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
ASIN: B073P5TL7J
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
Excerpt:
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
floor.
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
toxic.”
“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
position.
“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
deadly.”
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:  http://www.rowanartistry.com/book/enchanter-redeemed/
 
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.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Crave by Deborah Wilde

Spotlight HTML Release Day Blitz The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Crave
by Deborah Wilde

 


The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Crave
Nava Katz
Book Four
Deborah Wilde
Genre: urban fantasy / romance
Publisher: Te Da Media
Date of Publication: February 20, 2018
ISBN: 978-1-988681-10-8
ASIN:  B0784674R3
Number of pages: 438
Word Count: 92,500
Cover Artist: Damonza
Tagline: Meet Nava Katz. Punches like a girl. Kicks demon butt.

Book Description:
What doesn’t kill you… seriously messes with your love life.
Nava is happily settling into her new relationship and life is all giddy joy and stolen kisses.
Except when it’s assassins. Talk about a mood killer.
She and Rohan are tracking the unlikely partnership between the Brotherhood and a witch who can bind demons, but every new piece of the puzzle is leaving them with more questions than answers.
And someone doesn’t appreciate them getting close to the truth.
Go figure.
On top of that, a demon known only as Candyman has unleashed a drug that’s harming users in extremely disturbing ways.
After a friend of Nava’s is hurt, she vows to take this demon down. But will life as she knows it survive this mission, or will this be the one time she should have looked before she leapt?
Happily-ever-after: barring death, she’s got a real shot at it.
On Sale up to 60% Until Midnight Feb 26
 
Excerpt:
“I love home delivery.”
Malik lounged in his doorway, eyeing me the way the wolf must have with the
three little pigs. His British accent was pure sin.
“I love your
arrogance that you didn’t bother moving after I almost killed you.”
He laughed,
flashing straight white teeth against his bronze skin. He was still the only
being I’d ever met who could pull off a Caesar cut, and was still the stuff of
billionaire romance cover fantasies in his soft gray trousers that were
artfully tailored to the hard lines of his body and navy shirt, carelessly
folded back at the cuffs. “Oh, petal. I’d say I missed you, but I didn’t. Now,
unless you brought the more interesting twin?” He peered into the hallway.
“No?”
He shut the
door, but I stuffed my foot in to block it. Not like he politely stopped trying
to close it. “Ow.” I pushed my shoulder into the door to keep my poor bones
from breaking. “If you weren’t wondering why I was here, you wouldn’t have let
security buzz me up or let my toes cross the wards I’m sure you’ve got strung across
this door.”
“Ten seconds.”
“That’s not–”
“Five, four…”
“Demons are
being bound.” I rushed my words as he made a buzzing noise.
Malik yanked me
inside by my collar and slammed the door.
I wrenched free.
His penthouse
apartment hadn’t changed. Still to-die-for sweeping views of the city, a
massive glass wine storage unit in the open concept space, and a loft bedroom.
He pointed at one of the leather sofas, custom made to hug the curved walls.
“Sit and talk.”

 

 
About the Author:
A global wanderer, hopeless romantic, and total cynic with a broken edit button, Deborah writes urban fantasy to satisfy her love of smexy romances and tales of chicks who kick ass. This award-winning author is all about the happily-ever-after, with a huge dose of hilarity along the way.

Hexcommunicated by Rafael Chandler


Hexcommunicated
Rafael Chandler
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Neoplastic Press
Date of Publication: July 7, 2012
ISBN: 978-1478196662
ASIN: B008IVFRCE
Number of pages: 302
Word Count: 94,400
Cover Artist: Lou Harper
Cover Model: Rose Ballentine
Tagline: When the sun comes up, the girl of his dreams will murder him.
Book Description:
The name is Tepes. Nicolae Tepes. I’m a federal agent with Hex Division.
When the sun comes up, the girl of my dreams is going to kill me.
My partner’s a werewolf, but we get along okay. We were investigating this murder when we stumbled across a conspiracy unlike anything we’ve ever dealt with before. Ghostmortems, Scarevoyants, all kinds of freaks.
It started bad and got worse quick: a psychic on our team had a vision of the future. At sunrise, I’ll die at the hands of the woman I love, and then a psychotic death cult will deploy a supernatural weapon of mass destruction.
We’ve got eight hours to prevent this prophecy from coming true, but the psychics of Hex Division are never wrong…
Excerpt
One:
          Hands trembling,
the cop chased the tip of his cigarette with a lighter for a couple of seconds.
Then he saw me and stuffed it all back into his pocket.
            I
badged him. “Agent Tepes, Hex Division.”
            The
cop straightened. His hands jerked up, then down. He was trying to figure out
if he should salute me.
            While
waiting for him to make up his mind, I pulled on a flak jacket. Partly, I was
trying to stay warm, but mostly, I wanted to hide the dried blood on my arms
and neck. The wounds had healed up, but I’d need to clean the blood off
eventually.
            “Relax,”
I said. “Where’s Agent Tambora?”
            “Inside.”
He looked me up and down, then swallowed. Guy probably heard all kinds of
rumors about us. The freaks of nature who get deployed into hellholes around
the globe. Force Amplified Entities, the army of cyborg monsters who operate in
shadow. The FAE, constructed in billion-dollar labs, fighting terrorism with
horror.
            His
suspicions were grounded in fact. We were all of the above, and then some. My
team had captured or neutralized dozens of terrorist leaders, drug lords, and
war criminals. Everybody has a job to do; mine just involves fast-roping out of
choppers with my fangs out and my eyes glowing red.
            Mindful
of the yellow crime-scene tape, I headed up the driveway, the cop stumbling
along behind me. The tiny house crouched on the edge of a patchy beige lawn.
Flashlights cut through the dark as cops searched for footprints, bodily
fluids, fibers. Peeping from behind torn and faded curtains, neighbors
rehearsed their statements: they’d always had their doubts about the guy next
door, and this only confirmed what they’d suspected all along: the guy just
wasn’t right. Feeling the unholy vibe this scene was giving off, they hovered
on their porches but got no closer. Crimes like this were rare in the suburbs
of North Raleigh.
            The
cop cleared his throat and tried to man up; he didn’t want to look like a sissy
in front of the feds. I didn’t care how he looked. One of my people was dead.
            “Agent
Tepes, do you think there’s a connection to terrorists? Like Al-Hazred or
something?”
            “Sorry.
Classified.”
            No
one knows what we do at Hermetic Extropy; all they know is, after the slaughter
at Providence, we took the fight to the enemy. Like everyone else, the cop was
hoping to learn a little more about our operation. Too bad.
            The
front door swung open. A face-masked forensic tech in paper shoes and blue
nitrile gloves was explaining something to my teammate, Adam Tambora. The tech
nodded, then shuffled back inside. Adam strode towards me.
            He’d
grown up in the hinterlands, one of those square states that I always pictured
like a Laura Ingalls Wilder novel, but with pickup trucks and high school
football. A muscular blonde guy with a recruitment-poster grin, he always got
treated like the team leader, even though he’s the lowest-ranking member of my
unit. But there’s a trade-off for those all-American good looks. When I deploy
my FAE augmentations, my eyes turn red and my canine teeth extend about a
half-inch. Other than that, I look pretty much the same. Adam, on the other
hand, undergoes some truly grotesque changes when his Frankenstitch enhancements
kick in. I figured the forensic technician wouldn’t be so deferential if he
could only see what Adam looks like in monster mode.
            My
petty train of thought was derailed by Adam’s firm handshake. “Glad you’re
here,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. Then he looked past me and
frowned.
            A
few police officers were waving at us from the driveway. We dodged scurrying
forensic techs as we crossed the lawn towards them.
            Two
cops, a male officer and a female detective, shivered next to the SUV in the
driveway. I started to address the detective, but Adam cut me off and started
talking to the officer.
            “What
can we do for you, buddy?”
            The
officer took a small step back, with an embarrassed look at the detective. He
felt bad, but it wasn’t his fault; Adam was the one who’d made the assumption.
            The
detective cleared her throat. “We want to jack up this truck,” she
said. Her face reddened with irritation. She probably got that a lot: guys
assuming that she was a subordinate. “We need to see the underside. Looks like
it’s been tampered with, and our techs want to get a better look. That okay
with you?”
            Assuming
that he was in charge, she addressed Adam. I gritted my teeth and let it go.
            “I
can do you one better,” Adam said with a grin. He shooed her back. Confused,
but sharing his infectious smile, she stepped away.
            Adam
squatted down by the truck, clutched the frame, and lifted. Mouths open and
eyes wide, the cops and techs all backed away. The pickup rocked over on its
side, glass shattering as the vehicle’s weight crushed the passenger-side
mirror.
            Stepping
back, he wiped his hands on his pants. His perfectly even teeth gleamed in the
harsh crime-scene floodlights. The audience broke into spontaneous applause.
            “How
did you do that?” the detective asked. A second later, she caught herself
and laughed. “Sorry, I know. Loyalty Act, classified information.”
            “Can’t
tell you anything,” Adam said. “Above your pay grade. And mine.”
They smiled. I managed not to roll my eyes. Adam shook a few hands, then he and
I headed for the backyard.
            “Nick,”
he said. “I know you disapprove, but these officers worship us like rock
stars or athletes. Giving them a little something to talk about is good for
morale.”

 

            “We’re
supposed to stay in the shadows.” I tried to keep the irritation out of my
voice. Sure, I fell off a castle and landed on an SUV in front of a bunch of
slack-jawed civilians, and then I stabbed a monster in the neck. But that was
all in the line of duty, not showboating.
 
About the Author:
Rafael Chandler writes novels (Mask Beneath Her Face, The Astounding Antagonists), video games (SOCOM 4, Rainbow Six: Lockdown), and tabletop role-playing games (Teratic Tome, Lusus Naturae). He’s a metalhead, kaijuphile, and gorehound.

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway