Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Teaser Tuesday!

Teaser Tuesday!

Ameerah
Genre: Paranormal/Fantasy
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Rebekkah Ford draws you in and holds you so tight you feel breathless~Chloe Thurlow author of Katie in Love

Ameerah is a ghostly paranormal with a historical twist. Well-researched, well-written, and fun to read~Amazon reader.

In life, Ameerah is a rebellious flapper gal from the 1920s. In death, she's a vengeful ghost~Amazon reader.

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Excerpt:
After the horrid bath, Norma threw a towel at me, along with a gray and black checkered cotton dress, white undergarments, gray socks, and black slippers. I put the clothes on, refusing to look at my tormentors. Afterward, Florence took a comb to my hair. Closing my eyes, I endured the rough tugging the best I could, but when the teeth of the comb touched the sore spot on the back of my head, along with Florence’s rough pulling, I hollered, “Ow!” and my hand automatically knocked her hand away, my palm covering that sensitive area. The next thing I knew, I was being yanked backward by my hair.
“You will not disrespect me,” Florence said, gripping my tresses harder. “You will take what I dish out. Period!”
Something snapped inside my brain. The fear of all the consequences I’d have to bear for my actions was gone.
I had enough.
I backed into her in quick steps, and with all my strength, I shoved her into a wall, driving my elbow as hard as I could into her stomach. She let out a sharp gasp and released her grip. Norma charged me, her manly features contorted into a mask of anger. I dodged her and went to grab a wooden chair near the tub. I could have run out of the room, but then what? I had no way of unlocking the doors, so my plan was simple: knock Norma and Florence out with the chair, take the keys and everything else from them, and bust out of here. But when I picked it up, I could hardly lift it. I hadn’t realized how weak I was from the lack of nutrition. I turned and was met with a hard blow square in the face. A loud crunching noise came from my nose, and blood poured out like a running faucet. My hands immediately went up in front of me, and I couldn’t see anything because my eyes were watering from Norma’s punch. The sudden pain almost blinded me.
“We need to teach Sixty-four to respect her elders,” I heard Florence say.
I was roughly shoved backward into the bathtub. The sound of water splashing onto the floor surrounded me when I fell in. I was sitting sideways in the middle, my feet sticking up, my clothes soaked.
I swung my feet in while flinging water at them. “Get away from me!”
“It’s too late for this one,” Norma said, pushing my shoulders down into the soiled liquid and then my head.
My arms flung up to stop her, but Florence snatched my wrists and locked them to my sides. I kicked my feet as hard as I could and in panic, my body twisted back and forth in a struggle to survive. I ran out of breath, and my mouth opened, allowing the water to pour inside me. My chest and lungs were on fire, and everything became yellow and started to fade.
Some birds cannot be caged, and I’m one of them.
A sudden blackness followed, along with a fierce hate that swelled in my heart toward humanity. I detested humans, and mark my words, I would get my revenge on those who wronged me.  
                          ***     
I was in a black void.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Three Mississippi.
Three seconds later, everything turned bright white, but it didn’t harm my eyes. Silhouettes of people stood in the distance. There were a couple fellas wearing top hats among the group. I could hear them inside my head; their voices were much clearer and brighter than on earth. It was as if the sun shined on each spoken word. They were talking about my arrival. Curious. But then someone said murder when another asked how I died. The anger in me boiled when sharp images of my demise took hold of me, and the thread of communication between us distorted. The air swirled around me. A grayish, black funnel formed, encasing me inside its belly.
Don’t be afraid.
I wasn’t, I told the phantom voice. The resentment I harbored was too intense to bother with such frivolities. My state of being was wound tightly with sinews of hate, revenge, disgust, and the like.
Good.
 In a matter of seconds, I found myself in a dreary realm, standing on a wooden bridge. A wrought iron lamp post was positioned on both ends. A golden hue lit its glass case. Mist rose from the dark water below, and tall ebony trees stretched across the landscape, their bare limbs webbing the greenish, yellowish sky.
“Where am I?” I wondered out loud, more intrigued than scared. In fact, I felt a sense of elation rather than doom, like I was on the cusp of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that could elevate me in ways I’d never imagined.
“You’re at a recruiting station.”
My eyes darted around me, looking for the owner of the voice I heard. A tall fella appeared through a break between the trees. I crossed the bridge and met him halfway. His attire reminded me of the bartender at Slim’s speakeasy: brown trousers, matching suspenders, newsboy hat, and an off-white long sleeved button-up shirt—a familiar sight that warmed my heart. I instantly liked him.
“Recruiting station?” I was off the trolley, because I didn’t understand what he meant. “I see no one here but us?”
His welcoming smile reached his deep blue eyes. “I have a lot to teach you, lass, but before my manners run away from me, I’m Aidan Cain Logan to be precise. If you accept my offer, I’ll help you along.” I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but he spoke before I could, his Irish accent sprinkling each word. “Ameerah Arrowood. No middle name. I know all about you, so there is no need for you to layout your biography.”
“How?” I was dumbfounded he had knowledge of my existence and wondered if he really did know everything about me and my life on earth or if he was fooling me.
He moved his hand above his head clockwise. The trees vanished, revealing a vast, endless field of crushed wheat. Groups of shadowy figures in pairs were scattered across the planes. He repeated his gesture; only, this time his hand went counterclockwise instead. The image disappeared, replaced by the prior one.
“Just because your eyes cannot see what’s around you, doesn’t mean it’s not there,” he simply stated. “On the matter of me knowing who you are, the best way I can explain it is each recruiter is assigned a certain area on earth. When a spirit harbors and emits an energy, much like our own, we’re drawn to it. We watch it.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about his admission. Was he the cause of all the turmoil in my life? “Did you have a hand in my demise?”
His brown hair brushed back and forth against his collar when he shook his head. “Nah, I’ve never toyed with your life. I like your spunk. Besides, recruiters can’t possess soulless humans or humans who allow us passage into their bodies unless we’re on duty with a newbie.”
“Soulless humans?”
“There are people born without a soul,” he said as if it were old news. “Dark spirits can dwell in these soulless humans, live the life they desire, and enjoy the pleasures of being back in the flesh, such as sex, alcohol, drugs, food, and whatnot. It’s quite fun actually. I’m looking forward to jumping into the game again.”
My thoughts spun.
Dark spirits?
Soulless humans?
Possession?
Normally, I would think he was full of baloney, but considering where I was and what I’d seen thus far, I had no reason not to believe him.
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Monday, July 24, 2017

Release Blitz! She Was Mine by #Author Marie Skye



Title: She Was Mine 
Author: Marie Skye 
Genre: Romance 









Grayson:

If I had to use one word to describe my wife, it would be Mine.

Emmalin is my life, my love, and the mother of my child.

She’s given me more than I deserve, and more than I ever wanted.

Nothing ever came easy for us. 

Fight hard, Fuck harder.

Now, someone wants to take it all away from me. Someone has a sordid tale to tell, that's a threat to both me, and my family, and it's one I can't defend. 

I have to fight back.

But how do I fight for everything and prove my innocence when nothing makes sense and lies start to sound like the truth? How do I hold onto the only woman I’ve ever loved, even if she asks me to let her go? I can’t. She’s the one I refuse to lose….


Emmalin:


Life with Grayson has never been more perfect. But life is also a bitch and then you die.














Marie Skye is your average career driven woman by day, and a hidden lover of all things dirty by night. Or, as she likes to say, professional by day; author whore by night.

Army brat, and now just a brat. She currently resides in Austin, TX where there really is a difference between breakfast burritos and breakfast tacos, but she really doesn't know what the difference is.


If it's dark and full of inappropriate material. She's attracted to it. She prefers making her character’s work for their happy ever after if they get one, and she has no problem making sure they endure every obstacle to try to get there. She's known as not having a filter, and if she's asked for an opinion, be prepared to get a response that's most likely a mixture of sarcasm and bluntness. 


She also has a soft side and volunteers her time to support Elephants, as well as not attending any events that has elephants in their acts. She also loves sloths, and cute kittens, and prides herself on being able to quote the entire series of Friends.


Marie is the type of person that can be friends with anyone, but if you have cake, you're pretty much her best friend.















Sunday, July 23, 2017

Blog Tour! Kissed By Literature: A Collection of Short Stories by #Author Jordan Elizabeth







Enter worlds of steampunk and terror, where you’ll meet ghosts that will raise the hairs along your arms. Among the tales, you’ll encounter a serial killer stalking a country road and a vacation destination riddled with evil. This collection of short stories explores the different writing styles and genres of Amazon bestselling author Jordan Elizabeth.

KISSED BY LITERATURE is on Amazon from CHBB.  Get it for .99 cents for a limited time.

Check out early reviews on GoodReads!
#
Check out the start of the short story “Evil that Walks Tweed Road”:
          I slid the manila folder into the cardboard box, careful to keep them alphabetized.  My brother might tease me to death over my organization habits, but not once had I fumbled during my presentations.  Each photograph, newspaper article, and information sheet had a home. 
          “Excuse me.  Annie?  I’m Patrick.”
          I glanced up, the final folder in hand.  A man with gray eyes stood in front of the table.  I’d studied those gray eyes during my lecture while he sat in the back row of the library’s meeting room.
          “Yes?”  I double-checked the words on the folder before placing it into the box. 
          “I’ve always been fascinated with Tweed Road.  I grew up near there, and as kids we always wanted to see the ghosts.  Swear we saw a couple of them.”
          I nodded, my ponytail sliding over my shoulder.  “I’ve heard plenty of those ghost stories, but I don’t really believe in ghosts.  If a serial killer gets you, do you really want to hang around for all eternity?”
          He chuckled.  His teeth had to have been professionally straightened and whitened to gleam like that.  “What got you into giving talks on Tweed Road?”
          He couldn’t be flirting with me…but maybe he was.  “Well, I got my Masters in history and then I got a job as a professor here.  I started looking up local history, and this area is famous for the Tweed Road killings.   It was mostly all legends and kids daring each other to walk along the road at night, so I wanted to tell everyone about the truth.”  I smiled.  I sucked at flirting, but I could sure smile, even if my teeth didn’t look half as nice as his.
          “Do you think telling everyone about this will help them finally catch the killer?” 
          “Life is never that simple.”
          Patrick leaned toward me and lowered his voice.  “I know who the serial killer was.”
          I lifted my eyebrows.  At every library or historical society where I gave my presentation, someone always had a theory.  My favorite suggestion had been Jack the Ripper.  “Who are you thinking of?”
          “My grandfather.” 
          That was similar to “my ex-husband,” which I heard a lot from elderly women.  “Why do you say that?”
          “He confessed to me before he died and he showed me the spot where he did the killings.”
          The bodies had all been found dumped in the swamp, but no one had ever discovered where their hearts and livers had been gouged out.  I frowned.  “Who have you told?”
          “I, um…just you.”  The young man wiped his hand across his face.  “I don’t know if I should go to the cops.  They might just laugh.  Do they even care about the case anymore?  It’s all more of a legend now.”
          “A lot of families would have peace of mind.”
          Patrick closed his eyes and sighed.  “Can I show you the spot?  I think I’d feel better going to the cops if you went with me.  You know all the facts about the killings and I just know what my grandfather told me.”
          I shifted my stance.  “Don’t let me put words in your mouth.”  I had studied the Tweed Road serial killer for three years and it had all been paper, nothing I could walk on. 
          “Will you go with me?  I’ll drive.  It’s about fifteen minutes out of town.”
          It might become my stupidest decision, but…  “Let me just put my box in the car so we don’t hold up the library from closing at nine.”  If the spot was fifteen minutes away, they wouldn’t make it back by then. 

#



Jordan Elizabeth is known for her odd sense of humor and her outrageous outfits.  Surrounded by bookshelves, she can often be found pounding away at her keyboard – she’s known for breaking keyboards, too.  Check out her website for bonus scenes and contests. 




Thursday, July 20, 2017

Cover Reveal! Drawn to Him: A Romance Collection



 Drawn To Him: A Romance Collection 
Featuring Wall Street Journal & USA Today Bestselling Authors 


Website





There are some men who make you helpless.


You know the kind. They steal the breath from your lungs and make your heart beat a little faster with a single look. You can’t stop staring, but the moment they pin those gorgeous eyes on you, you’re done for.



The kind that’s too hard to resist.



This is a collection of men just like that.



Handsome, confident and all for you.


















Willow Winters is so happy to be a USA Today, Wall Street Journal and #1 Contemporary Bestselling Romance Author. 







 M. NEVER RESIDES IN NEW York City. 







L.J. Shen is a #1 Best-selling author of contemporary romance books. 
She lives in California with her husband, son and lazy cat.
When she's not writing, she enjoys reading a good book with a glass of wine 
and catching up on her favorite HBO and Netflix shows.


Yeah, she's a badass like that.





K Webster is the author of dozens of romance books in many different genres including 


contemporary romance, historical romance, paranormal romance, and erotic romance. 



When not spending time with her husband of twelve years and two adorable children, she's active on social media connecting with her readers.



Her other passions besides writing include reading and graphic design. 



K can always be found in front of her computer chasing her next idea and taking action. 



She looks forward to the day when she will see one of her titles on the big screen. 



You can easily find K Webster on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and Goodreads!









Jade West has increasingly little to say about herself as time goes on, other than the fact she is an author, but she’s plenty happy with this. 


Living in imaginary realities and having a legitimate excuse for it is really all she’s ever wanted. 



Jade is as dirty as you’d expect from her novels, and talking smut makes her smile. 



She lives in the Powys countryside with a couple of hounds and a guy who’s able to cope with her inherent weirdness. 



She has a zebra print living room, and fights a constant battle with her addiction to Coca-Cola.








Isabella Starling, I'm a self-published author of dark romance and romantic suspense. 


My pen name Isabella Starling was born in the summer of 2016. 



I write books that I'd want to read myself, because I started off as a reader myself.



And don't forget to join my Facebook group Good Girls Love Bad Boys to be the first to see my new covers, 



receive ARC opportunities & connect with myself and other readers! 




We do tons of giveaways and author takeovers too.






A. Zavarelli is a romance book junkie, cat lover, and traveler when plagued by intense cases of wanderlust. 


She likes all things chocolate, books that come with warnings, and putting her characters through hell. 



Her tales have been known to flirt with darkness and sometimes court it unabashedly altogether. 



Revenge themes and tortured souls are her favorites to write and this gives her an excuse to watch bizarre and twisted documentaries in her spare time.



She is slightly obsessed with Theo James and funny animal memes. 



If you don’t mind these things, you should add her on facebook. 



Even better, make sure you don’t miss a new release by signing up for the newsletter below.










 K.L. Kreig, As a USA Today Bestselling author, I write stories that are deeply emotional with flawed characters, because humans ARE flawed and if we read about perfect characters living in their perfect world, first of all, snoozer, but secondly, we never experience the gratification of redemption. 



I’m just a regular ol’ Midwest girl who likes Game of Thrones and am obsessed with Modern Family and The Goldbergs. 



I run, I eat, I run, I eat. It’s a vicious cycle. I love carbs, but there’s love-hate relationship with my ass and thighs. 



Mostly hate. 



I like a good cocktail (oh hell…who am I kidding? I love any cocktail). 



I’m a huge creature of habit, but I’ll tell you I’m flexible. 



I read every single day and if I don’t get a chance…watch the hell out, I’m a raving bitch. 



My iPad and me: BFFs. 



I’m direct and I make no apologies for it. I swear too much. 



I love alternative music and in my next life I want to be a bad-ass female rocker. 



I hate, hate, hate spiders, telemarketers, liver, acne, winter and loose hairs that fall down my shirt (don’t ask, it’s a thing).






Willow Winters 


M. NEVER


L.J. Shen


K Webster 




Isabella Starling


A. Zavarelli


K.L. Kreig