Caressed by the Edge of Darkness by Amanda J. Greene

Caressed by the Edge of Darkness
Rulers of Darkness
Book Five
Amanda J. Greene
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Self / Indie Published
Date of Publication: 10/10/2017
Number of pages: 393
Word Count: 127,000
Cover Artist: Kim Killion / Hot Damn Designs
Tagline: He will claim her…With one bite…
Book Description:
Hardened by centuries of torture, former blood slave, Gabriel Erhard, is driven by an insatiable need to destroy his enemies. Violence darkens his battered soul, leaving no place for mercy in his world. Gabriel’s only desire is vengeance—until he finds her.
Seized by vampires, bound as a slave, and placed on the auction block, Jordan Culver is instantly entranced by the dangerous male who claims her. Jordan’s new captor vows to set her free, but his haunted gaze burns with savage desire and his wicked kiss makes her crave his touch and…complete surrender.
While Gabriel battles his enemies, he will break every sacred law to achieve his ultimate goal—uniting the Outcast Society and creating a new vampire Clan. But the distracting human with mesmerizing violet eyes jeopardizes his plans. With every soft whisper she evokes his tormented memories, tests his sanity and challenges his every boundary. Can Jordan help him overcome the miseries of his past and find a future with her? Or will he lose what remains of his soul and become a true beast?
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“I’m not the
kind of human that cowers. I will not run from you.”
He appreciated
Jordan’s bravery but not her attitude. Losing his patience he snapped, “Would
you like a job or not?”
“I can find my
own, thanks.” She turned on her heel and marched toward the door.
Let her go.
Gabriel blocked
her exit. He should let her be angry. He should allow her to believe he hated
her so that she would hate him, but…he couldn’t.
“Get out of my
“Not a chance.”
She squared her
shoulders and notched her chin up. Regal, stunning, her violet eyes flashed
with defiance, challenge. “Should the lowly human have asked for your
permission to leave?” She pulled her hair to the side revealing the graceful
column of her neck. “Should I play the meek mortal and let you tap my vein.”
Her sensual mouth curled in a taunting smile. “My blood, I know you want it,
Tempting lips.
Sexy voice. Bitchy words. Goddamn, he wanted her. “I thought we’d already
established if I wanted your blood, I could just take it.” His eyes narrowed.
“No. There is something else I want from you right now.”
He advanced. She
didn’t back away. Oh, he loved her spirit. Reveled in it. Vampires shrank from
him, but not his mortal. He doubted Jordan could even spell retreat.
She moistened
her lips, her tiny teeth catching the dip of her bottom lip. He groaned. He’d
nibble and lick that bow for her. As if she could read his thoughts, Jordan
responded to him. Pink tinted her high cheekbones; her breaths grew heavy and
the scent of jasmine intensified.
unfathomable speed, he lunged. Before she could react, he had her hair wrapped
around his fist. Their bodies slammed together. Soft curves to unyielding
He had her
pinned against the back of the chaise. They both knew with one swift movement
he could have her beneath him.
tightened his hold on her hair as he drew his other hand up her body. His
gloved fingers skimmed the outside of her thigh, gently brushed over the arch
of her hip, caressed her side, lightly tickled her ribcage, and stopped. His
hand hovered just above her breast.
One heartbeat.
 Jordan pressed forward; her luscious breast
fit his palm perfectly. They both groaned and shuddered from the contact.
“You make me
crazed,” Gabriel grated. Tilting his head down, he rubbed his face against her
hair, inhaling deep. “I’ve wanted…” He pressed a kiss to the curve of her neck
then to the tip of her ear.
She shivered in
his arms. He could sense her need, her desire. It matched his own. Strong.
He kneaded her
breast, her nipple stiffened beneath her shirt. The pearl abraded his palm,
taunting him. Gabriel wanted to taste it, to pull it between his lips. Would
she like it if he used his teeth…his fangs?
His cock pulsed.
He pressed the hard length against her belly. A shocked, delighted gasp seized
in her throat. Jordan’s voice trembled as she whispered his name.
Their gaze
She aches for me
just as I ache for her.
He should stop
this. Never had a woman enthralled him so…Never had he craved like this.
mortal—magicless, powerless—she’d done this to him.
Gabriel released
her breast to grip the swell of her hip. He ground his sex against her.
She’d pay. He’d
show her why no one dared tempt a beast.
His vision
shifted, his fangs elongated. Yes, he’d show her and he’d take what he wanted.
Pulling her
hair, he yanked her head back, exposing her throat. He leaned forward and
inhaled her scent again, his lungs filled with jasmine and woman. His lips
brushed over her pulse. “Beautiful.” He raked his fangs over her pulse then
soothed the reddened flesh with his tongue.
Tiny sighs
escaped her lips with every kiss he pressed against her neck, her jaw, her
“Look at me,” he
She opened her
heavy lidded eyes to peer up at him from beneath thick, dark lashes. Her violet
gaze glowed with need, her delicious lips parted as her breaths panted,
silently begging for him.
When only a
whisper separated their lips, he snarled, “I’ve waited.”
possessively took her mouth. Claimed. Soft, giving lips trembled beneath his.
He delved his tongue inside, tasting her. He expected a shy response, a
tentative lick, but Jordan boldly kissed him back. She rose to her toes. Her
hands flew to his shoulders. She cleaved to him in desperation. He felt the
sharp points of her nails through his shirt as she pulled him even closer.
Holding her,
feeling her move against him, her mouth greedily meeting his. It felt right. Everything
about this felt right, like he’d been waiting centuries for this moment. As if
her kiss had broken some kind of spell, his heart pounded, his soul awakened.
Had he truly been cold and deadened for so long?
This woman. This
mortal was forcing him to feel again. He reveled in it; he reviled it. But he
couldn’t stop. There was no stopping, no going back. She’d marked him and he’d
mark her.


About the Author:
Amanda J. Greene creates paranormal romance for ravenous readers. She lives in Southern California, where she enjoys escaping the rewarding but hectic world of writing by spending time in the sun and sand with her military husband and their two dogs.
Twitter: @AmandaJGreene1

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The Nightmare Room by Chris Sorensen

The Nightmare Room
The Messy Man Series
Book One
Chris Sorensen
Genre: Paranormal Fiction
Publisher: Harmful Monkey Press
Date of Publication: 1/25/2018
ISBN: 978-0998342412
ASIN: B07943P5S8
Number of pages: 273
Word Count: 45,000
Tagline: The past is always present in the Nightmare Room.
Book Description:
A boy in a basement, a man in a booth and a darkness that threatens to swallow them both…
New York audiobook narrator Peter Larson and his wife Hannah head to his hometown of Maple City to help Peter’s ailing father and to put a recent tragedy behind them. Though the small, Midwestern town seems the idyllic place to start afresh, Peter and Hannah will soon learn that evil currents flow beneath its surface.
They move into an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town—a house purchased by Peter’s father at auction and kept secret until now—and start to settle into their new life.
But as Peter sets up his recording studio in a small basement room, disturbing things begin to occur—mysterious voices haunt audio tracks, malevolent shadows creep about the house. And when an insidious presence emerges from the woodwork, Peter must face old demons in order to save his family and himself.
The man threw
open the basement door. A rush of mildewed air rose up from the darkness, like
the hideous breath of some subterranean thing. He flicked on the light, and the
cascade of descending stairs came into view. Among their number was the
treacherous one midway down, the one that bent like a bow at the slightest
“Are you going
down on your own or do I have to make you?”
The boy looked
up at his father. The anger that had fueled him thus far was fading, seemingly
sapped by the trip from the boy’s bedroom. Instead, his father looked pained.
If he didn’t know better, he might think the Old Man was about to cry. But his
father had said he was tired. Dead tired. And perhaps it was as simple as that.
go,” the boy whispered, and he took the first tentative step down.
The change in
temperature was immediate; it was like diving into a cold pool. He took another
step down, and another.
He paused on the
third step and looked back at his father. The bare bulb above paled the man’s
countenance. The grey circles under his eyes made him look like he’d been
“Git!” the Old
Man snarled. The boy went. When he reached the sagging step, he stopped, took a
breath and leaped over it. His heel hit the lip of the next step, but the wood
was damp, and the boy came down hard on his butt.
“Get some sleep.
And no more dreams.”
As if he could
help it.
His father
closed the door, and the lock clicked. It would not open again until morning.
The boy
descended the final few stairs and stepped onto the floor. Ice-cold cement
sucked heat from his soles. He squinted, trying to adjust to the dark.
The usefulness
of the light bulb ended a few feet into the basement. And there was no more
source of light until he reached the…
The gears in his
head ground to a halt, stopping short of allowing the dreaded name to be
He started
picking out objects around him. The solemn metal face of the furnace, a stack
of water softener salt bags, the frame of an old bicycle.
Straight ahead
lay a distance of twenty or so feet before he’d come to a door. Three-quarters
of that stretch was in pitch black. To get to the door, to get to the room, he
had to dash through the darkness until his hand found the doorknob. Then, he
would throw the door open, reach to his right, flip the wall switch and presto.
An island of light in an ocean of black.
He girded
himself for the sprint.
He hesitated…but
why? He’d already made this run two times this week. Both Monday and Thursday,
he’d awakened screaming, bringing down the Old Man’s wrath, and sending him
here. To the penalty box. To time out. To the Night—
The boy startled
at the sound of his own voice, and he lurched into motion. He hurtled into the
darkness, his feet slapping the floor, echoing off the walls in hollow
He bumped into
something and spun, temporarily throwing himself and his inner compass off
balance. He skidded across the floor and came to a stop.
Heart pounding
in his chest, he quickly located the lit stairs off to his left. He made a
rapid calculation and turned to face the invisible pathway to the room. He
bolted, coming to a halt only when he slammed head-on into the door.
His hand
floundered before finding the knob. He launched into his practiced routine.
Open door, flip switch, step inside.
In seconds, the
boy slipped into the room and slammed the door shut. A pink light overhead
bathed him in imaginary warmth—he had made it.
He stepped back
and sank into the waiting beanbag chair, facing the door. The small room with
its mint green walls and rollaway bed felt almost welcoming, an odd feeling for
a place that was meant as a punishment.
The boy pulled a
quilt from the bed and wrapped it around him tight. For the first time in his
life, he felt safe here in this room—in the Nightmare Room.
Because he
hadn’t bumped into something out there in the dark. He had bumped into someone.
He was almost
certain of it.
He kept one eye
on the door as the minutes hummed past on the illuminated clock on the
nightstand. He busied himself with crayon and paper, doodling to keep his mind
quiet. Soon, his vision began to flutter; the room began to strobe. And, in the
space between two breaths, the boy sank into his beanbag chair and fell into a
fitful sleep.
The doorknob
The boy bolted
upright. He pressed back into the chair. His whole body started shivering, and
he feared he would wet himself for the second time that night.
A thought…no, a
voice crept into his head.
Coming in.
The door
quivered as if someone was leaning against it, trying to stifle a laugh. Nails
scratched against the wood.
“Dad?” the boy
The door
“Is that you?”
Knowing it was not.
“Please don’t.”


About the Author:
Chris Sorensen spends many days and nights locked away inside his own nightmare room. He is the narrator of over 200 audiobooks (including the award-winning The Missing series by Margaret Peterson Haddix) and the recipient of three AudioFile Earphone Awards. Over the past fifteen years, the Butte Theater and Thin Air Theatre Company in Cripple Creek, Colorado have produced dozens of his plays including Dr. Jekyll’s Medicine Show, Werewolves of Poverty Gulch and The Vampire of Cripple Creek. He is the author of the middle grade book The Mad Scientists of New Jersey and has written numerous screenplay including Suckerville, Bee Tornado and The Roswell Project.


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Enchanter Redeemed by Sharon Ashwood


Enchanter Redeemed
Camelot Reborn
Book Four
Sharon Ashwood
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Publisher: Harlequin Nocturne
Date of Publication: February 1/6 2018
ISBN: 978-1335629487
Number of pages: 300
Word Count: 80,000
Cover Artist: Brandon Allen
Tagline:  Ancient magic and new passion…
Book Description:
In the last battle for Camelot, Merlin had to make a terrible choice. Now he must pay the price. When a demon from his past reappears, she wants nothing more than to destroy the wizard. Now to reap her vengeance as a lover scorned, the demon occupies the body of Clary—the apprentice who is capturing his heart—and has the innocent behaving in uncharacteristic ways. Ways that push the forbidden desire Clary and Merlin share into heated play…
Harlequin       Amazon       BN      Kobo       iBooks
Other Books in the Series
Book 1 – Enchanted Warrior (RITA nominee)
Book 2 – Enchanted Guardian
Book 3 – Royal Enchantment
Clary jolted
awake. Power surged through her body, painful and suffocating. Her spine arched
into it—or maybe away from it, she wasn’t sure. Merlin had one hand on her side
and the other on her chest, using his magic like a defibrillator. The sensation
hammered her from the inside while every hair on her body stood straight up.
When he released her, she sagged in relief. A drifting sensation took over, as
if she were a feather in an updraft.
Merlin’s fingers
went to her neck, checking for a pulse. His hands were hot from working spells,
the touch firm yet gentle. In her weakened state, Clary shivered slightly,
wanting to bare her throat in surrender. She was a sucker for dark, broody
masculinity and he projected it like a beacon. All the same, Clary sucked in a
breath before he got any big ideas about mouth-to-mouth. If Merlin was going to
kiss her, she wanted wine and soft music, not blood and the dirty workshop
Another bolt of
power, more pain, another pulse check. Clary managed a moan, and she heard the
sharp intake of Merlin’s breath. His hand withdrew from her pulse point as she
forced her eyes open. He was staring down at her with his peculiar amber eyes,
dark brows furrowed in concern. She was used to him prickly, arrogant or
sarcastic, but not this. She’d never seen that oddly vulnerable expression
before—but it quickly fled as their gazes met.
“You’re alive.”
He said it like a fact, any softness gone.
“Yup.” Clary
pushed herself up on her elbows. She hurt all over. “What was that?”
“A demon.”
“I got that
much.” Clary held up her arm, peering through the rents in her jacket where the
demon’s claws had slashed. Merlin’s zap of power had stopped the bleeding, but
the deep scratches were red, puffy and hurt like blazes.
“Demon claws are
“Got that, too.”
“I can put a
salve on the wound, but you’d be smart to have Tamsin look at it,” Merlin said.
“Your sister is a better healer than I am.”
“She’s better
than anybody.” Clary said it with the automatic loyalty of a little sister, but
it was true. “She’s got a better bedside manner, too.”
Merlin raised a
brow, his natural arrogance back in place. “Just be glad you’re alive.”
She studied
Merlin, acutely aware of how much magic he’d used to shut the demon down. He
looked like a man in his early thirties, but there was no telling how old he
actually was. He was lean-faced with permanent stubble and dark hair that
curled at his collar. At first glance, he looked like a radical arts professor
or dot-com squillionaire contemplating his next disruptive innovation. It took a
second look to notice the muscular physique hidden by the comfortable clothes.
Merlin had a way of sliding under most radars, but Clary never underestimated
the power he could pluck out of thin air. She was witch born, a member of the
Shadowring Coven, but he was light years beyond their strongest warlocks.
That strength
was like catnip to her—although she’d never, ever admit that out loud. “What
were you doing?” she demanded, struggling the rest of the way to a sitting
“I was watching
the demons through a scrying portal when you interrupted me.” His tone was
precise and growing colder with every syllable. Now that the crisis was over,
he was getting angry.
“The she-demon
tried to kill me.” Clary’s insides hollowed as the words sank home. Dear goddess,
she did kill me! And Merlin had brought her back before a second had passed—but
it had happened. Her witch’s senses had felt it happen. The realization left
her light-headed.
“She doesn’t get
to have you,” he said in a low voice.
Their gazes
locked, and something twisted in Clary’s chest. She’d been hurt on Merlin’s
watch, and he was furious. No, what she saw in his eyes was more than icy
anger. It was a heated, primal possessiveness that came from a far different
Merlin than she knew. Clary’s breath stopped. Surely she was misreading the
situation. Death and zapping had scrambled her thoughts.
“I shouldn’t
have walked in on you.”
“No, you
shouldn’t have,” he said in a voice filled with the same mix of ice and fire.
“You’d be a better student of magic if you paid attention. You asked me to
teach you proper magic and not the baby food the covens use. Real magic is
Abruptly, he
stood and crossed the room to kick a shard of agate against the wall. It
bounced with a savage clatter. Clary got to her feet, her knees wobbling. He
spun and stormed back to her in one motion, moving so fast she barely knew what
was happening.
He took her by
the shoulders, the grip rough. “Don’t ever do that again!”
And then his
mouth crushed hers in a hard, angry kiss. Clary gasped in surprise, but there
was no air, only him, and only his need. She rose slowly onto her toes, the
gesture both surrender and a desire to hold her own. She’d been kissed many
times before, but never consumed this way. His lips were greedy and hot with
that same confusing array of emotions she’d seen a moment ago. Anger. Fear.
Possession. Protectiveness.
Volatile. That
was the word she’d so often used in her own head when thinking about him.
Volatile, though he kept himself on a very short chain. Right now that chain
had slipped.


For the first two chapters, click here:
About the Author:
Sharon Ashwood is a free-lance journalist, novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and spooky. She has an English literature degree but works as a finance geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with the toy graveyard on her desk. As a vegetarian, she freely admits the whole vampire/werewolf lifestyle fantasy would never work out, so she writes paranormal romances instead.
Sharon lives in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty Badness.

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