Monday, November 25, 2013

The Penton Legacy Blog Tour

Today on my blog I have The Penton Legacy  blog tour. On my stop there is a spotlight, excerpt, and review.

Susannah Sandlin is the author of paranormal romance set in the Deep South, where there are always things that go bump in the night. A journalist by day, Susannah grew up in Alabama reading the gothic novels of Susan Howatch and the horror fantasy of Stephen King. (Um…it is fantasy, right?) The combination of Howatch and King probably explains a lot. Currently a resident of Auburn, Alabama, Susannah has also lived in Illinois, Texas, California, and Louisiana.

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Following a worldwide pandemic whose vaccine left human blood deadly to vampires, the vampire community is on the verge of starvation and panic. Some have fanned into rural areas, where the vaccine was less prevalent, and are taking unsuspecting humans as blood slaves. Others are simply starving, which for a vampire is worse than death-a raging hunger in a creature too weak to feed.
Immune to these struggles-at first-is Penton, a tiny community in rural Chambers County, Alabama, an abandoned cotton mill town that has been repopulated by charismatic vampire Aidan Murphy, his scathe of 50 vampires, and their willingly bonded humans. Aidan has recruited his people carefully, believing in a peaceful community where the humans are respected and the vampires retain a bit of their humanity.
But an unresolved family feud and the paranoia of the Vampire Tribunal descend on Penton in the form of Aidan's brother, Owen Murphy. Owen has been issued a death warrant that can only be commuted if he destroys Penton-and Aidan, against whom he's held a grudge since both were turned vampire in 17th-century Ireland.  Owen begins a systematic attack on the town, first killing its doctor, then attacking one of Aidan's own human familiars
To protect his people, Aidan is forced to go against his principles and kidnap an unvaccinated human doctor-and finds himself falling in love for the first time since the death of his wife in Ireland centuries ago.
Dr. Krystal Harris, forced into a world she never knew existed, must face up to her own abusive past to learn if the feelings she's developing for her kidnapper are real-or just a warped, supernatural kind of Stockholm Syndrome in which she's allowing herself to become a victim yet again.

Krystal Harris pulled to the shoulder of the two-lane road—highway was too grand a word—and punched the button to turn on the old green Corolla’s dome light. She counted to five before thwacking it with the heel of her palm, and a dim light blinked as if considering her demand. It stayed on—this time.
               The car was a dinosaur, but it was a paid-for dinosaur.
               She dug a folded Alabama road map from beneath her briefcase on the passenger seat, smoothing the creases to make sure she hadn’t driven past Penton, which she suspected was no more than a wide spot on a narrow road. She didn’t want to get lost out here in the boonies.
               Yep, County Road 70. The highway to Penton just looked like the express lane to nowhere.
               A gust of wind rocked the car, sending icy air around the loose door seals. Maybe the chill of this night was an omen that she should take this job if they offered it, just so she could buy a more respectable form of transportation. Still, doubts nagged at her. What kind of clinic conducted a job interview at nine p.m.? She should never have agreed to it, but the Penton Clinic administrator had waved big bucks in front of her huge college and med school debts, and she’d trotted after them like a donkey after a carrot.
            “You had the goody-two-shoes idea of practicing rural medicine, plus you’re already here,” she chided herself, clicking off the overhead and pulling back onto the road. “And you’ve gotta admit, this is rural.”
            Another omen, and not a good one: she was talking to herself. Out loud.
            A couple of miles later, her headlights illuminated a battered wooden sign covered in peeling paint: Welcome to Penton, Alabama. Founded 1890. Population 3,275.
            Twenty years ago, maybe. Krys had done her Penton homework, and that was the boomtown population, when the mammoth East Alabama Mill still churned out threads and batting. It had wheezed its final belch a decade ago, and the town had suffered a slow death by attrition even before the pandemic. The most recent listing Krys found online estimated a population of three hundred. She was surprised they could afford to hire a doctor, much less pay a more-than-competitive wage.
            But this was what she wanted, right? A place to practice medicine and be her own boss, to find a community where she could belong? After growing up in Birmingham—the wrong side of Birmingham—she hated the grime and crowds and noise of the city.
            Lost in thought as she approached the outskirts of town, she thought she saw an animal in the road—a deer or a bear, maybe—God only knew what wildlife lived out here. But it was a man. He wore a long coat that flapped in the wind and was backlit by a lone streetlight in front of an abandoned convenience store. She’d have blown past him if he hadn’t moved into the middle of the road when the glare of her headlights hit
him like a spotlight.
               He stood with his hands in his pockets, feet planted apart, watching calmly as she floored the brakes. The Corolla’s old tires squealed, stinking up the air with the smell of hot rubber and stressed brakes.
               Good Lord. Was he nuts?
               She got the car stopped and took a deep breath, hands frozen to the wheel, her muscles jittery from the aftershock. The man walked around and tapped on her driver’s side window, motioning for her to lower it.
               Krys’s foot hovered over the accelerator, indecisive. Should she drive on and get the hell out of here?
               No, by God, she should not. She’d at least lower the window enough to tell the jerk how close he’d come to ending his life as a hood ornament on a green Toyota Dinosaur.
               He held up his empty hands in a gesture of peace. Right. Like he was going to hold up a sign that said Beware of Murderous Backwoods Whack Job.
               She snaked her right hand to her purse in the passenger seat, wrapped cold fingers around the handle of a small pistol, and slipped it into the pocket of her suede jacket—after she was sure the man had seen it. The .38 Smith & Wesson snub-nose was her security blanket, and she knew how to use it.
               His only reaction to the gun was a raised eyebrow. “I have a man injured here.” His voice was deep and melodic, and he had a trace of an accent, as if he’d grown up not speaking English but had been around a few too many Southerners. “You the doctor coming to Penton for the interview?”
               She lowered her window an inch and stared as he knelt next to the driver’s side door, putting his face at eye level. And damned if it wasn’t one of the most beautiful faces she’d seen since…maybe ever.
               He’d pulled his dark hair into a short ponytail except for one wavy strand that had pulled loose and blew against his cheek. The streetlight cast enough illumination for her to see the dark lashes fringing blue eyes that reminded her not so much of summer skies or robin’s eggs but of the richness of an arctic sea flowing
over darker depths. They appeared to lighten as he studied her with an intensity that almost robbed her lungs of air. He had a strong jaw, full lips, and a slight cleft in his chin.
               If he was a serial killer, he was at least a pretty one.
               He cleared his throat. “Are you Dr. Harris?”
               Krys caught her breath. Good Lord, what was wrong with her? She’d been practically drooling through a half-open window as though he were Adonis personified. He could be Charles Manson’s separated-at-birth, unidentical twin.
               Except he knew her name. 

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With the vampire world on the brink of civil war over the scarcity of untainted human blood, battle lines are being drawn between the once peaceful vampire and human enclave of Penton, Alabama, and the powerful Vampire Tribunal.
A Scottish gallowglass warrior turned vampire in the early 17th century, Mirren Kincaid once served the Tribunal as its most creative and ruthless executioner-a time when he was known as the Slayer. But when assigned a killing he found questionable, Mirren abandoned the Tribunal's political machinations and disappeared-only to resurface two centuries later as the protector and second-in-command of Penton. Now the Tribunal wants him back on their side-or dead.
To break their rogue agent, they capture Glory Cummings, the descendant of a shaman, and send her to restore Mirren's bloodthirsty nature. But instead of a monster, Glory sees a man burdened by the weight of his past. Could her magic touch-meant by the tribunal to bring out a violent killer-actually help Mirren break his bonds and discover the love he doesn't believe he deserves?
It's a town under siege, a powerful warrior in a battle with his past, and one woman who can make the earth move-literally-as the Penton Legacy continues.

What was Matthias thinking, throwing a human woman in the cell with a vampire who’d been locked up and starved for over a month?
            Mirren waited on the bench, his back against the wall, his head down. Waited until Matthias climbed the steps, slammed the door, clicked the dead bolt home. Waited until he could get control of the hunger that had begun raging the second the woman stumbled down the stairway. She was unvaccinated, and he wanted nothing more than to take her, blood and body, until there was nothing left.
            If he did that, he’d be no better than the version of Mirren Kincaid he’d tried so hard to leave behind. He’d be the Slayer again. His hands could too easily remember the mindless sweep of the sword, the heavy fall of the battle-ax, the controlled back-thrust of a heavy firearm. If the cold darkness ever fell over him again, he feared he’d embrace it.
            “Mister, you awake?”
            Shit. She would have to be a talker. Mirren hated a talky woman. They always expected you to talk back.
            He raised his head slowly and caught his breath. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, and pretty in a rode-hard kind of way.
            “Your eyes are silver—I’ve seen enough vampires since I was kidnapped to know when your eyes get lighter, it means you’re hungry. But I’ve never seen any like yours. How long has it been since you ate? Umm…Make that how long since you drank?”
            If the stupid woman kept walking toward him, he wouldn’t be held responsible. “Stay where you are.” He narrowed his eyes at her, thinking. How could she help him without sending his need so far over the edge he lost control of it?
            She eeked when he shifted on the bench and turned his back toward her. “Untie me.”
            She stumbled a little when she reached the bench and sat hard. The woman was stoned out of her gourd. He could smell the drugs on her.
“Your wrists are all torn up. That has to hurt.” She sat on the bench behind him, and Mirren breathed in her scent with his eyes closed. Damn, but he wanted to feed so badly his muscles ached.
            She muttered as she worked, her drug-addled fingers slipping off the rope. “You’re so big that I’m surprised this rope could hold you. I should be able to…Let’s see here, it’s too dark. Man, this is funky rope.”
            “Stop yapping, start untying.” She had that broad, soft Southern accent he found sexy, but she used it way too much.
            “Yeah, yeah, okay.” She tugged harder on the ropes, burning his sensitive wrists with each pull. “Sorry, sorry. Why is it burning your skin like that?”
            Mirren growled and spoke through gritted teeth. “It’s laced with silver, and I’m a freaking vampire. Just untie me.” Damn, he had to get himself under control, or he’d scare the woman to death and she wouldn’t finish freeing his arms or feed him either one.
            “Well, you’ve got the funny eyes, but I don’t see any fangs.”
            God help him, he’d show her some fangs. “I said I was a vampire. Now finish untying me.”
            Mirren twisted his wrists and felt the rope give way—the woman had gotten it loose enough that he didn’t need her help.
            “But wait, how do I know you—”
            She gasped as Mirren pulled his wrists apart, popped the rope onto the cell floor, and shifted around to face her.
“Can you…?” She paused and swallowed hard, edging away from him on the bench. Mirren’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Can you feed without killing me?”
            Mirren nodded slowly. Maybe. Maybe not.

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The bloody war between the Vampire Tribunal and the defiant scathe of Penton, Alabama, rages on, forcing its residents and their bonded humans to retreat into the underground fortress of last resort: Omega. There, Will Ludlam is charged with the care of Penton's humans, though he longs to fight alongside his vampire brethren. He knows the risks: as the renegade son of the Tribunal's vicious leader, Will's capture could doom the resistance.
Yet he is determined to prove his worth to his adopted scathe, to his vengeful father and to former US Army officer Randa Thomas, his beautiful, reluctant partner. Randa has little faith that a former member of the vampire elite has what it takes to fight a war. But as their enemies descend upon Omega, Will's polished charm and Randa's guarded heart finally give way to the warrior within.

Will stopped and scented the air again. There were two vampires nearby; one belonged to the Penton scathe, and one didn’t.

            He ignored both vampires and skirted to the back of the street where the burned shell of his house still smelled of smoke and ash after three days. Aligning his position with the oak tree twenty feet behind what was left of his chimney, he paced forty steps into the woods.

            A thorny bramble that had been draped over a small, scrubby bush pricked his fingers when he pulled it back. Grasping the trunk of the bush, he eased it from its loose grasp in the soil, exposing the top of a metal box.
            The loud click of a cocked pistol preceded the cold press of steel against the back of his head by less than a second.
            He inhaled, annoyed. A rookie mistake. He’d gotten so engrossed in his task he’d let someone slip up on him.
            Penton scathe.
            Freaking Randa.
* * *

Randa grinned, enjoying the disgusted look on Will’s face. “If I were your father, I’d already have the silver spoon back in your mouth, Willy. He’d have you trussed up like a rodeo calf by now, hauling you back to wherever it is he lives when he’s not terrorizing innocent people.”
            Will Ludlam was the kind of guy Randa Thomas had hated as a human, and she didn’t like him a bit more as a vampire. Less, in fact. Not only was he a spoiled rich boy, he was now a virtually immortal spoiled rich boy. He had probably been a blue-chip jock in school with a 4.0 GPA and a string of girls trailing his every step.
            Plus, he annoyed the hell out of her. The consummate smartass.
            “No, if you were my father, you’d have slit my throat—not enough to kill me, but enough to make sure I couldn’t fight back.” His voice was soft, calm. “Then you’d hand me over to your sadistic, freakshow of a second-in-command Shelton, who would play with me until I couldn’t take it anymore. Only when I was good and broken would you return the silver spoon to my mouth.”
            Good God, would any father really do that? Will didn’t sound as if he were joking. Randa relaxed her stance for only a split second before the world tilted and she hit the ground, landing on her back with Will stretched out on top of her in a full body press. And he had her gun.
            “Damn it.” She pushed against him but it was like pressing on bedrock.
            He propped on his elbows and grinned down at her. His hat had fallen off in the scuffle and the moonlight glinted off his hair, making it look silver instead of a naturally streaked blond. And he had dimples, as if God hadn’t already rewarded him with enough in the looks department.
            “And if I were my father, you would be dead. Or worse. Believe me, with Matthias, there’s always much worse. Give up?”
            She squirmed again, but froze when she realized he was getting turned on by her movements. There was definitely more of him pressing on her than there had been a few seconds earlier.
            He laughed, a white glint of teeth in the moonlight. “Oh, don’t stop moving, sweetheart. This is getting more and more interesting.”
            Yeah, she could feel exactly how interested he was getting. She felt a very un-vampirelike flush of heat as he wedged a knee between her legs. Damn it. She clenched her teeth at her body’s betrayal—which he’d be able to sense. She hated being a vampire; there was no sense of privacy. “Get. Off. Me. Now.”
            Will lowered his head and, damn him, inhaled deeply, with his face pressed against the side of her neck. Her carotid artery also thumped in a very unvampire-like cadence. She waited for the smartass comments to start.
            Instead, he lifted his head and looked her in the eye. She could swear his heartbeat sped up, although it was hard to tell over the pounding of her own. Well, this was awkward.
            He blinked and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
            Well, that was one good thing. Will had been stricken dumb, at least for a moment. It wouldn’t last.

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I am a huge fan of vampire books and read them all the time. And this series did not disappoint me at all.

I thought that I had read every kind of vampire book but Susannah changed that for me. She puts such a unique spin on her vampires that it had me devour all three books back to back. I could not put them down. Oh and the males are so swoon worthy! They are the sexy alpha males we all love. But don’t ask me to pick a favorite male cause I just can’t.

I loved this series and can’t wait for the next book coming from Susannah. If your looking for a new spin on the vampire tale than pick up The Penton Legacy series.

5/5 Bloody Fangs    

Thank you for stopping by my  blog today. I would also like to say Thank You to Susannah for letting me review your books and I would also like to say Thank You to Bewitching Tours for letting me participate in this tour.

The Funny Adventures of Little Nani

Today on my blog I have The Funny Adventures of Little Nani. On my stop there is a spotlight, excerpt, guest post, and giveaway.

Cinta Garcia de la Rosa is a Spanish writer who has loved the written word since she discovered she was able to read books at age 5. Since then, she has become a bookworm and reads around 100 books every year. She also writes, every day, compulsively, even in the middle of the night. You cannot control when inspiration hits you, can you? She writes in English because she is convinced that in a previous life she was British, so writing in English feels more natural to her than writing in her native language. Yes, she is crazy like that. Cinta Garcia is the author of "The Funny Adventures of Little Nani", a collection of short stories for children, and "A Foreigner in London", a short story published on Smashwords.

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Guest Post:
What would you like your readers to take away from your book?

My book is mainly addressed to children, but adults can enjoy it too. Why is that? Well, because the message I want people to get from the reading of my silly stories featuring Little Nani are universal for everybody. Little Nani is always positive and happy. I would like my readers to feel a bit happier and a lot more positive after finishing my book. I would love them to think that we create a lot of drama from tiny things and that maybe we should look at life in a more carefree way, just as children do. That as far as adults are concerned.
For my little readers, the ones to whom the stories are addressed, I would like them to understand that life can be very funny, but only if we do certain things and we learn certain lessons. For example, it is better to be nice to people, it is not a good thing to tell lies about our friends, it is very important to be clean and healthy,... Little Nani will try to teach all those messages while she creates a little bit of mischief. Why? Because life is not perfect, but we can do the best of it if we learn how to behave with others.
Basically, what I want my readers to take away from my book is a lot of fun and positivism. If I can get them to be smiling while reading my stories, I will be immensely happy.
Thanks a lot for hosting me today!

Little Nani is a little girl who likes helping people. However, when she helps people the results can be a bit unexpected. Why is that? Little Nani is a witch! Or at least she wants to be a witch. With her magic wand, she will try to cast different spells to help her friends, but she won't be successful all the time.

Follow Little Nani in her funny adventures and meet her extraordinary friends. Funny ostriches, horses that love reading, super-fast turtles, grumpy zombies... Little Nani has lots of friends! You can also draw your own characters!

Little Nani is willing to become a good witch. Will she manage to do it? Who knows? Read the stories and discover what happens next!

From “Little Nani and the Flying Muffin” by Cinta Garcia de la Rosa

“I’m bored!”
“How can you say that you are bored when I am reading to you one of the funniest books I have read in a long time?” said Horse in an exasperated tone. When Little Nani shrugged her shoulders, Horse had retreated to his favourite rocking chair in a corner of the room.
“Can I go out and make angels?” asked Little Nani, who was upside down, standing on her hands.
“Don’t be silly. You can only make angels in the snow, not in the rain,” said Horse without raising his eyes from the book.
“Can I go out and jump in the pools?” asked Little Nani, who was hopscotching all over the room.
“If you go out you will get soaking wet, and then you will catch a bad cold, and then you won’t be able to go out for a long time,” said the impatient horse. He didn’t like being interrupted while reading.
“Then I will cast a spell to make the sun come back,” said Little Nani, trying to take her magic wand out of her pocket while rolling on the floor. Big Billy, watching her efforts to take her magic wand out, and fearing that Little Nani could make the rain turn into a tempest, quickly pecked Little Nani’s hand.
“Ouch!” exclaimed Little Nani. “That hurt!”
She tried once more to take her magic wand from her pocket, but this time it was Skinny Nikki who pecked Little Nani’s hand.
“Ouch!” exclaimed Little Nani again.
It was pretty clear by now to Little Nani that she wasn’t going to have any fun that day. She thought that the rain was boring and, folding her arms with an angry look, she sat down in a corner.

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Thanks for stopping by my blog today. I would also like to say Thank You to Jaidis for letting me participate in this tour. Don't forget to enter the giveaway below.

Friday, November 22, 2013

The Goddess's Wishes Blog Tour

Today on my blog I have The Goddess's Wishes blog tour. On my stop there is a spotlight, excerpt, review, and giveaway.

Lissette E. Manning is an author from Connecticut. She has been writing since she was six-years-old and spends most of her time trying to place her thoughts into order and giving life to the stories that are always brewing inside her head.
She enjoys reading books, listening to music, playing the occasional video game, watching movies, and spending time with friends and family. She's also a bit of a computer geek.
Her writing genres of choice are Science-Fiction/Fantasy, Romance, Paranormal, Short Stories, as well as Poetry. She's currently working on several projects due out sometime in the New Year, as well as finishing her NaNoWriMo project, The Corsicanth Princess.

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Artemis has a plan. Her eye has fallen on the throne of Olympus, and she’ll do anything to get it. She knows Zeus won’t give it up so easily, but she’s determined to dethrone him, none-the-less. Her father is known for his infamous romps amongst the mortals. Surely, there must be something she can use against him?
When her attention is drawn to Callidora Spiros, she soon realizes that her father does indeed have secrets. Brazen and beautiful, the girl piques her interest in more ways than one, though Artemis isn’t quite sure as to how she’s truly tied to the gods. Intent on discovering what her father has kept hidden for so long, she’ll need as much help as she can get.
Demanding and willful, Artemis has been known to achieve her every whim. With the bat of an eyelash, or a simple word, she’s wrapped many a man around her little finger. The gods, on the other hand, aren’t so easy to bring around. Never-the-less, she’s going to do everything possible to gain the upper hand. Mount Olympus will be hers, with or without the help of the other gods and goddesses.

Artemis materialized in the middle of her brother, Apollo’s, bedroom with a resounding pop. A smile of satisfaction spread across her lips as she watched him scramble out of bed in search of his clothes. A look of annoyance clouded the features of the demi-goddess lying on his bed, clutching the bed sheets tightly to her chest.
Her silvery-yellow eyes narrowed as she stared at the demi-goddess, Dyina, and pointed to the adjacent door. “Get out!”
“Damn it, Artemis!” Apollo growled as he tugged his chiton into place. “Can’t you knock?”
Artemis grinned, and made her way toward the chaise lounge tucked into the left corner of the room. “Where’s the fun in that, brother?” she quipped, lowering her slender frame onto the settee.
The demi-goddess rummaged about the room for her clothes, her blue eyes sending imaginary vicious daggers in Artemis’ direction. The goddess’s smile never faltered as she watched her brother and his current paramour move about the room. Apollo took a moment to show Dyina to the door, his shoulders taut with tension as he swung the door closed.
“I’m assuming you’re here for a favor of some kind?” Apollo asked, running a hand through his thick blond curls.
“Something like that.”
He approached the table nearby, and poured himself a glass of red wine. He knocked back his drink in one gulp, and promptly poured himself another before taking a seat in the chair in front of the lounge she reclined on.
“What now?”
She bestowed him with a knowing gaze, her lips quivering with effort as she tried to hold back her excitement. “I want Mount Olympus, brother, and you’re going to help me get it.”
He snorted with amusement, and downed the glass of wine. “A lofty goal, Sis, but that’s not likely.”
Her smile disappeared, her eyes narrowing to half slits. “I expected more from you.”
He summoned the pitcher of wine, and filled his glass once more. “Do you honestly think dear old Dad is going to give up the throne so easily?”
“No, but that’s where you come in. He owes us. Besides, we’ve always been his favorites.”
“Whether he owes us or not, Artemis, you’ll never get him to step down.”
“Not yet, but I will. And when I do, Mount Olympus will be mine!”
Apollo tossed his head back, and laughed heartily. “So you think. There’s a good many of us with an eye on Daddy’s throne. You’re not likely to get it, nor are any of us.”
Her nostrils flared outward with anger as she stared at her twin brother. “You owe me.”
“I’ll pay up. Eventually.”
She sat up straight, staring deep into her brother’s eyes. “You’ll pay up now, brother dear. Zeus has been careless, and I intend to unmask him before the other gods and goddesses.”
“How, pray tell?”
A photograph materialized in thin air as she flicked her hand about. He deftly caught the glossy paper between his fingers, and examined it.
“Who is she?”


Artemis wants to over throw her father Zeus and take over Mount Olympus. She has a few consorts to help her but she needs to find a mortal woman who she believes is one of Zeus’s hidden children. But Artemis must be careful because the more Gods & Goddess who know what she is planning the more chances there is of Zeus finding out her plan and destroying her.

I really enjoyed this book. The author takes liberties with the story of Artemis but it works with the story. Not to mention all the other Gods and Goddess make appearances and I can’t wait to see more of them. This is a great start to this series and I can’t wait to get the next book and read more of the Gods and Goddess we all have come to know and love reading about. 4/5 Bloody Fangs 

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Thank you for stopping by my blog today. I  would also like to say Thank You to Lissette for letting me review your book and say Thank You to RBTL for letting me participate in this tour. Don't forget to enter the giveaway below.

Revelation of Blood Blog Tour

Today on my blog I have the Revelation of Blood tour. On my stop there is a spotlight, excerpt, and giveaway.

J. L. McCoy resides in the beautifully weird city of Austin, Texas with her opinionated Pekiweenie Isabel and handsome husband Kenny.  She has always been a passionate reader and enjoys watching movies, traveling, listening to heavy metal/classic rock/80s music, getting mani/pedis with her girls, and singing karaoke.  She loves body art and is hopelessly addicted to Sonic’s ice and Route 44 un-sweet raspberry iced tea.  

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After nearly dying in the battle with the monster Amun, newborn vampire Skye Morrison is more than ready to begin a peaceful life with mate Archer Rhys and their family.
Burdened with guilt by her unresolved relationship with Jameson, Skye tries desperately to mend what was broken and regain their friendship while in Boston for her Sacred Vow Ceremony. A man from Skye's past comes forward and, as the missing pieces are revealed, will she finally feel complete or is she being set up for more heartbreak?
With Skye consumed by the changes in her personal life, a surprising new enemy emerges to take control . Will the unlikely union of her vampire family and werewolf friends be enough to defeat this new threat?

Jameson flawlessly finished the song and flipped his guitar around on its strap so that it rested against his back before hopping down and hugging Archer tightly, patting his back a few times.  Jameson accepted the whiskey from his brother, then reached over by his stool and picked up a half empty bottle of his own favorite brand before draining the shot and refilling his and Archer’s glasses.
They talked for a minute and I was about to turn around when a tell-tale frown appeared on Jameson’s face.   I knew right then that the conversation had turned to me.  Jameson’s head snapped up and he scanned the crowd, looking for me. 
I was so terrified of him seeing me and wanted to turn tail and run, but my feet were cemented in place.  Fear is a total bitch sometimes.  Jameson’s eyes passed over me and I breathed a sigh of relief.  To my horror, they snapped right back to me and zeroed in.  Like they were all suddenly conspiring against me, the crowd around me picked that moment to shift, leaving me fully exposed to him.  His eyes swept slowly down my body and back up again, taking their time on the trip.  I wrapped my arms protectively around my bare stomach and waited for the condemnation I was sure to see in his eyes.  To my immense amazement and shock, it never came.
He stared at me for a while longer then looked back to Archer and never glanced my way again.  I didn’t know whether to be relieved or hurt.  I settled on a mix of the two and tossed back my shot before chasing it with the entire can of PBR. 
I politely elbowed my way to the bar and ordered up another double whiskey while Archer and Jameson visited.  The bartender must have sensed my inner turmoil because he slid me another PBR on the house and told me to cheer up.  I nodded my head, thanking him, and tossed back the double before shooting the beer.  A minute later, my head started to feel fuzzy and I knew I had a buzz.  Sadly, being a vampire made it hard to catch an actual buzz and even harder to keep it for very long.  Either way I was happy because my nerves were starting to finally calm down.
A hand rubbed my back and I glanced up to see Archer behind me.  “You doing okay?” he asked, concern heavy in his voice.
“I’m buzzed,” I smiled as I signaled for another round for Archer and me. 
“I bet,” Archer smiled and leaned down to capture my mouth.  “You taste like Pabst,” he grimaced.
“Give me two seconds and I won’t,” I giggled as I held up three fingers.
The bartender set our order in front of me and I downed the shot and leaned back into Archer’s side.  “What about now?” I asked, puckering up.
Archer chuckled and pulled me off the barstool.  “Mmm. Whiskey. Much better, baby,” he purred, pulling back from the kiss.  “Grab your beer.  Jameson is going to play one more song before the band comes out.”
I wanted to dig my heels in and refuse to go, but some sick part inside of me was obviously a glutton for punishment.  Archer and I joined a small group that had amassed in front of the stage.  Jameson took a final swig from his bottle before he cleared his throat and began the next song.
I didn’t recognize the tune at first and smiled up at Archer in relief.  Maybe he’s done torturing me, I silently hoped.  I started to relax and enjoy the performance, but was suddenly slapped in the face by the verbiage.  Looking back, it had to have been the alcohol that caused me to not pay close enough attention to the opening.  Jameson was singing ‘Rest in Pieces’ by Saliva and his eyes were only for me.
My breathing increased as I listened to the song slack-jawed.  The look in his eyes, coupled with the lyrics ‘Would you find it in your heart to make this go away and let me rest in pieces’ made tears spring to my eyes and quickly fall down my face. 
Archer noticed Jameson singing to me and when his eyes met my face, he saw what the song was doing to me.  No amount of alcohol could have prepared me for what I was facing tonight.  I was standing in the middle of my own personal hell and I had an audience of hundreds present for my humiliation and shame.
Archer came to stand in front of me, blocking me from Jameson’s view, as he put his hands on my shoulders.  “Skye,” he whispered, his face full of sympathy.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t want to believe those songs were about you.”  He wiped the heavy tears from my face with his thumbs as he cupped my cheeks.  “We’ll go, okay?  We don’t have to stay.  I’ll have a word with Jameson later tonight.”
“No,” I shook my head, suddenly angry.  “Don’t you dare.  He has a right to his anger, to his hurt.  He has a right to tell me how he feels.  I deserve this, Archer.  I broke his heart; I devastated him by falling in love with you.  If this is what he needs to move on then I’ll gladly stand here all night and take everything he gives me.  I want my friend back, Archer.  Maybe this is the only way he knows how to heal, who knows; who are we to say?  But, I’m not going anywhere.  I’m not going to deny him his voice.”
Archer frowned at me, a look of indecision playing on his features, as I moved him to the side and was brought back into Jameson’s view.  His eyes bored into mine as Archer wrapped one protective arm around my back.  I was suddenly a lot braver than I had been when he sang his first song.  I let him see the full weight of my remorse in my eyes as he sang to me.  I told him without words how sorry I was that I wasn’t the woman he thought me to be; sorry that I wasn’t the strong woman he thought he fell in love with.  I conveyed the full weight of my heart during those three minutes and prayed he understood what I was trying to say.
