Snow Blood Season 1 by Carol McKibben

Snow Blood Season 1
Snow Blood Series
Episodes 1-6
Carol McKibben
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Troll River Publications
Date of Publication: February 14, 2014
Print ISBN: 978-1939564368
eBook ISBN:  B00JOWG05O
Number of pages: 240 pages
Word Count: 56,025
Cover Artist: Truenot Dreams
Book Description:
Snow Blood Season 1 by Carol McKibben is the first in a series of short novels retelling the modern day adventures of the first vampire.
When Brogio must turn Snow, a beautiful white husky, in order to save the dog, a series of events is unleashed that reveal a sinister plot against the father of all vampires.
As life and true death experiences bond the master vampire and his newly transformed vampire canine together, they unravel a conspiracy that when resolved may return Selene, the love of Brogio’s life, back to him and set him free from the lonely existence that has plagued him for thousands of years! From the author of Luke’s Tale, follow Snow Blood, an epic story of the first vampire as told through the eyes of his kindred dog.
Episode One –  reveals how Snow first meets Brogio, the original vampire, and follows the white husky through his transformation to the Kindred world.
Episode Two  – uncovers a sinister plot to destroy the father of all vampires, and we meet Kane, Brogio’s first blood child. This episode traces Snow’s efforts to discover Brogio’s history.
Episode Three – introduces Selene, a nurse who is identical to the love of Brogio’s existence. Is she merely a doppelganger or his love returned to him? Is she part of the threat to his destruction? More threats are made not just against the lives of Brogio and Snow but against Selene, forcing them to reveal their true identities to her. Struggling with her acceptance of Brogio, Snow and Kane, Selene is brought into their fold for her protection.
Episode Four and Five – let the reader know more about Brogio and the original Selene’s past while Brogio attempts to protect those he loves from inevitable destruction by leading the threatening dark forces away from them. Snow intercedes after Selene’s plea for help to reunite her to Brogio. United again, destruction follows the four of them wherever they go. Hounded by ancient gods and goddesses, monsters, werewolves and a number of disasters, they battle to protect each other. In his effort to protect his master and those he loves, Snow must make a promise that will end his life as he knows it. The true source bent on destroying Brogio is finally revealed and culminates in an epic battle where Snow offers up his life to save Brogio, Selene and Kane.
Episode Six – Snow prepares to keep the promise that he made, but Kane intervenes for his “blood brother,” leaving us to wonder about both their fates. Tension grows between Brogio and Selene as he attempts to make her his wife for eternity and defy the gods. The reader discovers if Selene is his love returned to him.
Available at  Amazon    BN     Kobo    Smashwords


About the Author:
Carol McKibben graduated from the University of Kentucky with a degree in Secondary Education and a minor in Journalism. She went on to earn a Master’s of Arts in Teaching (MAT) from Rollins College. After teaching English and Journalism for a decade, she was offered the opportunity to join Miramar Communications, the 8th largest publishing house west of the Mississippi in Los Angeles.
Working her way up from editorial and then as Director of Market Development, she became the publisher of Special Events magazine (a trade publication for all those working in the events industry) that she helped launch in 1984. In addition, she created a companion trade show, The Special Event, for which she was also the director for a decade, planning every aspect – from exhibits to educational conferences and events.
During that time, she earned her Certified Special Events Professional (CSEP) designation and helped found the International Special Events Society (ISES) of which she was international president from 1999-2000. She co-authored The Dictionary of Event Management for ISES and helped write the study guides for the CSEP exam.
She was a magazine publisher for both consumer and trade magazines for 20+ years. She has written numerous articles and conducted a myriad of seminars, often speaking to large audiences for both The Special Event and ISES. She was awarded the Lifetime Achievement Award from the special events industry in 1999. 
In 2007, she began a freelance writing and editing career, working with other authors to help them realize their dreams. She has published Luke’s Tale, Riding Through It and Snow Blood Season 1. Luke’s Tale and Snow Blood are targeted to a YA market. Luke’s Tale was included in the Summer Solstice Top 12 Book Pick List. Carol writes from the heart of a dog’s eyes. Her books help support her dog rescue efforts and focus on unconditional love.
Carol is married to Mark McKibben, a broadcast engineering sales professional and experienced airplane pilot, and they have two grown children, Rett and Stephanie, and three grandchildren, Lauren, Diesel and Slater. Their current “babies” are Neo, their 117-lb. Labradoodle, a trained therapy dog, and Binks, a black Labrador Retriever rescue. Together Mark and Carol work with the Los Angeles Animal Rescue and Wings of Rescue to save the precious lives of endangered dogs.
Carol is a firm believer in Maya Angelou’s quote:” I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” She believes that angels were her inspiration for Luke’s Tale – a Story of Unconditional Love and feels that even though the Snow Blood Series is about the original vampire and his kindred dog, that theme carries through. “There’s a method to my madness,” she states. “The world is waiting for love to overcome hate. I feel that my purpose is to show others how to love unconditionally, just as dogs love us we should love each other.”
Carol’s other favorite quote is one that her husband taught her. “I love myself more when I am with you.”
Carol ,Neo and Binks are currently working on Snow Blood Season 2.
To learn even more about Carol, go to
Luke’s Tale:

Praise for Snow

  5-Stars! “From Chapter One I was enthralled…a
love story…a vampire dog…a mystery? The author didn’t miss one intriguing
trick in this spellbinding tale. I hated when it ended and need it to continue
to know what happens next to these entrancing lovers and this loyal, mystical
and prophetic canine. Carol manages to weave in every element that will
captivate a reader and it is like reading ancient mythology which to some is
real, and it was hard to believe that these characters are not real, especially
Snow Blood who is a dog, but so much more. It is storytelling at its finest.
Best yet, it could appeal to all ages, from younger children (10 on up) to
teens to adults. Carol, don’t stop now!” -Andrea Michaels
5-Stars for Snow Blood! “Approaching midnight, and I can’t stop
reading Snow Blood. If you enjoy vampires, mythology, intrigue, and a
love story all told from a dog’s perspective…read this book. Page turner from
page 1. Rare for a book to capture and hold my attention from page one. So
looking forward to the next Snow Blood book!” -Lee Brown

5-Stars – “SNOW BLOOD Season 1 is a unique novel in that McKibben has
elected to tell a story through the eyes, senses, and thoughts of an animal.
For some authors this attempt may become uncomfortably artificial, but McKibben
is so gifted at the manner in which she maintains this stance that every page
of the novel is wholly credible. Add to that fact the theme of the story being
the turning of non-vampires into vampires and one would think the author was up
against an unscalable wall of credibility. But that is the mark of a practiced
veteran: understand the stance of the perspective, keep it viable, and the
story will work.

Season 1 most assuredly does. The Snow of the title is a beautiful white husky
who is attacked by a mysterious wolf like animal who then takes the form of a
human (Brogio) and transforms Snow into a vampire. When Brogio must turn Snow
in order to save the dog, a series of events are unleashed that reveal a
sinister plot against the father of all vampires. As life and true death
experiences bond the master vampire and his newly transformed vampire canine
together, they unravel a conspiracy that when resolved may return Selene, the
love of Brogio’s life, back to him and set him free from the lonely existence
that has plagued him for thousands of years. But to appreciate the skill of
this fine writer, the following `turning’ is quoted form early in the book:
He bent down and looked deeply into my eyes. “What is your name?” My
thoughts betrayed me as my legs had earlier. I felt compelled to answer. My
name is Snow. “Ah, yes. Snow. I shall call you Snow … Blood. You can
call me Brogio.” I heard the words, but his mouth didn’t move. He took
another sip from his glass and smiled. “That’s right; you’re hearing my
thoughts. Spoken words will not be needed between us now.” He held up his
glass. I wondered what was in the glass. “This is wine from my winery.
Vintage 1985.” I was relieved that he wasn’t drinking a glass of blood in
front of me. So tell me, Brogio, why do we not need words? Again, the smile.
The eyes turned deep red for a fraction of a second. A cold chill coursed
through me, and I shivered. I wanted to run, but where? This Brogio could
outrun me. And he could read my mind too! Anger rose up, and I let out a
reflexive growl. “I am an Artemis. Animals understand and obey me. It is
the way. And now, I am your sire.” If you control animals, why did the
strange wolf attack you? “I have no control over panweres.” Panweres?
Never heard of them. What … “A shape shifter. A creature that can shift
into many different kinds of animals.” He stood straight up. “Come,
you must feed. We can talk more later.” I want to go home. “No, you
can’t. It would be dangerous.” He kneeled down next to me. “Snow
Blood, you would end up killing those you love until I can teach you to control
your urges.” I shook my head from side to side. I don’t understand. He
sighed and returns to the oversized chair, taking a long drink of the remaining
wine. I sat firmly in place. I refused to go anywhere until I understood what
he meant. “Snow.” He sat back in the chair as if ready to tell me a
story, “You are becoming a vampire. And, Only a vampire can make
another.” He stared at me to let the words sink in. “You died on the
road, and I turned you to bring you back.”

