Wednesday, January 20, 2016

Wolf's Blade by Clare Dargin. Plus an Excerpt


Samantha Dixon rescues a wounded wolf shifter in the woods near her home … and unwittingly gets drawn into a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a murderer. 

Callum Blake is on the trail of an evil man who would be king of all wolf kind, no matter the cost … it’s up to Callum to stop him. How can Callum fulfill his duty to protect his pack and save the woman who is destined to be his mate? 



Callum Blake growled and grabbed his forearm. He opened his clenched fist as the nails on his hand morphed into long dark claws. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as he fought the urge to shift. He pounded the tree and glanced up at the night sky and prayed in agony to the wolf goddess. He pleaded for help. He’d take anything she had to offer if it would provide even the smallest amount of relief.

Nothing. The pain continued. He shook his head and grimaced in an attempt to remove the fog that was starting to shroud his mind. He silently cried out to her again.

Why are you silent? You’re the reason I took this mission and now you’re allowing me to suffer?

His frustration mingled with his physical pain, adding to his misery. The beast fought its way to the surface. He opened his mouth and howled. A mixture of a roar and a yell, it relieved some of the tension within him, but it did not drive away the urge to shift. Leaning against the tree, he dug his claws into the bark, burrowing deep grooves as he exerted his strength against the muscle contraction. 

His pulse pounded in his ears as sweat poured down on his face. Unlike his wolf self who resided peacefully inside of him, his lycan did not have the same kind of placating nature. It yielded only to the strongest of commands exerted to it from his mind. It was supposed to live in harmony just as his inner wolf, but it refused.


Buy Links:

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Guest Post: Beyond Vampires? It’s Risky Business

As a writer of urban fantasy, I frequently hear the lament that readers are tired of vampires and werewolves. If you look at the number of television programs and movies featuring vampires and werewolves, it would be easy to dismiss this claim. Moreover, the stories are quite different, despite the fact that they feature common species of creatures. Tales of these beings endure because each writer creates his/her own mythology about them.

In my urban fantasies, I try to combine mythology, current fads, and a touch of whimsy. It works: fairies on the runway, dragons on Wall Street, Were-predators in law enforcement or the military, and vampires in control of the entertainment industry. All are governed by the Incubi—who also happen to run the world’s hotels and resorts.

Logical and easy to follow, right? But there’s a risk. What if your audience isn’t familiar with the new paranormal species?

As an example, in House of the Rising Son, one of my characters is a drag queen who moonlights as a nanny. She’s Huldra: A Norse forest spirit who seduces human men and/or steals human babies. When introduced, I identified her as her as Huldra, and referred to her cow-like tail and her woodsy, forest essence. Perfect—except that readers, unfamiliar with Huldra, wanted more.

Writing about a lesser-known supernatural or mythical creature is risky. Readers may need a great deal more information than the author is able to provide in the context of the scene. Giving an information dump of detail about the new species may take the reader out of the story. Conversely, not giving enough detail may have the same effect.

The lesson, I suppose, is that going beyond vampires and werewolves is risky. But for me, the reward of creating whimsical and interesting characters makes the risk worthwhile.

Sometimes, being yourself means Living After Midnight.


Living After Midnight, Book 1


Cheyenne is a half-human incubus whose star is on the rise in the Unakite City rock scene. His father, the leader of the supernatural races, would prefer he keep a “low profile”, but screw that. Cheyenne has as much music in his veins as royal incubi blood.

Alexander's future is all set—finish law school, join the family firm, and marry someone who'd be good for business. Not that he has a say in any of it. He's barely met the woman his father expects him to marry.

As Cheyenne's musical career takes off, his carefully constructed life begins to unravel, exacerbated by an ex-lover who can't let go, a crotchety barkeeper with a dirty mind and a pure heart, a drag queen who moonlights as a nanny, and Alexander—who's not sure if he's falling for the incubus or the rocker.

Cheyenne denies who he is, while Alexander hides what he wants. Together, they learn that getting what they truly want means being who they truly are.



While waiting for their drinks, Alexander studied the deep grooves carved into the table, trying to ignore the friction of Cheyenne’s thigh rubbing against his as the musician tapped a heel to the thump of the DJ’s music. Once the drinks arrived, Alexander downed half the bottle before he realized Cheyenne’s large green eyes were staring at him.

“So where’s your girl, Prudhomme? I mean, Prune Danish. No, wait...”

“Prudish. Shit, Prudence,” Alexander sputtered.

Cheyenne’s eyes sparkled. “No, you got it right the first time. Where is she?”

He shrugged. “Home, I guess.”

Cheyenne cocked his head. “Oh, really?” He put his hand on Alexander’s leg. “What’s up? You can tell me.”

“It’s not working out.” Alexander dragged his teeth over his lower lip. “It’s my fault.”

He couldn’t keep his attraction to Cheyenne out of his voice. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Cheyenne put his thumb to his lip and paused. “It’s like the drink.”

Alexander tilted his head, not sure he heard correctly. “The drink?”

“Yeah, that nasty ass bourbon. I bet your father drinks it. Your uncles. All your friends. Everybody, right?”

He didn’t answer, but waited for Cheyenne to continue.

“It was just expected that you’d drink it too. So you did.” His hand moved up Alexander’s thigh. “But now, maybe it’s okay to drink what you like. A different brand, a better vintage. Because you want it.
Because it tastes better.” Cheyenne licked his lips. “Because it feels right.”

Alexander cleared his throat and brushed his lap, pushing Cheyenne’s hand away. “I can’t.”

“If you change your mind, let me know.”

“You don’t understand. It’s not that easy. My whole life will change.”

“It already has.”

You can find House of the Rising Son on Samhain Publishing, Barnes and Noble and Amazon


Author on the web:

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

I Dream of Spaceships, Faeries, Vampires and Dragons.

Guest Post by Livia Quinn

My mother worked for NASA when I was a kid, so I met astronauts and dreamed about going to outer space. I’d sit in my over stuffed reading chair and devour Astronomy books, Tom Swift, and all the Justice Leaque heroes. So when I started writing it was only natural that my contemporary stories took on a paranormal twist.

When I read, I want to escape. And while I read all genres, the best escapes for me are those magical realms that can’t possibly exist—or can they. I mean, what if my boss is really a dragon? Or a vampire? Think about it, whether it’s fairy tales or vampires, shifters or zombies, light or dark; whether we call it paranormal, urban fantasy, or science fiction, it’s all the stuff of our fantasies. It takes us away from our real lives. It’s pure escape since we’re pretty sure that paranormal beings don’t exist. (Personally, I’d love to explore the possibility of meeting Roarke and taking a trip in his personal jet to his Olympus resort. Yes!)

There’s something for everyone in this big paranormal world. Look at the variety on screen – Supernatural, Thor, Grimm, Sleepy Hollow, the Walking Dead, Bitten, Witches of Eastwick, The Avengers, Once Upon a Time, Vampire Diaries… 

Someone said when they found out I was going to see Avatar for the third time, or Star Wars, “That’s for kids. Why don’t you grow up?” I feel sad for them because although there’s a side of me that is very practical, the other side is stimulated and energized by the dream of other worlds, other peoples, and other realms. By the magical possibilities. Why would I give that up?

Why do you love fantasy? What’s your favorite sub-genre?

My Destiny Paramortals series set in Destiny, Louisiana began with my fear of severe weather, which was always a problem for me while delivering the mail. Writing about the Paranormals has been rather cathartic since my heroine is a storm witch. Here’s the blurb for the book 1, Storm Crazy.

Destiny – is it Mayberry or Middle Earth?

My name is Tempest Pomeroy, and my human job is delivering the mail in Destiny, Louisiana. I’m also a Paramortal like my family, or I’m supposed to be. If I didn’t have a few little talents, I’d think I was adopted. It’s just two weeks until Mardi Gras, and I’m having a bad day. That’s like saying Katrina dropped a little rain on the Gulf Coast.

First, River’s amphora went missing—that’s genie bottle to you mere-mortals—and on my first delivery, a handsome scantily clad doctor triggered some sort of hallucination, with just a touch. Pheromones? Then, one of my customers had a stroke while reading me the riot act over a piece of mail, but I saved the old fart with a zap of my Zeus juice! It was the first time I’d actually called my power on purpose, and Destiny’s hunky new sheriff almost saw me use my magic—big no-no—when he responded to the call.

He showed up again when the local florist filed a complaint against me for dropping a seventy-five-pound box on his foot. Yeah, I did it, but it was kind of an accident. He put his hand where it didn’t belong, and my fingers… sorta slipped. Then, things got worse. I discovered a dead body in the clubhouse and rescued my brother’s amphora from a locker, bashing it in with a Greg Norman wedge.

Guess who showed up? You guessed it.

I’ve denied my heritage for too long. Now, my brother is missing, my mother’s out of pocket, and the sheriff and my ex-lover are squaring off like yard dogs staking a claim over a poodle. I am no one’s poodle. Is it any wonder I’m calling this the worst M.A.L.E day of my life? My friend Aurora says all the chaos is a sign of my quickening Tempestaerie power, and more changes are on the wind.
Oh, and the sheriff? He thought he’d settled in a normal small town to raise his teenage daughter—like Mayberry?! We’ll see how that turns out…

Things better settle down soon, ‘cause I’m about to go... Storm Crazy.

 Excerpt: Tempe calls her power for the first time.

“ETA is eight minutes,” the dispatcher said in her calm, almost bored voice. “Can you give me any information for the EMTs?”

Eight...friggin’… minutes. “Mid-eighties...he had some kind of seizure and he’s not breathing.”

Seconds ticked off as I continued to pump his chest. I stopped, put my fingers to his mouth. Nothing.

“Oomph,” I sat back. He wasn’t going to make it. Unless… Maybe there was something I could do, but then I’d never actually attempted it. Usually it just happened when things got out of control. Well—not things—me.

Part of the problem was I’d be in clear sight of anyone looking this way from their front yard or driving down the street, but if I didn’t try something before the EMTs arrived, he was going to die. I looked around. It had to be now. I wondered if my little zapper would have enough zip.
Mr. Jackson’s tirade had miraculously not drawn any attention. The street was deserted. A squirrel bounded onto the road nearby, swished his tail madly and took off toward a large oak. At least he couldn’t tell.

 Extending my hand out in front of me, Palm up, I concentrated, willing the power inside me to obey.

Nothing. I squeezed my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and whispered hopefully, “Come to me.”

Blast! I sounded like a bad vamp movie. Separating my index finger, the one with the tiny tattoo-like image on the tip, away from my other fingers, I turned it up toward the darkening sky. The cells in my body began to vibrate. Like an energy solar panel, menori tapped the unstable air and focused it like a laser through the tattoo, accumulating until my head felt like it would explode.

