Tagline: Could I embrace the curse bequeathed upon me?
Katalina is haunted by graphic nightmares in which she bathes in the blood of violently murdered young girls. Sent to Rome to visit her aunt, she discovers her family’s grim past. A past that involves a secret curse that catapults the women in her family down a path of eternal darkness-a curse she wants no part of.
In the romantic surrounds of Rome, Katalina finds herself inexplicably drawn to the secretive and broody Dominic, and their holiday romance flourishes. When Katalina forms an unlikely friendship with the dangerously charismatic vampire Toby, she finds herself in a tangle of violent secrets and crossed alliances.
Now that she is exposed to a world her mom and grandmother fought hard to keep her from- a world brimming with royal vampires, powerful witches, and dangerous hunters-Katalina must choose her fate or lose her heart forever.
“Have you heard the grim fairy
tale?” A deep voice from behind me echoes around the room.
spin on my heels and Toby is standing in the doorway, the only exit available.
I feel trapped. A sudden sense of danger saturates the darkened room.
“Yes,” I reply.
gaze is fixed on me, eyes glistening in the small amount of light that seeps
through the window.
have heard she still roams these parts on occasion.” He takes a step through
you follow me?” I step back as he steps forward.
it bother you if I said yes?” He pauses for a moment before he stalks toward
stand my ground knowing fully well that I shouldn’t fear him; he has saved me
twice now from other vampires.
it bother you?” he repeats.
stare up at him. His face truly resembles a vampire; his skin is translucent in
the dim light and his pupils are dilated.
He leans closer to me.
Because that’s just weird.”
if I told you that I can’t stop?” he whispers.
bells ring in my head and I look at the door behind him.
won’t hurt you, Kat. Don’t be afraid.” His voice has turned to velvet.
not afraid.” I stare up at him.
steps closer to me and his proximity is dizzying. I can see the vein in his
neck pulsing and the dark danger in his eyes as he stares at me through black
you? Your heart rate seems to disagree with you.”
swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m going back down to the festival.” I step
around him, and as I pass, he takes my hand in his. His skin is cool and
smooth. His touch alights me with anticipation. I turn to look up into his
beautiful face, confused as to where this exchange is leading. His carnal gaze
sets me on fire.
Leaning in to whisper in my ear,
he inhales. His voice changes from a purr to something deeper, more dangerous.
“Do you know what it takes for me not to taste you? Your sweet blood sings to
me. I am possessed whenever I am near you. I seek you out and resist the urge
to hunt you, like the predator I am. It is a game I play unbeknownst to you.”
His breath tickles my neck.
close my eyes and hold my breath waiting for something to happen. Wanting
something to happen.
don’t have to be afraid of me,” Toby whispers against my cheek before I feel a
gush of wind and he is gone.
About the Author:
Melinda resides on the sunny Gold Coast, Australia with her husband, two boys and two dogs. When she is not writing or reading, she works as a registered nurse. Her other loves include: coffee, tea, delicious pastries and the beach.
Like many eighteen-year-old boys,
Saga’s prime concerns are: listening to music his mum calls “hop-hip”, learning
about girls from his suave best mate Ibrahim, and making sure his considerable
tummy is well-fed. In his affluent, liberal and relatively protected suburb
life is pretty good, especially when his mum’s special peanut soup is on the
However, in Africa, childhoods
can be snatched in an instant, especially when you live in a dictatorship. When
his friends and family are dragged into the conflict, he is given no choice.
Chubby Saga becomes an unlikely revolutionary, but these are very dangerous
times. Their violent President Brewman has built their country on fear and even
he, himself, is terrified. Spies, traps and double-dealings lie everywhere. Can
one happy-go-lucky schoolboy really stand up to a murderous regime? How long
can he stay one step ahead of the Zombie soldiers that will do anything to stop
This thought-provoking coming of
age story touches on many of Africa’s biggest problems today.
quasi-formal welcome, the headmaster and form master hastily stood aside,
moving backwards towards the blackboard so the Deputy Minister could take over
by posing his questions directly to the students as part of his verification
process. The bodyguards also placed themselves at the two front corners of the
classroom behind the Minister, and commenced an inexplicable process of
touching their earpieces with equally inexplicable regularity.
Mr Com, who now
had the floor, asked if anyone would volunteer to go first, and a still very
annoyed Saga impulsively raised his hand before any of the others could. The
New Patriotism issue was indeed a very sore point with Saga. He was still
plagued with guilt that he had not been present to defend his bosom friend,
Ibrahim, when he was beaten up badly by New Patriotism fanatics who happened to
be students in their own school. Subconsciously, it was as though he thus felt
the urge to be the one to face any New Patriotism ‘onslaught’ from officialdom
within their school. As to how he would deflect such an onslaught, he had
absolutely no idea. It was a subconsciously inspired impulsiveness so he simply
had to wing it.
‘Well, well – I
see we have an eager beaver in our midst,’ he smiled at Saga, who did not
return the smile. The headmaster, and the form master, and all the five men and
one woman who made up the Minister’s entourage, however, giggled rather
obsequiously at this sally. They truly understood the meaning of grovelling to
those on high. The Deputy Minister turned and rewarded them all with an openly
serious young man, let’s start. So, tell me, who is your mother under our New
Patriotism?’ Mr Com boomed out his question.
Saga knew the
answer he was to give and did so correctly. ‘My mother is the Great South Party
of President Brewman!’
Mr Com was
pleased. ‘Not bad, not bad,’ he said, and nodded happily towards the
headmaster, who gave an equally satisfied beam in response.
‘And who is your
father?’ Mr Com boomed yet again.
answered correctly. ‘My father is the Great Leader of our nation, His Supreme
Excellency and President-For-Life-Until-Further-Notice Field Marshal Brewman.’
Both Messrs Com
and Money now beamed in unison. The entourage and form master were not far
behind in this beaming effort.
‘Well done my
boy, well done.’ Mr Com smiled a vastly complacent smile at Saga.
‘Tell me, my
bright, young friend – so what would you like to be when you grow up?’
This was far
from being a question about future careers such as wanting to be a doctor or
lawyer or pilot. Saga knew he should answer something along the lines of
wanting to grow up to be a dedicated follower of the President or the Party.
However, Saga inhaled and dropped his bombshell. ‘I would like to be an ORPHAN
when I grow up,’ he said with utmost seriousness.
Dr Nat Tanoh comes from Ghana but
grew up in exile, as a child, in England due to his parents’ opposition to the
installation of a one-party state. Today he divides his time between England
(London) and Ghana. He has a rich history of involvement in student and workers
movements, which originally emerged from struggles against the
institutionalisation of military rule in Ghana. Dr Nat has since worked as a
consultant on development projects in Ghana and elsewhere in Africa. He also
continues to uphold a passion for democratic social development.
The Day of the Orphan is Dr Nat
Tanoh’s debut novel.
Left for dead on the shores of Scotland, Fraser MacLomain falls in love with the healer who saves him. Yet Elspeth MacLauchlin has deep dark secrets. Hidden truths rooted in a century old family feud. A vendetta that is soon resurrected by vicious enemies who steal her away during a late night pirate attack.
Bent on saving her and reaping revenge, Fraser embraces a life of piracy. Cutthroat, out for blood, he relentlessly pursues his nemesis long after rumor has Elspeth dead. Long after he abandons love for bitterness. But even a hardened heart can be thawed, as he soon discovers when catching his foe begins a high seas adventure ripe with passion, intrigue, and treasure.
“The plaid looks
good,” she remarked, eying Fraser with appreciation.
She had worked
tirelessly to mend his ripped and tattered MacLomain tartan. Now he wore
nothing but the plaid wrapped around his waist and over his shoulder. Another
means to test her, she was sure. Because there was no finer sight than Fraser
dressed as he was with his chiseled muscles bared to the world.
“I think he
enjoys his vanity fed,” Innis muttered as he grinned and rolled his eyes at the
hill behind them. A hill that had hosted many a lass over the past few hours.
Lasses, quite assuredly, out for a late-afternoon stroll to enjoy the view. And
though they would claim otherwise, that view had nothing to do with the lovely
Even Audric was
aware of the women, his cheeks turning red when he dared a random peek over his
“Well, I would
see Fraser’s vanity challenged,” Elspeth murmured, not speaking of his good
looks as she picked up one of several swords Innis had brought down. One suited
to her size. She met Fraser’s eyes in challenge. “Do ye accept, then?”
His brows perked
in interest. “Ye know how to fight?”
“Of course,” she
replied, wide-eyed. “’Twould be foolish in these tryin’ times not to, aye?”
‘twould,” he concurred, a new spark in his eyes. One, she realized, born of a
man who appreciated a woman who knew how to defend herself.
“So will ye
then?” She made a show of testing the weight of the blade and even executed a
few novice swings to prove she was good but not that good.
When a small
smirk hovered on his lips, and his eyes narrowed on her grip, she knew he had
her figured out.
“’Tis a good
enough method making your opponent think ye cocky rather than talented,” he
acknowledged. “But you’ll want to work some on your expression.”
“Aye, ‘tis that
of one with confidence, not insecurity.” He stepped close and brushed the pad
of his weapon-roughened thumb between her brows. “It should furrow here as
though ye are concentrating verra hard indeed.” Then he grazed it along her
lips. “These should be turned down and mayhap wobble a wee bit as ye begin to
doubt yourself. As if ye just realized ye took on more than ye can handle
facing off with your particular enemy.”
After that, he
dusted the outer edge of her brow indicating her eyes. “And these, of course,
are your best weapon if you’re fighting a lad. Use them to look him over as if
sizing him up.” A knowing gleam lit his eyes. “A look as if you’re trying to
determine his weaknesses but realize mayhap there’s something to be attracted
“I willnae do
that,” she rebuffed, chuckling despite herself. “’Tis foolish.”
“I dinnae know.”
Innis stroked the braids in his beard as he contemplated Elspeth. “I think
Fraser is right. Especially when it comes to ye.”
“’Twill make me
seem daft!” she retaliated.
“’Twill make ye
seem as your rival likely expects ye to be,” Fraser counseled, still close
enough that she could feel his heat. “A lass with a proper eye to pleasing a
lad instead of a disobedient hellion trying to be something she’s not.”
narrowed her eyes, he merely shrugged and grinned. “I didnae say I agree with
that mindset.” He stepped back and held his sword at arm’s length. “I’m more
the sort that enjoys a wee lassie with a bit of backbone.”
“Good then.” She
straightened said backbone and held her blade at the ready, wishing she wore
trousers instead of a skirt.
They eyed one
another and circled before she came at him fast. When he dodged, she spun
quickly, came in low only for him to leap back with a grin of approval.
“Ye use your
size to your advantage,” he praised. “And keep your movements quick but small.”
ducked beneath the swing of his blade. “Douglas always said to conserve my
energy. Especially when fighting a seasoned warrior.”
“Well, you’re certainly fighting such now, lassie!”
words were wise,” Fraser conceded as they continued battling. While she knew he
was holding back some, she could tell by his random nods of approval that it wasn’t
as much as he thought it would be.
Yet as they
continued crossing swords, she saw something shift in his eyes moments before
he came at her a little harder. While she initially thought he was competitive
and could not help himself, she soon realized it was for another reason
He truly cared
about her well-being and wanted her to fight the best she could.
So as they
fought and her energy waned, he offered not only praise where it was due but
pointed out her every weakness. An elbow held too high on a swing. The
incorrect angle of her knee when lunging. Breathing too heavily when she should
be trying to measure her breaths for certain movements and speed. His was a
well-balanced dance. A very specific manipulation of the body that included a mixture
of thought out planning and spontaneity.
By the time they
were finished, she was sore in places she had never felt pain.
“Thank ye,” she
managed, as she tossed aside her blade, planted her hands on her knees and
tried to catch her breath. “I will be feeling this for days, I imagine.”
“’Tis good.” He
smiled. “’Twill give ye a better idea of what needs strengthening.”
Though not a lewd look by any means, as their
eyes held, she got the strongest impression he longed to test other muscles as
well. To see how limber she really was.
About the Author:
Sky Purington is the bestselling author of nearly forty novels and novellas. A New Englander born and bred who recently moved to Virginia, Sky was raised hearing stories of folklore, myth, and legend. When combined with a love for history, romance, and time-travel, elements from the stories of her youth found release in her books.
Purington loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at Sky@SkyPurington. Interested in keeping up with Sky’s latest news and releases? Either visit Sky’s website, www.SkyPurington.com, subscribe to her quarterly newsletter or sign up for personalized text message alerts. Simply text ‘skypurington’ (no quotes, one word, all lowercase) to 74121 or visit Sky’s Sign-up Page. Texts will ONLY be sent when there is a new book release. Readers can easily opt out at any time.
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