This is very fine, highly creative writing from an artist who knows her trade
well. She will be noted.” Grady Harp

5-Stars for Snow Blood!  “Carol McKibben has outdone herself. She
‘writes from the heart’ as she once again weaves her magic by sharing her
unique way of seeing life through the eyes of another animal. The moment I saw
Snow’s beautiful white fur and piercing blue eyes, I wanted to protect him
right away. Then “Brogio, the first vampire!” must turn Snow, If he
doesn’t Snow will die. Carol’s fluent writing is a page turner and this book is
full of twists, turns and surprises. I won’t give too much away but believe me
you won’t want to miss the series!” –Robin Potter

5-Stars! “Exquisite Vampire Novel –  Brogio is the first vampire
created by the goddess Artemis. Brogio creates the first vampire dog who he
names Snow Blood. At first Snow Bolood resists being “vampire.” As
time passes, he accepts being “vampire” and is loyal to Brogio. He
learns about Brogio’s life and his lost love. Snow Blood tells this stunning
story that has mystery, romance, mythology and horror in it. This makes for a
fantastic read! Does Brogio find his lost love? How does Brogio survive in the
world besides making a living? Why does a vampire dog not be affected by the
sun? This is an excellent vampire novel. There are twists and turns you don’t
expect. I enjoyed this “vampire” novel more than any of the other
vampire stories I have read with the exception of the original Bram Stoker’s
Dracula. This is a strong not to be missed! Disclaimer: I received a digital
galley of this book free from the publisher from NetGalley. I was not obliged
to write a favourable review, or even any review at all. The opinions expressed
are strictly my own.”  -S. Mahaffey

5-Star – “Excellent Vampire Read! Snow Blood: Season 1: Episodes 1-6 was
an excellent read that really took me by surprised. I was intrigued by the
plot, as it sounded like a story that I have never read before. The concept is
pretty amazing, and definitely did not disappoint at all. The Husky dog, Snow,
tells the story of how he came about meeting his master, Brogio. I have never
read a story where a dog is a vampire as well, which made this one so likable
(I love dogs!).

This story contains pretty much everything; from mystery to suspense, to
romance and deep questioning. The relationship between Brogio and Selene was
quite interesting, and I am curious to see what will happen next. Reading the
story through Snow’s eyes made the story even better.

I can’t wait to read episode 2. Carol McKibben truly is a very gifted
author.” -Karen Ruggiero

5-Stars – “Snow Blood Episode 1 was a real surprise find for me. Being a
dog person, I was tempted but I only reluctantly ventured out to read this book
about a white husky who becomes vampire. To my relief and joy the concept
really worked. Snow, the husky, tells in his own words how he comes in contact
with Brogio, his saviour and master, and how his new life pans out. Telling a
vampire dog story adds a great twist, one that is long overdue since we have
shapeshifters and werewolve stories everywhere. Telling the story from the
dog’s perspective worked for me since it is a welcome break from just ‘cute’
dog stories and stories told by dogs. Episode 1 sets the scene and focuses on
the transformation and the main characters, but it is ultimately a short novel
that leaves a lot for the next installments. The drama, the suspense and the
perspective are excellent, and I no doubt will make my way through this canine
paranormal series. Well done.” -Christoph Fischer

“In Snow Blood, Season 1, another of Carol McKibben’s books,
we encounter Snow, a white husky, who (as in Luke’s Tale, above) tells his own
story. It involves a sinister plot against the father of all vampires told
through a stream of supernatural events. And there’s another love triangle, of
a sort, involving Selene, Brogio and Snow. This wildly imaginative tale delves
deeply into a complex occult world of the vampire and the panwere (a type of
shapeshifter).  • vampire, n. – one whom drinks the blood of
others, be it animal or human.  • panwere, n. – a shapeshifter that
can morph its life to match that of another creature.  This first of a
series (Series 1) is told in six scenes or episodes. If you are a lover of
vampire stories involving clever dogs, this book is for you.” -Don
Messerschmidt, Literary

This story is the perfect tale of unconditional love. We get to see things
through the eyes of a dog watching the love of Brogio’s life walk in while the
jealous god that cursed him tries to rip the lovers apart. Snow Blood has none
of that and seeks to help Brogio and Selene be together! Fun, fast read!”
-Lea Lyanna, BookBeasties

“I love Carol’s books on Snow Blood. I know 5 is the highest
rating, but they deserve a 10. I can not wait to see what happens next.”

New Book Journal features Snow Blood with some info on
Luke’s Tale


Go to for a preview of Snow Blood.

And, here’s more info
on Snow Blood!


 “A real surprise find for me. Being a dog
person I was tempted but I only reluctantly ventured out to read this book
about a white husky who becomes vampire. To my relief and joy the concept
really worked! … The drama, the suspense and the perspective are excellent, and
I no doubt will make my way through this canine paranormal series. Well done!”
~Christoph Fischer

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Protect Her by Sophia Kimble


Chapter 1

Golden Alexander hated interviews. She hated the fact she might be insane worse, but she

had to make a living regardless. She smoothed her black pencil skirt and stared at the side door

of a white, Victorian house in Poultney, Vermont.

The word etched above a moose on a purple, slate plaque hung on the dark stained door,

beckoning her. It promised security, a homecoming, but she wasn’t coming home. No, she was

Three thousand miles, and a week had slid by since she’d last seen the demon, and she

still woke up in a cold sweat every night, heart thumping, a scream on the tip of her tongue. But

when she opened her eyes, all she found was the ceiling above her bed.

The sun heated the top of her head and beads of sweat tickled her armpits. She stepped

back and waved her arms, trying to cool herself before she got on with this necessary evil.

A light tapping startled her. Her hand shot to her chest while her gaze darted to a big

picture window between two hanging pots of red petunias.

A woman with plump cheeks, salt and pepper hair, and a motherly face peered out and

smiled. Crap, she couldn’t wait until she stopped jumping at every noise. She blew out the breath

she’d been holding and attempted a smile. The woman probably thought she was an escaped

mental patient. Her smile felt like a grimace and she was sure she looked like she was trying to

fly away, which didn’t sound like a bad idea at the moment.

Not the image she was going for at an interview.

The summer heat combined with the cloying sweet fragrance of the flowers left her

slightly nauseous as the woman raised a finger in her direction before disappearing from view.

She took a deep breath, now or never. She glanced back at her car, wondering if she should . . .

The door opened with a thump. “Golden? I’m Mary Pietka.”

Golden turned back, her opportunity for escape gone.

Mary wiped her hands on a faded red apron, which covered a navy housedress. Her short,

round figure and rosy, unlined cheeks reminded Golden of the German nesting dolls her mother

had kept on the windowsill in the kitchen. The only thing missing was a scarf around Mary’s

perfectly coifed hair and she’d be the mother doll. That doll, the tallest of the set, had always

been her favorite, the one her eyes were drawn to whenever she stood at the sink, and the

“Call me Mary. Is it Golden or Goldie?”

“Golden.” She hated Goldie. Her sister, Izzy, was the only one who called her Goldie and

only because Izzy refused to stop. But then her sister always did whatever she wanted. Izzy had

left home shortly after the accident and was never subjected to their other sister, Maggie’s,

She shook Mary’s outstretched hand, hoping her palms were no longer sweaty. Mary

gave her hand a pat before releasing it. “Come on in, dear.”

She followed the woman up a short flight of stairs to a small kitchen. Frying onions and

butter scented the air, her stomach clenched as though about to rumble. She hadn’t smelled home

cooking since the accident, frozen food and take out were the staples back home.

She handed Mary her now crinkled résumé, but Mary barely glanced at it before setting it

aside and waving her into a chair next to a beige Formica kitchenette. Cherry stained, twelve-

inch moldings and trim, ancient looking appliances, and a deep country sink gave the place an

old world charm that made her feel as if nothing much had changed since Poultney had become a

Nervous energy caused her hands to twine in her lap, and she found herself really

wanting the job. Mary’s warmth, and the house, made Golden feel as if she’d come home. To a

real home, not just a house with people living inside going through the motions of life, but a

genuine home. She was suddenly desperate to spend more time here.

“My mother’s sleeping now, and I don’t want to wake her,” Mary said. “Why don’t you

tell me about yourself?” She picked up a piece of cabbage and palmed it, then scooped a

spoonful of rice and ground beef mixture from a large silver bowl and dropped it onto the

Let’s see . . . I inherited a house from relatives I didn’t know. I traveled across the

country to this foreign little town to get away from my overprotective sister and the weird things

that keep happening to me. I’m trying to be a grown up while part of me wants to get in my car

and run back home. I now live isolated in the middle of nowhere, and I really want this job so I

don’t totally lose it from lack of human contact. Oh, and I might be insane.

She decided on the abridged version instead. “I grew up in Southern California and just

moved into town. I have two years’ experience caring for the elderly.”

Mary wrapped the cabbage leaf around the filling. “My mother-in-law, Jadwiga, is one

hundred and three. She was in perfect health, until a few months ago, and now requires more

care. I no longer feel comfortable leaving her alone. I have a nurse coming in a few days a week,

but I need someone to keep her company so I can run errands, clean the house, and have a break

Mary’s gaze never left her as she placed the oblong food into a casserole dish and

reached for another leaf. Her brow creased ever so slightly, and her head tilted as if she were

listening to something. “It must be hard moving into a new town, being as young as you are

without any family around, living in that big house in the middle of the forest.”

A tingle of unease pinched her shoulders and straightened her back. “Ah . . . ye . . . yes it

is.” Had she said all that aloud? How did Mary know about her house?

Mary smiled, her crow’s feet deepening. “Small town, dear. Are you going to take some

Golden eased back in her chair. “Yes, I’ve signed up for some core classes this fall.”

Mary went over the details of the job while she ladled tomato sauce over the top of the

cabbage rolls and put the dish into the oven. “Have you ever had Golumpki? Are you Catholic?”

Mary turned in her direction. “Can you start Monday morning at nine?”

“Um . . . no, yes and yes.” Golden chuckled at the rapid succession of questions, warming

to Mary’s offbeat personality and so relieved she wouldn’t have to go back home a failure and

listen to Maggie telling her she wasn’t ready to leave home.

The side door to the house opened behind her.

“Matka? Dzien dobry? Ma? Hello?”

The deep male voice filled the kitchen. Filled her. Her muscles tightened, her arms

vibrated like she’d been doing yard work for the last hour and had just turned off the weed

Mary raised an eyebrow in her direction before looking past her to the door. “Kris, proszę

Heavy boots sounded on the wooden steps. The loud thumping stopped as if in mid-step

and an invisible electric current slammed into her back. Heat spread through her and settled in

“Golden is your Babci’s new caregiver.” Mary enunciated as if she were speaking to a

five-year-old. “I told you last week she answered the ad and was coming today. She’ll be starting

Mary glared at Kris and then turned to Golden with an apologetic smile on her face. Kris

moved around the table and stood next to his mother.

He narrowed his piercing blue eyes at her, and a lock of sandy brown hair fell from

He looked exactly like the man she’d been dreaming of for years.


Protect Her

The Druid’s Curse
Book 1
Sophia Kimble
Print Length: 260 pages
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing
Book Description:
Golden Alexander is trapped in a nightmare.
Trying to flee her hallucination of a demon, she runs heart first into the brooding alpha male she’s been dreaming about for years, and then her nightmare really begins.
Kris Pietka is done with women…he’s broken. But when he meets Golden, an overwhelming need to protect her tests everything he thought he knew about himself, and the paranormal.
A bond forged centuries ago thrusts them together as they search for a way to break an ancient Druid curse prophesying their demise. Racing against the clock, they travel from Vermont, to the Carpathian Mountains in Poland, and the Scottish Highlands in search of answers and a way to break the curse.
But something evil watches—it covets, and time is running out.
Will fate allow love to prevail against unbeatable odds, or will Golden wake to find it was all a delusion?
Available at Amazon


About the Author:
Sophia Kimble has always wanted to be an author, but for years, life got in the way. She wouldn’t change a thing about how her life turned out, though. Her family keeps her laughing and loving. Her wonderful husband and two extraordinary children stand beside her every step of the way and make this journey called life worth living.
Sophia has worked as a nurse for twenty years, but has put that career path aside to devote her time and imagination to writing down the stories that keep her up nights.
She takes her love of the paranormal, history, and genealogy, and weaves them into tales of family, fated love, and supernatural occurrences.
Connect with Sophia at the following sites:
Twitter: @SophiaKimble

Free Kindle Book Blitz: Feast of Fates by Christian A. Brown

Feast of Fates
Four Feasts Till Darkness
Book One
Christian A. Brown
Genre: Fantasy Romance
Date of Publication: September 9, 2014
ISBN: 978-1495907586
Number of pages: 540
Word Count: 212K
Cover Artist: Lamin Martin
Book Description:
“Love is what binds us in brotherhood, blinds us from hate, and makes us soar with desire.”
Morigan lives a quiet life as the handmaiden to a fatherly old sorcerer named Thackery. But when she crosses paths with Caenith, a not wholly mortal man, her world changes forever. Their meeting sparks long buried magical powers deep within Morigan. As she attempts to understand her newfound abilities, unbidden visions begin to plague her–visions that show a devastating madness descending on one of the Immortal Kings who rules the land.
With Morigan growing more powerful each day, the leaders of the realm soon realize that this young woman could hold the key to their destruction. Suddenly, Morigan finds herself beset by enemies, and she must master her mysterious gifts if she is to survive.
Available at Amazon and Createspace


About the Author:
Christian A. Brown has written creatively since the age of six. After spending most of his career in the health and fitness industry, Brown quit his job to care for his mother when she was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma in 2010.
Having dabbled with the novel that would eventually become Feast of Fates for over a decade, Brown was finally able to finish the project. His mother, who was able to read a beginning version of the novel before she passed away, has since imbued the story with deeper sentiments of loss, love, and meaning. He is proud to now share the finished product with the world.

Frontier Resistance by Leonie Rogers

Chapter 1

SHANNA ran. Insectoid limbs scythed through the vegetation behind her, and

red beams slashed past on either side, scorching as they grazed her skin. Her

feet seemed mired in mud, and her pack dragged her backwards,

overbalancing her towards the six-limbed creatures that dogged her steps.

She flung her head frantically from side to side, desperately seeking her

starcats. Where were Storm and Twister?

Ahead of her, she saw Allad stumble and fall, the tall scout’s body a

smoking ruin as the beams sliced across him. Satin snarled and leapt at the

invaders, only to perish in turn. Where were the others? What had happened

to them? Still alone, Shanna struggled on, forcing one leaden leg after the

other. She tried to discard her pack, but the straps refused to loosen, and then

she stumbled over the first body. Storm. His fur was burnt and his eyes

staring, and she burst into tears, sobbing as she ran, wanting to do nothing

more than stop and cradle him, yet unable to do so for fear of the aliens

hunting her. The tears threatened to blind her, but a voice, screaming from

Her breath was like fire in her throat, and now she could hear the sounds

of offworld footsteps only seconds behind her, while a mound in the

vegetation ahead told the tale of another body. Frantically she tried to change

her course, but her heavy legs refused to turn and she almost fell as she tried

to hurdle the still form. A plaintive “No!” burst from her lips as she recognised

the familiar cadet insignia and name on the sleeve of Verren’s bloodstained

The first clutch of an alien limb on her pack almost threw her backwards.

Sobbing to breathe, she forced the words out. “Get away! No!” Drawing a

ragged breath she tried to turn, but chitinous limbs restrained her. She fought

them, but they dragged her back inexorably until she was stranded on her

back, held down by the hard alien carapaces, unable to move. She flailed her

arms desperately, but they were too heavy. And then she woke, disorientated,

lathered in sweat, and panting.

For a moment she panicked, still unable to move and not understanding

where she was until a plaintive hum jerked her into the present, and the

weight upon her resolved into the anxious faces of two starcats, tidemarks

glowing dimly in the darkness. Her muscles lost their terrified tension and she

let her head collapse back against the unfamiliar softness of a pillow.

“Storm? Twister?” Relief flooded over her, and one of the feline bodies

moved, and then she was able to lift her arms to caress the silky heads. Soft

purrs sounded, and she felt the huge cat bodies curl gently around her,

providing sorely needed comfort.

For a few moments she just lay there, but the vivid images from her

nightmare remained – or rather, the real images of the last year replaced

them, devastating in their rawness. Arad’s tear streaked face as he sat with

Breeze’s still form vied with the sound of the alien vehicles destroying the

beauty of her home world, grinding relentlessly towards the plateau that

housed her people. Images of sliders, swarming towards her as their sensitive

antennae quested for living flesh, mixed with a jumbled montage of cliff faces

scarred by alien aircraft and flashes of the fear she’d experienced when they’d

rescued the human slaves from their Garsal captors.

Then came more images – her brother, Kaidan, standing on the front lines

with his bow; Verren binding gaping wounds in the aftermath of the battle;

Ragar and Zandany sending their starcats to stand guard on the alien

prisoners, and Taya and Amma, standing as stunned as she had, before the

glowing Starlyne she’d thought was only an animal but had now proved to be

Her breath caught in her throat once more. She was inside a Starlyne

habitation – she’d gone willingly, because of two images sent by the creatures

as they’d communicated with the human beings of Frontier. The first image

had shown her the origins of her starcat friends. Within the Starlyne

memories, she’d seen a tiny feline creature, newly arrived on a crashed

starship and accompanied by a human child, yet frolicking in friendship with a

Starlyne youngling in a sunlit glade. The second image had featured Storm,

Twister and herself as the hope of both human and Starlyne, and it had

engendered a burning desire within her to know more about their intentions

and her place within their plans. Surely the fate of colliding worlds could not

rest with her and her two starcats? The sweat on her body chilled suddenly,

and she convulsively grabbed at the two huge heads next to her. Ear tip

tidemarks cycled soothingly as if her cats knew what she was feeling, and

slowly the overwhelming emotions were submerged once again by physical

exhaustion, and she descended back into the blackness of sleep.

Frontier Resistance
Book Two
Leonie Rogers
Genre: Science Fiction, Young Adult
Publisher: Hague Publishing
ISBN: 978-0-9872652-8-9
Word Count: 133,000
Cover Artist: Emma Llewelyn
Book Description:
The much awaited sequel to Frontier Incursion.
The Garsal have landed and Frontier has changed forever. Now Shanna and her friends must master their new gifts that will enable them to seek out the alien invaders before they enslave her world.
On the plateau the Council under Tamazine (the Senior Councillor) allies with the Starlyne race. Only united do the Scouts, their starcats, and the Starlyne have any chance of surviving, but Tamazine’s distrust of the alliance creates a fatal weakness.
Below, the Garsal plot. They need a new pool of human slaves to expand their empire, but first, they must locate the humans already on Frontier and subdue them. Time is running out for both invader and settler, and the outcome hangs in the balance.


About the Author:
Originally from Western Australia, Leonie now lives in NSW in the Upper Hunter.  She is the author of “Frontier Incursion” (YA Speculative Fiction) published in October 2012 by Hague Publishing, and also works part time as a physiotherapist. She dabbles in poetry, and has had a short story published in Antipodean SF.
Frontier Resistance, part two of the Frontier Trilogy was published on the 3rd of October 2014, and she has also finished the first draft of the concluding book. They’re full of glow-in-the-dark cats who like to sleep on the bed, alien invaders, and a planet out to kill the unwary.
She has a past life as a volunteer firefighter and State Emergency Service member, and once trekked almost six hundred kilometres with eight camels and several other human beings. She is married with two late teen kids, two dogs and two cats, one of whom frequently handicaps her ability to use a laptop computer.
Twitter:        @RaeYesac
WordPress blog:

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Braving Fate by Linsey Hall

Excerpt Prologue


Central England, AD 60, eve of the Roman conquest of Britain


The woman he loved lay dying in his arms. Blood spilled over her breast, trickling from the dagger she’d sunk into her chest. Drops of blood hitting the dirt floor of the stone roundhouse echoed hollowly in his ears, amplified by the dawning knowledge of what he’d done. What she’d done. What they’d done.

“Why, Boudica?” His heart and voice were breaking. “Why do this?”

She shuddered in his arms, her broken body cold and fragile with looming death, but no less fierce than when she’d fought on the field of battle the previous dawn. She was their warrior queen, the force that had drawn thousands of British Celts together to revolt against Roman occupation, and he her top general.

She was his love. The one bright spot in the miserable spectacle of blood and death his life had become.

Boudica drew a harsh breath that rattled in her wounded chest and glared at him, her eyes alight with hatred.

“Why?” It was clear she would have screamed it if she could. Another faltering breath. “After your betrayal, you ask me why?”

“Betrayal? I did it for you.”

Her bitter laugh died on a cough. “I thought you knew me. I was wrong. You only know what you think me to be. I’m a warrior, the leader and symbol of our beaten land. I led my people in battle for our lives, our homes, our freedom.” She paused to catch her breath. “But we’ve lost. Irreparably.”

His jaw clenched, his chest aching with the weight of their past and his future. For she would die this night, her future forever erased. Because of him. Because he hadn’t been able to protect her. As he hadn’t protected his village and family before he’d joined her.

“The Roman dogs are at our door.” She coughed. “My daughters dead at their hands. Our lands stolen. Why would I live when capture is inevitable and my very life will be used as leverage? My head will be on a pike in Rome before summer’s end. More likely, they’ll use me against our people.” She raked him with a scathing glance and coughed again. Blood marred her colorless lips. “What would you do, O great warrior?”

“The same.” His throat burned. Capture was inevitable. And unbearable. Now, with the final battle lost and thousands of their families and allies dying in the fields around them, the fate that awaited her at the hands of the Romans would be worse than death, not only for her, but very likely for her people as well.

He’d tried to save her from this, but she hadn’t let him. He would have committed any deed, no matter how terrible, to save the woman who’d changed his life when he’d met her a year ago. But Boudica was a warrior first, his woman second. And she would die believing he had betrayed her.

She coughed, her pallor more pronounced. “And yet you would deny me my honorable death?”

“I love you. I’d do anything to save you.”

“And I thought I loved you,” she whispered. And as her eyes closed, the enormous life force that had propelled Boudica, Celtic Queen of the Iceni, evaporated.

The crushing weight of grief squeezed the breath out of his lungs. Collapsing over her, the black night swallowed his roar of pain. He would have vengeance.


Chapter 1


Cadan Trinovante jerked awake, the sheets tangled in his fists. He ignored the vibrating phone that had awakened him from the nightmare and stared at the wide wooden rafters supporting the ceiling above him, struggling to catch his breath. Of all the memories that had faded in his two thousand years of life, the memory of Boudica’s death was the one that never had.

Guilt tugged at him and he reached for the phone.

“Cadan,” he said as he glanced at the clock on the bedside table. The gleam of Edinburgh’s streetlights shone on hands pointing toward one a.m. The yells of revelers stumbling from pub to pub filtered in through the open window.

“Cadan, it’s Warren.”

Cadan merely grunted in response and walked to the window. He listened with half an ear as he stared out at the gothic spires of Edinburgh’s churches and the soot-blackened stone of the surrounding buildings. They rose tall and narrow, pressed cheek by jowl on either side of the sloping cobblestones of the city’s oldest street. Cadan shut out the cool night air and the sound of fading revelry.

“You’ve a new assignment,” Warren said. “Can you be here in an hour?”

Finally. He needed something to keep his mind off the past. The damn dreams had been hounding him more often lately and he was ready to forget, to slip back into work.

“Aye, I’ll see you by two,” he said.

Damn it. He could still hear the revelers below. Living for so long was wearying, but listening to others take such joy in life was just salt in the wound.

In less than an hour, he strode through the great iron-sheathed wooden doors of a building on the campus of the Immortal University. The eyes of the eerie stone gargoyles who guarded the entrance followed him as he entered the cool halls of the Praesidium, named over a thousand years ago when Latin was still the language of education.

Fucking Latin. Fucking Romans.

He dragged a hand through his hair. The short drive to the outskirts of Edinburgh where the university was located hadn’t fully banished his dreams.

His footsteps were soundless on the marble floor of the wide, familiar hallway. It was a habit he’d never broken, though there was no need for stealth here. Terrible, unforgivable things happened when you let your guard down. But this was the safest place for a Mythean in Edinburgh since it was hidden from the prying eyes of mortals, who shouldn’t know of the existence of the supernatural beings who walked among them.

He pushed open the old oak door at the end of the hall and entered his friend’s office, a book-filled room lit by a small fire that smelled of autumn. Warren looked up from his cluttered desk and leaned back in his chair.

“Cadan, thanks for coming in so early.”

“No’ a problem,” Cadan said. He sank into an old leather chair across from Warren’s desk. “Who’s it this time?”

As one of the few Mythean Guardians in the world, it had been Cadan’s responsibility for nearly two millennia to protect those mortal or supernatural beings deemed important to the fate of humanity.

Warren glanced down at a rumpled piece of paper. “Looks like a Celtic warrior.”

Interesting—a man who’d been alive for as long as he. “Why’s the bloke need protecting if he’s made it this long? Destiny just revealed to him?”

And why haven’t I met him before? Though he didn’t get out much, Cadan knew, or knew of, nearly all the Mytheans in Great Britain. The ones who hadn’t gone rogue, at least.

“Well, that’s where it gets a little strange. The warrior hasn’t been alive. The soul has just been reborn.”

“A reincarnate? They’re damn rare. Doona think I’ve ever actually met one.”

“It doesn’t happen very often,” Warren said, picking up the Slinky on his desk and fiddling with it.

Why wouldn’t Warren meet his eyes? The claws of nerves crawled up Cadan’s back, little pinpricks sinking into his skin that wouldn’t shake loose. It took him off guard; he hadn’t felt that in centuries.

“I’ve spoken briefly to Aerten about it.” Warren finally glanced at him, but looked away almost immediately.


“What does the goddess of fate have to say about it?” He hadn’t seen her in ages. Hell, he’d only seen her a few times since she’d offered him a spot in the Praesidium. Whether he should thank her or curse her was something he hadn’t figured out yet.

“That only select souls are reborn. Those who were so strong in life that their souls never left this plane.” Warren set the Slinky down. “Their souls wait in stasis until humanity needs them. At that point, they’re brought back to perform a task that only they can accomplish.”

“So, I’m going to be protecting a child who will save the world?” A cold sweat broke out on his skin. Killing and guarding adults—no’ a problem. But dealing with children was something he was entirely unqualified for after being alone for two thousand years. Fuck, what a mess.

“No’ exactly,” Warren hedged. “Apparently with Druidic reincarnation, the soul is reborn in another person, but the person doesn’t become conscious of their previous life until they reach the approximate age at which they died originally.”

“Shite, they develop split personalities?”

“Ah, no’ exactly.” He paused, seemingly unaware that he’d grabbed the Slinky again and was juggling it faster and faster. “They doona survive that long. Once they remember who they are and complete their fated task, they die.”

“Die? That’s some shite luck.”

“Aye. The tragedy that took the soul too early the first time follows it. History is destined to repeat itself, after all. You need to protect the reincarnate until the fated task is complete, longer if you can.”

That would be a challenge, but then, he liked a challenge. “Do we know what this guy’s task will be, once he regains his memory? And where is he, anyway?”

“Doona know the task, but Aerten has prophesied that a catalyzing event will spur the memory of the reincarnate and lead them to Arthur’s Seat, likely today or tomorrow. That’s where you’ll meet.” Warren hesitated before continuing, finally meeting Cadan’s eyes. “And the warrior isn’t a man.”

Cadan’s breath stuck in his throat and a chill broke out on his skin. Nay, it couldn’t be. “Who is it, Warren?”

“It’s Boudica.”


Braving Fate
The Mythean Arcana
Book 1
Linsey Hall
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Bonnie Doon Press
ISBN: 978-1-942085-00-3
Number of pages: 273
Word Count: 80K
Cover Artist: Damonza
Book Description: 
As chaos looms, a warrior queen is reborn
Bookish academic Diana Laughton has been having terrible dreams. Dreams of battle, dreams of blood… dreams so vivid she’s living them day and night. When demons invade her quiet life, she wonders if she’s going mad. Or if perhaps she’s remembering a past life she had no idea existed…
In the midst of betrayal, he must protect her
Mythean Guardian Cadan Trinovante loved and betrayed Britain’s warrior queen Boudica two millennia ago. Now he’s tasked with protecting mortals whose lives affect the fate of humanity. His latest assignment is Boudica herself, reincarnated as a woman with no idea of her past or her fated future. Though in the irresistible form of Diana Laughton, it’s possible Cadan has once again met his match…
To succumb to seduction could prove fatal
Thrown together in a shadowy world that exists alongside our own, Diana and Cadan must fight not only the demonic forces that want Diana dead, but a past and a passion that have lasted centuries. Their desire could be deadly. But as evil from the underworld unites against them, their only hope could be each other.


Available at Amazon

Book 2 Soulceress


Book 3 Rogue Soul


Also Available on Amazon
About the Author:
Linsey Hall is the author of the Mythean Arcana, a sexy paranormal romance series. Before becoming a romance novelist, Linsey was an underwater archaeologist who studied shipwrecks in all kinds of water, from the tropics to muddy rivers (and she has a distinct preference for one over the other). Her books draw upon her love of history, travel, and the paranormal elements that she can’t help but include.
Several of her books may or may not feature her cats.

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The Hoodoo Detective by Kirsten Weiss

Excerpt Chapter 1

“What we need is more conflict.” Sam frowned, his sandy hair stirring in the breeze from

a nearby fan.

Riga Hayworth caught a waiter’s eye, pointed to her empty cocktail glass, and raised a


Nodding, the waiter bustled off, abandoning her to the crew of the reality TV show.

Tourists and black-aproned wait staff swirled about their courtyard table, in that New Orleans

mix of soupy heat and raw excitement.

But all Riga felt was irritation. Irritation that so far the Haunted New Orleans episode of

Supernatural Encounters had been a bust. Irritation that she’d felt obliged to do the reality show.

Irritation that she didn’t really need the money from the series, her husband had plenty for them

both. And that left her awkwardly trying to demonstrate some relevance, keeping her hand in

as an income earner. And why did she feel the need to prove herself in their marriage? At the

thought of her husband, her annoyance vanished, replaced by longing. What was Donovan doing


“We need tension,” her field producer went on. “It doesn’t have to be a fight per se.

Tension can mean two people who want different things.” He was dressed for an L.L. Bean

safari, but judging from his darkening freckles and ruddy face, he wasn’t any cooler than the rest

of them.

Summer in New Orleans. Why?

Riga glanced across the table at her slim, tousle-haired niece, Pen. One bare foot was

propped on the edge of her chair, straining the knees of her cargo pants. Today’s t-shirt read:

KEEP CALM AND GET OFF MY LAWN, an image of a shotgun bracketing top and bottom.

At least with Pen on the Supernatural Encounters camera team, they had a chance for

some quality time. The opportunity to do magical research was an added bonus. One of their

interviewees, a local hoodoo queen, had joined them for lunch, and Riga had been picking her

brain about gris-gris charms.

Riga angled her head back, meditating on a puffy white cloud. If Donovan had been able

to get away from his casino in Macau, New Orleans would have been different. Her lips parted.


She pulled her auburn hair off the back of her neck, enjoying the play of the fan on her

damp skin. Discreetly, she unstuck her white silk tank from her back, leaned forward in the

wrought iron chair.

“Story is conflict,” Sam, rattled on.

Pen fiddled with a video camera. Her chair was slightly back from the table, angled

toward her boyfriend and fellow camera tech John Wolfe. Her other foot rested, hidden, in

Wolfe’s lap, being massaged.

Angus, their sound man, turned a deeper shade of pink and looked away from the couple.

“I mean, you’re gorgeous,” Sam continued. “A Rita Hayworth clone whose name is

actually Riga Hayworth. The heart-shaped face, the hair. Your eyes are more of a browny-purple,

which is stunning, but the point is…”

Ignoring the producer, Riga narrowed her gaze at Wolfe, still massaging her niece’s bare

foot. With his long sideburns and wavy, dark hair, his looks fit his name. Seven years older than

Pen, he was a grown man, challenging, virile, sexy. And though Riga liked him, his relationship

with her niece made her uneasy. Pen wasn’t even old enough to drink yet.

Catching her eye, his face paled, and he laid his broad hands on the table. Riga was

unsure what her role of chaperone entailed and had decided to err on the side of militancy.

“You’re ignoring me again,” the field producer said.

Riga looked up, studying the spot between his pale blue eyes. “I’m not ignoring you,” she

lied. “Just waiting for you to elaborate.”

“As am I, chère.” Beside her, Hannah the Hoodoo Queen propped her head in her hands

and fluttered her lashes. Tall, with the sculpted cheekbones of a supermodel and the muscular

frame of a pro tennis player, Hannah’s dark skin shimmered in the heat. Dreadlocks streamed

from beneath her gold-colored turban.

Sam waved his manicured hands in the air. “Conflict. Stories are built on conflict. Our

pilot show had it in spades—”

Riga’s mouth turned down. “In the pilot we crossed paths with a serial killer. Do you

really want that again?”

“No, no. Of course not,” he said. “Just… conflict.”

“We’ve got some great footage of Riga rolling her eyes and smirking.” Pen shook her

loose, chestnut-colored hair, smothering a smirk of her own.

“It’s a start,” Sam said. “But we need more.”

“How much more?” Riga asked.

“We need conflict between people.”

“It’s too hot to argue,” Riga said. “Whose bright idea was it to come to New Orleans in


He sighed, glancing at Hannah. “Can’t you two at least disagree a little? Magical

practitioner to magical practitioner?”

“Why would I disagree with Hannah on anything that has to do with hoodoo?” Riga

asked. “She’s the specialist, not me.”

“I like this girl,” Hannah said.

He put his hands on his hips. “Work with me here.”

“So you’re asking us to fake an argument,” Riga said. “For reality TV.”

“It’s television,” Sam said. “You should know by now there’s no such thing as reality


Hannah rose. “Sorry, Mr. Producer. I don’t do catfights. And now if y’all would excuse

me, I’ve got to meet a client in desperate need of a love potion.”

“Bye,” Riga said.

Hannah winked and sauntered through the restaurant, winding past the fountain in the

center of the courtyard. Pausing beside a table sheltered by ferns, she nodded and disappeared

through the garage-like entryway.

Sam folded his lanky arms across his chest. “Riga… We spent the night in one of

America’s most haunted houses, and you didn’t react.”

“It’s not that haunted.”

Wolfe’s hands were under the table again, and Pen smiled. Riga relaxed, slipped through

the in-between. Wolfe’s drink toppled, spilling ice and mint leaves and booze into his lap. He

leapt up, sputtering, dabbing at his jeans with a cloth napkin.

Pen’s feet retracted onto her chair. Peeling a wet leaf from her foot, she glared at her aunt.

Riga gave her a what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it grin. After a year of struggling, her

magic had had a sudden breakthrough.

Unfortunately, other parts of her magic were still wildly awry. But the possibilities both

excited and terrified her. Enemies in the magical world were like gunfighters, looking to make

names for themselves by knocking off tough opponents. The more adept her magic, the easier it

was to defend herself, the more people came after her. She fidgeted, itching to return to her hotel

room to study the thin file on the Old Man, the file she’d told Donovan she’d leave at home.

Wolfe tossed the soaked napkin on the table. An awkwardly positioned stain spread

over the front of his jeans. “I’ll be right back.” He headed for the bathrooms, passing the bar.

A youngish man in a Hawaiian shirt and baggy shorts half-fell off his barstool, but managed to

keep his tall, tropical drink upright. The drinking got started in New Orleans earlier than any

other city Riga had visited.

“Riga, this is important,” Sam said. “You need to react more. People need to see your

emotion to connect with you – whether that emotion is positive or negative. For example, what

are you feeling right now?”


“Great! And what do you do when you’re annoyed?”

Riga’s lips thinned. “As a mature adult, I express my annoyance in the appropriate time

and manner. If you expect me to pitch a fit like some reality TV star—”

“You are a reality TV star. Or you could be if we get this series off the ground. Look,

we’ve got three more days. Just… give me more reaction, okay?”

“Got it. More emotion. No problem.”

Glass splintered, and they turned toward the sound. Hawaiian shirt guy had navigated

off the barstool and knocked a waitress to the ground. Clumsily, he brushed an orange from her

knee. Her tray rolled along the moss-filled brickwork. A toddler in a highchair pointed at it,

laughing with delight. Clutching a fistful of napkins, the bartender hurried to the fallen waitress.

Riga’s brow furrowed. Stupid drunks, that was her drink seeping into the patio floor.

Waving a hand in apology at the waitress, Hawaiian Shirt staggered to the fountain,

crashed into a chair and stumbled into their table.

Angus stood quickly, and laid a chubby hand on the drunk’s chest. In spite of Hawaiian

Shirt’s six-inch advantage, the stranger stumbled back.

“Hey friend,” Angus said, his broad, freckled face serious, “the bar’s that way.”

“I’m not your friend. I’m a hit man. A hoodoo hit man.”

“Well, Mr. Hit Man, you need to move along.” Angus oriented him in the other direction.

The man nodded, turned, brushing past Riga. His lips pressed to her ear, his breath hot

and sweet on her neck. “And you’re worth a cool quarter mil.” He leaned into her, the gun hidden

beneath his shirt digging into her shoulder. Something dropped to her lap.

Pen’s face twisted with disgust.

“That’s enough, buddy.” Yanking him away from the table, Angus shoved him gently in

the opposite direction.

The hoodoo hit man lurched into the dark corridor that led to the bathrooms and the rear


Riga looked down at the scrap of paper folded in her lap. Hands beneath the table, she

opened it:

Neither of us is alone.

Follow me and only one of us gets hurt.

At a nearby table, a father lifted his toddler off the ground, blew into the little boy’s belly.

The child shrieked with laughter.

Riga swallowed. There were too many targets. The waitress, bringing her a fresh

Hurricane. A well-dressed couple, engrossed in their smart phones. Pen, smiling vacuously at

Wolfe and oblivious to the danger. Riga clenched her hands, a wave of dizziness surging through

her body.

Abruptly, she stood.

“Now that’s an emotion,” Sam said. “That’s what I want to see on your face. What have

we got? Anger? Anxiety? Stress?”

“Indigestion.” Riga followed the hit man.

Walking into the cool shadow of the wood-paneled corridor, she unclenched her fists, her

heart slamming in her chest. In magic, fear and stress worked against her. Riga fought to relax,

rolled her shoulders.

It didn’t help. Tension sputtered through her system.

A humming fluorescent light illuminated the narrow hallway in flickering sepia tones.

On her left, two bathroom doors, black and splashed with red paint. Further down, a cart stacked

with dirty dishes. A sliver of light gleamed at the end of the hall. The rear door stood ajar.

So he wanted her there, outside.

Which meant he was probably in one of the restrooms. Centering herself, she pulled in

energy from above and below – hot molten red from the earth, cool blue from the sky.

Riga shoved open the door to the ladies room, checked the stalls.


Riga sidled outside. She walked to the men’s room, her sandaled feet clicking lightly on

the tile floor. Flung the door open.

Wolfe, braced before a urinal, whipped his head around. “Hey!”

“Anyone in here with you?”

“What are you… No!”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Do you mind?”

“Sorry.” She ducked out.

So the hit man really was waiting for her in the alley, unless he could hide on the ceiling

like a bat. Glancing up, she blew out her breath. No vampires or hit men crawled across the

ceiling. Not that she really believed there would be.

Riga paced down the corridor, energy rippling between her fingers.

Heat drifted in from the cracked door. Licking her lips, she tried to ignore the fluttering

in her stomach and pressed her fingertips to the door. She extended her senses beyond it, a gentle

push on the auric bubble that surrounded her, forcing the bubble outward. She felt no one before

her, outside. Which meant…

Riga spun, panting, palms extended outward, fingers curled like claws.

The corridor was empty.

Sounds of normalcy – the clatter of dishes, laughter, light jazz music – flowed down the

corridor from the restaurant.

She stared at the alley door. What. The. Hell. Extending her senses again, Riga probed

more carefully. A flicker of life sparked on the edge of her awareness. But it was too small to be

the hit man. A cat? The gorge rose in her throat at a familiar pull, sickly sweet.

She pushed open the door. A wave of damp heat struck her, and the scent of copper and

rotting garbage. A narrow brick alley. Tumbled cardboard boxes. A garbage can, tipped on its

side. A hand, lying on the pavement, wet with…

Gripping the door, Riga took another step into the alley. She stared, breathless. The

hoodoo hit man lay on the ground, blood spreading from the gash in his neck in a ghastly smile.

Blood soaked his Hawaiian shirt. Blood puddled, trickled, spattered. She stumbled back, dizzy,

the warm door handle tethering her to reality, keeping her upright.

Something prickled at the edges of her consciousness, hot and cold and electric.

At the end of the alley, a tall figure wavered in the heat, its head strangely bulbous. It

stretched, extended, darkening, pulling light inside it.

“What’s going on?” Wolfe asked.

Riga jumped, gasping. She turned and looked into a camera lens. “Dammit, Wolfe!”

Riga glanced down the alley. The figure had vanished.

Wolfe smiled, one eye glued to the viewfinder. “I figured you were up to something

when you busted into the men’s room, so I went back for my camera.”

Riga couldn’t trust herself to speak. She longed to punch him, to wipe that infuriating grin

from his mouth.

“What…?” He turned the camera, panning down the alley. The camera dipped, swayed.


Digging into the pocket of her skorts for her cell phone, she called 9-1-1, hands shaking.

“At least the cops can’t say you did it,” he said. “I saw you go into the alley. I’ve even got

it on tape.”

Riga grunted. “Small favors.” Forcing down the fear and shock, her mind registered the

scene. The hit man had probably been attacked from behind. But the spatter would have been

hard for the killer to completely avoid, and she shuddered in spite of the furnace-like heat rising

from the macadam. It cooked the garbage, the blood, the body.

There was something horribly intimate about a knife attack. It was close, personal.

She’d rather face a gun.

The hit man’s shirt was ruched up, exposing his weapon, a Walther PPK. He’d never

gotten a chance to draw it.

The Hoodoo Detective
Riga Hayworth Paranormal Mysteries
Book 6
Kirsten Weiss
Genre: Urban fantasy/Paranormal mystery
Publisher: Misterio Press
Date of Publication:  October 31, 2014
ISBN: 978-0-9908864-1-9
Number of pages: 291
Word Count: 75,000
Cover Artist: Becky Scheel
Book Description:
Hoodoo, haunts, and horror.
Riga Hayworth just wants to wrap up her supernatural TV series exploring the magic of New Orleans. But when she stumbles across a corpse, she becomes a police consultant on a series of occult murders, murders that quickly become all too personal.
Book six in the Riga Hayworth series of paranormal mysteries.
About the Author:
Kirsten Weiss is the author of the Riga Hayworth paranormal mystery series: The Metaphysical Detective, The Alchemical Detective, The Shamanic Detective, The Infernal Detective, and The Elemental Detective. She’s also the author of a steampunk novel, Steam and Sensibility.
Kirsten worked overseas for nearly fourteen years, in the fringes of the former USSR and deep in the Afghan war zone.  Her experiences abroad not only gave her glimpses into the darker side of human nature, but also sparked an interest in the effects of mysticism and mythology, and how both are woven into our daily lives.
Now based in San Mateo, CA, she writes paranormal mysteries, blending her experiences and imagination to create a vivid world of magic and mayhem.
Kirsten has never met a dessert she didn’t like, and her guilty pleasures are watching Ghost Whisperer reruns and drinking good wine. 
You can connect with Kirsten through the social media sites below
Twitter: @RigaHayworth

Hellish Haven by L.K. Below

Acting as vanguard for the injured squad, Grant turned a corner and froze. A

hulky man carried a limp woman over his shoulder.

Grant automatically reached for his gun. Even if they weren’t yet across the

divide, he couldn’t stand idle as a man accosted a woman. Or worse. He aimed the

rifle at the criminal. “Set her down nice and easy.”

The man froze. He glanced over one meaty shoulder, his unshaven mouth set

in a scowl.

“Set her down, or I’ll shoot.”

A gold tooth flashed as the criminal grinned. He hurled the small woman at

Grant and dashed for the slim space between two buildings.

Grant moved without thinking. His gun clattered to the ground as he lunged

forward to catch the woman before she split her head open on the sidewalk. He

grunted as he caught her with her weight against his bruised forearms. He shot

a flickering glance her way. A riot of brown curls obscured her face. He set her

gently on the ground.

He dashed for the opening the shady figure had disappeared into, but saw no

sight of the man. The delinquent was long gone.

Ashland panted as he jogged to Grant’s side. “What happened?”

If Grant never heard that question again, it would be too soon. He shook his

head wearily. “Mugging, I guess.”

“They still have those here? I thought the Senator brought an end to

violence.” Ashland drew sarcastic quotes in the air as he spoke.

Grant didn’t bother to answer. He turned to the woman and where his squad

was now gathered. A horrified private glanced from the woman to Grant and back

again. “What do you want us to do with her…sir?”

If they left her, the Senator’s people might find her and stick her back in the

pen with the rest of their brainwashed sheep. Then again, that same goon might

double back to continue what he started.

He crossed to the woman and crouched to lift her into his arms. Her tangled

hair fell away from her face. He nearly dropped her. “Eva?”

Frantically, he pressed his ear to her chest. Her breathing was shallow, but

her heartbeat steady and strong. He clutched her tighter. He couldn’t believe it.

He’d found his wife.

Hellish Haven
L.K. Below
Genre: Dystopian Romance
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.,
Lyrical Press Imprint
Date of Publication: November 17, 2014

ISBN: 9781616506254


Number of pages: 72
Word Count: 33,718
Cover Artist: Renee Rocco
Book Description:
Two lives. Two realities. But only one truth.
The Senator reigns all-powerful in a manifested picture-perfect world. No worries. No wars. Only the unspoken threat of oblivion if you step a toe out of line. On the other side of the divide, the rebels face a debilitating war against an invulnerable robotic army. Every day is a struggle to earn back their freedoms. Freedom to feel. Freedom of speech. Freedom of thought.
Sergeant Grant Baker is pivotal to the war effort. But ever since his wife’s abduction, he’s been walking around in as much of a daze as the Senator’s brainwashed citizens. Then Eva reappears—without memories of him or their son. And he’s willing to do anything to keep her. Even if it means jeopardizing the war.
Eva doesn’t know which side to believe. Her predictable life as a single nurse, or the man claiming to be her husband. All she knows is she needs to discover how to end the war, quickly. If she doesn’t choose sides soon, she may lose the man—and the life—she never knew she wanted.
Available at Kensington Books  BN  Kobo Amazon iTunes


About the Author:
L.K. Below wrote Hellish Haven to bring her love of Orwell’s classic 1984 into the modern day…or near future, as it turns out.
She reads as obsessively as she writes and likes to Tweet about both at @LBelowtheauthor.

Heart of a Rocky by Kelsey Jordan

The Takeover

ANISE TURNED HER GAZE from Ronan to see her mate enter the room. Butterfly

stiches held the wound closed that had recently been pouring his precious life-blood

down his face. Though most of the blood had been cleaned from his face and he appeared

calm, she couldn’t help the protective instinct that rose in the pit of her stomach. She’d

gone through too much to allow harm to come to her son.

There were some Alesers who embraced the tendencies of their lion cousins by killing off

the newborn Alesers of other males who’d impregnated their Soul’s Mates. And like their

lioness cousins, Aleser females would enter their Rut, the Lycan fertile period, in order to

bear their mate’s child.

Anise had been witness to the screaming pain of a mother whose child had been taken

from her soon after birth and the silenced wails of a child too young to understand the

way of an Aleser married too closely to his inner beast. She’d never looked at her brother

the same way and she would never understand how his mate never killed him in his sleep

for the pain he’d willingly inflicted on her.

She wouldn’t delude herself with a lie. If she was forced to kill her mate, a part of her

would die, but the female she’d become if she sat by and let him kill her son wasn’t any

more appealing.

Heart of a Rocky
The Gardinian World Series
Book 2
Kelsey Jordan
Genre:  Paranormal Romance           
Publisher:  Booktrope Publishing
Date of Publication:  October 15, 2014
ISBN:  9781620154458
Number of pages:  210
Cover Artist:  Greg Simanson
Book Description: 
The Takeover
Tor Omar James, King of the North African pride, needs one woman if he has any hope of keeping his sanity – Anise, his Soul’s Mate. There’s only one problem: she’s pregnant by Derrick, Tor of the United States pride. Anise is caught between the love that every Lycan covets and the motherly devotion to the son she would sacrifice so much for. Can Omar survive the takeover of the US pride and convince Anise that he is more man than lion?
The Defender
Asim Tyson, the Defender of the Hafiz, is fighting off the insanity of his longing after losing his Soul’s Mate in battle. Unfortunately, his self-centered existence results in the gross neglect of his people when they need him the most. When Harmony appears in his life, he is forced to make a choice. Should he resist the lure of Harmony’s caustic melody or embrace his weakness in order to keep her safe?
Available at Amazon  BN  iTunes


About the Author: 
Kelsey Jordan is the author of The Gardinian World novels. Though she has a preference for all things paranormal and romantic, Kelsey admits she just writes what her muse demands of her. It’s less painful that way. When she isn’t enjoying the momentary benefits of playing god to the many characters that live in her head, she can usually be found curled up with a book, killing something in a video game, or spending time with her family. At some point in the day she is probably drinking more than her recommended dose of coffee, but don’t tell her that. She doesn’t care about recommended servings.
As a Texas native and self-described Air Force brat, Kelsey now lives in Georgia with her husband and their tutu-wearing minion.

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Tainted Blood by Karen Greco


“Jesus Christ, Frankie,” I muttered as the crowbar hit the worn marble floor with an

earsplitting clatter. So much for stealth. We should have just ripped through the doors with


We were breaking into the Superman Building. At 26 floors, it was the first skyscraper

ever built in downtown Providence. It lost its last tenant three years ago, and the gorgeous art

deco structure was now a towering reminder of better days, when manufacturing was booming

and people had money to burn. Years of attempts to “revitalize” the area had fallen flat. This left

plenty of room for the underground supernatural factions to sweep in and take over.