The rumble beneath my feet was the only notice I had of the electric strike that rode straight up my legs, curling in my midsection and crawling swiftly along my right arm to produce my own version of a Fourth of July sparkler, emanating from that fingertip. Then the sparks changed. Brilliant bolts of crackling white light spit and sizzled in my palm, sending jagged streamers of hot blue fire ten feet into the air.

I gawked.

A car entering a nearby street freed me from the mesmerizing light display. This was different from any of the charging I’d previously experienced. Bigger. Usually it just sort of replenished on its own. Panicked, I looked over my shoulder, and exhaled. So far so good.

Now what? I needed to command the fire in my hand to... what? Before I could say, “Be gone,” or “Go thither,” the light subsided to a small crackly glow. That was it then.

Instinct took over. I knelt beside Mr. Jackson and placed my glowing index finger against his chest. With a single szzwaattt, I zapped him, right in the heart. His chest arched up only the barest of seconds as it met my magical defibrillator, then his body relaxed.

Momentarily deafened and somewhat addled as my faculties came back online, I groped for the pulse in his neck. For a second I thought I’d failed. But then, his tired, smoke glutted organ started beating.
Thank the gods.

Only the slight whiff of burnt flesh remained on the wind. Drained of energy, I swiped the back of my hand across my forehead. And saw the mark.

“Zeus’ rechargeable bolts! That better be temporary.”

Centered on the spot where I’d zapped him, a pale image was forming. It looked like a pale, mini version of… well… me.


Buy Links-  

Storm Crazy is available on all retailers:









Page Foundry


Find me on 






Sunday, January 10, 2016

Guest Post: New Gothic Romance: A Haunting Combination by Claire Gem. Plus an Excerpt from Phantom Traces

My readers often ask me, “Why ghosts in your contemporary romance? Where do you get your ideas?” The answer is simple: I love both genres.

Contemporary romance, with its high emotional stakes, present-day, real life settings, and steamy sex scenes, draws me in and keeps me turning the pages. I also love ghost stories, with all the thrills and chills of a true gothic. Trouble is, there aren’t many gothic novels set in present day. Most of them fall into the historical category, and take place in the past.

So what better way to express my love of both genres? Write books embracing both.
What exactly is “New Gothic”? Okay, I’ll admit it—I invented the term, mostly because contemporary romance with paranormal elements was too long. Plus, nowadays the term “paranormal” in genre fiction is more often related to vampires, zombies, and shape shifters than plain old, garden-variety ghosts. Not that my ghosts are boring. Not by any stretch.

Where do I get my inspirations? That’s the easy part. I’m a sucker for old buildings: centuries-old libraries, crumbling hotels, abandoned asylums. And graveyards—I’m addicted to them. There’s actually a name for that: taphophilia. I started exploring old graveyards way back in my first year of college, when I took a photography course. I created an entire portfolio of black-and-white photos of cemeteries, playing with the light, bare-branched trees, and hovering birds. Unfortunately, that was 40 years ago. Sadly, I no longer have any of those pictures.
I suppose the question that arises now is: why? What draws me to these places? It’s hard to explain, but they speak to me. I get vibes from every one I visit, sometimes positive, sometimes very negative. But the vibes incite ideas, characters, situations, stories. The next thing I know, I’m at my keyboard tapping away.
In my preparation for writing Phantom Traces, I visited every old library within a 50-mile radius of my home. I live in New England, so that took me to some very old buildings indeed, including the one in Salem, Massachusetts. And so the setting for my ghostly romance, the Harvey Library, was born from bits and pieces of all of these magical, mysterious places.

Since then I have sketched out several other settings for New Gothic romances, including an abandoned hotel and two defunct asylums. For me, the research is half the fun.
So are you one of those readers who loves romance, but also loves the paranormal? A really chilling ghost story? Mysteries? Magic? I invite you to share with me, in your comments, your favorite elements of these genres. Your input will help me to better construct my next New Gothic Romance. If you comment and sign up for my newsletter here, on January 15, I will choose one lucky participant to receive a free Kindle copy of Phantom Traces. 


Claire Gem turns the paranormal genre on its ear by combining the elements of gothic horror, mystery/thriller, and contemporary romance into a genre she calls New Gothic.

Claire loves ghost stories, and has done her homework when it comes to exploring the world of paranormal phenomena. She holds her certificate in Parapsychology from Duke University's Rhine Institute of Paranormal Studies.

Although she most definitely believes in ghosts, Claire doesn't suffer from nightmares. They are simply midnight musings for her next gothic novel.

Claire Gem’s debut New Gothic romance, Phantom Traces, is available in ebook, paperback, and audiobook here: Read about Claire’s upcoming New Gothic romances here:

Friday, January 8, 2016

Guest Post: An Out of Body Experience by Glenn Maynard. Plus A Blurb and Excerpt From His Paranormal Novel

There’s a reason that I write paranormal romance. I became too fascinated by stories of reincarnation, past-life regression, and out-of-body experiences. I’ll be sitting and minding my own business, and then I’ll happen upon a story like the one that occurred in 1977, when a patient at a medical center, known as Maria, claimed to have had an out-of-body experience.

During her OBE, she claimed to have floated outside her body and outside of the hospital. Maria would later tell her social worker that during the OBE she had observed a tennis shoe on the third floor window ledge to the north side of the building. He went there and could see a tennis shoe on one of the ledges. He published the account in 1985, and the story has been used in many paranormal books as evidence a spirit can leave the body.

When I immerse myself in scenes such as my main character, Carter’s out-of-body experience and ultimate walk through heaven, I closed my eyes and visualized the scenes. I had actually been in a near-fatal car accident when I was 16 years old, and I broke my neck, pelvis, shoulder, ribs, and hand, and suffered third degree burns. I was in and out of a coma for three days and hospitalized for two months. I had a pretty good base for the intensity of the scenes I described. Did I have an out-of-body experience? No. Was I qualified for writing such a scene? I believe so.

The sequel for Desert Son was released January 4, 2016 and it’s entitled, Wayward Soul. This one has even more twists and turns than the first book. I like giving things a new spin, whether it’s my take on how reincarnation works or my walk through heaven. What happens when we die? Where do we go?  What happens when a spirit is caught in-between and what if the spirit is menacing? I’ve got all that covered.


Blurb for Wayward Soul:

While visiting a psychic, Carter Spence and Brenda Raycroft’s reading turns tragic. The psychic touches them, suffers convulsions, and frantically runs into the street into oncoming traffic. Their fate is sealed in a coma and they must use any means possible to reach the psychic in the spirit world as they dodge deadly complications in an attempt for answers.

They pursue the psychic’s message before she can die and take the answers they need with her. When the spirit of the previous homeowner returns, this haunting soul begins tampering with the comatose psychic.

The sequel to Desert Son takes place four years after Carter and Brenda discover they are a couple reunited beyond the grave. The spirit world becomes intertwined with their own as they attempt to tap into these secrets to uncover disturbing truths about their fate in this paranormal roller coaster that will shake your soul.


Excerpt for Wayward Soul:

The room was so silent that he could hear Brenda inhaling as he was exhaling. There was a hypnotic ticking of his alarm clock. Carter was concentrating on the duality of their breathing for quite some time. He could feel his mind begin to drift off as if it were leaving his head. He was aware of the ticking of the alarm
clock, but continued to think of Angie. He summoned her aloud, thought about her, and whispered to her. He was fully engaged.

“Charlie?” Carter said. He raised his body and sat up in bed to see his old friend Charlie sitting at the end of his bed looking toward the bedroom door.

Carter was not too certain what was going on, because he had been speaking to Angie and all of the
sudden felt like he had slipped into that world Brenda had spoken about. He progressed from summoning Angie to somehow viewing Charlie sitting on his bed. Carter looked at Charlie, and Charlie slowly turned to look at him. Carter did not know for sure if he was dreaming or if this was part of that other world that Brenda had been telling him about. If it was that world, then why was Charlie here and not Angie. Besides, Charlie was very much alive and renting his house with his fiancée back in Boston. Was it an imposter? Did Angie take the form of Charlie in order to trick Carter? He was convinced it was part of a dream.

Carter continued to look at Charlie. He appeared very different, almost like a shadowy figure that his hand would pass through if he were to try to touch him. At the same time, he looked physical enough, as if it was indeed his friend Charlie sitting on his bed. However, he was not comfortable with attempting to touch him,
and just wanted to see where things went.

He stared at Charlie, before saying, “Hi Charlie.”

Charlie just looked, and did not respond. He had a very blank stare and no smile was even close to forming on his lips. His face looked ashen, and he certainly was not the happy-go-lucky Charlie that he would pal around with all through high school.

“Charlie, what brings you here?”

There was no response.

Carter watched the blank look on Charlie’s face as he finally leaned in to Carter’s ear and whispered, “Keep an eye on the past.”

He moved back to his original position, then back to Carter’s ear again.

“Watch the reflection, and keep an eye on the other one.”

Back to his position he went, before again leaning in for one final whisper, “Find Trevor.”

Carter started to ask Charlie what he meant by all of these random comments, but when he looked up, Charlie evaporated right before his eyes. The last of the physical part of Charlie disintegrated. Carter rubbed his eyes and looked again, but Charlie was no longer there, and Brenda was sleeping away where she was
when Carter began his journey. He thought it odd that he never really took a journey like he expected.

He didn’t go anywhere. Rather, someone other than who he had summoned came to him. It’s not what he wanted, and Charlie was speaking gibberish, but at least Carter returned and remembered everything Charlie had said. He even wrote it all down in a notepad on his nightstand, before he forgot, or before Brenda awoke and dialogue could erase everything Charlie had mentioned, if it even was indeed Charlie at all.
Carter had expected to go on this fantastic journey. Instead, this fantastic journey came to him. That’s the way it appeared, but by the time Brenda awoke and popped her head up, Carter wasn’t totally sure exactly what had happened. It was almost like a dream. It really felt like a dream, but he wasn’t ready to break the
news to Brenda just yet.

“It’s late,” said Brenda. “Do you want to do this tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, tomorrow night will be fine.” Carter lied back down on his pillow, but his eyes were now wide open.

End Excerpt

Author:  Glenn Maynard.

Wednesday, January 6, 2016

Cupid by Lucy Felthouse What Is A Reindeer #Shifter To Do When His Mate Is Near? #MF #Erotic #Contemporary #Romance

Out Now! Cupid by Lucy Felthouse 


As a postman by day, and one of Santa’s reindeer on a single very special night, Cassius Cupid eats, sleeps, and breathes deliveries. He doesn’t mind, but sometimes wishes that someone would send him something more exciting than bills and junk mail.

One cold January morning, Cassius gets his wish. A young woman arrives with a parcel. Turns out it’s for his housemate – but Cassius doesn’t care. All he’s interested in is Carina – the beautiful female courier.

Has Cupid finally met his match?



Cassius Cupid woke with a start, and then sat bolt upright in his bed. Shit, I’m going to be late! was his first thought.

Milliseconds later his brain switched on, and he remembered. He was on holiday. Flopping back onto the warm mattress and pillows with a contented sigh, he smiled. No work for fourteen whole days—it was going to be utter bliss. He stretched, relishing the feeling it created in his sleep-softened muscles. Ahhh…this is the life.

He knew he wouldn’t go back to sleep—hell, it was eight o’clock, which was practically the middle of the day for someone in his profession—so Cassius fell to thinking about how he was going to spend his day, not to mention the several others in front of him. God knew he deserved to relax and have some fun. He’d just emerged from the busiest part of his year, and he was more than ready to do some chilling out.

He enjoyed his job as a postman—he really did—but the Christmas period was a total killer. He idly wondered how many cards and presents he’d delivered over the past few weeks. It didn’t bear thinking about. Once you factored in the festive period itself, the weird few days between Christmas and New Year, and then the flurry of mail that got sent when everyone went back to work properly at the beginning of January, he’d racked up some serious deliveries. And that was before you even thought about his other job—which was for just one day a year, but was arguably more important than the other 364 put together.

Cassius—or Cupid, as he was known to his boss and colleagues in his second, but most important job—was not only a regular postman for the Royal Mail, but also a reindeer. For a single day of the year, Cassius had the supernatural power to transform into one of Santa’s faithful steeds and help pull that famous magical sleigh, delivering presents to excited children the world over.

Therefore, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Cassius really did eat, sleep and breathe deliveries, but not for the next fourteen days. All he planned to do was watch some TV, read some books, maybe go out hiking, meet some friends… basically anything that wasn’t delivering something to someone. Hey, he might even receive something through the post himself—preferably not the usual crap; bills and junk mail. He didn’t hold out much hope.

He lounged in bed for another ten minutes before realising he was lying there just for the sake of it. Being on holiday didn’t have to equal staying in bed all day—and certainly not for someone as active as him. He reached over to his bedside table, grabbed his glasses and put them on. Throwing off his thick duvet, he walked to his bedroom window and peeked out through the curtains, immediately glad of the effective central heating he and his housemate had forked out to have installed the previous year.

The outside world was covered in a thick layer of snow, and Cassius was mightily glad that he wasn’t out delivering letters and parcels. The stuff was treacherous enough without having to carry a heavy bag up and down driveways, paths, and pavements — most of which either hadn’t been cleared, or had been cleared badly, leaving incredibly slippery patches of ground for an unsuspecting postie to come across. God knows he’d gone down enough times, but, much to his relief, nobody had ever seen him do it. He’d always been relatively unharmed—excerpt for his pride, of course—and had been able to scramble back to his feet and carry on.

The eerie silence outside was broken by the rumble of an engine, and Cassius turned his head to look up the street—he lived in a cul-de-sac, so he knew that’s where the vehicle would come from—and watched as a delivery van made its way slowly and carefully down the road. He hoped the driver was sensible enough to try and steer over the thickest parts of the snow—the more people went over and over the same patches, packing it down, the more the road surface resembled an ice rink. And since the cul-de-sac was on a slight hill, it was easy enough to get stuck. He’d seen it so many times—even going outside one time last winter to suggest the driver go down to the bottom of the road, turn around and try reversing up the hill—an almost foolproof plan for vans with rear-wheel drive. He’d gotten a big thumbs-up for that suggestion as the driver finally got to the junction where the road became flat, and went on his merry way.

As the van drew closer to his house, he saw that the driver was a woman. That would explain her cautious driving—he’d never admit it to one of his drinking buddies, but women were far superior when it came to driving in adverse weather conditions. He even thought he’d seen some survey containing statistics that proved it.


Buy links: 


Author Bio:

Lucy Felthouse is a very busy woman! She writes erotica and erotic romance in a variety of subgenres and pairings, and has over 140 publications to her name, with many more in the pipeline.

These include several editions of Best Bondage Erotica, Best Women's Erotica 2013 and Best Erotic Romance 2014. Another string to her bow is editing, and she has edited and co-edited a number of anthologies, and also edits for a small publishing house. 

She owns Erotica For All, is book editor for Cliterati, and is one eighth of The Brit Babes. 

Find out more at Join her on Facebook and Twitter, and subscribe to her newsletter at:

Tuesday, January 5, 2016

Do You Have A Favorite Paranormal Character? #Shifter? #Vampire? #Berserker? Who Is Your Favorite Book Boyfriend?

At one point Vampires were all the rage.
Are you still a big fan of the fangs?

I love reading paranormal romances!  I've been hooked ever since I read my first Stormy Glenn novel in The Katzmann series. It's more of a futuristic paranormal erotic romance.  It is paranormal in the sense that the characters were feline humanoids but the characters in the book were so real and loving, I instantly connected to them and their problems.

But still I loved them.  From there I branched out to many different authors (too many to count) and read different types of paranormal books - from Fairy Tale based to shifters.

I have to admit, I am still leaning toward the shifter based books- werewolves to bear shifters.  My favorite in the bear shifter category was a book that featured Polar Bear shifters in near the north pole!  

Though some publishers say werewolf and shifter books in general have waned in popularity, I guess they forgot to tell this to some of the e-publishers where these books are flying off the shelves.  

My question to you you have a favorite?

Are you a vampire i.e. Twilight Fan?

Perhaps you like a good werewolf romance- (insert your favorite one here)

Or is there another type of paranormal character that lights your fire.  

Tell us who you like and why!

Monday, January 4, 2016

First Beast by Faye Avalon

To protect his pack, he must guard his heart.


Lost on Bodmin Moor, twelve-year-old Talia Summers was cold, hurt and terrified, before being saved by a black panther that materialized out of the night.

Years later, Talia returns to the moor in search of that magnificent beast, but instead finds a man leading a clan of shape shifters. Yet the connection she remembers is strangely absent. She despairs of ever finding it again—until a stranger steps into her shower.

Back to claim his rightful place, Caleb McLeod’s fierce attraction to his half-brother’s female is tempered by the fact she’s a human. Worse, a journalist. He’ll not have his people’s survival threatened by a human female who continually pushes the boundaries of pack rules.

His solution? Mate with her. Control her. And if his brother doesn’t like it, they’ll simply have to share. For now.

But suspicion and lies threaten the growing bond between Talia and Caleb, and the past has a way of catching up. A way of destroying the bridge built between two worlds…between two hearts. 



Since she’d deliberately gotten home early, Talia headed straight to the kitchen to put lasagna in the oven. She intended to make the evening special, to make up for some of the tension between her and Joshua.
Since the day was hot, unbearably so, she headed to the shower.

She’d expected Josh to be home, but wasn’t overly worried. He’d likely taken himself off to the moor and hadn’t yet gotten her text asking him to join her.

Thinking it might bring them closer if he’d shared that part of himself, Talia had once asked him to shift in front of her, but he’d steadfastly refused. It was his time, he’d said. Something he couldn’t share with anyone, even her.

Many times when she woke in the night he would be gone. On his return, he’d often wake her and they would make love. Lately, he’d come home with a restless energy. She’d feel him slide into bed, turn over and slip into a troubled sleep.

Maybe it was all part of being a shapeshifter. Something to do with the phases of the moon. She stripped off her work clothes, put the shower on cool, and stepped beneath the spray. Closing her eyes, she enjoyed the feel of the water against her skin and let the tension of the day slide off her shoulders.

Over the spray of water, she heard the click of the back door. Joshua was home. She didn’t call out. He’d hear the shower soon enough, and by the time he reached the bathroom he would have stripped out of his clothes.

How was it that all their problems seemed to fall away when they had sex? Here, they were compatible. Here, they saw eye to eye.

So why did she still crave something that possibly didn’t even exist?

Unbidden, her thoughts slipped back to that night she’d gotten lost on the moor. Why in heaven was she thinking about it so often these days? It was as if something called to her, made her more aware of her longing for what she’d experienced back then. Josh had been a young panther, he’d told her, running solo for the first time. Most of his kind didn’t experience shifting until they reached puberty, and they had to run with more experienced members until they learned the secrets and challenges of the moor.

She’d been so desperate to learn more, to talk to him about that night and how much it had meant to her, but he was always circumspect. Probably because shifters weren’t supposed to talk about their experiences on the moor, especially not with humans.

Pushing the thoughts away, she continued to soap herself, anticipating the moment the bathroom door would open and Joshua would stand there in all his glory and ready to play. With her free hand, she reached out and rubbed at the steamy shower screen, giving herself a clear window through which she would be able to see him. She could hear his footsteps—weird how attuned she was becoming to sound, scent and vision. It was almost as if her own senses had sharpened since she’d mated with a shifter. Perhaps that was a side effect? She’d have to check it out with Joshua. That was, if he’d be willing to discuss it.

The footsteps seemed to wander from room to room, and she speculated as to what particular game Joshua was playing. Had he thought of yet another inventive way to string out the anticipation? To make her wait for him so that she was so hot by the time he reached her that she’d be desperate to jump him?

She’d be damned if she’d call out to him, because that was probably one of his intentions. Instead, she kept her mouth shut and determined to play whatever game they were in the middle of. She unhooked the shower attachment, and held it ready at chest level, so that when he opened the door to the shower cubicle, she’d be in the perfect position to blast him.

She bit down on her bottom lip. Denied the warmth of the shower water, she shivered from both the cool air on her flesh and the thought of what was to come. Knowing Josh, he’d be pissed when she drenched him, but a pissed and aroused Joshua was often a joy to behold.

The footsteps grew louder and seconds later, the slow squeak of the door signaled his arrival. Since her peephole had steamed up again, she couldn’t see him, but smiled as the dark shadow approached the cubicle door. She hummed softly, sashayed a little, so that he’d think she was unaware of his presence and was simply enjoying her shower.

The shadow remained outside the door, perfectly still and strangely menacing. Something niggled, seeming a little off. Did Josh seem taller, broader? She mentally nudged it away as a trick of the light, and possibly her own arousal. But goose-bumps lifted the tiny hairs on her arms and she gripped the showerhead tighter.
Without warning, the cubicle door swung open and Talia had the breath knocked out of her momentarily as the cold snap of air whooshed into the small space. Narrowing her eyes, she raised the showerhead and let the spray hit Josh full in the face.

“What the hell?”

The deep curse that echoed around the bathroom and the strong hand that clasped her wrist belonged not to her husband, but some brute of a man who towered over her while she stood naked and trembling.

“Who…what do you think you’re d-doing?”

With his free hand, he wiped his drenched face. “My question exactly, sweetheart.”

His deep green eyes glared at her, his grip tightening around her wrist so that she dropped the showerhead to the floor. In the process, it sprayed them both with water, soaking his dark gray T-shirt and jeans. It earned her another dark curse.

She tried to scream, but nothing came out. So she did the next best thing. She fought. Kicking, hitting out with her free hand, and meeting nothing but rock-solid muscle.

“Get out!” She lashed out once more, tugging furiously at his grip on her and trying in vain to get free of him. Her breath backed up in her lungs, all her muscles tight and trembling. “Let go of me!”

He wiped his face again, the lower part of it sporting dark stubble. Talia let her gaze skim over him, trying to memorize his features for when she had to give a description to the police. God. He was built like a truck. His neck alone would rival the span of her waist, while his chest rippled and heaved beneath the soaked shirt.

Suddenly aware of her nakedness, she ceased her perusal. “If you don’t let go of me, I’ll scream. So help me, I’ll scream loud enough to wake the dead.”

He only grinned at that, yet there was little humor in it. Feral, she thought dazedly. He reminded her of a determined predator…

Bloody hell. Was he a shifter? A member of a visiting pack? It seemed to happen pretty frequently, but from what she knew, they didn’t engage in breaking and entering.

The thought that this man might be a shifter terrified her. She knew of their strength, of their power. Of their primal charm and charisma…which had to explain the sudden resurgence of arousal that powered through her trembling body.

“Go ahead and scream. There’s nobody around to hear you.”

He was right, of course, and she shivered with alarm. Most of their neighbors were at work, and the house itself was on the edge of the moor, its strategic position giving the pack’s leader both status and tactical strength.

She raised her chin and made herself stare him straight in the eye. “You don’t scare me.”

Another feral grin. “Is that so?” He glanced insolently down at her breasts and the hard, pebbled nipples that rose to attention. “But it sure looks like I do something to you, sweetheart.”

She gasped, and he abruptly released his hold on her and stepped back. Since he was still blocking her exit from the cubicle, Talia couldn’t reach the towel she’d placed on the railing outside without brushing her body against him. She crossed one arm to cover her breasts, then reached down to palm her hand over her center.
When he glanced to where her hands were purposefully placed, she suffered the punch of his assessing gaze and felt more naked than ever.

“If you leave now, I won’t report you,” she stated, thankful that her voice had regained some of its authority. “Just go.”

In answer, he raised his arm over his head and grabbed the back of his sodden shirt. Effortlessly, he shrugged it off and dropped it to the floor.

Eyeing his chest, Talia swallowed. She’d thought Joshua’s chest was ripped, but this man’s was something else. Scars scored the wide expanse of hard, solid muscle, crisscrossing as if someone had planned to create a specific pattern there. But they did little to mar the sheer masculine perfection of his upper body. Down the right side of his torso, a deeper, angrier-looking scar traveled from his ribcage to disappear beneath his jeans.

So lost in her heady examination, she didn’t realize he’d moved closer to her.

She jerked back, flattening herself against the cubicle wall. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

He spared her a glance. “Just undertaking some damage control. If my jeans get any wetter, I’ll need to ditch them, then there’ll be two of us naked in this shower.” He reached around her to turn off the faucet. “From your overreaction so far, I’m not sure you’d be too happy about that.”

“My overreaction?” The absolute nerve of the jerk. “You’ve barged in here, threatened me—”

“Wasn’t aware I’d done anything to you.”

She half expected him to add yet, but he strolled across to the railing and picked up the towel she’d placed there. He tossed it to her, making her almost giddy with relief. If he was going to let her dry herself, surely his intentions weren’t quite as dishonorable as she’d feared.

She wrapped the towel tightly around herself, keeping her gaze firmly on him. He went over to the rack and selected another towel with which he proceeded to dry himself.

Her fears shot into orbit again when he positioned himself in front of the bathroom door, effectively barring her escape the way he had in the cubicle. Gingerly, she stepped out. If she could at least get access to the bathroom cabinet, she might be able to select something to use as a weapon.

“What’s your name?”

The question took her by surprise and she jerked her chin toward him. “I should be asking you that. So I know who to report when I make my statement to the police.”

Perhaps in retrospect, she shouldn’t antagonize him, but the nerve of the man. Breaking into her home, terrorizing her, demanding to know her name as if she were the intruder.

He laughed. “And just how many arrests has old Bill Tucker made recently?”

“You know him?”

“Since I was a kid. And if we’re talking arrests, maybe I should be the one pressing charges.”

“I don’t know what you mean. Now will you please stand aside and let me out of this bathroom?”

He threw the damp towel onto a nearby chair. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart. At least not until you answer my question.”

Since he’d planted his feet and crossed his arms over his massive chest, Talia swallowed down fresh tension. “What…what question?”

“Just what the hell are you doing in my house?”

Product Warnings: 

A red-hot panther shifter with an over-the-top possessive streak, a human reporter trying desperately to retain her independence, and enough sexual heat to set fire to the moors of Cornwall.


First Beast by Faye Avalon 
Beasts of Bodmin Moor, Book 1

Buy Links:

Samhain Publishing: 



All Romance eBooks:

Sunday, January 3, 2016

Mastering the Beast by Tina Donahue


(Book Three – Taming the Beast series)

Erotic Paranormal - Romantic Comedy

Please support Tina's Thunderclap campaign:

(available for preorder – ready to read February 9):


Surrender is the only option she desires.

Taming the Beast, Book 3

No one believes that under the tough attitude and schoolgirl fashion sense, reformed demon Zoe burns for a man, love, and sex. She keeps those urges on ice and well hidden. She sold her soul for a guy once, and all it got her was a one-way ticket to Hell.

Her job, keeping supernatural creatures in line at From Crud to Stud, is all work and no play. Until she’s saddled with a trio of new enforcers who ooze so much sexual heat she’s afraid to be on the same planet with them.

Stefin, Anatol, and Taro try to contain their laughter as their adorable new boss tries to lay down the law. Apparently, no one told her they don’t take orders. They give them. And they’re determined to smooth her rough edges and tame her beast with acts so wanton they’ll make her scream—for more.

Talk about all hell breaking loose. Surrender won’t come easily, but given their devilish charm and her aching need, her journey to submission is one done deal.

Warning: Contains an unholy trio of demons who don’t like to take turns. Break room…
snacking. After-hours…training sessions. In other words, a sensual ride on the pleasure express. Features m/f/m/m sex in every flavor except vanilla. Bring. It. On.


Becca stopped fingering the edge of her short red hair. “I don’t want you to keep killing yourself by working so hard.”

“How could I do that?’ She frowned. “I’m immortal.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Becca waved her hand dismissively. “I want you to enjoy your work.”

That funny feeling returned, making Zoe queasy. “Who says I don’t? Oh, hey, is this about Daemon horning in on more of my stuff? Uh-uh. He’s already keeping the clients in line for the other staff. I don’t need him to do that for me. I’m capable. Hell, I’m a better enforcer than him. I do not want—”

“No problem,” Becca cut in and then blurted, “Stefin, Anatol and Taro will be here for that from now on.”

Footfalls suddenly rang in the hall. Three men who looked to be in their early thirties strode into Becca’s office, their movements fluid and assured, each of them dressed in black, their shirts made of silk, their boots and pants dressy, like bouncers at an elite club.

No one was boogying in here, especially Zoe as she caught the unholy trio’s faint sulfur scent. Oh shit. Pinpoints of flame flared briefly in their eyes, proving they were demons. The trouble she’d sensed earlier.

Too stunned to speak or to move, she simply stared.

The guy in the middle was easily six-three and nicely muscular with blond shoulder-length hair, his rough good looks, bronze complexion and stubble virile to the extreme. There was a hint of sin, dangerous and predatory, in his light gray eyes.

Her belly fluttered at the thought of him on top of her, his strong legs pushing hers apart, his hand sliding up her—

She stopped before completing the smutty thought, noticing the ornate tat on the back of his left hand. A stylized goat’s head…the mark of the devil.

He winked.

Zoe’s legs went watery, disquiet and lust rolling through her. Ignoring both, she turned to the guy on his right and had to lock her knees again to keep standing. Equally tall and powerfully built, he was simply beautiful with rich-chocolate skin, dark eyes and long hair worn in dreadlocks that would feel awesome gliding across her naked boobs and thighs.

Stop it.

Zoe tried to push her X-rated fantasies away and steel herself against his allure.
He smiled. A freaking dimple dented his right cheek. His grin was an unusual mixture of boyish mischief and raw sensuality that creamed her pussy.

Tearing her attention from him, she studied the last guy. Hot didn’t begin to describe his masculine features, deep-blue eyes and thick, wavy hair a dark shade of auburn. Those locks trailed past his ears and curled at the base of his neck. His stubble called to everything female within Zoe, the same as his height, big body and the assured way he regarded her.

Beneath the enticing fragrance of sulfur, she caught their musky scents, wanton and unashamed, surely the same fragrance as their cocks. She imagined their shafts jutting from nests of blond, black or auburn curls, their balls meaty and lightly furred.
The room spun.

“Guys,” Becca said, “this is Zoe.”

Becca’s introduction seemed to have come from miles away. Zoe tried to respond but only managed a noise somewhere between a grunt and a groan.

Becca edged closer. “Zoe, this is Anatol.” She gestured to the black hunk with the dimple. “Stefin.” The blond god in the middle winked again. “And Taro.” The blue-eyed hottie continued to regard her intensely. “They’re our new enforcers.”

Each of them looked as if he’d been in charge forever and wouldn’t budge one damn inch for anyone, especially a female demon.

“You’ll be working with them from now on,” Becca added.

Working with or for, as in taking orders, yearning helplessly and then losing out as she had with the last man in her life?

Like hell.

*** CONTEST ***

Tina is offering one winner her (or his) choice of FIVE of her backlist ebooks – full-length, bestselling, award-winning - 25 choices to choose from

About Tina:

Tina is an Amazon and international bestselling novelist in erotic, paranormal, contemporary and historical romance for Kensington, Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave, Siren Publishing, Booktrope, Luminosity, Decadent, and indie. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. Three of her erotic novels (Freeing the Beast, Come and Get Your Love, and Wicked Takeover) were Readers' Choice Award winners. Another three (Adored, Lush Velvet Nights, and Deep, Dark, Delicious) were named finalists in the EPIC competition. Sensual Stranger, her erotic contemporary romance, was chosen Book of the Year at the French review site Blue Moon reviews. The Golden Nib Award at Miz Love Loves Books was created specifically for her erotic romance Lush Velvet Nights. Two of her titles (The Yearning and Deep, Dark, Delicious) received an Award of Merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competition. Take Me Away and Adored both won second place in the NEC RWA contest (different years). Tina is featured in the Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Before penning romances, she worked at a major Hollywood production company in Story Direction.

Amazon author page:
My page at TRR:
EC Author Page:
Samhain Author Page:
Sweet ‘n Sexy Divas:
Romance Books 4 US: