Brace Yourselves for a “Revelation” — Monica Corwin

I had the pleasure of meeting Monica Corwin through a former publisher we both shared at the time. Definitely a lady destined for great things…a mistress of wordsmithery most dazzling! Don’t believe me?


Well..then….read on for yourselves!❤


Scarlet needs a new job, but Horseman of the Apocalypse doesn’t sound good on a resume. Three years ago she followed her companions to Earth in an effort to live human lives. But the moment she left her husband Tyr she knew life wouldn’t be worth living. Lonely and longing for her husband, Scarlet is on a path of destruction that could endanger all the riders. 

Tyr, god of justice, hunts his wife across the realms. From Hell to the Golden Throne, he travels until he finds her working as a phone operator. Scarlet is no longer the woman he fell in love with, and he is determined to bring that woman back to him if it takes the rest of eternity. 

Even though the Horsemen live on Earth, they are still responsible for guarding four seals that can unleash the Apocalypse. When a prophecy is awoken by a deity who only has her own interests at heart, they must go on the defensive to keep their homes on Earth and protect the seals. If even one seal opens, it will start a chain reaction that will force the Horsemen to take up their mantles and destroy the new lives they’ve worked so hard to build.


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Fractured Fantasies: Volume Four

Available Now eBook In the deepening shadows of twilight, danger is disguised by desire and passion masks peril. Watch your step, guard your heart and remember not all things are as they seem. Succ…

Source: Fractured Fantasies: Volume Four

‘Royal’ Hotness Alert — Surrender to Perci Brooks

It is with absolute joy and a fair amount of pride that I get to be part of Perci Brook’s Blog Tour for ‘Royal Surrender’.

Biased? Definitely…but then again she is my baby sister!  And biased or not, I believe she’s worked hard and done a fantastic job with this new novella!


Let’s all take a moment to take in the following M/M Sexiness:




That is pure omnomnom seductive  there! I find this cover intriguing and sparkly and def interesting. The Cover Artist for Wayward Ink Publishing knows their beans about hooking a reader with visual delight!


Now, how about a wee bit of info?



Prince Amory longs to find his true love.

Néstor Awada wants to be a servant no longer.

Both yearn to find the man with whom they could fall in love.

Each doubts their dream will come true.

When word reaches Amory that his father is mistreating a new servant, he goes to save him.

Prince and servant try to fight their growing feelings for each other to no avail.

But is their love strong enough to breach the chasm forced on them by society?


PRINCE AMORY STORMED down the hallway toward the throne room, his trusted friend Covyll right behind him as always. He was glad Covyll had informed him. He’d tried so hard to be different from his family and had gained trust from servants he’d taken from them and employed to work solely for him. All these people in the castle might be servants, but they were still people; though it seemed he was the only one who understood that. Reaching the double doors, he took a deep breath. He and the king had never seen eye to eye on anything.

He pushed open the doors and strode in, approaching the king. “Father, stop this immediately.”

The king backhanded him, ignoring the soft gasps of his couriers. His icy tone matched the cold look in his eyes. “Do not talk to me like that. I am your king first, and I can do as I please.”

“You have always been the king first. Not once have you ever been a father to me. You’ve treated me like a bastard child all these years.”

The servant shifted, biting his lip and attempting to stifle the groan the movement caused. Amory could tell the man’s knees were aching. How long had Floyd kept him in this position? Another furtive attempt to move away caught the king’s attention and he dealt another blow to the servant’s already-reddened face. Raising his arm once more, the king snarled when Amory grabbed it, holding it in midair.

“Unhand me,” the king commanded, staring daggers at Amory.

The prince stood between his father and the servant. He didn’t speak right away, and when he did, he lowered his tone, never breaking eye contact. “With your merciful permission, Your Majesty, I’ll take him. He’ll answer to me, or to Covyll if I am not present.” He paused, choosing his words. “A king of your stature shouldn’t be worrying about the affairs of one lone servant.” 


What’s that you say? A book trailer? Why yes….






About the author

PERCI T. BROOKS is the author of Yaoi (m/m) and Yuri (f/f). She’s been writing since the age of ten and started off writing just little stories. As she got older, she was able to create her own characters and plots. She loves to write. Becoming an author has always been her dream.

Perci enjoys reading, writing, poetry, anime, manga, Japanese music, cats, cows, Japanese history, Japanese movies. She is a total cat lover and loves to inspire others.

Miss Brooks lives to inspire others. She was born with medical problems, is hearing impaired and has disabilities and thought she would never become an author.

PERCI T. BROOKS can be found at:




To Catch a Fallen Spy — Barbara Devlin

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Blog Tour – June 27 to July 2


to catch a spy about the book

Lady Elaine Prescott, the most timid member of the Brethren, has spent much of her time in the shadows, forever blending into the background.  From her unconventional perspective, she studies people and their behavior, gleaning information most overlook, and she is content in her quiet little world.  When her unusual habit puts her in the right place at the wrong moment, she witnesses a violent crime, and her life is threatened.  To her dismay, Elaine finds herself in an unwelcomed spotlight and in need of a knight.

to catch a fallen spy cover

Sir Ross Logan is a master spy and the mysterious head of the covert Counterintelligence Corps.  In dark spaces he lurks, scrutinizing those he is charged to defend, and it is an easy and uncomplicated existence for a man of many secrets.  In the midst of a murder investigation, he is tasked with guarding a noblewoman, the gentle lady he has furtively admired for years.  Young and unspoiled, she is everything he is not, and he vows to protect her.  While he doubts not his ability to save her from a lethal villain, can Ross defend Elaine against himself?


Lady Elaine Prescott steps from beyond the shadows to claim her gallant knight, Sir Ross Logan, the mysterious head of the Counterintelligence Corps.


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to catch a fallen spy excerpt

The Descendants


September, 1815


Secrets lurked in the shadows, beckoning as a welcomed friend for the undaunted.  Unfettered by social conventions, the spotlight of which forced many a lord or a lady to conform to the expectations of others, the blackness functioned as a form of liberty, wherein revelers conducted their covert games without threat of discovery or retribution.  It was in those dark spaces Lady Elaine Horatia Prescott found comfort and strength.


As the youngest member of a large, extended family comprised of spirited ladies with bold personalities and equally intrepid men, the famed Nautionnier Knights of the Brethren of the Coast, daring sea captains descended of the Templars, the warriors of the Crusades, she often hugged the background, taking pride in her ability to hide in plain sight.  Searching for some sense of herself, something not influenced by the rich history of her ancestors or her colorful relations, she fought to construct her own identity on her terms.


What she had not expected was to find love.


With great care, she moved swift and sure as she approached her target, skulking amid the outskirts of the crowd that filled the Hawthorne’s ballroom, during the height of the Little Season.  As she neared, he shifted, and she paused just shy of touching him and held her breath.


In one fail swoop, he pivoted, slipped an arm about her waist, pulled her into a corner, and bent to whisper in her ear.  “Lady Elaine, you are the only person capable of sneaking up on me, and I am not sure I appreciate your skill.”  Sir Ross Logan, the enigmatic head of the Counterintelligence Corps, brushed the crest of her flesh with his lips, she suspected not by accident, and her knees buckled.  “Why do you not dance?  Why do you not take your place among the ton, with the other debutantes?  Do you not wish to snare a husband, marry, and have children?”


“On the contrary, I want all those things with someone of my choosing.”  She cupped his cheek, and he retreated, much to her chagrin.  “But I am here because you are here.”


“Elaine, you must stop this nonsense.”  Now he withdrew and attempted to push her aside, but she resisted, even as her heart plummeted.  And despite his complaints, he would not hazard courting attention, so she held her ground.  “I am not the man for you.”


“How do you know that?”  It was not the first time he rejected her, and she surmised it would not be the last.  “Why will you not give us a chance at happiness?”


“Because I have nothing to give you but misery and regret.”  As usual, Ross offered the same excuse.


“I disagree.”  As usual, she would not be deterred.  “And I will not yield my cause, no matter your protestations.”


“Neither will I.”  To convey his position, he folded his arms, but he could never fool her.  “Go back to your world of perfume and petticoats, as I have work to do, and I require no partner.”


“As you wish.”  Of course, she knew well the routine and her part to play in their typical drama.  So she marched into the fray, unabashed and poised in her determination.  A potential solution tripped before her, and she extended assistance, as would any woman of character.  “Sir Kleinfeld, are you all right?”


“Oh, my lady.”  With a toothy grin, he brushed off his lapels and bowed.  “Did I step on you?”


“No.”  Elaine giggled, because he was well known for such behavior.  “How are you enjoying the party?”


“Not very much, I am sorry to admit.”  Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder.  “The elder Miss Hogart refuses to grant me the honor of the Allemande.”


“Perhaps she will change her mind, when she spies you in a graceful performance of the waltz, with me.”  In a valiant appeal to his pride, she curtseyed.  “What say you, Sir Kleinfeld?”


“Lady Elaine, you are the soul of charity.”  When she rested her palm in the crook of his elbow, he covered her hand with his.  “You know, if my affections were not firmly planted in Miss Hogart’s garden, I should court you.”


“You flatter me, sir.”  To her credit, she mustered the courage to brave the rotation with one of the clumsiest, but good-natured, members of her set.


And so she ventured into the breach, imperiling her feet in her quest to win Sir Ross.  After the third trouncing of her toes, she swallowed a grunt of pain and prayed her savior would not linger, else she might suffer broken bones.  Just how long would her beau wait?  As if on cue, her rescuer presented himself as she predicted.


“May I intrude?”  Ross tapped Archibald on the shoulder.  “As I believe Miss Hogart seeks an audience.”


“Capital.”  Without so much as a backward glance, Sir Kleinfeld gave her into Ross’s care, and that suited Elaine just fine.


“I know what you are doing.”  Ross took her in his arms, twined her fingers with his, and they whirled in the soft light of the cut-glass chandeliers.


“I beg your pardon?”  She lifted her chin and avoided his stare.


“Do not dissemble with me, Lady Elaine.”  The tone of his voice declared she had scored a direct hit, and she reveled in her small victory.  Near the side wall, he pulled her closer.  “How dare you deliberately put yourself in jeopardy to bait me, as that buffoon could have seriously injured you.”


“But you are not the man for me, so you would never answer a supposed summons.”  Let him counter that.  “Or did you lie?”


“You lured me into the open, without thought of my mission or the risk to my safety, just to meet your selfish aims.”  Now that hurt.  “I ought to spank you.”


“Name the date and time, and I shall accommodate you.”  Swallowing her trepidation, she looked him in the eye, and he cast the hint of a grin.  “I challenge you, sir.”  She licked her lips.  “Resist me.”


to catch a fallen spy about the author

Bestselling, Amazon All-Star author Barbara Devlin was born a storyteller, but it was a weeklong vacation to Bethany Beach, DE that forever changed her life. The little house her parents rented had a collection of books by Kathleen Woodiwiss, which exposed Barbara to the world of romance, and Shanna remains a personal favorite.

Barbara writes heartfelt historical romances that feature flawed heroes who may know how to seduce a woman but know nothing of marriage. And she prefers feisty but smart heroines who sometimes save the hero, before they find their happily ever after.


Barbara earned an MA in English and continued a course of study for a Doctorate in Literature and Rhetoric. She happily considered herself an exceedingly eccentric English professor, until success in Indie publishing lured her into writing, full-time, featuring her fictional knighthood, the Brethren of the Coast.


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Rough Edges, Smooth Charm

Rough Edges is a multi author collaboration chock full of serious sexiness and brought to us by the talented folks at Pen and Kink Publishing!


***I was lucky enough to review this anthology earlier…find the review HERE


I was able to wrangle a quick sit down with one of the authors, Christine Morgan, for a bit of wackado randoms!

*First and foremost, tell us a little about yourself. A mini-bio, in three

sentences. Go!*

Grew up in the desert, moved north in search of trees and water as soon as

I was of age. Gamer girl since the 1980s, back in the days of the D&D

panics. History and mythology nut, into superheroes and big cheeseball

disaster movies, training to become a crazy cat lady.



*What part of the day motivates you most?*

 I work the overnight shift, so, I pretty much have to be motivated during

the late hours. My actual writing time tends to be between 1-5 AM.


*Dr. Who, Dr. House or Dr. Seuss?*

Tenth Doctor, though I do admire Seuss’ way with words.


*Do you ever find yourself torn between what YOU want for the character and

what ACTUALLY ends up happening?*


Not as often as I used to, though there are still occasional surprises (and

occasional totally-going-off-the-rails). When those do happen, I try to

follow them, because they tend to lead to interesting places I might not

otherwise have come up with.

*If you could choose any writer, who would love to have as a mentor?*


 I’m lucky enough to be part of the fairly close-knit community of hardcore

horror and bizarro writers … as a result, I kind of already do have

fantastic mentors in folks like John Skipp and Edward Lee. The one I’d most

like to be able to add to that list is the late, great, Richard Laymon, who

was taken from us far too soon.

*Do you have a particular style of writing? Organized or do you wing it?*


Mostly I wing it, though sometimes bigger or more complicated projects will

require. I’m not much of a one for outlines. I prefer to start with a

character or setting, throw in a problem, and go from there.




Rough Edges links:

Official page:




All Romance eBooks:







Cover Rough Edges


Work hard, play hard, love hard…


Nothing is sexier than someone who knows what they want and has the confidence go after it. This anthology is crammed full of hot romances featuring those kinds of rough-around-the-edges alpha personalities–stories about the kind of men and women who ride horses during the day and their partners at night, who speak few words but mean every one of them, and who would never break their own personal code of honor. We’re talking about cowboys… and cowgirls.


This anthology contains seven romances with a Western theme that run the gamut from sweet to sizzling.

Buy Links:         

All Romance Books:

Amazon: (Kindle)



Each story is listed with the author bio, blurb and excerpt. Please use at least the one for the author on your blog. Thanks.

Emma’s Ride by Christine Morgan


Christine Morgan spent many years working the overnight shift in a psychiatric facility, which played havoc with her sleep schedule but allowed her a lot of writing time. A lifelong reader, she also reviews, beta-reads, occasionally edits and dabbles in self-publishing. Her other interests include gaming, history, superheroes, crafts, cheesy disaster movies and training to be a crazy cat lady. She can be found online at and

Story Description:

Emma is a demure young lady from Back East, or so she appears until her stern parents discover her inclination toward lusty leanings, and decide she’d best be safely married off before she can ruin the family reputation. She finds herself on a stagecoach bound West, set to wed an old man she’s never met. When a strapping cowboy boards the same stage, Emma realizes this might be her last chance to give in to her wild and wanton ways, but the journey may yet have some surprises in store for them both.


What angered Emma the most was that she was being punished for something she hadn’t done. Or, rather, that because she was being punished for it, she wished she’d gone ahead and done it.

How easy it would have been, how delightful! And they had, almost. If she’d been less coy, dash it all! If she’d not played at maidenly demure resistance, and made him pant vows of undying adoration in

her ear… why, it might have been long over with by the time Papa came in, and the ache, the terrible need in her, might finally have been met. The need that had burned since she’d discovered the books. She had never dreamed people did the deeds described in their pages, depicted in their drawings.


The flame had begun then, flickering, lapping, making her think of things she had never considered before.


Time Machine Cowboy by Trayce Primm


By day Trayce Primm transforms women into goddesses with her flashing shears; by night she uses her razor sharp words to transform boring reality into fantasy. She is a poet, published author of sensual romance, and is currently awaiting publication of a reincarnation murder mystery.

Story Description:

A boring end to a cold winter’s day means shedding work clothes and popping a frozen dinner into the microwave.  But once in a magical while, the package contains a sizzling surprise that heats up more than a cold heart.


A sharp, mechanical ping from the microwave summoned her back to the kitchen. She picked up a pot holder and pulled on the oven door, frowning slightly when it wouldn’t open. She pulled harder, then turned the timer on and off, hoping it might be of some help. A spark arced inside, setting off a humming, buzzing sound. Before she could move, a kaleidoscope of multi-colored, neon-bright light erupted from the small machine, filling the room with streaks of smoke and jagged blue bolts of lightning.

She tried to get out of harm’s way, but it was too late. The Technicolor web held her fast, paralyzed with fear, yet unhurt. Visibility dropped to zero, and she felt disoriented by the cacophony of light and sound. The noise intensified to a horrible crescendo, then settled down to a plinking, rhythmic regularity, familiar somehow.


Her senses returned one by one, picking up a jumble of isolated images. The sound of a badly tuned player piano—the tinkling dance hall classic, A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight—the yeasty smell of beer mingled with the acrid pall of cigar smoke, a glimpse of a polished wooden bar and rows of bottles lined up behind it and the tantalizing aroma of hickory-smoked barbeque. As the colored aura cleared, she realised she wasn’t alone anymore.


Lady of Lacrymosa by Brantwijn Serrah


When she isn’t visiting the worlds of immortals, demons, dragons and goblins, Brantwijn fills her time with art: sketching, painting, and cover design. She can’t handle coffee unless there’s enough cream and sugar to make it a milkshake, but try and sweeten her tea and she will never forgive you. She moonlights as a futon for four lazy cats and can spend hours watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer while she writes.

In addition to her novels, Brantwijn has self-published erotic short stories available on Amazon.  Her short stories occasionally pop up at Foreplay and Fangs, her blog at

Story Description:

When Katarina started her shift in the saloon, it was a night like any other. That was before the silent lady gunslinger strolled in through the batwing doors. Katarina can’t keep her eyes off the woman, and when the gunslinger starts to dance, sensuously spinning a black magic spell, Kat finds herself hopelessly, utterly lost. By morning, nothing will be the same.

The West gets weird, the night the strangers come to Lacrymosa.


Once she’d tended to her needs and tidied herself again, she slipped into the poorly-lit passageway between the saloon and the boarding rooms above. She crossed to the barroom door, still flustered and distracted, and didn’t notice the hand reach out from under the stairs and haul her back.

A short cry barely made it to her lips when there came a hot, soft mouth upon her own. Katarina felt the rough wood of the pantry door at her back, and a slender hand slid round the back of her neck, holding her captive to the kiss. A slim leg nudged between her thighs, rustling her skirt. She might have panicked but even before the scent of leather and magnolia hit her she knew who the phantom would be.

“What are you doing?” she whispered. Putting her hands up between them she nudged the lady away. “You don’t belong here. Get out, get back into the bar, or I’ll scream…”

Lady Gunslinger gave a husky, quiet little laugh, but she said nothing. Her hand found Katarina’s wrist in the dark, and without a word, she tugged the saloon girl towards the stairs.

Hunted and Haunted by Jen DeLuca


They say write what you know. When Jen DeLuca was 6, she wrote stories about girls who had dogs, played tennis, and took naps.  She’s branched out a little since then, and now her stories usually include some snark, some angst, and some kissing. A Floridian by way of Virginia, Jen loves Hokies football, latte-flavored lattes, and the Oxford comma. She no longer plays tennis but she takes as many naps as she can.

Story Description:

A key witness in her ex’s corruption trial, Anna needs to lay low for her own safety. While she’s stashed in a remote hunting cabin in Montana, her nightly erotic dreams make her wish that sheriff’s deputy Gabe McKenna’s protective custody was a little more hands-on. Then she learns about the ghost who shares the cabin with them and discovers it’ll take both men to keep her safe… and satisfied.


“Tell you what?”

“Tell me I’m safe. Tell me you’ll stay.” I had come out here because I was afraid, but that feeling was long gone, replaced with something much more primal. I wanted him in my room, in my bed, but my mouth couldn’t form the words.

Something must have shown on my face, because he started toward me. Slowly, deliberately, the soles of his boots like ominous music against the wood floor. “You’re safe,” he reminded me. “I’m not going anywhere. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

His voice was a growling whisper, and I strained to hear it as he walked closer still. Heel, toe. Heel. Toe.  Clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp. The closer he came, the harder my heart thudded in my chest, a counterpoint to his footsteps. I didn’t shrink back at his approach, just kept my eyes on his as he came closer.

He stopped a scant inch away, the heat from his body radiating toward mine. The quick rise and fall of my breath brushed the soft fabric of my camisole against his chest in a barely-there whisper. He was a large man, and this was a very small cabin. With anyone else, I would have felt threatened, but this was Gabe and I wanted nothing more than to curl into his body.

My Midnight Cowboy by Pumpkin Spice


Pumpkin Spice is the published author of adult romantic fiction. Her naughty fairy tale line “Scarlett Hood & The Hunter” and “Goldlie Locks & The Brothers Bear” is published by Evernight Publishing along with her Cupid Conquest romance, “The Hart Moment.” Pumpkin’s favorite time of year is fall when the leaves are turning, the weather is crisper and the nights are a whole lot longer. Write to her at:  Follow her on Twitter: @PumpkinSpiceU2

Story Description:

If chocolate is the way to a man’s heart, then pastry chef Lucy Baker has the recipe for success. But will her culinary skills melt the most-hard hearted bachelor in Wyoming?

A chance encounter on a New Year’s Eve flight leaves two strangers to discover unbound pleasure and a hunger for more sexual discovery.


I sat alone in complete darkness until the tram pulled into a stop. When the doors opened, light poured into the car and suddenly Ben stood before me. I gasped. He said nothing.

The tram resumed moving toward another tunnel and darkness overtook the tram. I felt for him, but he was no longer in front of me. A brief pocket of light before the next tunnel spliced through the tram and Ben was on the bench seat beside me, his voice in my ear.


“Hey,”he said.

“Hello.”I waited for him to touch me. “I wondered where you went.”


“I promised to look after you and I plan to keep that promise.”


“People break promises.”


He reached his hands into my hair and pulled me toward him. His mouth grazed my neck and nibbled at the tender skin. “I don’t break promises and neither will you.”


“Maybe.”I dug my fingers into his thick, wavy hair. “Maybe not.” I toyed with him and his hold on me strengthened. The ferocity of his kiss ignited my senses and made my skin prickle with pleasure.


Coming Up Roses by Anna Kyle


Anna Kyle spent her youth reading about and dreaming of horses and scheming (unsuccessfully) how to convince her parents to get her one. That led to writing her first story about a girl and her horse which in turn led to a lifetime love of writing. As an adult she reads everything from histories to mysteries but romances are definitely her favorite. These days she writes the paranormal romance series, the Wolf King, at World Weaver Press. SKYE FALLING was published last summer and the origin novel, OMEGA RISING, will be out late spring 2016.

Story Description:

To get the long-coveted D.V.M. initials after her name, healer Rose is forced to spend the last two weeks of her internship at the Finnegan Ranch she left eight years ago, where she spent and best and worst times of her childhood.  Now Rose had to contend with using her rusty healing abilities to help a wounded, angry donkey and deal with the sexy shapeshifter cowboy who broke her heart.

Finn’s wolf did the unthinkable eight years ago – attacked the girl he loved. Then years later she’d unknowingly saved his wolf, and him. Now he has two weeks to convince Rose that the bite which drove them apart also binds them together. Because letting her go this time might not be possible.


If he let her go now nothing would stop her from leaving him. Forever. His wolf whined, a high-pitched , mournful sound.


No. If Rose thought she’d be happier without him, he would stand aside and let her walk away. Her safety and happiness were all that mattered. But he couldn’t let her stumble away, raw and hurting and believing he’d ever hated her.


Murmuring soft words in her hair like she was a scared filly at the crossroads of trusting or bolting, Finn held her. He wasn’t sure how long they remained locked together, swaying gently back and forth. Inch by inch her body relaxed until her arms crept around his waist and she sighed against his neck. The soft, contented noise she made was a gift so tender and precious that it stole his breath. Too soon she untangled herself and scrubbed her face.


Jump Without Looking by TJ Dodd


TJ Dodd is a frequently sweary, occasionally inappropriate former teacher and acknowledged black sheep of her family. She’s okay with that. She shares her home with her pit bull named Piddles, who outgrew the habit but got stuck with the name. She’s made up stories her whole life and thought it might be fun to try to get some of them published. So far it has been.

Story Description:

Jackie has a veterinary practice, her family’s ranch, and a habit of avoiding men. The last thing she needs is a giant, blonde cowboy who tears down her fence and rattles her nerves. Russ has no job, a beat-up old pickup, and a rundown ranch he just inherited. He needs everything except the beautiful, angry neighbor who turns him on and then runs him off. Can one pregnant cow, two horses that love to jump, and three long kisses prove them both wrong?


Not that his thoughts were angelic. In fact, they’d send him straight in the other direction. Jackie O’Neill was exactly the kind of woman who turned him on: spirited, strong, and sturdy. She was more of that kind of woman than anyone he’d met, so much so that she may have just become his definition of that kind of woman.

He wondered if she felt what he did, something like two magnets pulling them together. He wondered if her skin was as soft as it looked, and if it would dimple between his fingers when he held her thighs and kissed her full round breasts. They wouldn’t bruise each other, that was for damn sure. He’d fit right into her cushioned body.


Sitting next to her was a gift.
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What the OAFQ is Reading…

Gather round, all ye readers, and let me sing you the song of my people.


I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.

So, how about I share some thoughts about the recent batch of books I’ve read?

First up:


This is my first experience reading Ms. Bohannon and I can happily admit that judging from her delightfully acerbic talent, it won’t be my last.

From beginning to end, this story captured my attention on all levels. The writing was off the charts, captivating and intense, the kind of writing that pulls you in and keeps hold until the last page is read and you come out of your fantasy coma.

I found the authors writing style to be fast paced, quick witted, intelligent and humorous, with a firm grasp on her characters and their mindset. Refreshingly honest and thoroughly sexy, I def recommend this book and the author to be added to ya’ll TBR lists! Amazon Buy Link



I am a HUMONGOUS fan of Ms. Lewis’s “Cursed Satyroi” series and although this book is in a different genre, I want to say that the author still managed to show off her growing talent and ability to undertake new adventures.


I thoroughly enjoyed reading this tale and experiencing the action as it unfolded from page to page to page, getting lost and wrapped up in the plot, dialogue and character building that enabled me to ‘see’ Ms. Lewis’s world.

So, what does time travel, sexy pirates, insane wishes and a deep yearning for a soul mate have in common?

Through the Maelstrom and Rebekah Lewis…enough said.

Amazon Buy Link




You can never go wrong with sexy shifters and Ms. Bushman’s offering is a mondo example of my personal theory.

I found the writing to be fresh, fast paced and chock full of stimulating goodies that captured my attention from the gate.

The author clearly has a knowledgeable hold on her topic choice and I found the characters full of depth and substance, the dialogue was intense and intelligent.

I def recommend this read to anyone who loves talent, imagination and a fab read!

Amazon Buy Link




Just …wow.

Let me say up front that I have never been an enthusiastic fan of Western romance, in fact one of the last ones I read was back in 1992! So, when offered a chance to read and review this anthology, I undertook my mission with 85% ‘open mind’ and 15% ‘please, Book Gods, do not fail me on this.’


I am happy to say that as I finished the last story, I was 100% ‘Yeehaw, we done got us a gold mine here!’

This amazingly sexy anthology of adventure, romance, sensuality and all the good stuff definitely delivers in all the ways you’d expect such a collaboration to.

Each story came with its own unique flavor, the authors handling their own tales with deft skill, obvious passion and a huge whopping helping of word mojo that kept me turning pages with all the excitement of a kid on Christmas warning.

I don’t do spoilers but I will say that if you’re looking for a great, fun and memorable read, ‘Rough Edges’ is the just the app…I mean book, you’re looking for!

**I received a copy of this book for an honest review**


Omega Rising — Anna Kyle

Happy Friday, my Dear Ones!

What better way to start the weekend than by hosting the amazing Anna Kyle!


First and foremost, tell us a little about yourself. A mini-bio, in three sentences. Go!

I never love Chicago more than when I’m flying home and through the tiny plane window see Lake Michigan rimmed by that familiar skyline. When I’m feeling overwhelmed with deadlines and work and family drama, the scent of my horse calms me. After college I worked as a reporter then a freelance writer so years later when I jumped to fiction, I thought, huh, this won’t be that hard – HAHAHA.

What part of the day motivates you most?

Early morning. Each one holds endless possibilities. I could write 4000 words today (pretty rare for me) or find that perfect hook at the end of chapter five (done it a few times) or come up with a brand new idea that excites me (awesome).  If I fritter away a morning I feel like I’ve blown the whole day.

Dr. Who, Dr. House or Dr. Seuss?

House! It was my favorite show. House wore his crankiness and “Everybody lies” cynicism like armor. He was a brilliant, troubled man, an anti-hero, whose actions shocked us even as he saved patients’ lives. I thought the series finale, appropriately titled “Everybody Dies,” was perfect as he and Wilson, his one true friend, ride off into the sunset on their motorcycles so Wilson can enjoy his last months. Wow.

Do you ever find yourself torn between what YOU want for the character and what ACTUALLY ends up happening?

I write romances so when readers pick up the book they know there WILL be happy ever after or happy for now. How they get there, what the characters go through, that journey is the story. On a purely I’m-a-nice-person level I don’t want anyone to suffer, but on a writer level it’s actually invigorating to dream up the next fresh torment for my characters.

If you could choose any writer, who would love to have as a mentor?

I may be a romance author but I read everything. I’m a huge fan of Stephen King’s work. In my mind, no one crafts a story like he does. Yes, it can be creepy or uncomfortable or downright pants-pooping (hello, It. That book wrecked clowns for me FOREVER) but damn, I can’t put his books down. He seems like a good guy, too. I bought On Writing in which he shares his highs and lows along with insights in the writing business. I loved it. Five stars. Aspiring authors, get this book.

Do you have a particular style of writing? Organized or do you wing it?

Mmm, more like organized chaos. I outline because I need to know where to point the story but the characters sometimes ignore it. I use a lot of their off-road field trips, and find it adds a richness to the story. My office is always a disaster, so you might think I’m a pantser, but I always find the notes I’ve scribbled.


Anna KyleBIO:

Anna Kyle is the author of the Wolf King series at World Weaver Press – Omega Rising and Skye Falling –  and author of Coming Up Roses, a short story appearing in Rough Edges, a cowboy romance anthology at Pen & King Publishing. She wrote her first story at age 12 on an old manual typewriter, and though the technology has changed, she hasn’t stopped since. She lives in the Midwest surrounded by family and friends and dogs and horses. They’ve forgiven her (mostly) when they appear in her stories. She reads everything she can get her hands on, but romances, especially paranormals, are her favorite. Vampires, humans, Fae, shapeshifters, or demons, it doesn’t matter—Anna’s heart goes pitter-pat for the Happily Ever After. Hot heroes + strong, funny heroines = awesome.


Omega Rising is available in trade paperback and ebook via,, Books-a-Million, Kobo, World Weaver Press, iBookstore, IndieBound and OmniLit, and for wholesale through Ingram.




Twitter: Anna Kyle @SandsOfTime5050


Cover - Omega Rising by Anna KyleBlurb:

Cass Nolan has been forced to avoid the burn of human touch for her whole life, drawing comfort instead from her dreams of a silver wolf—her protector, her friend. When her stalking nightmares return, her imaginary dead sister’s ghost tells her to run, Cass knows she should listen, but the sinfully hot stranger she just hired to work on her ranch has her mind buzzing with possibilities. Not only does her skin accept Nathan’s touch, it demands it. Cass must make a decision—run again and hope she saves the people who have become her family, or stand and fight. Question is, will it be with Nathan or against him?

Nathan Rivers’ life is consumed by his quest to find the Omega wolf responsible for killing his brother, but when the trail leads him to Cass and her merry band of shapeshifters, his wolf wants only to claim her for himself. When evidence begins piling up that Cass is the Omega he’s been seeking, things become complicated—especially since someone else wants her dead. Saving her life might mean sacrificing his own, but it may be worth it to save the woman he can’t keep from reaching for.

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“I like him, Tabs.”

“You know nothing about him.”

Cass was unprepared for the jagged lick of jealousy as the old boyfriend possibility became suddenly real. She clenched her hands into fists into her lap and bowed her head as she imagined Tabitha running her fingers through Nathan’s hair.

“You know him then,” she said, steeling herself.

“No. But I know men like him,” Tabitha responded, her voice flat, angry. Cass sighed in relief, relaxed her hands and looked up at her friend who was staring off into the distance, frowning. “Dangerous, selfish, arrogant, cold.” She turned to look at her. “You have nothing in common. Zero. He would destroy you.”

“Destroy me,” Cass scoffed. “Listen, drama queen. Guy was shaking when he bandaged me. So he’s sensitive. He helped us out today on no notice. So he’s nice. And we both don’t like blood, so there. That’s one thing in common.”

Tabitha barked a loud humorless laugh.

“Guys like him bathe in blood.” Cass stared at Tabitha, mouth open. Tabitha blinked then smiled ruefully. “Okay, that was a little drama-queenie.”

“And super disgusting.”

Tabitha grinned now. “Yeah, that too.” She held out her index finger toward Cass. “Agree to disagree?”

Cass nodded and stretched her own finger to Tabitha’s for a second.

“Just . . . be careful. I’m worried about you. You need to eat. You need to sleep. You need to take care of yourself. This whole thing,” she gestured widely, her voice catching, “falls apart without you.”

Cass’s eyes burned at her friend’s concern for her. She nodded. “You’re right. I know. The nightmares will go away.” Who will die this time? “They did before.” Only because I ran. Cass looked out over her grounds of her tiny kingdom spread before them, not believing her own words and unable to look at Tabitha.

Cass knew the truth; death was coming.



He gestured toward the desk again, his eyebrows lifting at her obvious reluctance. Well it could only take a few seconds or so to place a bandage and he smelled so damn good. She settled herself on the desk and held out her hand. He was so close she imagined she could feel the heat of his body warming her skin. His thumb smoothed the edges of the criss-cross bandage while his other hand held hers loosely. Cass tensed, ready to yank her hand away. Nathan looked at her, questioning, she guessed, how she got the scrape.

“Misjudged the wall.” Her voice was unsteady as she tried to ignore the shooting tingly little sparks fanning out from his touch. His large tanned hand enveloped hers loosely, turning it over to trace her palm. Cass’s apprehension grew and she braced for the inevitable burn, her brain automatically rifling through the best maneuvers to pull herself free. The clunky phone on her desk could be a weapon and the letter opener was lying within easy distance. A bonk on the head or stab in the throat, if her gut had massively misjudged his character, would gain her freedom.

His hold didn’t tighten. Five seconds, ten, still nothing. Fifteen, twenty. She wanted him to let go yet clung to the warmth and texture of his skin. Her breath came faster but it wasn’t nerves alone. His finger traced a small cut on the pad of her ring finger and he looked up again.

“Pa-paper cut.” He grabbed an antiseptic square, tore it open with his teeth to keep his hold on her hand. Soon that cut was cleaned and covered. Her insides shivered as his hand glided over her forearm, pushing up the sleeve of her hoodie. Her skin soaked in the roughness of his palm and reached for the heat in his touch. Ninety seconds. She stared at his large, tanned hand stroking her pale forearm, the pure pleasure of it making her light-headed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured as he continued his exploration, finding a larger angry red line with bruising around it. He traced it gently.

“Mr. Clean,” Cass said, her voice husky. “He’s an asshole.”

Nathan chuckled, the sound raspy as if he hadn’t found much amusing for a long time. Cass stared, transfixed. He was already the best looking man she’d ever seen, but with the smile softening his features for a moment he was devastating, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes positively kissable. Her heart flipped in her chest.

He pressed his lips against her palm, taking a deep, ragged breath. His nose and lips were hot and she waited, quivering in anticipation.



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Getting ‘Scandalous’ with Amanda Mariel

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She never wanted him…

Ruined by scandal, Claudia Akford survived years of marriage to a cruel brute. Widowed, she is determined to regain her standing in society, but Lord Shillington personifies temptation. Kind and gentle, yet masculine and sinfully handsome, he would make the perfect lover, but he wants more than she is willing to give.

He needed her…

While Henry Shillington knows a little of the beautiful but notorious Lady Claudia Akford, he is struck by her kindhearted, accomplished, and witty demeanor. The more time he spends in her company, the more he dreams of a future with her. But the lady resists his honorable overtures, and a mistress will never do for him.


Can two wary people overcome past hurts, an old scandal, and social strictures to embrace true love?




Lord Henry Shillington strode across the music room of Lord and Lady Morse’s country estate intent on locating his sister. The force of someone bumping into him sent him stumbling backward. He whirled around, auburn curls catching his gaze as he reached out to steady her. “Excuse me.” He offered a slight bow but did not release his hold on her.

The lady peered at him through narrowed, fierce green eyes the color of emeralds. “You should watch your step. Kindly unhand me.”

Henry met her icy glare. She radiated the sweet scent of champagne. It clung to the air around her filling his senses as if she had used it for perfume. “Good God, you’re foxed.”

Her earbobs danced and sparkled as she leaned in close, the fire in her eyes growing more intense. “My state is not your concern.” She jerked free of his hold and took a step back. Her blue jewel-toned gown swooshed with the sudden movement.

He grabbed her arm, halting her. His pulse pounded through his veins. “You cannot stay here in your condition. You will cause a scandal for yourself and our hosts.”

“What concern is it of yours?” She rounded on him.

He had to prevent her from causing a scene. “Allow me to escort you outside. We can stroll through the garden.” Part of him worried for their hosts, Lord and Lady Wexil were dear friends, but, if he were being honest, he would have to admit he wished to know more about this beauty. Something about her captivated him. Perhaps her unusual eyes or the misery he saw in them.

A slow smile spread across her full lips. “Very well.”

She swayed and clung to his arm as he led her out through the veranda doors and into the country air. What would compel a lady to become foxed so early in the evening? The sun had yet to give way to the moon’s glow. And who was she? Surely, they had never met before.

He turned her down a path lined with flowers and green foliage. The details of who she was and why she’d overindulged did not signify. She was clearly in distress, and he intended to help if he could. He studied the profile of her delicate face.

“Might we sit…what is your name?” Her exhilarating laughter floated through the empty space.

He had never heard a sweeter sound. “Lord Shillington. And yours?” He stopped in front of a cast iron bench. He couldn’t look away as she lowered herself onto the seat in a flutter of skirts. She was a mystery he wished to solve.

“Do sit with me, Lord Shillington.” She patted the bench next to her.

Henry positioned himself near her, but not too close. Being out here with an unchaperoned lady was scandalous enough. It was not his desire to compromise her–or himself. Given her state, he had no choice but to remove her from the gathering. However, he also had a responsibility to control the propriety of his own behavior.

A cool breeze ruffled her elegant skirts, drawing his attention to her body. Heat fanned through him as he studied her. She was tall and lithe, yet she possessed curves in all the right places. He offered a polite smile. “Your name, my lady?”

She looked at him through hooded lashes. “Lady Claudia Akford.”

His heart skipped a beat as his throat tightened. The notorious Lady Claudia Akford.


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Also available in Kindle Unlimited


About the Author


Bestselling, Amazon All Star author Amanda Mariel dreams of days gone by when life moved at a slower pace. She enjoys taking pen to paper and exploring historical time periods through her imagination and the written word. When she is not writing she can be found reading, crocheting, traveling, practicing her photography skills, or spending time with her family.


Amanda lives along the Lake Huron shoreline in northern Michigan with her husband and two kids. She holds a Master of Liberal Arts Degree with a concentration in literature and has a long-standing love affair with sugary junk food.


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My Father Didn’t Kill Himself — Russell Nohelty

First and foremost, tell us a little about yourself. A mini-bio, in three sentences. Go!Cover - My Father Didn't Kill Himself

I run a small press called Wannabe Press ( and host a weekly podcast called The Business of Art ( along with publishing multiple of my own comics, graphic novels, books, and kid’s books. I live in LA with my wife and two dogs. I really love books that are both entertaining and have a serious point of view.

What part of the day motivates you most?

The morning! I love the morning so much. I get up with birds chirping and a spring in my step. I am so productive in the morning. I get through all my emails, and my must do items are checked off one after another. By about 2pm I’m spent.

Dr. Who, Dr. House or Dr. Seuss?

Dr. Seuss. His books are utter nonsense and yet completely engrossing at the same time. How he somehow built worlds that taught kids, told compelling stories, imparted important messages, and were beautifully illustrated is a marvel to me.

Do you ever find yourself torn between what YOU want for the character and what ACTUALLY ends up happening?

For sure. All the time. I grew up not wanting to outline before I wrote. I’m a little better about it now, but in almost every book I end up saying “Hmmm, I did not think this was how the book was going to go.” It’s always to my character’s detriment. They never end up better when I have a revelation like that. My characters do not live happy lives and good things generally don’t happen to them. Even if I want them to be happy, the story is more important. I am a slave to it.

If you could choose any writer, who would love to have as a mentor?

Vonnegut because he was a teacher by trade. I can still listen to his interviews, read his articles, and get something out of them. Plus, I love his writing style. He has such a strong point of view. His books mean something, but they are still fun to read.

Do you have a particular style of writing? Organized or do you wing it?

I am trying to get much better about outlining before I write. I used to fly by the seat of my pants, but you can’t do that and tell deeply complex stories. So I spend about 6-8 months thinking about my next story before I write it. I throw out a ton of bad ideas. I marinate on the good ones. I give it all enough room to breathe. Eventually a good story emerges.


Once it’s time for a rough draft I force myself to write at LEAST 1,000 words a day. After the book is written, I let it sit for 1-2 months before looking at it. Then I do 5 drafts and it’s off to the editor. The editor does a draft, then I do a draft. Then the editor, then me. Then we both sit on it for a few more months and we do a proofread pass.


As far as my style, I come from the world of movies and comics. There what you don’t show is almost as important as what you do. I like to write vague and give the audience a lot of space to imagine what happened. I want them to see themselves as the character. It’s a constant battle between saying too much and not saying enough. I cut so much during my draft that is unnecessary. There’s a lot going on below the surface of each scene though.


Whatever the book, there will be a lot of heavy topics punctuated by humor throughout. I think books should be like life. Life is neither funny nor sad. Life just is.


Author Pic - Russell NoheltyAuthor Bio

Russell Nohelty is a writer, publisher, and consultant. He is the publisher of Wannabe Press and its main author. Russell likes to write genre fiction with deep character studies. He’s sadistic with his characters, putting them in the worst situations and watching them claw their way back up, just to kick them back into the abyss again. Russell started his career writing comics, and now writes novels and children’s books as well.

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How would you cope is somebody you love committed suicide?

Delilah’s father is the greatest man she has ever known. When he commits suicide her world is shattered. She can’t eat. She can’t sleep. Her bubbly personality becomes ascorbic. All she wants is to be left alone.

When his insurance policy refuses to pay out, Delilah sets out to prove what she’s known all along: that his suicide was in fact a murder.

A story of getting over grief and learning those you idolize aren’t perfect, told in blog posts through Delilah and her best friend.

On the surface My Father Didn’t Kill Himself is a mystery book, but right below the surface is a story of how people get over grief. And not just how Delilah gets over her grief of losing the person she idolizes most in the world. Also about how a wife gets over the grief of her husband, a husband that was supposed to provide for her, but instead left her alone and destitute.

Mixed with that is the loss felt by Alex, Delilah’s best friend, in losing her best friend to the anguish of grief, watching her slip away and pull back from the world, feeling helpless.

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Posted by Delilah Clark × December 15 at 9:31 pm.

Here is what The Suicide Handbook says about drowning.

Drowning in cold water is supposed to be like going to sleep. For me, it was a nightmare.

Shivering, freezing, I sat for a minute until my body

Adjusted to the cold. Then I sunk down under the water. The cold washed over me, but my lungs were on fire. Before I could pass out my natural instincts kicked in. I couldn’t fight them. I kicked and screamed

until half the water was gone. I gasped for air. It was frightful.


I performed my experiment much like J. I laid down in the tub until my body adjusted to the temperature. Once I was acclimated, I sunk below the water. I breathed out until there were no bubbles. And I waited. It didn’t take long for the fire in my lungs to start. Soon, it was unbearable. My body thrashed around for a moment before I shot out of the water and gasped for precious air.

I wholeheartedly endorse every word J said.

On top of that I realized something.

If I died in this tub, my bowels would empty, and I would be sitting in feces-filled water until somebody found me. That is not a dignified way to die—my bowel excretion muddying the water and coating me in a fine mist of poop. They’d be scrubbing for days to get me ready for the casket.

No thank you.


Posted by Delilah Clark × December 16 at 7:22 pm.

Before every session with Dr. Bennett, Susie drives me to the cemetery and tries to coerce me into visiting my father’s grave.

I’d never been to his grave before; not since the funeral. It didn’t seem important to me.

It’s not like he’s in there anyway. Maybe his body, but not him. If he’s anywhere, he’s by my side as I try to fulfill his last wishes, not hanging out in a cemetery.

But Susie always insists on driving to the cemetery anyway. The cemetery is a weird place full of weird people. There’s this tall undertaker who seems a little too into the dead people’s families. He’s like overeager for them to buy something. His smile creeps me out.

There’s a grave digger who has to be high on something because he moves slower than molasses. Sometimes I catch the funeral director yelling at him, as if that’s going to motivate somebody that digs graves for a living to pick up the pace. Shocker, it never worked.

They’re not weird in a bad way though. Some of them I could like if I didn’t hate everybody on principle. There’s this guy who is always reading comic books. He introduced himself to me one day as “Roscoe. Roscoe Fay.” Like he’s James Bond or something. He just sits under this tall oak tree overlooking the cemetery and silently reads comics. I would watch him read sometimes, letting my eye catch a cool image every once and a while.

I would usually just sit there, looking out at the cemetery, until Susie gave up and drove us away. But today was different. Today, I felt a twinge in my stomach, a pang, not quite a stress baby, but maybe a stress zygote, or an unfertilized egg.

I needed to see his grave. I needed to talk to him.

Susie was ready to fight, but before she could open her big mouth I pushed out of the door and walked over to his grave.

It was weird.

For all my research on death, I had no idea how to act in a cemetery. I saw a few people crying over graves and placing flowers on them as they rehashed their day.

That isn’t me. I’m cried out.

His gravestone was simple and to the point.

Tim Clark. Devoted husband and father.

I read it over and over again. Have you ever noticed that any word you say over and over again sounds super weird? Just try saying neck two hundred times and tell me that’s not a silly word by the end?

By the eight millionth silent loop, my dad’s name sounded like an alien language. Maybe Zorgblopple, which I just made up.

“Hey dad,” I finally said. “How are you doing? Probably not so bad, right? I mean worms might be eating your insides, but at least you can’t feel how cold it is, right?”

I paused, waiting for a response from him. I felt like an idiot.

“It’s been snowing here a lot. Remember when Mom went out of town for the weekend and it rained? You always said that God was crying because he missed her. I thought that was silly, but I always think about that when it rains or snows now.”

I liked it. I liked it so much I skipped therapy and sat there most of the day. I really can’t tell you how much better than therapy it is.



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Delicious ‘Dysfunction’

The Ab-Fab J.M. Dabney swung by my digs today to chitty chatty about this pretty sparklie of hers! J.M…..welcome to the Torie Zone!


Club RevengeClubRevenge_200

Dysfunction at its Finest, Book 1

A family forged in battle. 

Amora Medina-Jackyl knew one thing well—vengeance. She’d inflicted pain without mercy to those who deserved the punishment. She’d lived by one motto her entire existence—family was to be protected above all else. An ancient cult murdered her parents and siblings when she was little more than a child. The Order of Angelus hadn’t understood the Hell they’d brought down on themselves that one brutal night.

Amora was many things in her four centuries. A daughter and a sister, a mother, yet she was best known as a killer. When she finally meets her end, Amora will have hundreds, maybe thousands of lives to answer for. Her only wish is to find one moment of peace. She denies her need as much as she fights to protect it. When the one woman who can bring her serenity comes into her life: can Amora destroy century-old walls to let her in?

Lies and conspiracies tear at the fabric of sanity—of what’s right. Can truths come to light that change the reality of a family who’s known only the taste of revenge and loss?

Author’s Note: This is a previously published title. It was released as a two-part novel, it has been expanded and re-edited. This is a standalone novel.



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The deep bass pounded beneath the thick soles of Amora’s boots. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked around Club Revenge with a sense of pride. She had been in New Orleans off and on for several years, walked the streets every night before she decided to settle in. Blues and jazz flowed from every open bar and club door. She’d lived countless places in her four hundred years of existence, but this one was the only one that called to the remaining vestiges of her soul.

Bodies moved on the dance floor, hands stroked over exposed, silky flesh or along corded muscle. Lust tinged the air, everyone in the room felt it and sensed the urgency. Any other night she would make her way onto the crowded dance floor, become lost in the sea of bodies. She’d find a warm body for the evening, draw the woman into her and get lost in the sensory overload–the scent of sweet skin devoid of the cloying stench of perfume, hear the breathlessness of her voice, and taste the salt of heat-dampened skin. But not tonight.

A few nights had passed since she had a perfect armful of female. Owning Revenge made it easy to find a lover for the night, but she grew weary. Her reputation, the thrill of lying with a monster, and they submitted easily. Sex was sex, too simple to get. Some lonely souls craved contact, unconcerned with the temporary nature—a well-cultivated cover for what they wanted. Amora shook her head and lifted her hand, whipped her towel from its perch and wiped down the shiny bar.

Last call approached, she signaled her performers, they wandered from the direction of the stage and dressing room. Soon, Amora would lower the music and tell everyone it was time to go home then she and her people would relax for the rest of the night. It was the only time she had a moment’s peace, because when dawn made its inevitable arrival, the nightmares—or more like day-mares—would come with the promise of strangling fear.

She tipped her driving cap lower over her eyes, she went about setting up the customers at the bar with another round. Amora joked where it was appropriate, flirted with the women in hopes she’d find a distraction from what would come. Her lovers never stayed the day, she always ushered them out before dawn, her pride, or as some would say, arrogance wouldn’t allow anyone to see the weakness of her fight against her demons. They were real ones, not just the ones who sprang from the bowels of a mythological Hell, but also flesh and blood ones. Witnesses to her every weakness—the blubbered pleas for her life, for sustenance. They’d starved her, and turned her into a weapon—they had stolen too many years.

Eighty-seven years locked in a cell, dying in small measures of time, flesh became paper-thin. Gums receded, her body emaciated from the withholding of blood she had needed to survive. She learned the exact smell of her flesh as it burned, what it looked like falling as ash to the dirt floor. The horrors she had faced, the acts she had perpetrated haunted her, but she merely wanted to sleep, to find contentment and peace.

Her greatest regrets came to her in blaring clarity, all her mistakes, the faces of all the innocents, and the not so innocent, moved in a macabre play behind scratchy eyelids. Amora would feel the wetness of tears trailing down from the corners of her eyes as she fought each day to remain somewhat sane. Those tears failures she wouldn’t let anyone else see.

Amora always woke to screams and hisses, lingered pasts, realized the agony wasn’t hers not that of her mother. She would curl upward, wrap her arms around her raised legs and rock, force the clinging memories away. Amora didn’t know when or if she would find peace. With each year, decade and century that passed, her doubts of some happiness faded or shattered in the reality of her existence. All she had was an existence. She survived and little more than that. She found bliss in warm bodies, in the clasp of feminine legs and arms. An empty momentary sexual oblivion.

Genre: Lesbian Dark Fantasy Paranormal

Word Count: 59,000



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