Frankie flashed a fangy grin at me. “What’s the fun in surprising them? It’s never a good

time unless it all goes off the rails.”

I shook my head and sighed. Ever since Frankie was charmed by a demon to walk in the

sunlight, he thought he was invincible. And, sure, being a vampire helped, but he could be staked

just as easy as any other vamp. His arrogance could get us both killed.

We walked swiftly through the lobby of the abandoned high rise, keeping tight to the

walls. In our all-black commando outfits, we blended easily into the dark hallway.

I stole a wistful look at the bank of elevators. The electricity was cut to the building.

We’d be taking the stairs. “Want to guess what floor they’re on?”

“I say top floor,” Frankie said with his hand already on the door to the stairwell.

It was going to be a long-ass climb. Up the 26 stories and possibly a few extra flights

to get to the tippy top of the building’s airship docking station. Seriously. The very top floor of

the building was built for docking blimp-like airships, so there was a pretty cool waiting area/

corporate suite turned Depression-era speakeasy at the apex. Too bad we were seeing it under

these circumstances.

About a week ago, a suspicious news report piqued our interest. A group of crazed

individuals were caught rampaging through downtown, tossing cars with superhuman strength,

punching through brick walls and causing general weird mayhem. A few witnesses described

them with blood around their mouths.

Max, our newest Blood Ops member serving as double agent in the FBI, was on record as

calling this a “bath salt related incident.” It was simple to blame this behavior on meth-heads on

a DIY bender. But we knew better. They were vampires, and they were out of control. Frankie

and I were dispatched to take care of them.

We climbed the stairs quickly, Frankie almost a floor ahead of me as we ascended. My

calves ached by the 17th floor, and I was dripping with sweat. The vamps would be able to smell

me by floor 22 if they were paying attention. Since I am half vampire, I can handle a fair amount

of physical exertion. But a swift walk up the stairs of a high-rise carrying an extra 35 pounds of

vampire-fighting gear was punishing. Pushing through the cramps in my legs, I silently vowed to

increase my workouts. It was hard enough to match Frankie’s speed and strength, but now that he

thought he was the Man of Steel, it was damn near impossible just to catch up to him.

We hit the top, and I finally had a chance to catch my breath. Frankie smirked at my all-
too-human physical stamina.

When my heart stopped racing, I double-fisted a pair of stakes and nodded at Frankie. He

kicked the door open and we launched into the penthouse. Moonlight poured through the grime-
coated glass ceiling.

We rushed in like hellfire, expecting to find ourselves in the middle of a melee. But the

room appeared empty.

“Top floor, Frankie? Really?” I grumbled, re-sheathing my stakes. “How much you want

to bet they’re on two?”

Frankie raised his arm and shushed me. I shot him a dirty look, but quickly softened it

when I heard the hushed groans too.

I motioned to Frankie to move towards the sounds, and we cautiously walked to the back

of the room. A shape was huddled in a dark corner with two bodies laid out on the floor in front

of it. I pulled a mag light out from one of my cargo pants pockets and trained it on the shadowy


A female vampire inched away from the light. Blood was smeared down her face and

neck, and it covered her chest. Two male vampires were on the floor, their fronts washed in red

as well. The walls were covered in sticky, black-red blood. The entire room was just dripping. It

looked like a blood bank exploded.

The vampires on the floor were truly dead, their pale faces cracked like antique porcelain

dolls. Their appendages were just starting to decompose, but their midsections were blown

out, like they swallowed a bomb and it exploded. The one still living, for lack of a better word,

looked close to meeting true death herself. The emaciated vampire half-sobbed, half-moaned as

she rocked back and forth.

Although they matched the descriptions of the vamps-gone-wild group, these couldn’t

be our marauders. They were simply too sick. They looked like junkies who overdosed. A few


“What do we do?” I had never seen anything like this before. I sure as hell hoped Frankie

would know how to handle this mess.

Frankie walked a wide semicircle around the vampires, his shoes making sucking noises

as he lifted them off the sticky, blood-soaked floor. He was worried, clearly on guard.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Kate,” she croaked out.

“Right, Kate,” Frankie’s voice was soothing. “How long have your friends been like


“Since yesterday.” Her hoarse voice was barely above a whisper. “We slept in the

stairwell but they came in here last night and just….” She motioned at the carnage around her and

let out a muffled sob.

“So you were able to walk back and forth to the stairwell? Can you do it now?” I asked.

She tried pulling herself up, but wasn’t strong enough to handle the weight of her tiny

body. So she crawled towards us, plowing over the disintegrating corpses.

“Stop, Kate! Stay right there!” Frankie visibly jumped back, his shoes making a sharp

thwack as they lifted off the gummy floor. “Nina, you need to call Max and Dr. O. Max needs to

get the electricity back on to this building. She’s going to need to go out the elevator, and Dr. O

needs to bring her down.”

“Why are we taking her out of the building?” I asked. Our mission was to kill them. Two

were dead, and the last one was nearly there. Mission almost complete.

“Because they are Beta-Vamps.” Frankie glanced at the vamp on the floor. “Right?”

She nodded, tears streaming down her face.

“No way,” I protested. “Betas don’t rampage like that.”

“They do if they are sick,” Frankie explained calmly, his eyes still on Kate.

Beta-Vamps were like the hippies of the vampire world. They were vampires that were

missing the predator genome sequence. They weren’t human killers. They survived on who

knows what. Maybe animal blood. Maybe blood stolen from hospitals. In some extreme cases,

they ate rust for the iron content. Betas were rare, and, because of their peace-loving nature,

extremely vulnerable to attack from all sorts of supernatural factions.

“So why don’t we just carry her down?” I said with a shrug, stepping towards Kate,

breaking my boots’ suction to the floor.

Frankie was in front of me before I could take another step. My stomach rolled as Frankie

dropped his guard and a wave of his panic washed over me.

A few months ago, Frankie had to bind me to him to save my life. For the most

part, we’re dealing with it just fine. But if he’s in emo overdrive and forgets to close off our

connection, I get hit with whatever he’s feeling. It also works the same in the other direction.

“Don’t go near her. She’s been infected.”

“Infected? With what? Beta-Vamps aren’t vulnerable to infections.”

“With…” Frankie stopped. He looked shattered. “My God, I haven’t seen this since 1877.”

“What is it?” I pushed.

“Opium poisoning.”

“Did you just say opium?”

“Blood-born opium poison. If it gets into our bodies, we die.” Frankie was visibly

nervous, moving in a jittery semicircle around the woman. “We can’t go near her.”

“Oh. Shit. Does Dr. O know what to do?” I shrunk back. Opium. Who knew? Apparently

Frankie. That explained why vampires were always told not to get their fix from heavy drug


“I’m not sure. That’s why you need to call him. And he’ll need Max since we really

shouldn’t stay here. Now please. She doesn’t have much time.”

Right. I pulled out my phone. I’d start with Max. He’d need time to power up the building


He answered on the sixth ring.

He sounded groggy. “What’s up?”

“Sorry to wake you but we’re at the Superman Building with two seriously dead vamps

and one who is really sick. We need to turn on the power to get her out of here with the elevator.

Can you get this building back on the grid?”

“Christ, can’t one of you just carry her down the stairs?” His voice was muffled, like he

was pressing his face into his pillow.

“Frankie and I can’t touch her. She has some sort of infection, something that only

vampires can contract. And it kills them.”

“Really?” He jolted awake. I heard the bed sheets rustle as he got up.

“I don’t know, really. I’ve never heard of this before. But I know Frankie is freaking out,

and said we need to get her out of here. And he only freaks out if there’s a damn good reason.”

“You know I worked for the FBI all day, right?” he groused. I heard a closet door slam.

“Seriously? Are you going to do this right now?”

“You both were going up there to stake them anyway. So they die of something else. It’s

the same outcome. Why save her?”

“Because, she’s not a predator vampire.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Look, I’ll explain later, but we are running out of time. I need to get Dr. O here, and you

need to get the electricity on at this place.”

“Jesus, you people are complicated. I’ll be there in 20.” He hung up before I could


Like Frankie, Max had made a deal with resident demon and Providence mayor Ami

Bertrand. As a result, Bertrand had turned Max into a Berserker, a supernatural warrior that went

extinct with the Vikings. Well, extinct up until Bertrand’s curse.

Since Max had been turned into a supernatural entity, but one that was supposed to be

extinct, he joined our team as a double agent with the FBI. Our team is Blood Ops, an elite

government agency that deals with rogue supernatural factions. Technically, we also don’t exist.

To humans, anyway. Our existence — hell, the very existence of anything supernatural — was

on a “need to know” basis, and even the president of the United States didn’t need to know. Only

a very select few Department of Defense members knew about Blood Ops. That’s plausible

deniability for you.

But damn, the Berserker in Max sure made him grumpy.

I hit the speed dial button for Dr. O. Dr. Lachlan O’Malley led our unit of Blood Ops.

Though he mostly resembled your favorite 60-something college professor, Dr. O was a Druid

priest, which made him pretty damn old. And, like the Druid priests before him, he knew

absolutely everything.

“Nina, what’s wrong?” Dr. O asked in his thick brogue. I could tell I woke him up.

“Sorry Doc, but we have a problem here. We have Beta-Vamps that ingested opium. Two

are dead — like for real, seriously dead. One is barely hanging on.”

“Opium? Are you sure?” Dr. O sounded a lot more awake suddenly.

“Frankie says he’s sure. Said he hasn’t seen this since 18-something or other.”

“Frankie would know. Do you have her quarantined?”

“Quarantined? Frankie said not to touch her. He didn’t say anything about a quarantine.”

This was weird.

“You are in the same room with her?”

“Where else would we be?” I asked, impatience getting the best of me.

“If any of their blood gets into your blood stream, or Frankie’s, that would be very bad.”

“Yeah, Frankie already explained that to me. We aren’t touching her.

“Nina, I am afraid it’s much more serious than that. Opium poisoning tends to make

infected vampires projectile vomit out blood before they die. Then their torso explodes.”

