home. The men claim they’ll kill the

children first. We have fifteen minutes.”
In Galveston, Jon stopped at Broadway and Sixty-First Street. Tourists persisted in the middle of the thoroughfare, pushing strollers, riding surrey bikes, and enjoying the day. Some were dressed for the beach and others clutched what they needed for their excursion. All hindered his turn. Obstacles in his mission. If they knew the situation not far from them, they’d grab their loved ones and speed home. Each moment delayed his shot and shoved the hostages closer to death. A chilling composure took over his emotional, mental, and physical reactions. The busy street finally cleared. Jon turned west onto Seawall Boulevard and drove on to San Luis Pass. The hostage site was four and a half miles beyond there.
Were the two men inside the Barton home wannabes looking to make a name for themselves? Strung out on drugs? Was this a personal vendetta? No matter how this ended—either a surrender or he’d be instructed to take a shot— their moment in history would likely be the lead story on tonight’s news. His phone alerted him to an incoming call. He responded

before the first ring ended. “Colbert.” The chopper’s rhythmic whir reverberated through his phone.
“Riesel here. Landing in five at Galveston Island State Park. SWAT commander has given me a location on the west side of the Barton home.”
“I’ll be on foot by then. Taking a position on the east, beach side.”
“I’ll need seven minutes to get into place,” she said.
“Okay.” No need to remind her of the ticking clock.
He touched End and whipped his truck onto a beach-access road where police officers had instructed residents to shelter in place. He switched off the engine. Grabbing his gear, he bolted

down the beach. A Galveston police officer stopped him, and Jon handed him his ID. Seconds later, he moved toward his site.
A sultry breeze blew across the water, and he recalculated his shot.

Crouching low, he moved past police SWAT standing guard.
FBI SWAT held the position Riesel was headed for. They were racing against time, a commodity that stopped for nothing or no one. At any moment, one of the armed men could pull the

trigger on those inside the Barton home.
Restraint.
Control.
Tense muscles relaxed. His heartbeat slowed.
A clear head laid out the steps before the kill shot.
No mistakes.
Precision.
Accuracy.
A chance for the women and children to live another day.
Near a sand dune, he tuned out the occasional seagull and the waves rushing against the shore. After wiping the sweat from his hands on his pants, Jon set up his rifle and scope,

activated his radio, and spoke to the SWAT commander and Leah Riesel.

***
Excerpt from Fatal Strike by DiAnn Mills. Copyright © 2019 by DiAnn Mills. Reproduced with permission from DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved.





Author Bio:

DiAnn Mills
DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She weaves memorable characters with unpredictable plots to create action-packed, suspense-filled novels. DiAnn believes every breath of life is someone’s story, so why not capture those moments and create a thrilling adventure?
Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards; and been finalists for the RITA, Daphne Du Maurier, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests.
DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, a member of Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. She is co-director of The Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writers Conference, Mountainside Marketing Conference, and the Mountainside Novelist Retreat with social media specialist Edie Melson where she continues her passion of helping other writers be successful. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country.
DiAnn has been termed a coffee snob and roasts her own coffee beans. She’s an avid reader, loves to cook, and believes her grandchildren are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband live in sunny Houston, Texas.

DiAnn is very active online and would love to connect with readers on:

diannmills.com, Goodreads, BookBub, Twitter, & Facebook!






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Enter To Win!:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for DiAnn Mills. There will be 2 winners each winning one (1) Gift Card (choice of Amazon or B&N). The giveaway begins on September 1, 2019 and runs through October 2, 2019. Void where prohibited.
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Blog Tour ~ Silent Voices by Fran Lewis

Silent Voices

by Fran Lewis

on Tour September 1-30, 2019

Synopsis:

Silent Voices by Fran Lewis


Driving down a rocky road I saw the overgrown grass, weeds, and poison ivy overtaking the outer perimeter of the bushes. The smell of mildew permeated the air, along with the stench of animals killed by cars coming up from the ground along this dirt road. I could see the sadness on the faces in the cars behind me; I could feel the pain and sorrow. As I looked inside the cars and saw the faces of the drivers, I began to wonder what they were thinking, their thoughts and feelings as they traveled down life’s highway, maybe for the very last time.


What stories lay behind the faces behind the wheel of each oncoming car?

What stories were hidden?

Whose voices are now silenced?

 

Reviews:



“Unique, haunting, terrifying, incredibly moving: Fran Lewis’ SILENT VOICES is all that and more as people tell spell-binding stories of their lives - and their deaths - from beyond the grave. You won’t forget this one!” - R.G. Belsky, award-winning author of the Clare Carlson mystery series.



"Silent Voices is a shrewd, sensitive and scintillating collection of short stories that make us feel and think. Noted talk show host Fran Lewis proves herself to be as skilled a storyteller as she is a listener, adept at both tugging on our heart strings and exposing the raw emotion between the lines. Her tales reach beyond the grave in fashioning rich tapestries drawn on a sprawling landscape at once both rich in color and gray-toned. A can't miss effort certain to live with you far beyond the turn of the final page." -Jon Land, USA Today bestselling author



"Once again, Fran Lewis knocks it out of the park with the latest in the Silent Voices series. At once chilling, but also inspirational, these stories do not fail to entertain. They will also raise the goosebumps on your skin. Prepare to be thrilled." Vincent Zandri, New Your Times bestselling Thriller Award winning author of The Remains and The Caretaker's Wife


Book Details:

Genre: Horror, Suspense

Published by: Southern Owl Publications, LLC

Publication Date: June 10th 2019

Number of Pages: 51

ASIN: B07S75JPQW

Series: Silent Voices

Purchase Links: Amazon | Goodreads




Author Bio:

Fran Lewis
Fran Lewis taught for 36 years as a staff developer in reading and writing and a dean. She is the author of the Bertha and Tillie series and the author of the Faces behind the stones series as well as her books for caregivers on Alzheimer’s and mj magazine and mj network.

Catch Up With Fran Lewis On:

tillie49.wordpress.com, Goodreads, BookBub, Twitter, & Facebook!






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Book Blitz ~ To Kill A Fae - The Dragon Portal Series by Jamie A. Waters


To Kill a Fae
Jamie A. Waters
(The Dragon Portal Series, #1)
Publication date: September 26th 2019
Genres: Adult, Fantasy
The darkness holds more than just secrets…



Marked for death, Sabine escaped from her home and fled to a human city.
But the Wild Hunt will never give up.
For more than a decade, she’s kept her head down and avoided talking about her past.
Even the best-laid plans eventually fall apart…



When a charismatic stranger arrives, Sabine is unwittingly drawn to him and his power. Keeping her distance is nearly impossible, especially after a life debt is called due and she’s tasked with helping him steal a rare artifact.
In order to break the magical barriers protecting the item and save her companions, Sabine will be forced to drop her glamour and reveal her true identity.
The Fae aren’t the only ones hunting her.
And the most dangerous monsters aren’t always confined to the dark.
EXCERPT:
Sabine tensed, scanning the dead-end alleyway for a place to hide. If they climbed the trellis again, they’d be spotted. It was too risky to try to use her magic to shroud them from view, but if the guards turned around, they’d be in clear view. It was unlikely the guards would trouble her too much, but Dax would kill Malek if he found out he’d accompanied her. Not even her mark on Malek’s wrist would stop him.
Yanking off her heavy cloak, she tied it around her waist to cover her weapons and give the appearance she wore a dress. With her hair unbraided and covering her ears, it might be enough for the guards to overlook them. At the very least, they might not recognize her right away and would assume they were two lovers engaging in a quick tryst in the alley. Malek’s expression became quizzical, but she ignored him and gripped his shirt tightly.
“Kiss me,” she whispered urgently, aware they only had seconds to pull off this ruse.
“What?”
She pulled him toward her just as footsteps rapidly approached. Awareness filled his eyes, and he lowered his head, pressing his lips against hers. She put her arms around his neck, listening for the guards.
Malek wrapped his arms around her, drawing her even closer. Focus was critical, but his nearness affected all of her senses. Oh, this was a very bad idea. The taste of his lips and the scent of his skin were heady, threatening to overwhelm her from pure sensation. Despite the danger of the approaching guards, he took his time, tasting and exploring her mouth. Malek did have magic, but she couldn’t tell how much because it was tightly controlled and suppressed.
She whimpered and softened against his body, unable to resist him. Part of her was tempted to claim she was merely playing a part, but she wanted this. She wanted him. Unlocking his magic wouldn’t be difficult, but she wasn’t willing to force him into revealing his secrets before he was ready. This kiss was only a hint of what could be between them, and she suspected this brief taste of him was never going to be enough.


Author Bio:
Jamie A. Waters is an award-winning, fantasy and science-fiction writer. Her first novel was a winner of the Readers' Favorite Award in Science-Fiction/Fantasy Romance and the CIPA EVVY Award in Science-Fiction.
Jamie currently resides in Florida with two neurotic dogs who enjoy stealing socks. When she's not pursuing her passion of writing, she's usually trying to learn new and interesting random things (like how to pick locks or use the self-cleaning feature of the oven without setting off the fire alarm). In her downtime, she enjoys reading on her Kindle, playing computer games, painting, or acting as a referee between the dragons and fairies currently at war inside her closet.
You can learn more by visiting: www.jamieawaters.com

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Release Blitz & Giveaway ~ The Devil and Dayna Dalton - A Bulwark Anthology by Brit Lunden


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Book 9: A Bulwark Anthology
Paranormal Romance
Date Published: September 30, 2019
Publisher: Chelshire, Inc.



Reporter Dayna Dalton’s reputation has been ruined since birth. The daughter of wild child, Becky Dalton, is expected to follow her mother’s footsteps; never given a chance to prove she’s different. Dayna’s been in love with Clay Finnes since she was a teenager. Her unrequited love for Sheriff Finnes leaves her empty.  He’s happily married and unavailable. Instead, Dayna finds herself stuck in the revolving door of bad relationships. But this is Bulwark, Georgia, a town where strange things are always happening.  Dayna is doomed to this loveless life until she can find someone who will appreciate the depth of her character. Can she overcome her fears and look beyond her own perceptions to accept a greater love?

*Contains Sexual Content*





Excerpt


Chapter 1



“I am good, but not an angel. I do sin, but I am not the devil. I am just a small girl in a big world trying to find someone to love.” Marilyn Monroe


The crisp, clear sunlight was not her friend. Dayna Dalton winced at the bright light that squeezed in through the slats of the venetian blind. She reached over and gave the cord a hard tug, sending the pint-sized bathroom into near darkness. Behind her, the shower head dripped with a steady plop, plop that reminded her of the exposé she did on water torture in Guantanamo Bay that never got published. It was deemed too harsh to print.

The Bulwark Advance preferred her to write…fluffy pieces. She sneered thinking of the crap on her computer, the half-written article about the elusive Easter Bunny that awaited its final edit. She hung her head in shame, thinking of what her sorority sisters from Georgetown would feel if they knew where Dangerous Dayna Dalton had ended up. There’d be hell to pay in the form of eternal humiliation.

Dayna twisted the faucet, her freckled knuckle turning bone white from the effort. It was no use; the leak continued relentlessly, driving a hole in her throbbing head. Oh, that last round of shots was totally not necessary.

No matter how hard she wrenched the faucet, the dribble continued. She thought she should ask her guest to fix it before he left. He was a plumber, after all. She was sick of this place. Dayna peered at her reflection in the mirror. She was sick of her life.

Skip Benson’s bearlike yawn turned into a growl from the bedroom. “Dayna.” His voice grated on her nerves.

Dayna rolled her kohl-smeared eyes.

“Dayna, come on back to bed.”

Dayna took a steadying breath and used both hands to grip the sink as if it were holding her up. What was she thinking last night? Skip Benson? How low could she go? A shudder ran through her lithe frame. That left only Trout Parker, and she could now report she had officially and irrevocably scraped the bottom of the barrel of Bulwark, Georgia.

She rubbed her forehead where a hammer banged against the inside of her skull.

Skip wailed for her to return to the warmth of the bed. Dayna wrinkled her nose, thinking about Skip’s performance, or rather what she remembered about it. Oh yeah, too many tequila shots will make anyone desirable, even stupid Skippy Benson.

She ran her fuzzy tongue over her dry teeth, fighting the urge to gag.

Skip Benson had never been on the football team, the basketball team…Hell, he’d never even made the chess team. He had been the school screw-up, and now he could brag that he and Dayna had…

Dayna turned away from the mirror with disgust, her cheeks flushing. She staggered to the doorway of the bedroom. Using the frame to hold herself erect, she shouted, “Get up!”

“Wha–?” Skip rose, the comforter bunched at his flabby waist, his chest bare and the pathetic tattoo of a red devil across the front of his right bicep.

Vague memories of kissing that image flitted through her foggy brain. Dayna picked up a pillow discarded on the floor during their frenzied arrival and threw it at his head.

“I said, get up and get out of here!”

Skip ducked, then slid off the bed, his behind exposed, another image of a werewolf on his left butt cheek. Dayna convulsed at a hazy memory of talking to that tattoo.

“You weren’t so eager to get rid of me last night.” Skip stood in all his naked glory, which wasn’t much.

“Ugh. I’m never drinking again,” Dayna muttered under her breath. “I said get dressed and get out of here.” A shoe sailed past Skip’s head.

Her unwanted guest scrambled to find his clothes. “Hey, cut it out, Dayna!” Skip was living up to his namesake as he struggled into his work pants, bouncing toward the door.

Dayna’s face split into a demonic smile that was known to strike fear in the hearts of single men everywhere. Here, she thought, was the elusive Easter Bunny. She watched Skip hop toward his escape as though he were in the Fourth of July potato sack race.

Dayna picked up a shirt that had been discarded on the floor and threw it at him. The garment appeared to have a life of its own and engulfed his head. Skip’s muffled cries were nearly smothered by the material. His hands tore at the shirt to no avail.

His fingers—Dayna looked closer, grimacing at the dirt under his nails, and watched his wrestling match with the clothing. She pushed him into her shabby living room, then out the door of her condo. Mrs. Sweetpea, an antonym for sure, watched in revulsion as Dayna shoved her guest out of her apartment.

Dayna lived in Shady Oaks, a rundown condominium community, where she reluctantly shared a front porch with her neighbor. The building was a connected row of apartments that bordered undeveloped land, as though a builder had left the project unfinished halfway through. It was hot real estate when they released the first phase, and half the town bought investment properties. Then the real estate bubble burst, and the whole thing came tumbling down.

Dayna had an inside scoop about what was really going on, but once again, the paper wouldn’t print it. The mayor had sold the land and gotten a back-end deal for it. He made a ton of dough and then skipped off to Colombia—the country, not Columbia, South Carolina. The builder had used inferior products, and once he went to jail for money laundering, the whole place went to seed. There was no one to call when things broke.

Dayna cast Mrs. Sweetpea a jaundiced eye, daring the nosy neighbor to say something about her guest. While the old crone might have appeared to be like the proverbial sweet grandmotherly type, Dayna knew her to be an ornery bitch with a sting as sharp as an angry wasp.

She hated her; had for years. Thelma Sweetpea had been her babysitter back in the day when she was a small child. Dayna’s mother had dropped her off at the old lady’s house for the first nine years of her life.

Dayna looked at Mrs. Sweetpea and shivered. The old woman had moved into the complex a year and a half ago, cutting up Dayna’s peace. What were the odds they’d end up living next door to each other? She was a mean old woman, and Dayna felt judged every time those beady eyes settled on her.

Dayna considered moving but was so underwater with her mortgage, she couldn’t think of selling. She was stuck at Shady Oaks, and she was stuck with the prying eyes of Thelma Sweetpea.

Mrs. Thelma Sweetpea took out her aggression with a broom and started to sweep as though the hounds of hell had just taken a shit there. Dayna fought the urge to say something. Speaking with Mrs. Sweetpea usually ended up in a hissing contest. Dayna’s compressed lips turned up just a bit with a smile at the result of this morning meeting. Mrs. Sweetpea was in a frenzy of spring cleaning, as if she could wipe the interlopers from reality.

The sky was overcast, and even though it was springtime, the air was decidedly chilly. A wave of cold air stole under Dayna’s shirt, making it billow out. She fought the urge to shiver. Her bare feet felt the shock of the freezing concrete. She’d be damned if she would show that old biddy any weakness, even if it was unseasonably cold.

Dayna looked up at the watery sky, searching for a glimpse of the sun. Global warming was playing havoc with Georgia’s weather. Either it was extremely hot when it was supposed to be cold or freezing when the time of year dictated heat. It didn’t rain anymore; it stormed with funnel clouds that touched down, ripping homes and trailers from their moorings.

Mrs. Sweetpea stopped her sweeping to look at Dayna, her lips pursed as if she’d eaten something sour. Dayna returned the stare, her eyes observing the wrinkled face, watching the older woman judge her half-naked form.

Dayna’s freckled shoulder peeked out from an oversized tee shirt. It was paired with her long, bare, coltish legs underneath. Dayna looked down and cursed when she realized she was wearing Skip’s tee. Glancing up, she realized he was struggling with her shirt from last night.
Watching her neighbor’s shocked face, Dayna ripped Skip’s shirt over her head and tossed it to him. He paused in his scuffle with her clothing to admire her perfect breasts.
“I don’t have to leave,” Skip said with a broad smile.

“Oh yes you do, and don’t come back here.” Dayna turned around, her shoulders straight. She paused to look at the older woman, who stood with her jaw hanging in shock.

“Have you no shame?” Thelma Sweetpea sputtered.

Dayna looked back at the gawking plumber, then her scandalized neighbor. She shrugged indifferently. “Apparently I have no shame at all.”


About the Author


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Brit Lunden is a prolific author who’s written over 50 books in assorted genres under different pen names. Bulwark was her first effort in adult fiction and was chosen by several of her fellow authors as the basis for a new series, A Bulwark Anthology.  Using her characters, they are creating new denizens in spin-off stories to this bizarre town. Brit Lunden lives on Long Island in a house full of helpful ghosts.





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