Author: Lisa

Trial of a Warrior by Mary Morgan

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PLUM TARTS aka…DAMSON TARTS***
2 cups all purpose flour
3/4 cup finely chopped almonds
3/4 cup light brown sugar,
lightly packed
12 tablespoons cold unsalted
butter (1 1/2 sticks), cut into small pieces
1 egg yolk
2 pounds firm, ripe plums, pitted
and quartered lengthwise
Preheat oven to 400 degrees
Combine the flour, almonds, and
sugar in a large bowl. Add the butter and the egg yolk. Mix by hand or with an
electric mixer, until crumbly.
Press 1 1/2 cups of the crumb
mixture in an even layer into the bottom of a 9 1/2-inch springform or tart
pan. Arrange the plums in the pan, skin side down to form a flower pattern;
begin at the outside and work your way in.
Sprinkle the rest of the crumb
mixture evenly over the plums. Bake the tart for 40 to 50 minutes, or until
it’s lightly browned and the plum juices are bubbling. Remove from the oven and
cool for 10 minutes. Remove from pan and transfer tart to flat plate.
Serve with a dollop of whipped
cream.
***Damson:
A small fruit with vibrant, dark blue skin and a strong sour flavor. Damsons
are similar to plums. They have a large stone (pit) and are often juicy, but
tend not to be eaten raw due to the tartness of their flesh.



Trial of a Warrior
Legends of the Fenian Warriors
Book Three
Mary Morgan


Genre: Time-Travel Fantasy Romance


Publisher: The Wild Rose Press, Inc.



Date of Publication: December 12, 2018
ISBN: 978-1-5092-2359-6
ASIN: B07JGMH8XS
Number of pages: 386
Word Count: 92628
Cover Artist: Debbie Taylor
Tagline: Will the burning embers of their past love spark a reunion or destroy a future? 
Book Description:
“You met them in the Order of the Dragon Knights. Now, journey to the realm of the Fae and witness their legends!”
A warrior sentenced to die.
On trial for breaking a supreme Fae law, Fenian Warrior, Liam MacGregor has no regrets. He is prepared to accept his sentence—even if it means his death. However, freedom comes in an unexpected manner, and brings with it certain dangers as he travels through the Veil of Ages.
A princess honor-bound to remain hidden.
Princess Abela might be a priestess and the daughter of royalty, but that doesn’t prevent her from doing the unimaginable. She sacrifices duty and honor to set free the man who captured her heart so many years ago. No matter the severity of his crimes, she cannot let Liam die.
A rescue that will bring about a war and divide a kingdom!  
In their quest to secure a treaty to forestall Liam’s death sentence, they must fight their desires for one another, as well as the Fenian Warriors sent to capture them.
Amazon

A tremor of
longing to be kissed filled Abela. She should flee this instant, but her feet
refused to listen to her mind.
Liam reached out
and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. His finger trailed down the side of her
neck, and she shuddered. “You have not answered me.”
“Yes,” she
replied rapidly.
The smile in his
eyes contained a sensuous flame, and she was drawn to him. A soft breeze
billowed around them. She ached to press her mouth against his. Just one kiss.
As if reading
her thoughts, Liam cupped her chin and stroked his thumb over her bottom lip.
“Your mouth begs to be kissed, princess.”
She swallowed
and did the unthinkable. “Then kiss me, Liam MacGregor.”
His groan echoed
around them as he took possession of her mouth. The kiss sent the pit of her
stomach into a wild swirl of delicious sensations. Abela’s body yearned to
touch him, so she wrapped her arms around his neck. The contact of his skin
against her chest ignited a burning desire for more.
Liam grasped her
firmly around the waist with one arm and deepened the kiss. When his silken
tongue sought entry, she opened fully to the seduction, tasting wine, apples,
and his own scent. His moan resonated deep within her, and she found her body
responding to a rhythm as old as the land they lived upon.
Never did Abela
imagine the power behind a kiss—seductive, enchanting, shattering, and she
craved more.


About the Author:

Award-winning Celtic paranormal romance author, Mary Morgan, resides in Northern California, with her own knight in shining armor. However, during her travels to Scotland, England, and Ireland, she left a part of her soul in one of these countries and vows to return.
Mary’s passion for books started at an early age along with an overactive imagination. She spent far too much time daydreaming and was told quite often to remove her head from the clouds. It wasn’t until the closure of Borders Books where Mary worked that she found her true calling–writing romance. Now, the worlds she created in her mind are coming to life within her stories.
If you enjoy history, tortured heroes, and a wee bit of magic, then time-travel within the pages of her books.
WEBSITE:  http://www.marymorganauthor.com
BLOG:  http://www.marymorganauthor.com/blog
TWITTER:  http://twitter.com/m_morganauthor
FACEBOOK AUTHOR PAGE: https://www.facebook.com/MaryMorganAuthor/
FACEBOOK:  http://www.facebook.com/mary.morgan.564
GOODREADS:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8271002.Mary_Morgan
AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE:  http://www.amazon.com/Mary-Morgan/e/B00KPE3NWI/
PINTEREST:  www.pinterest.com/marymorgan50/
INSTAGRAM: https://www.instagram.com/marymorgan2/
BOOKBUB: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/mary-morgan

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Hot Shot by S.A. Stolinsky

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James Ellroy once said to me, “Go to the museums, the out of the way art galleries, the people in the park, any park, and talk to everyone.  That’s where you’ll get your stories and that’s where you get ideas.” I have no quarrel with that. After I stopped shaking because I was meeting a literary “star” I realized he was interested in the common man, woman, the everyday person whose story was on its face boring, but whose psychological makeup was anything but.

In Hot Shot, my protagonist, Tyler West, is depressed.  He starts out depressed, lonely, unsure of himself, angry, a real Borderline Personality.  He’s tried the drugs, the alcohol, the sex addiction, and now he’s lodged into gambling which turns out to be his worst nightmare yet.

He lost everything.  His girlfriend, his money, his life savings, his friends and almost his family—because there is one woman who still wants to see him—his mother, Sue,  and then I wondered, “Where am I going with this?”  Honestly, the way I write—I start out never knowing where I’m going with a book. I start with an idea and I always know the ending, always the ending.  Like, this one is going to be about gambling.  Okay, okay, what do I know about gambling?  Well, I love Vegas.  I love to watch some cowboy with a gut hanging over his belt, come in wearing a white Stetson hat and sit down at a $10,000 buy in table and literally put down $10,000 dollars!!

I freak out.  I do.  Who lives like that?  My mind goes over all the things I could buy for that much money and why is it so important for this man to chance it all?  Then that leads from one place to another. And then I just tell myself the entire story.  After that, what most of our colleagues call “Panstering” I will do the outline.  Because by then I know the story.

Then chapter one leads to chapter two, and so on. But when I first met the real “Tyler West” the pseudonym for a guy I worked with, I had no idea he was going to end up winning the World Series of Poker.  I mean how many people do that?  Then that led me to researching the book.  Oh, poor me.  I had to go to Las Vegas for a weekend, stay at New York, New York, eat all that glorious food, and wind my way to the Rio where the poker series takes place. 
What an arena—the size of about five football fields with tables bunched up against each other and six chairs to a table and rows upon rows of lighting above.  It’s daunting.  I spoke to some players who had lost, some guards who explained how the series worked and even a winner of three million dollars. 

It’s always good for me to go anywhere at Christmas time, too.  I love Christmas and as a child, my mother always had a very ornamental tree with gobs of presents under it.  And at an early age I realized, a good novel must have a Christmas or holiday scene, a rain, scene, a love scene and a death scene.  Pretty good for a 10-year-old, but those were the stories I liked to read.  Especially Dickens.

I discover along with him what’s going to happen next.  When the book is finished, it’s generally around 315 pages, I re-read it and go where the book takes me. So, let me end by saying, along with your central plot, the added texture of a time and place really enhances a story. 

Hot Shot
S.A. Stolinsky


Suspense


November 1, 2016


Book Description:


Payback is a powerful thing…


Actor and bartender, Tyler West experiences a sudden streak of luck — winning poker games. Determined to change his life, he enters the World Series of Poker. His life is suddenly turned upside down when the Russian mafia fronts him 1.5 million dollars to play at the tables. And then…he loses…


Now on the ride of his life, deceit and deception are his key to uncovering the truth. He must recoup the money, but will it come at a price? Can he stay alive long enough or will his time run out?




Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/cc3b8xb7sl8



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EXCERPT HOT SHOT by S. A. STOLINSKY
Tyler pushed his
long, blond hair back with one hand and slouched.  He knew she found him attractive.  “I’ll tell ya,” he began, hoping to make it
last, keep her interested.  “I pretty
much need the start up money right now.”
Ah, too fast.
“Start up money?
Now? You think I got a stash under my bed upstairs?” Elsie pushed Tyler into an
oversized easy chair covered with a brown mohair blanket. A black cat with
white paws jumped off it as Tyler slammed down.
  “We should go up and find out.  My, my we’re in a hurry aren’t we? Easy kid.
When you’re hustling, you don’t wanta look too desperate, know what I mean?
Take it slow.  Move slow, kiss slow.”
She took a grape
from a bowl of them on the center console.
“Well, you are
good lookin’ I’ll give you that,” she said. “What’s that piece of paper you got
there?  Your birth certificate or
something?”
“No, ma’am,”
Tyler gave her the certificate. “It tells everybody I’m HIV negative. Made this
up on my computer.”
Elsie’s head
flew back, her mouth opened and a yell of hysteria came out of her mouth.  She began drooling and wiping her chin with
her arm.  She finally calmed down enough
to say, “Bullwhippie!”
“Jeez,” Elsie
said as she tore up the certificate and put it in a glass ashtray on the glass
coffee table. “Nobody’s gonna think you got HIV, okay?”
She sat back on
the couch, her old, wrinkled face frozen in amusement and held the torn pieces
of paper in her lap.  “Let me explain
something to you, kid.  The only thing
that makes a lot of money fast is ass.”
“One point five
million?” Tyler asked.
“You’re good
looking, but park your ego at the door. 
Nobody makes that kind of money first time out, even a guy as good
lookin’ as you.”
Elsie put her
feet up on the foot stool and sat back with her hands folded in her lap, the
pieces of paper falling around her.
“Listen, baby.
This is just between you and me, okay? I’ve been a madam longer than I can
remember. I work on the sly now so when my parole officer comes around, but he
don’t bother me anyway. You know why?”
              A still crestfallen Tyler looked
at her.
              “Because I got the goods on all
those assholes, that’s why. I got video. Don’t ever do porn without a video
somewheres in the bedroom. Ya got me?”
              Tyler nodded.
              Elsie continued without noticing.
“I’ll never tell where I hid the original but believe me I got plenty of
copies. Got a friend does the best photography in the city. I had a couple of
tapes made and almost sold ‘em to TV—the porn sites, of course. So, I been
thinkin’ real hard about how I can re-establish my rep. And here you come.”
Tyler finally
opened his mouth but it was only to use his tongue to wet his lips, they felt
parched and he was sure they would crack it he kept his mouth closed any
longer.
“Yes, Ma’am,”
was all he could think to say.
“I’m gonna start
up the biggest whore house in the state, sonny. This time? With men. You know
how much a good male hooker can make? Two thousand a night. Now—depending on
your stamina…”
“Yeah, I get the
picture,” Tyler said.
He wasn’t in to
older women, but he had to admit, Elsie was beginning to look visibly younger
with the excitement she was projecting. Some people love their work. Her gray
roots were beginning to look more like silver blonde streaks and her smile was
widening. For a few seconds he didn’t see her wrinkles across both cheeks.  Her teeth, perfect in what were undoubtedly
caps, glistened.
“A male
whorehouse. I don’t think it’s been done before,” Elsie repeated.
Elsie was spry
for a woman her age, but she had gotten fat over the years.  She no longer looked like a professional, but
that was probably the point.  He picked
up a small, silver framed picture which sat on an end table. It looked like an
old studio shot of a glamorous woman, her head tilted back, full makeup and
blond hair, her fingers just touching her chin and a large, pearl necklace
around her neck and thick jeweled bracelets on her wrists. Tyler put it back.
“A lifetime ago,
sweetie,” Elsie said to him. “Women in their eighties still masturbate, you
know that? And I figure that is such a shame when guys like you are running
around just waiting to service us.”
“Never really
thought about it,” Tyler said.
“You sure do
look like your pa. He was a crafty one, but always good to my girls. You work
out, huh? I got a boob job in my seventies. Hell, nothing stays up forever.
They’re just starting to sag again now. Thinking about getting ‘em done again,
so this is a good time we connected.”
“Yes, Ma’am,”
Tyler wasn’t sure where this was going, but he was pretty sure he didn’t want
it to go much further.
“Thirty percent
on my end,” she said.
“Huh?” Tyler
realized his eyes had widened and tried to relax so he wouldn’t look so stupid.
“Thirty percent.”
“That’s a lot of
money, Ma’am,” Tyler said, when the hole in his stomach shrunk slightly. “I
mean I’m desperate, like you say, but that’s a big cut.”

“Listen, kid. A
man looks like you, your age, your height, your…face, could make more than two
thousand dollar

About the Author:
Stefanie Stolinsky, Ph.D. is a licensed psychologist and forensic psychologist with a private practice in Beverly Hills, California. She  specializes  in trauma, adults sexually, physically and emotionally abused as children, and PTSD. She is an international speaker and has taught training seminars in overcoming the aftereffects of child abuse. She has also taught licensing examinations to candidates for both marriage, family and child counseling and for the psychology licenses. 
She began her career as an actress in motion pictures, television and stage and created a unique therapy combining acting exercises with psychodynamic psychotherapy to help survivors of all kinds of trauma overcome the aftereffects of abuse. The first edition of “ACT IT OUT” was a top seller for over nine years. A second edition of the popular book was launched in April of this year and is available on Praeclarus Press, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble. 
She is also the author of several award-winning short stories including her newest short story anthology, DATE NIGHT, and numerous comedy mystery. Dr. Stolinsky lives with her husband in Los Angeles.
https://www.facebook.com/stefanie.stolinsky
https://twitter.com/sastolinsky

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Secret: Of Amber Eyes by DK Davis

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Oakly’s Christmas Present
By DK Davis
“Oakly, you’ll
find someone. Don’t look so down.” Morgan, my twin brother’s soul-mate, patted
my shoulder.
Rowan stepped
next to her, never leaving her side for long. His arm went possessively around
her waist. He punched my arm and grinned, and then led his woman toward the
kitchen table.
Watching my
brother and Morgan instilled the deep loneliness plaguing my cougar, like a
blade stabbing my chest. I needed the forest, an escape from the crowd of
family and friends sitting around the table and working on Christmas
decorations for the fortress we all called home. The place, for all its space,
gave me a fit of claustrophobia.
I snuck out the
front door. Brisk air and tufts of falling snow threw my cougar into an
adrenaline rush to run. The animal scratched against the inside of my skin. I
jogged down the porch steps and into the trees, dropping my clothes next to a
giant oak and shifting into my animal.
Four large paws
carried me for miles away from home. I crossed a couple of dirt roads and
continued through the thick forest, cutting footprints through the snow. The
wind picked up, and gray clouds blanketed the rising moon. The cougar’s night
vision kicked in, and I stopped to sate my thirst at a babbling brook.
When I raised my
head, a force hit my senses so hard it knocked me on my butt. I shook my head
to get a bearing of what drew my complete focus. Then a shriek, followed by a
snarl somewhere near, across the stream. I launched over the water at full
speed.
Snapping jaws,
growls, and yips sounded close. I scented wolves.
A cat screamed
and snarled in a way to scare off a predator or to defend itself. Another scent
filled my olfactory, female cat, not a cougar. I bounded through the dense
shrub sounding like an army and blew through the other side with the effect of
distraction.
A bobcat
surrounded by three wolves. She stood her ground, but red colored the snow
around her. All wolves stared my way.
I roared my
deepest snarl and charged, the only thought snapping through my mind, save her.
Two of the
wolves sprang toward me, leaving one for the she-cat. I caught one by the
throat, shook the hell out of him and tossed him against a tree trunk. The
other had jumped on my back and snapped his jaws over the back of my neck. Its
claws caught my shoulders and my back haunches.
I ran straight
at a downed tree, flipping into it, so the wolf caught the sharp branch. The
teeth piercing the sides of my neck released and I pulled away from its claws.
It fell to the ground, the branch protruding from its back, and then it crawled
away.
The she-cat held
her own, snarling and clawing, but the wolf clenched his jaws on a front leg.
Bones snapped, and the she-cat went into a biting frenzy across the dog-faced
snout. I pounced on the wolf’s back, sinking my claws around its neck. The
she-cat dropped from its mouth, and I forced the wolf away, and then gave chase
until the distance satisfied me.
When I got back
to the Bobcat, she lay on her side, panting and looking like a bloody mess. Her
head lifted as I stepped closer. I crouched beside her and licked at the
wounds. She lapped at the gouges on my neck. After a bit, we both settled
together and slept.
* * *
Someone shook me
awake. As I opened my eyes and yawned, the morning sun created a glistening
coat of mini prisms across the snow.
“What the hell
are you doing way out here? You’re miles from our territory.” Rowan eyed me.
“It looks like a bloody war zone. You’re covered in blood and a significant
amount of another cat’s scent, brother. A shifter. Care to explain?”
I glanced next
to me. An imprint of the she-cat’s smaller body had colored the snow dark red.
She’d vanished. I jumped onto my four-paws. Sniffing the air, I noticed the
smaller-sized paw prints leading the opposite direction of home.
“Come on.
Everyone is worried about you. A lot of them are out looking for you.” He
huffed. “You didn’t let anyone know you went for a run.”
Everything
inside me said to follow the she-cat shifter, but I knew she would come back
here as I would.
Rowan pulled a
cell phone from his pocket. “Dad, I found him. Let everyone know. It’s going to
take us a while to get home.” Then he paused, listening. I heard him explaining
where we were and to use the tracking app to find his phone. It sounded like
someone would be driving a vehicle to a close location.
My attention
faded in and out from his conversation as my head filled with thoughts of the
female Bobcat.
“I will come
back to see you tonight like you want to do,” a female voice flicked inside my
head like a loud whisper.
I instantly
shifted into human form. “Hey, tell me why you and Morgan can
mind-communicate.”
“Good grief.
Your junk’s gonna freeze. I didn’t bring any clothes for you.” Rowan grinned
and pointed.
Yea, parts of me
wanted to hide from the cold, but most of my body remained hot-blooded. “I
gotta know about you and Morgan.”
“Fine, but we
gotta jog. Dad’s going to pick us up on a dirt road a few miles away.” Rowan
picked up the pace. “Morgan and I exchanged blood, and because she’s my
soul-mate, we can mind-communicate. I understand that only happens with a
soul-mate.”
“Does your
soul-mate need to be the same kind of shifter?” My mind reeled with the
thought.
* * *
“You’re not
leaving the fortress tonight. Tomorrow’s Christmas and your mother will have my
hide if I allow you to go for a run like you did yesterday.” Dad’s eyes
narrowed, but his focus wandered. “Unless you drove the truck to the spot where
I picked you up. Then I’d know you’d get back here before morning.” His intense
gaze landed on me. “The only reason I’m considering this is from the questions
you asked Rowan. And you can thank him that he talked about it to me.”
Dad handed me
his keys. I ran out the front door before he changed his mind.
Darkness had
already settled over the tree line as I parked along a small clearing off the
edge of the dirt road.
As I climbed out
of the truck, her presence melded into mine and shivered through my body.
“Where are you?”
Her scent drew
me farther into the forest, and then I saw her. Beautiful long platinum-blond
hair drifted down her shoulders. Smoldering blue eyes met mine. She lifted away
from the large oak tree she’d leaned against and ambled toward me in a sleek
feline two-legged prowl.
My breath left
me and then came back in a gasping gulp, leaving me dizzy and drunk on her
scent. My legs finally mobilized, and I strode to her, wrapping my arms around
her.
She slid her
hands around the back of my neck. Her fingers twined into my hair. I leaned
down, and she lifted on her toes, lips uniting in a crash of cracking whips and
stormy lightning. My whole body blazed in fire for this meek little woman, but
then, nothing about her seemed timid.
Her tongue ran
across my lips, sending a tremor through me. She giggled. Her hands pushed my
chest, and we broke apart.
“My name’s Sky.
I believe you’re my Christmas present for life.” Her smile radiated through my
chest, stealing my voice.
“I believe
you’re my life Christmas present also,” my mind-communication responded.
“Let’s go meet
my parents, and then we’ll meet yours. We have a lot to talk about.” Sky
reached for my hand, and when our fingers wove together, my cougar agreed we’d
both found our most significant other.
I drew her back
to me and sealed our moment with a kiss. Sky’s tender lips sent my cougar into
purr-mode, something I’d never experienced before tonight. Then, Sky’s bobcat
answered with a contented purr. “Merry Christmas,” our mind-communication
whispered as one.



Secret:
Of Amber Eyes
Secret
Series
Book
Three 
DK
Davis
Genre: YA Paranormal, Romance
Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.         
Date of Publication:  November 2018 Release

Kindle 978-0-2286-0621-5
Amazon Print 978-0-2286-0623-9
ASIN: B07KGGHG3P

Number of pages: 197
Word Count:  58,500
Cover Artist:  Michelle Lee
Tagline: Instinct draws Morgan
and Rowan together, a human and a shifter, until a wildcard wildcat threatens
Morgan’s life, changing her forever.
Book Description:
Morgan Redding, a
seventeen-year-old high school graduate, gets sent to her aunt and uncle’s
wildlife rescue and preserve, a therapeutic place for not only nature.
Rowan Marcus, an
eighteen-year-old cougar shifter, helps at the wildlife refuge. He’s part of a
secret society of shifters guarding the preserve lands.
Instinct draws Morgan and Rowan
together.
Then one wildcard wildcat within
the shifter community kills for the needy, but the killing escalates and
threatens Morgan’s life, changing her forever…
Each
Secrets book has a different story star and a different secret. Each book is a stand-alone.
Amazon      Smashwords
Add it to Your Goodreads
List






Excerpt: Morgan’s point of view – 571 words
Uncle Charlie and Aunt Becka appeared to want me around. I twisted around toward the car. Mom had piled my bags on the ground near the porch steps. She stood next to the open driver’s side door, no smile, displaying all the signs of being in a hurry to leave. Her cell phone rang inside the car. 
“Gotta’ run honey,” she said over the glass sunroof of the Cadillac. “Our flight leaves in four hours, and I still have a few things left to pack.”
I immobilized as Mom dove into the car to retrieve her phone. She tapped the screen and started the car.
I didn’t wave as she shifted into gear and drove off with her cell phone stuck to her ear. 
She never even glanced my way. 
From my peripheral, Uncle Charlie and Aunt Becka looked at each other. They weren’t smiling anymore. Mom had never said a word to either of them. She didn’t say goodbye to me, either, unless I counted the trail of dust marking her exit.
Good riddance. Oh, and have a happy life with Jack.
My stomach fluttered, and the inside of my throat tightened like it might collapse in on itself. A load of moisture gathered, blurring my vision. Some trickled alongside my nose. I’m not crying. Extra baggage doesn’t cry; instead, I go to prison.
My body relaxed as if a heavy weight shifted and slipped off. Why not make the best of this crappy situation? I was on the back burner, but not being dumped down the garbage disposal. I wiped away the water littering my face and picked up my two duffle bags. Aunt Becka scooped up my backpack; her thick long blond braid slid over her shoulder.
“This way, dear. You’ve come at a good time with the weather. We’ve got a warm streak going. It isn’t normally nice warm temperatures until much later in the summer.” Aunt Becka led the way into the house. She wore faded denim shorts with a baggy sky-blue T-shirt, short white socks, and high-top hiking boots. She and Uncle Charlie were sun-browned and looked the same age as Mom. The muscles in Aunt Becka’s calves stood out as she climbed the circular stairway.
She continued, “It’s still pretty cool in the mornings and later in the evenings, which makes for great sleeping weather.”
At the top of the stairs, I walked across the open loft to the wall-sized window, dropping my bags mid-way.
Two bright red barns stood off to one side. I recognized the green T-shirt and dark blue baseball cap Uncle Charlie wore. He pushed a wheel-barrow into one of the barns. Another guy walked behind with a huge bag of something balanced on his shoulder. The muscles in his arm bulged. He stopped in mid-step and swung around to look upward, at the window, and then at me.
My stomach suddenly churned into warm pudding as our gazes collided. Rowan’s eyes glowed, amber, a trick of the sun I was sure. My breath sucked in.
Aunt Becka stepped beside me and glanced out. “Oh, that’s Rowan Marcus. He’s here pretty much every day helping with chores and with the other kids that aid us at the refuge.”
Rowan swung around and followed Uncle Charlie into the barn. A tremor slid through me, and then I exhaled, realizing I’d completely stopped my lungs from working. What the heck? Amber eyes?


About
the Author:




DK Davis writes YA and NA sci-fi,
supernatural, and paranormal romance that includes diverse and mature subject
matter.






When she’s not writing, editing,
or reading, she’s hiking, RV’ing, fishing, spending time with grandchildren or
her favorite muse (her husband) in Southwest Michigan.





She also writes mainstream
supernatural, suspense-thriller romance as S. Peters-Davis.

Twitter: https://twitter.com/DKDavisBooks      
FB: https://www.facebook.com/dk.davis.92
      
Website: http://suda788.wixsite.com/dkdavis
DK Davis – BWL Publishing Inc.
Author Page: 
http://bookswelove.net/authors/davis-dk/
Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/111204210260997952780

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