Spiritwalker by Tanith Davenport #PNR #eroticromance


Spiritwalker
Some Like It Haunted
Tanith Davenport

Genre: Paranormal erotic romance
Publisher: Totally Bound
Date of Publication: 20 October 2020
ISBN: 978-1-83943-443-3
Number of pages: 58
Word Count: 15010

Cover Artist: Totally Bound

Tagline: By night she walks with spirits. By day they turn her world upside down.

Book Description:

Tamar Steele, a successful medium for a paranormal investigative team, should be happy with her life—but life seems to be against her. Her psychic field is being mysteriously blocked, causing her physical pain and, worse, making it more and more difficult for her to come, creating stress in her relationship with long-term boyfriend Jason.

But then, during the filming of a paranormal TV show, Tamar picks up on Leslie, the recently murdered sister of her co-worker Hana—who later tells her the murderer was in the room with them. Knowing the best way to enhance her psychic ability is through sex, Tamar must rekindle her troubled relationship with Jason and rebuild their passion as she fights to solve the murder. Can she find the killer in time?

Sequel to “I Heard Your Voice” and “Tamar Rising”


Excerpt:

“Tamar?”
Adjusting her headset, Tamar Steele shifted the microphone closer to her mouth as another chair flew across the room in front of her.
“It’s all right. I’m on it.” 
There was the sound of breaking glass above her as a light bulb shattered. Tamar moved forward to avoid the falling shards, holding her torch out in front of her.
She’s here. I can feel her.
Her back was starting to ache. Through the darkness she could see a spirit beginning to form, long white robes and flowing hair framing a thin figure and pointed face. Terrified eyes fixed on hers.
“Tamar.” Hana’s voice crackled in her ear. “You need to get out of there. This is getting too dangerous. Jason’s worried.”
“Tell Jason to calm down. I know what I’m doing.”
A newspaper shot across the floor, scattering pages everywhere. Tamar took another step towards the spirit girl, holding up her hand, focussing on the energy she could feel around her.
“Matt, I need your help here.”
She felt a light tug on her hair and knew Matt, her spirit guide, had been listening.
“Listen to me,” she said firmly, holding the girl’s stare. “I can help you.”
Fear. Panic. A name. Emily—her name is Emily. Died sometime in the 1920s.
“Let me help you, Emily.”
A sudden rush forward and the girl was right in front of her, arms outstretched, mouth open, gasping for breath. Automatically Tamar caught her wrists, keeping the reaching fingers away from her face as she saw Matt’s blond head manifesting behind the girl.
“We can help you,” she repeated, then Matt’s arms were wrapping around the girl from behind, his face close to hers as he whispered soothing words into her ear.
The girl froze, then collapsed back against him, her arms falling.
“I don’t want to be here! I don’t know why I’m here.”
“It’s all right.” Tamar’s gaze met Matt’s over the girl’s shoulder. “We can send you home.”
She concentrated. “Light. Bring light.”
A glowing white light slowly formed between them, growing until the girl was engulfed. A small smile formed on her face before, in a bright flash, she was gone.
“We’re done here, Hana.”
“Okay. Asher’s on her way.”
Already Tamar heard the heavy footsteps of their newest team member coming down the stairs into the cellar. A strong smell of sweet smoke entered the room, closely followed by a short girl with rose-pink hair in a bob, her tattooed arms emerging from her T-shirt.
“Hey, Tamar.”
“Hey, Asher.” Tamar gestured to the space in front of her. “Let’s get the room cleansed and we can get out of here.”
“No problem.” Asher moved forwards, holding the burning incense out in front of her. “Another satisfied customer upstairs.”
“Glad to hear it—”
Tamar’s voice broke off as her headset was filled with an ear-splitting scream.
“Fuck!” Asher gasped. “What was that?”
Struggling to regain her composure, her heart pounding, Tamar focussed hard on the room, stretching her energy field outwards, trying to find something…
There was nothing.

Whatever it had been, it had come and gone.


About the Author:

Tanith Davenport began writing erotica at the age of 27 by way of the Romantic Novelists’ Association New Writers’ Scheme. Her debut novel “The Hand He Dealt” was released by Totally Bound in June 2011 and was shortlisted for the Joan Hessayon Award for 2012.

