Release Day Blitz Dark Embrace by Elle Boon

 

Dark
Embrace

The
Dark Legacy Series
Book
1
Elle
Boon
Genre: Paranormal Romance, Urban
Fantasy, Fantasy
Publisher: Elle Boon
Date of Publication: February
8th, 2018
ISBN: 978-1-64204-509-3
Number of pages: 185
Word Count: 70K
Cover Artist: Valerie of Tibbs
Design
Tagline: A DARK LEGACY where only
the strong survive and those who are Goddess touched can complete the warriors
who fight to protect the world from the creatures that go bump in the night.
Book Description:
Jennaveve, the Fey chosen by the
Goddess to be the queen of her people for the past few millennium, is tired and
wishes for a break, but hadn’t counted on being reduced to almost mortal thanks
to a dark stranger. They say you should be careful what you wish for. The last
time she’d taken a break, her Fey had left their realm, resulting in shifters
on Earth known as the Mystic and Iron Wolves and even more she was still
searching for.
Damien and Lucas Cordell knew
they’d share a Hearts Love when the time came. As the twin sons of the Vampire
King who’d mated a shifter, they were the first of their kind. When they’d
thought their mate was finally within their reach and was a shifter like their
mother only to realize she wasn’t theirs, they’d almost lost their lives to the
alpha of the Iron Wolves, Kellen Styles. Instead, the error led them to the
being that was…the Fey Queen Jennaveve. Only she was even more elusive than the
wind.
Time and patience was something
Damien and Lucas had in spades, until the female they’d already laid claim to,
even if she hadn’t accepted them yet, was taken by an enemy. Saving Jenna
became their one and only focus. As time and realms slip between them, their
fear for her had them forgetting about patience and made claiming Jenna as
their Hearts Love, hoping she accepted their Dark Embrace.
Will the Cordell Twins be able to
rescue Jenna from the evil who has taken her?
Will Jenna get her powers back?
Who is the dark presence and how will they defeat a being who is strong enough
to bring the Fey Queen down to her knees?
Excerpt
Dark Embrace
“Hello again,
Fey. You’re looking slightly ill. Are my…family not treating you well?” His
eyes flashed from obsidian to red. Where her men had gorgeous eyes that she
wanted to get lost in, this mans were cold and lifeless.
His words
finally registered. “Your family?”
He raked his
claws together, making them clack in a way Jenna was sure he did to scare his
victims. Newsflash asshole, I’ve faced bigger, badder, uglier, and hopefully
deadlier foes, she thought.
“I’d love for us
to stay here and chat, but I fear the big guy is waking, and well, I’m not in
the mood for a reunion just yet. By the way. Sorry, my pet. I don’t usually use
females as pawns, but in this instance, it’s a must.” He flew across the room,
eliminating the space separating them.
Jenna fell back
against the bed, nearly falling on her ass. His quick reflexes kept her
upright. “What the hell are you talking about?” She pressed her hand to his
chest, trying to put space between them.
He shook his
head. “You’ll find out in due time, my pet. Now, we must go before
father-what-a-waste awakens.”
She knew the
telltale signs of magic and could feel it as the man in front of her began to
manipulate the fabrics of time and space. “Who are you?”
He flashed her a
smile, white teeth with two canines much longer than the others prevalent. “My
name is Khan, son of Zahidda. Bastard son of Damikan at your service.”
The door flew
open, giving her hope she’d be saved. The sight of Damien and Lucas had her
shoving harder against the rock-hard chest. “Let me go, asshole. I’m not your
pawn.” It was like trying to move a mountain if you were a mere human. Goddess,
she hated being so weak.
“Jenna, flash
away,” Damien growled.
“Ah, but your
female can’t. It seems I’m her cure, little brothers,” Khan taunted.
Lucas stepped
forward. “Who are you and what do you want?”
Khan tilted his
head to the side. “You have nothing I want. Tell your father I’ll be in touch.
Oh, here,” he tossed a necklace onto the bed. “He’ll know who I am with that.
If not, then you’re little plaything will become mine…until I tire of her.”
Blackness
swirled around Jenna as she heard both Lucas and Damien roar her name. A sick
feeling hit her square in the gut, one she knew all too well. Khan was playing
a game with the Cordell’s. One only he knew the rules to, and he had zero
compassion for anyone getting in his way unless he could use them for his own
gain. Jenna just happened to be exactly what he needed in order to hit back at
the man he felt deserved it. Shit, she so could use her Fey powers, or even her
bestie Kellen right about now. Or even better, if she’d not have been so
stubborn and mated with Lucas and Damien instead of waiting, then none of this
would have happened. “Well, what if’s do nothing but make big girls cry over
spilled milk,” she muttered to herself.
“What?” Khan
asked as he opened the portal allowing light to filter in.
She blinked a
few times. “Huh?”
“You mumbled
something about girls crying and spilled milk.” He carried her over to a couch
and set her down. His gentle touch and actions at war with his words to Damien
and Lucas.
The light airy
room reminded Jenna of a lake cabin, one that families would go to on vacation.
“Oh, um, nothing. I talk to myself sometimes.”
Khan shrugged
his shoulders. “Make yourself comfy, you’ll be here for a spell or two.” He
winked.
A growl rumbled
in her throat. “Hahaha, very funny.”
He was next to
her in a blink. “No, I’m not funny at all. What I am is deadly. You will do
best to remember that.” He raised his nails, the longer lengths looking ominous
now, reminding her of the night he’d cut her cheek.
“You did
something to me when you sliced my cheek open.” If he was going to kill her,
she’d at least know the hows and whys.