After the song ended, the crowd whooped and cheered as the rest of the band appeared.  Jameson took one last long look at me before he got up and started his show like nothing was amiss.  The next two hours passed relatively without incident and I finally let loose and began having fun.  I loved to watch Jameson perform; I always had.  Pride for my brother, for my friend, was shining brightly from within me. 
Archer and I danced to almost every song The Manky Langer played and we were really enjoying ourselves.  Seeing my Archer let loose and have fun was always such a big turn on for me.  I remembered the first time we’d danced at The Mausoleum and how surprised I was that this seemingly straight-laced businessman was a closet Goth/Industrialist.  Looking back, that night took place only a couple of months ago and I was shocked at how much had happened in my life in such a short period of time.
The rhythm of my favorite song, Knackered Jacks, began to sound on the Bodhrán drums and I squealed like a teenager and turned to Archer.  As we began to twirl and dance, Jameson invited some of the crowd up on stage to celebrate the closing song.  Girls flocked to the front and Archer lifted me out of the way so that I wouldn’t get hit in the rush to be near Jameson.  When the stage was as full as it could get, the push on the crowd lessened and he set me back down.
We laughed and resumed dancing by the stage.  Archer skillfully twirled and maneuvered my body with a skill that made my panties moist.  He knew my body like the back of his hand and knew just how to work me.  As the song started to end, Archer lifted me once more and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
“God, I fucking love you,” he smiled happily as he rested his forehead against mine.
Breathing hard from the excitement, I kissed him intensely; our tongues sliding together in a hungry dance as we groped each other with our hands.  Time stood still in that moment as we lost ourselves to one another.  Nothing mattered except me and him and the profound love we felt for each other.
The cheering became deafening and to my genuine surprise, the band queued up one last song.  The riffs of Jameson’s electric guitar vibrated and the crowd began cheering even louder.  It took me a second to realize what song they were playing.
Puddle of Mudd’s ‘She Hates Me’ hit me like a Mac truck and I turned wide eyes to stare up at Jameson.  He was now standing in front of me on stage, surrounded by beautiful girls, as he sang the song directly to me.
I felt my legs sliding down Archer’s hips as he sat me down again.  “We are definitely going to have a talk when we get home tonight,” he growled protectively as he stared daggers at Jameson.
Jameson ignored him and everyone else in the room as if they didn’t exist.  He sang the lyrics to me with a satisfied smirk on his face and that really pissed me off.   It felt like we were beating a dead horse at this point; me being the horse and Jameson the stick.  I got what he was trying to tell me during ‘My Immortal’ and ‘Rest In Pieces’.  But this song was just meant to hurt me.  I didn’t need a cherry topper for my humiliation sundae.  It was already fully loaded; he’d seen to that.
I crossed my arms over my chest, narrowed my eyes, and gave him back everything he was giving me.  I sang along to the song loudly and changed all the ‘She’s’ to ‘He’s’ as we stared daggers at each other.  This song worked perfectly for the both of us, it seemed.
I felt Archer glance back and forth between Jameson and me as he stood off to my side.  Jameson leaned down so that he was singing the song in my face.  I stood on tip toes to sing back in his.  Screw being polite.  If this was how he wanted to play it, fine.  I’d apologized from the deepest reaches of my soul; I’d told him eighty different ways how completely sorry I was.  Singing ‘she fucking hates me’ in my face was a hard slap to it.  I didn’t hate him but I was growing tired of the grudge so I didn’t feel bad as I sang the song back to him.  After all, I was starting to develop one of my own.
Archer threw his hands up exasperatedly and a few seconds later the song ended.  Jameson thanked the crowd, grabbed the nearest girl’s hand and exited the stage with his arm around her shoulders.  He made sure to wink at me before he disappeared stage right.
“Asshole,” I huffed as I shook my head and turned back to Archer. 
He did not look pleased with our earlier display.  He pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head, and then folded his arms over his chest.  “This shit between you two will be worked out tonight,” he growled.  “I’m not allowing this to go on for a minute longer.  Both of you are my children and I love you with all my heart, but this shit stops now.”
I sighed, properly chastised, and glanced down at my hands.  “Sorry.  I’ll go talk to him.”
“You do that,” he frowned.  “Then tell Jameson to meet us at Les Oubliette when he’s finished.  I’m going to go get the car.  I’ll meet you outside in ten.” He gave me a quick peck on the lips and then disappeared into the crowd. 
Damn.  Archer was pretty angry at us and I didn’t like it one bit.  I had to fix this…STAT.

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