That sounded bad. And gross.

“When? When would that happen?” I gripped the phone tightly, eyeballing Kate. She

whimpered in the corner near the vampire bodies with her back against the wall.

“It could happen at any time. Lock her in wherever you are, and wait until I get there. Do

not wait in the room with her, neither you nor Frankie. Do you understand?” Dr. O’s tone was


“Yes, I got it. Okay, we are on the top floor. Max is on his way to power up the building

to get her out of here. Just get here fast.”

“I am on my way.”

The phone went dead. I hightailed it over to Frankie, who was staring helplessly at Kate.

“Frankie, we gotta get out of here.” I pulled gently on his arm.

“Please don’t leave me.” Kate’s voice was so weak, I could barely hear her whisper.

Frankie didn’t move. He just looked sadly at the sick Beta, his eyes filled with tears.

“Come on, Frankie.” I nudged him again. “We can’t be in here right now. Dr. O’s on his


He hesitated. “We can’t leave her like this.”

“We aren’t going to do her any good if we get sick, too,” I reasoned.

He ignored me. I changed tactics.

“Stop being a stubborn ass,” I raised my voice. He still ignored me.

Kate moaned and fell into a fetal position. She began to convulse. Frankie made a move

towards her, but I grabbed him. Standing in front of him, I took him by both shoulders and stared

into his eyes.

“We need to get out of here before she barfs blood all over us. Don’t make me go witchy

on you.”

It was an idle threat. Only a few weeks before, I first learned that I am half-witch as

well. My witch abilities were dormant for years — hidden by my vampire genetics — until an

unfortunate encounter with a spelled knife turned on the hocus-pocus. I was working with my

witch mentor, who’s also my aunt, on controlling my newfound abilities. Much to Auntie Babe’s

frustration, I was not taking to it like a fish to water. If I tried to unleash my mojo in here, poor

Kate could very well blow up, taking Frankie and me along with her.

Kate’s moaning was now punctuated by high-pitched cries of pain. Clearly in agony, she

writhed on the floor. Her hands formed into claws, and she scratched at the body of the seriously

dead vampire closest to her. His skin tore like dried papier-mâché as she drove her nails into his

corpse. As she tore at his flesh, blood bubbled out of her mouth.

“She not going to make it!” I shouted at Frankie, pushing on his lanky six-foot

frame. “And neither are we if we don’t get out of here!”

I shoved Frankie harder towards the door. He finally snapped out of his stupor and we

fled to across the room to the stairwell door. I pushed on it, but it didn’t budge. Shaking the

handle, I pressed all my weight against it. Nothing. I moved aside and Frankie levered a kick at

the door. He succeeded in denting the door, jamming it even harder into the frame.

“Crap, Frankie! There’s no time!” I yelled over Kate’s ear-piercing shrieks.

Frankie looked wildly around. “Can we break the windows?”

Everything was soaked in blood. Blood we couldn’t touch. Crap. I had no choice.

“Hold on!” I closed my eyes tightly and I tried to clear my thoughts, but between Kate’s

shrieks and Frankie’s desperation creeping into my head, not to mention my own stress, my mind

was too unfocused to do this right. Oh well. Close enough was going to have to do.

I felt the air shift around me, and I latched onto this small breeze, willing it to grow to

hurricane strength. My hair loosed from its ponytail and slapped across my face. The swelling

wind pushed me forward. Grabbing Frankie’s hand for stability, I cried out the few words of

Latin I could come up with that approximated “break the damn glass.” The five plate glass

windows on the south side of the room shook. I repeated the words louder, putting more force

behind them. The wind turned hurricane strength, pushing us across the room, dangerously

closer to Kate. Finally, the windows shattered one by one, shards of glass falling 26 stories to the


I opened my eyes. Kate was about to explode. Blood frothed around her lips, her shrieks

now muffled as the blood worked its way up her throat.

Hands still clutched, Frankie and I nodded at each other, knowing exactly what we had to

do. Together, we ran straight for the windows, and leapt feet first into the star-filled sky.

Frankie’s hand slipped out of mine as we both twisted our bodies and made a grasp for

the ledge. I caught it, just barely, almost wrenching my shoulder out of its socket on the impact.

Frankie similarly stopped short next me. We dangled 26 stories over downtown Providence.

Tainted Blood

Hell’s Belle Series
Book 2
Karen Greco
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Date of Publication: Oct. 20, 2014
ISBN: ISBN-13:978-1500844448
Number of pages: 582
Word Count: 95,704
Cover Artist: Robin Ludwig Design Inc.
Book Description:
After surviving a vampire assassin (not to mention an awkward affair with a hot FBI agent that ended worse than she could have imagined), witch/vampire hybrid Nina Martinez is reunited with the full Blood Ops team in Providence, Rhode Island. Her Aunt Babe is tutoring her in all things witchcraft, and her vampire partner Frankie is enjoying the benefits of daywalking, courtesy of a demon spell.
When a segment of the Rhode Island vampire population is marked for death by a tainted blood supply, Nina and her team race to find Patient Zero before the local vampire population is wiped out. But when a demon infestation threatens to take control of the city, Nina must join forces with newly elected mayor—and closet demon— Ami Bertrand before the city falls into ruin.
Filled with fast-paced, edge-of-your-seat action, Nina and her group of supernatural misfits battle a surprising new enemy that threatens their very existence.
No wonder she still can’t get a date.

From best-selling author Karen Greco, Tainted Blood is the second book in the critically acclaimed Hell’s Belle urban fantasy series.

Available at Amazon

Download this Hell’s Belle Prequel for Free at Smashwords



Hell’s Belle Prequel
Book Description:
Frankie and Nina head to New York
City for an early Blood Ops mission.
Guess what they fish out of the
Gowanus Canal?


Free at Smashwords and BN
About the Author:
Karen Greco has spent close to twenty years in New York City, working in publicity and marketing for the entertainment industry. Originally from Rhode Island (she loves hot wieners from New York System, but can’t stand coffee milk), she studied playwriting in college (and won an award or two).
After not writing plays for a long time, a life-long obsession with exorcists and Dracula drew her to urban fantasy, where she can decapitate characters with impunity.
Her first novel, Hell’s Belle, was released in 2013. Tainted Blood is the second book in the best-selling Hell’s Belle urban fantasy series.


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Psychopomp by Lana Harvey

Caim’s ship hadn’t changed much, except for the addition of a few dozen hell spawn scaling the masts and railings of the black boat. The main deck was an overflowing mass of leathery flesh and barbed tails. A herd of satyrs paraded around the quarterdeck, puffing into wooden panpipes, while sirens and succubi danced to the haunting tune, spinning frenzied circles around splintered mast poles. The wind ripped at their hair and grazed their naked bodies, leaving chapped patches along their thighs and breasts.

Caim lounged along the edge of the stern deck. His pale skin looked sickly and transparent. Despite the heat and the abundant nudity, he wore a thick, dark robe. His black wings were oily, almost sparkling in the broad daylight. Where his chin and jawline ended, the flesh peeled away, leaving the length of his neck raw and tarry. The sight of him made me cringe. I couldn’t imagine what it did to Jenni.

Caim reached out to fondle a siren as she spun by, clawing at her flesh with his blackened fingertips and leaving deep cuts that quickly welled with purple blood. He cackled, flashing sharp teeth and black gums. The siren hardly spared him a gasp before falling under the spell of satyr pipes once again. She swayed and rubbed against a succubus, smearing the forgotten blood until they were both coated. A leathery winged demon dipped down to steal a taste with his forked tongue.

Gabriel’s grip under my arms tightened. “This is a terrible idea.” He grunted under the weight of me and my axe. The paint on his wings probably wasn’t helping either. One slid up my arm and I hissed from the roughness of it.

“I agree, but it’s a little late to turn back now.” My heart accelerated in my chest as I scanned the ship, desperately searching for an opening. It was looking more and more like a crash landing would be our only option.

A few seconds later, Maalik rounded the stern with Jenni in tow. It had been a smart move putting me with Gabriel. Maalik would have never dropped me on Caim’s ship, and the plan would have been shot all to hell. He glanced across the chaos to find Gabriel and me, and I could tell that I was still getting top billing on his worry list. I could live with that today I decided, taking in the scene unfolding beneath us.

Gabriel sucked in a tight breath. “Show time.” Then he dropped me on a pile of napping hellcats on the forecastle deck.



Lana Harvey, Reapers Inc.
Book Four
Angela Roquet
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Date of Publication: October 14, 2014
ISBN-13: 978-1502721488
ISBN-10: 1502721481
Number of pages: 300
Word Count: 63,000
Cover Artist: Angela Roquet
Book Description:
In war, everyone loses…
Reaper Lana Harvey is finding out the hard way. When Grim’s new second in command, Jenni Fang, recruits her for a special mission, the biggest victory over the rebels is tainted by a crushing and immediate reprisal. The rebels have a new general working in the shadows of Limbo City, luring gods, reapers, demons, and souls to the dark side.
The Afterlife Council’s orders to locate the new rebel base are overshadowed by a desperate and mysterious plea from Grim to find the  abducted Greek god of sleep, Hypnos. Where Lana and Jenni find one, they hope to find the other. But some discoveries have a way of bringing one to their knees.


Available at Amazon   BN   Smashwords
About the Author:
Urban fantasy author Angela Roquet is a great big weirdo. She collects Danger Girl comic books, owls, skulls, and random craft supplies. Her obsessions include the Wizard of Oz, over-sweetened coffee, and all things Joss Whedon. She’s a fan of renewable energy, marriage equality, and religious tolerance. As long as whatever you’re doing isn’t hurting anyone, she’s a fan of you, too.
Angela lives in Sedalia, Missouri with her husband and son. When she’s not swearing at the keyboard, she enjoys painting, goofing off with her family and friends, and reading books that raise eyebrows. GRAVEYARD SHIFT, the first novel in Angela’s Lana Harvey, Reapers Inc. series, is now available for FREE on Kindle, Nook, & Smashwords.
You can find Angela online at
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