About
the Author:

Elle Boon lives in Middle-Merica
as she likes to say…with her husband, two kids, and a black lab who is more
like a small pony. She’d never planned to be a writer, but when life threw her
a curve, she swerved with it, since she’s athletically challenged. She’s known
for saying “Bless Your Heart” and dropping lots of F-bombs, but she loves where
this new journey has taken her.
She writes what she loves to
read, and that is romance, whether it’s erotic, Navy SEALs, or paranormal, as
long as there is a happily ever after. Her biggest hope is that after readers
have read one of her stories, they fall in love with her characters as much as
she did. She loves creating new worlds, and has more stories just waiting to be
written. Elle believes in happily ever afters, and can guarantee you will
always get one with her stories.

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Drinking the Knock Water: A New Age Pilgrimage by Emily Kemme

 

Drinking the Knock Water: A New Age Pilgrimage
Emily Kemme
Genre: Chick Lit
Publisher: Arrowhead Publishing
Date of Publication: January 27, 2017
ISBN: 0983740127
978-0983740124
ASIN: B01MTE7QGJ
Number of pages: 288
Word Count: 107,532
Cover Artist: Mia Kemme
Tagline: “We all live with ghosts. . . Some are those of people who’ve never been born.”
Book Description:
“We all live with ghosts. . . Some are those of people who’ve never been born.”
So begins Drinking the Knock Water: A New Age Pilgrimage, the second novel by award-winning Greeley, Colorado author Emily Kemme.
Loosely based on Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, the novel takes on life itself as a pilgrimage. One of life’s biggest struggles is fitting in with the rest of the human race, and an aspect of that is having children. It’s not meant for everyone and yet, true to Darwinian forces, it’s almost expected. Giving birth and then raising a child to maturity is one of the bravest tasks we take on. 
On what was supposed to be a day to celebrate, another cruel outburst from Holly Thomas’ sister-in-law begins a spiral of events that would leave Holly questioning every choice she’d ever made and every belief she held as truth.
Had she done the right thing by her unborn child? Had she given enough, or too much, freedom of choice to her son? Did she truly, deeply know her husband and clinic partner, Roger? And what right had she to counsel infertile couples after her own pregnancies?
With the Fertility Tour only weeks away, a group of unlikely and disparate pilgrims look to her for guidance. But Holly’s life has unraveled in ways she could not have imagined, including a restraining order against her. Will she be able to find her footing and make peace with her choices and herself? Will visiting the religious and sacred feminine sites in England help her regain control or only tear her further apart?
Reviews
“Today exists for you to let your mind wander, let it free, all week long. This is the time for reflection and evaluation.”
Deeply traumatized after her daughter, Arella, is born dead, fertility counselor Holly Thomas struggles to achieve inner peace. Roger—Holly’s supportive husband and a prominent fertility doctor—accepts her grief-induced eccentricities, but his intolerant Christian family resents her and her Jewish roots. When Edward, Roger’s brother, openly belittles the Bar Mitzvah of Daniel, Holly’s son, tensions escalate, and her whole world threatens to fall apart. To overcome heartbreak and reflect on self-discovery and relationships, Holly and Roger take a group of patients from their clinic on a fertility tour. This tour becomes a spiritual pilgrimage for unrealized truths.
Kemme elegantly examines the complicated aspects of life and relationships. Using Holly’s experiences with a failed pregnancy, her in-laws, and Roger, Kemme focuses on how pain can shape and enlighten us. That religious intolerance can inflict significant emotional damage is depicted through Roger’s family members who weaponize words to hurt Holly. This, along with Holly’s emotional fragility, causes strain in her marriage. However, Roger’s unwavering love helps Holly stay somewhat balanced, letting her emotionally heal many patients who cannot conceive. Some of these couples include Leah and Rachel, the Rhanjhas, the Chandlers, Burbages, and Jane Brown and her mother. As Holly and Roger take their chosen couples on a fertility tour to England, various colliding elements within the patients’ lives emerge, thereby projecting how relationships bless or burden us. Pain becomes a recurrent theme in the novel, neutralized by the healing touch of water as a metaphor. Arella’s grave is near water, and the visit to the sacred sites of England serves as ritual cleansing for the characters. Artistically nuanced language and the sincere, soothing tone bring out the true beauty of this literary novel. This is an introspective, gentle novel that illuminates and rejuvenates in the same breath.
RECOMMENDED by The US Review of Books
Fertility doctors confront the lingering effects of personal and cultural emotional trauma. Holly and Roger Thomas have a stable marriage, fulfilling careers, and a son practicing for his bar mitzvah. Holly insists on throwing a birthday party each year complete with gifts for their stillborn daughter, but Roger doesn’t complain. His Catholic brother and sister-in-law, however, find fault with Holly, primarily because she’s Jewish. Her religion haunts her, almost as much as the death of her daughter. . .
. . . the author often beautifully depicts Holly s self-doubt as she explores different aspects of overcoming trauma. . . [in a] positive tale of moving forward through unexpected circumstances.
— Kirkus Reviews
Dr. Roger and Holly Thomas run a successful fertility clinic in New York City. Roger tends to the patients’ physical needs while Holly ministers to their emotional and psychological ones. The couple cherish the routines of their partnership and their happy marriage as they struggle with the pain of a lost child. Holly continues to throw their daughter birthday parties long after the child’s been buried. This painful ritual causes her in-laws to question her sanity and is a source of annual familial strife.
Then the Thomas’s son, Daniel, decides to complete his Bar Mitzvah. While Holly was born Jewish and Roger was born Catholic, neither parent practices his or her childhood religion. They’ve exposed Daniel to both religions for the sake of their families, but neither of them expected him to take it this far. Roger’s devoutly Catholic family cannot accept Daniel’s sincerity, and harsh words are said at his birthday party. Holly and Roger’s resulting fight has surprising and unintended consequences.
All this turmoil takes its toll on the workings of the clinic. The Thomases have hosted something they call the Fertility Tour for over a decade. It’s an opportunity for their clients to connect to one another outside of their familiar surroundings. Holly conducts the tour; she chooses the participants, orchestrates ice-breakers, and mediates conflicts. Normally she’s a skillful operator, but she’s lost her confidence. This year’s tour is populated by an odd and ill-matched assortment of individuals. Needless to say, this tour does not run smoothly. Roger and Holly must find a way to reconnect with one another in order to salvage the retreat.
The Thomases deal with people at their most vulnerable. Fertility is closely tied to an individual’s identity, and both men and women find it difficult to process the inability to have a child. While Holly and Roger have never encountered problems with conceiving, they have suffered a loss and are sympathetic to thwarted expectations. This closeness to struggle and their ongoing religious turmoil provide the pair with a lot of philosophical ground to cover. Is religion necessary to cope with the vicissitudes of life? Is God responsible?
Drinking the Knock Water is at heart an exploration of the role religion plays in the life of an individual. Faith in a god can both connect a soul to others and sow discord. In the end, it’s up to the reader to decide if faith is essential or composed of empty rituals.
— Manhattan Book Review
Excerpt:
CHAPTER 1: Circumnavigating Sanity
          In a town famous
for its ghosts, it was easy to imagine there was one lurking behind every tree.
And while Holly knew most visitors to Sleepy Hollow expected movie-inspired
visions of the headless horseman, in truth the densely wooded surroundings
allowed a more peaceful somnolence. In spite of its thirty-mile proximity to
the most populated city in the country, what with New York’s electric hubbub of
restless, cosmopolitan energy, there was never a feeling of urgency in the
little hamlet, merely a sleepy torpor, a sensing that the world stopped in this
hollow of quiet dead.
            Whether
the town cultivated any sensational image was another question altogether.
Holly suspected it did not, at least not year round. Of course, there were the
Halloween weekends, prompting arrival of thrill seekers by the thousands, but
that was just theatrics. No real ghosts shared the stage.
            If
there was any spectral unrest, it existed only in the minds of the towns’
inhabitants.
            Even
by the light of early evening in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, where saturated gray
skies released rain to drip from the trees, dotted here and there with planted
shrubs and summer flowers in fresh bloom, there was a lovely serenity, enhanced
further by the rain’s sudden cease. Here, there was nothing to fear.
            Holly
entered the cemetery through scrolled iron gates wedged between gray quarried
stone, which made up the wall bordering the grounds. She jogged up Forest
Avenue, turned left on Transit, making her way up Hill Side, and then down onto
Cascade, where she left the well-marked gravel path. From there she strode
through wet grass crowded with lichened grave stones, some weatherworn and leaning
askew, others newly polished with crisp lettering, until she reached the pale
little stone marking the grave. At the baby’s feet, a short drop off past the
main road, the Pocantico River burbled as it shot over rocky masses. Holly’s
one request of Roger and the cemetery’s caretaker was that the site be near
water, the giver of life, bringer of tranquility. Knowing how nearly Holly
brinked insanity in those days, Roger swiftly supported her wishes; they were
lucky to find a small plot in a relatively unpopulated section.
            Holly
sat next to the grave, nestled the spray into the humped grass covering it, and
leaned her cheek against the smooth stone. It was simple and austere, with only
a slight scallop of embellishment at the top, befitting a little one who had
never breathed air. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply to catch her breath
from the run, collecting her thoughts. Above her head, squirrels batted sticks
together, hidden away in the leafy trees, a reminder of the unseen life they
shared.
            Marit
always managed to rattle her, either poking fun at Holly’s whims, or sometimes
with outright malice, which Holly knew all too well stemmed from their
differences in religious outlook. The fact that Arella’s birthday fell on St.
John’s Eve didn’t help. For someone as devotedly Catholic as her sister-in-law,
celebrating a baby’s life who had never been born, was sacrilege. The saint’s
day was meant to celebrate a birth, Marit insisted, and certainly had nothing
to do with a baby born dead.
            But
it wasn’t a topic Holly was willing to think about today, not on Arella’s
birthday. Instead, she catalogued her daughter’s gifts:  an enormous stuffed pony for her bed, and a
cellphone. She chuckled at that one, recalling Roger’s perplexity.
            “Why
do you have to get the baby a phone?” he’d asked her the week before when she
walked into the house, arms loaded with shopping bags. Holly had exclaimed that
Arella wasn’t a baby anymore, she was turning eleven, and every preteen needed
a cellphone.
            Roger
chewed his upper lip for a while, before asking, “Is this along the lines of
‘ET phone home?’”  He had laughed, and so
had she. Gifts for Arella were an annual practice in their household, and long
gone were the days where Roger made much of a fuss over it. Keeping Holly happy
was his primary goal in life, even if that meant some particularly nutsy
charges on their credit card every June. His wife’s frenzied activities
subsided within a week or so after the birthday celebration, allowing her to
settle back into reality, recharged and reaffirmed with the notion that she was
doing the right thing by Arella.
            She
felt warm pressure on her right shoulder, and opening her eyes saw that
Millie’s husband, Josiah, knelt at her side on one corduroyed knee, his gnarled
hand grasping her shoulder lightly, holding her steadfast. Holly looked up into
the old man’s deep blue eyes, shot through with red veins, but firm and gentle
in their gaze, and nodded. He stood up slowly and she extended a hand for him
to pull, which he did.
            “Almost
everybody’s there at the cottage,” he said. “Except Edward, but you knew that.”
They were both aware that there was no need to explain further; of all the
friends and relatives, Roger’s brother had never attended these parties,
whether he was in town or off somewhere in the world. For some reason, Josiah
enjoyed pointing out this fact to her, a reminder perhaps of which of the two
older men in her life she could count on more.
            Holly
stood immobile, gazing into the tangle of trees rambling up the hillside away
from the brook.
            He
looked at her closely. “We all live with ghosts.”
            The
motion of her head was barely noticeable. “Yes,” she agreed. “Some are those of
people who’ve never been born.”

 

            She
looked down at the grave. “I have to leave now, Arella. Your party is
starting.” She swept her index finger over the top of the stone, letting it
linger on the upward swooping scallop, and then turned to walk with Josiah back
up the hill.

 

About the Author:
As the award-winning author for her novels, Drinking the Knock Water: A New Age Pilgrimage and In Search of Sushi Tora, and on her lifestyle blog, “Feeding the Famished”, Emily Kemme tends to look at the world in all its rawness. She writes about human nature, and on her blog shares recipes and food for thought along with insights about daily life. She is a recipe creator but winces when labeled a foodie. She is the Food and Lifestyle Contributor for the Greeley Tribune’s Dining column and also writes features for the newspaper and its magazine, #Greality.
“I write about what I ate for lunch only if it’s meaningful,” Emily says. “Mostly, I’m just hungry.”
Emily also writes because her degrees in American and English History, followed by a law degree from the University of Colorado, left her searching for her voice. She also suffered from chronic insomnia.
“Writing helps clarify my mind, erasing clutter, and makes room for more impressions. My thoughts can seem random and disconnected, but once they flow onto paper, a coherency and purpose emerges, directing patterns into story. I sleep much better, too.”
As an author who lives in Greeley, Colorado, she celebrates people’s differences, noting that the biggest problem with being different is when it’s deemed a problem. Emily often identifies with the underdog, focusing on humanizing the outsider, showing there is not only one right way to be or to live. Through her writing she hopes her audience will be open to new ideas, the acceptance of others, and will recognize the universalities of human experience in a non-judgmental way as they meet her characters and follow their stories.
Her first novel, In Search of Sushi Tora, was awarded as Finalist for First Novel in the 2012 Next Generation Indie Book Awards and her second novel, Drinking the Knock Water, was awarded as a Finalist in Chick Lit in the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Awards and received two CIPA EVVY awards.  Emily is currently working on a children’s book series, Moro and The Cone of Shame, a collaborative project with her daughter-in-law, Mia. She is also writing her third novel, The Man With the Wonky Spleen, a story about human idiosyncrasies.
Professional Memberships: PEN America

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Farraway Mist by Tani Hanes

 

Farraway Mist
Tani Hanes
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Date of Publication: November 17, 2017
ISBN:1973331683
ASIN: B077LCFM6Z
Number of pages: 210
Word Count: 87,210
Tagline: Can she fall in love with a haunted man?
Book Description:
Scout Lawson is fleeing an unhappy past, and thinks she’s run as far as she can from Yale University when she lands a job restoring a library in Cornwall, England for reclusive rock star George Wilder, who dropped out of sight after the death of his beautiful wife the year before.
As soon as she arrives at his estate, Farraway Mist, however, strange things start to happen. As the couple’s feelings for each other grow, the events become more harrowing, until everything they hold dear is in peril.
Excerpt 2
It was a glorious
day for being outdoors. Scout was enchanted with her new clubs, and enchanting
as well. She exclaimed over how well balanced they were, and how well they
swung, their heft. And how shiny they were, and how pretty the color was.
George just smiled, pleased with how well received his gift was.
They played the
whole links, while the dogs bounced back and forth, rambling along the
different scents. In golf, at least, they were well-matched, and had a good
game, with Scout having the weaker but more accurate stroke.
The fog and mist
began to come up just as they reached the last few holes. “Maybe we should
stop,” George suggested, looking around.
“Oh, come
on, this is all private, right?” Scout coaxed. “No one else is
around, there’s no danger of anyone up ahead getting hit by a ball or
anything.” She looked at him imploringly. “We can be quick, can’t we?
It’s just that I haven’t played in so long.”
“Okay, but
let’s be very quick,” George stressed, once again enticed by the lovely
sight of her hips as they twisted when she swung her club. “You’ve seen
how rapidly the mist can come up.”
They played
through quickly, trying to see up ahead as the fog rose up the cliffs.
George tried to
explain the topography a little to help out, and Scout did okay, calling on her
memory from her previous walk along the links. They kept the dogs close to
avoid hitting one of them with an errant ball.
The fog finally
got thick enough to block out the sun, and Scout pulled on her sweater, which
had been tied around her slender waist.
“You
cold?” George asked. “We can head back if you like?” He stepped
close and rubbed her arm.
Scout shook her
head.
“This is
the last hole, right?” she asked. “Let’s finish.” George nodded
and stepped up to the tee.
They played
through, by which time their hair was wet from the mist and fog. They could
hear the waves, too, crashing into the rocks. They quickly shouldered their
clubs and began walking toward the house, which was shrouded in fog.
“Scout!
Slow down, please. Remember how slippery this bit here can be,” George
entreated.
Scout nodded and
slowed her steps. After a minute or two, she stopped and looked around.
“Where’s Jess?” she asked.
George, too,
looked. “Fuck it all, where’s she gone off to now?” he asked,
irritated beyond all measure. For no reason he could fathom, he was uneasy. He
wanted to get back to the house, he wanted to get Scout back to the house. The
longer they stayed outside, the more nervous he felt.
“Keep
going, Scout, carefully, though. I’ll call Jess and catch up in a mo,
okay?” he said.
Scout was going
to say she’d just wait with him, but she saw the look on his face and just
nodded, not wanting to worry him any more, and turned and kept walking. They
had to be pretty close to the house by now, anyway.
“Jess! Come
on, girl!” George called. Bandit, understanding that Jess’ absence was
gumming up the works, promptly went to look for her. George knew that he’d find
her and bring her back right away, and that she’d probably be contrite and
embarrassed.
Jess was nothing
if not polite.
He turned to see
how far ahead Scout was, and stopped dead in his tracks. Oh god.
There was
something on the trail next to her, some amorphous shape, darker than the
surrounding fog. It was hovering about eight inches off the ground, hulking
over Scout, who didn’t seem aware of its presence.
“Scout!”
Her name was torn from his mouth, a warning which she would never understand.
How could he convey what he needed from this distance with mere words? That she
needed to run, defend herself, be careful?
Scout turned
toward him, not understanding her danger, but hearing the terror in his voice.
As she turned, she slipped, dropping her clubs with a clatter. She grabbed for
the railing, which she knew she should’ve been holding all along.
She lost her
footing, reaching desperately for the iron fencing. She saw George drop his own
clubs, coming toward her at a dead run, Bandit appearing out of the fog behind
him like a wraith. There was no way he’d reach her in time.
The ground
beneath her feet began to crumble, and Scout knew that she was going to fall,
and probably die. It was at least a couple hundred feet down to the beach
below,
and it wasn’t a
soft, sandy beach, but rather a rocky, cove-like one, deep and beautiful for
taking photographs. The stairs were cut sharply into the cliffs, and she would
probably hit most of them on the way down.
Fuck.
There was a
brief moment when she thought she could save herself, when she managed to grab
the edge.
But then,
inexplicably, she felt something else, and it pushed her, pushed her body and
hands, peeling her fingers off and shoving her over the edge.
And suddenly,
just as she was sure she was going to fall, George was there, throwing himself into
the breech, literally throwing himself behind her somehow, grabbing her around
the waist, changing her trajectory, so she fell, not into the chasm underneath,
but onto a tiny ledge, a V-shaped opening between two rocks carved into the
stairs.
They both landed
with a hard thump, hitting the rock wall hard. Scout carried the momentum for
both of them, being so much lighter, and kept going, nearly over the edge.
George kept his hold around her waist, hauling her back just in time. He pulled
her close, his heart beating like a triphammer in his chest.
They looked at
each other, knowing how close their escape had been, both breathing like they’d
just run a marathon.
“Oh my god,
George, thank you,” Scout gasped through chattering teeth. They looked
around at their tiny, wet surroundings.

 

Now what?
About the Author:
 
Tani Hanes was born in Yokosuka, Japan. She spent the first few years of her life traveling back and forth between Japan and the US, making the permanent move to the Central Valley of California when she was five. She visited family in Japan on a regular basis, and attended college in Tokyo for one year at ICU before getting her degree in Language Studies from UC Santa Cruz. She has two children, and was a substitute teacher for fifteen years. Hanes currently resides in New York City with her husband and cats, Moss and Lily.
Amazon:

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