Tanith has had short stories published by Naughty Nights Press and House of Erotica. She loves to travel and dreams of one day taking a driving tour of the United States, preferably in a classic 1950s pink Cadillac Eldorado.

Tanith’s idea of heaven is an Indian head massage with a Mojito at her side.







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The Fifth Horseman by Freida Kilmari

 



The Fifth Horseman
The Horseman’s Harem Saga 
Book One
Freida Kilmari

Genre: Reverse Harem Fantasy Romance
Publisher: Kilmari Publishing
Date of Publication: October 31st 2020
ISBN: 978-1-9993472-3-9
ASIN: B08K83QXWX
Number of pages: 458
Word Count: 120,000 words

Cover Artist: Covered Creatively

Tagline: No name. No past. One giant future?

Book Description: 

The only thing worse than suddenly waking up in a magical house with the insanely gorgeous Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? Being the Fifth.

With no memory of who I am, where I came from, or what I’m doing here, I’m thrust into a new life with four people who I might want more from than just friendship. But with no past, how can I possibly plan for a future?

The only clue as to who I am? Four different species’ magic resides within me—Vampire, Fae, Shifter, and Witch—and between them, I might be the most powerful creature on the planet.

For fuck’s sake.

Look out world, Horseman of Magic coming through!


            Excerpt 1

He’s tied his shoulder-length white hair up into a knot out of the way, and I get a clear look at his not-frowning face for the first time. It’s aged with years of trouble. I can tell from the frown lines and shadows beneath his eyes, but his face also speaks of an experience the others don’t seem to grasp so heavily. Something about this man draws me in, something dark and twisted. I want to understand his pain, to revel in that darkness with him, to understand what kind of horrors this man can inflict.


About the Author:

Freida Kilmari is an author, writer, and editor residing in south-west England, who loves all things fiction. She has a passion for fantasy, romance, science-fiction, and poetry that runs her life, from her career to her passions. 




Secret Spirit Guardians of Santa Fe by C.A. Masterson


Secret Spirit Guardians of Santa Fe
C.A. Masterson  

Genre:  Fantasy
Publisher: Wild Rose Press
Date of Publication:  October 5, 2020
ISBN:  978-1-5092-3351-9 Paperback
ISBN: 978-1-5092-3352-6 Digital
Number of pages:  330
Word Count:  82,600
Cover Artist:  Debbie Taylor

Tagline:  Most families have quirks, but not like Marissa’s.

Book Description:

After Marissa Tahy returns home to Santa Fe, she is haunted by visions and glimpses of danger no one else sees: the spirit of Old Man Gloom in his true form. 

For a hundred years, people have burned their troubles in the spirit’s effigy at the Zozobra festival, each year making the spirit angrier and more powerful.  This year, Old Man Gloom demands his due. The vengeful spirit targets those Marissa loves. 

Even when Marissa discovers the secret history binding her family to Zozobra, joining their forces may not be enough to prevent the furious spirit from burying Santa Fe beneath an avalanche of misery.

Book Trailer:  https://youtu.be/j3HVxC6azcQ 

Amazon     BN

Excerpt:

The crack between worlds happened before I decided to move home to Santa Fe. Had the thought occurred to me, I’d probably have laughed, a little. Until the memory pushed through, a half-remembered nightmare hidden in an undercurrent of emotion, but

always there, flowing beneath the surface of consciousness. Sometimes it’s better if those feelings stay buried, where they can’t pull you under.

After twenty-four years, here I was. Back in the City Different. Because sometimes, life makes hard choices for you. Otherwise, I’d still be in San Diego, not in my aunt’s house, trying hard to pretend I wasn’t a stranger to my own family. For the last half hour, I’d tried to shake off the odd sensation after Zelda made an impromptu, awkward stop at the site of my childhood home, whatever that was about. No longer commenting

on family social media posts from a distance, instead I was in the thick of things.

“How’s Javi been?” I asked Zelda. My aunt had answered my offer to help prepare dinner by handing me a glass of wine and telling me to relax, she had it under control. I had no doubt. Despite driving me from the airport, she was as cool as a freshly picked jalapeno, and as likely to burn you.

“Wonderful. But you can ask him yourself at dinner.” Her deep, distinctive voice was like smoke pouring across gravel.

“Cool, I can’t wait.” When I’d last spent time with my cousin, we’d been kids. Closer than most first cousins, we shared a family conspiracy, hoping none of our classmates would find out that we were not like any of them. No matter where we went, we didn’t belong.

Zelda’s silver bracelets jingled as she briskly arranged vegetables around haddock fillets. “Phoebe will be excited to see you again.”

“You still have her?”

“Of course. She’s as old as you, which makes her barely middle-aged. Phoebe, dear,” she called, “we have company.”

A squawk sounded from the other room, where sunshine poured across the floor in a welcoming sea of light.

I’d always loved my aunt’s house. From sunup to sundown, daylight flooded through the house’s tall windows. The wood-framed stucco structure was a typical style for Santa Fe, not much different from the others in the neighborhood. What had stood out in my

memory was the tall wooden fence that bordered the yard, painted a vivid shade of blue, with myriad crosses along the top of the front gate.

“Careful,” Zelda said. “She’s testy sometimes.”

“Aren’t we all?” I only half joked.

Before my aunt could answer, I made my way from the kitchen to the sunroom beside it. The glass enclosure looked out onto the back yard and faced the outdoor fireplace. On either side of the tall chimney, colorful painted angels decorated its white stucco surface.

The bird cage, as tall as me, occupied a corner. And as always, the door sat wide open so Phoebe could climb in if she wanted, which she almost never did unless she got hungry. A bamboo perch ran above the cage, between the two potted palm trees that provided shade. There Phoebe sat, eyeballing me. Sunlight caught the green and blue feathers, making their colors rich as jewels.

At my approach, the parrot bobbed its head and danced along the perch. Even a nip from Phoebe’s curved beak hurt like hell, so I kept a few feet between us and cooed my greeting.

Pans rattled in the kitchen. “Be nice, Phoebe girl.”

The bird gave no indication of recognizing me. I didn’t know why I’d expected a different reaction. Because I’d taught it more than fifty words, over two decades earlier? Moving home shouldn’t reduce me to childish notions.

So much for a reunion. I returned to the kitchen.

“Sure I can’t help with anything?”

“When do you start your new job?”

“Monday.” Fluttering in my belly reminded me it was coming up fast. Another long adjustment period awaited me, learning a new job, getting to know all the quirks and qualities of my coworkers. After I’d been hired as the new reporter at the Santa Fe Chronicle, I’d read the online edition every day. The stories helped give me a sense about the writers. Glimmers of their personalities shone through in their word choices, the nearly undetectable spin they gave topics.

“That doesn’t leave you much time for moving in.”

Spooning a marinade over the dish, Zelda flicked up her gaze.

The look hit me like lightning. The cogs were turning in my aunt’s head; I could practically see the rotation behind her eyes. If I didn’t put her off track, Zelda would start commandeering my daily life.

I folded my arms and shifted toward the island, a not-too-subtle body language indicating my need for a barrier between us. “The two guys I hired to bring my stuff are supposed to arrive tomorrow morning. I don’t have much, so they can get everything inside the apartment in a few hours. I prefer to take my time settling in.” All taken care of, my subtext said. No need for Zelda to worry. She could divert those black eyes elsewhere.

On cue, Zelda flashed her Mona Lisa smile and glanced away. “Too bad I gave my extra furniture to Javi.”

I watched my aunt with a mixture of wonder and frustration. All these years, and Zelda still pretended. Spoke with flawless Spanish enunciation, wore her long black hair in a bun at the back of her neck, decorated her house with painted ceramic geckos and metal sun faces, even named her son Javier to avoid question of our true nationality. My parents had committed the same sins of omission and pretense and expected us children to do the same.



About the Author 

Award-winning author C.A. Masterson loves stories of any genre. Multi-published in contemporary to historical, fantasy/dark fantasy to paranormal/speculative, she sometimes mashes genres. In 2010, The Pearl S. Buck Foundation awarded first place to her short literary story, Christmas Eve at the Diner on Rathole Street. Her short literary story, All is Calm, All is Bright, was awarded second place in the annual Pennwriters Short Story contest in 2005.

Visit her at http://paintingfirewithwords.blogspot.com or look for her romance stories as Cate Masters at http://catemasters.blogspot.com and in strange nooks and far-flung corners of the web.




 

 


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