Saturday, December 17, 2016

ACCA Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway!


Acca
Christina Bauer
(Angelbound Origins, #3)
Published by: Monster House Books
Publication date: December 13th 2016
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult


In just one week, supernatural warrior Myla Lewis must discover enough evidence to send the evil House of Acca to prison… or she’ll end up in jail herself, along with her fiancé, Prince Lincoln. No pressure.

To gather proof, Myla and Lincoln go undercover at an all-girl’s high school on Earth. Lincoln acts as the new gym teacher; Myla becomes the school’s least popular transfer student ever. To stop them from getting the goods, Acca releases Hell on Earth. Literally. Good thing Myla and Lincoln aren’t afraid of a tough fight. This one promises to be the hardest yet. After all, who ever said high school wasn’t hell?


Interview with Myla Lewis and Prince Lincoln:

Good Morning, Purgatory
December 13, 2016
Susan Smiley: Welcome back. We’re very excited here at Good Morning, Purgatory. Today we have with us Myla Lewis, the Great Scala, and her fiancée Prince Lincoln.
Myla: He’s not my fiancée. We’re married.
Lincoln: (Smirks) We talked about this, Myla.
Myla: (Makes innocent face) We talked about what?
Lincoln: This is a book tour for ACCA. Christina Bauer wrote our story and we’re here to help her sell more novels. You’re not supposed to give away anything that happens in the books. It’s counter-productive.
Myla: (Taps chin.) There’s a loophole, but my brain is fudge right now.
Lincoln: There is indeed. You can say whatever you want as long as you start off by saying SPOILER ALERT.
Myla: (Snaps fingers.) That’s right. (Clears throat). Hear ye, hear ye, hear ye! This is a SPOILER ALERT! Now, are we all good? (Glares at Susan, eyes glowing red)
Susan: (Blood drains from face) Sure. We’re, uh, fine.
Myla: Okay, everybody. The book happened in the past and as of today, Lincoln and I have already gotten married. Also, he knocked me up and I’m super grouchy. That’s more fair warning than spoiler alert, though.
Lincoln: (Raises his hand) I’ll vouch for that.
Myla: In fact, someone better bring me some crackers like, now. I have the munchies.
Susan: (Calls to stage left.) Can someone get her crackers?
Myla: And I want a diet coke.
Lincoln: (Clears throat.) We talked about that, too.
Myla: Right. The baby. No diet coke.
(Terrified intern runs up and hands Myla a box of saltines.)
Myla: Thanks, kid. (Opens box, stuffs face, and talks through mouth full of crackers.) What’s up, Susan?
Susan: Well, you’re the Great Scala, the only being who can send souls to Heaven or Hell. Our viewers want to know… what’s it like to wield so much power?
Myla: It’s a pain in the ass, mostly. Except I can park wherever I want. That’s pretty much the big perk.
Susan: And what about you, Lincoln? (Blushes.) I can call you Lincoln, can’t I?
Lincoln: Of course.
Susan: You’re the High Prince of the Thrax, a race of demon fighters from Earth. Most of our viewers have never left Purgatory. We see some recordings of Earth on television reruns, but everyone wants to know… what’s it really like?
Lincoln: (Purses lips.) Filled with demons, mostly. Only humans can’t see them. Trust me, Purgatory is a nicer place to live.
Susan: (Blushes.) Thank you, Lincoln. I must say, you’re a… (Giggles.) Very fit man.
Myla: Back off. That’s my baby daddy.
Lincoln: Ever since Myla became pregnant, her demonic side is a little high-strung.
Myla: True that. I tried to fight a broom the other day. Long story.
Susan: How fascinating. Your mother is the President of Purgatory and your father is first consort as well, isn’t he?.
Myla: Yup. He’s also an archangel.
Susan: What’s that like?
Myla: It’s like any girl living in her parent’s basement while being pregnant. Not too great. Lincoln and I are looking into getting our own place in Purgatory, but it isn’t easy.
Lincoln: We need a rooftop where her father can land safely. He’s a big fan of flying around.
Myla: What a pain. (Tips cracker box upside down, nothing comes out.) Well, I’m all out of crackers, which means I need to get some juice and a back rub. (Chucks box aside and turns to Lincoln.) You up for that?
Lincoln: (Leans in and whispers something in Myla’s ear. Her eyes glow red.)
Myla: (Hops to her feet.) We’re leaving RIGHT now, thank you very much. (Waves to camera.) Buy Christina’s book and write a review for crying out loud. These books won’t sell themselves.
Lincoln: (Takes Myla’s hand,) And keep an eye out for the next installment, THRAX, which is due out in the Fall of 2017.
Susan: Thank you both for visiting us here today. (Turns to camera.) I’m Susan Smiley, and this was Good Morning, Purgatory.

Author Bio:
Christina graduated from Syracuse University's Newhouse School with BA's in English as well as Television, Radio, and Film Production. Her day job is in marketing for companies like Microsoft, Cisco, and Zerto. Back in the go-go 90′s, she founded her own software start-up, Mindful Technologies. Christina believes that, upon close examination of Tolkien's text, it's entirely possible that the Balrog was wearing fuzzy bunny slippers. 

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Friday, December 16, 2016

X-Rated Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway!

X-Rated
Down and Dirty
Lily Harlem

Genre: Contemporary Erotic Romance

Publisher: All Romance eBooks

Date of Publication:  12/1/2016

ISBN: 978-1-945193-80-4
ASIN: B01N02GECX

Word Count:  21000

Cover Artist: Erin Dameron Hill      
Book Description:

This weekend, Polly and Lucan work the kinks into their relationship.

When Polly is caught in a compromising position with a toy and a hardcore video, she doesn't think her husband will ever go near her again. She feels twisted, nothing like the sweet wife he married. Little does she know, she's awakened a monster by prodding Lucan's sexual beast and making him sit up and take notice.

Finally.

What about Lucan's needs? He's been so busy at work that things have gotten out of his grip to the point he can't even remember his fantasies.

During a weekend of passion and turmoil, heat and pleasure, they vow to never drift apart again. Neither can imagine just how far they'll go to please the other, or how well matched their particular variety of kinks are.

ARe    Amazon    iTunes    Kobo

Excerpt

Polly glanced at her watch as she stepped into the house. Good, she had plenty of time to indulge herself before Lucan came home. She shut the door and ignored a bill that lay on the mat.
All day she’d steamed through her to-do list, knocking each thing off with a tick of satisfaction. She’d even forgone lunch, choosing to eat her salad at her desk. Her colleagues had soon taken the hint, when she’d given one-word answers to their chatty questions, she just wasn’t in the mood.
Some solo fun was what she needed before Lucan walked through the door. He’d toss his keys into the ceramic bowl on the dresser in the hallway, hang his jacket in the cupboard and then plant a chaste kiss on her cheek. She’d bet money on him commenting on “thank goodness it’s the weekend,” then he’d put on his old Oasis t-shirt and worn jeans, and pop a beer.
She’d cook, they’d watch TV, then it would be their usual Friday night missionary sex beneath the duvet. The highlight of his week, he always told her afterwards as he pulled his boxers back on.
Trouble was, their sex routine had become so stale if it were bread it wouldn’t be any good for even the ducks. He tweaked her nipples, rubbed her clit for thirty seconds and then pushed in. After that it was a predictable four minutes until he came.
Polly never did.
She’d tried to push him onto his back so she could climb on top and get herself off, encouraged a little oral fun with a sexy whisper, even hinted that they take a trip to a sex shop for some toys. Her suggestions were met with a big strong body that had only one plan for their bedroom sequence and, much to her dismay, had fallen on deaf ears.
Maybe she hadn’t been firm or loud enough.
For as long as she could remember, frustration burned hotly through her veins. It was an itch she couldn’t scratch. A longed for possession she would never afford. And she had no idea what to do about it.
Until, that was, a few weeks ago.
She’d been scrawling through Facebook on her laptop when she’d seen a Gucci handbag on sale—the GIF flashing excitedly—and clicked the link. Only it wasn’t a handbag sale, not by a long shot. Before she knew it a porn site had filled her screen and the wails of a woman in the throes of climax echoed around the room. She’d been alone but still glanced about the kitchen, embarrassed at the wild cries of release.
As she’d watched, heat had traveled up Polly’s spine and her cheeks had flushed. She’d squirmed on the seat and curled her toes in her fluffy pink slippers. The woman on screen was getting a good seeing to, the black man she was with pounding into her hard and fast. The camera angles were rude and crude, up close and personal. A big dark cock disappeared over and over into her wet, pink pussy.
Polly had stared wide-eyed, knowing she should turn it off. The link could be full of bugs or viruses or whatever else infected computers. But she couldn’t, she was utterly mesmerised.
The woman’s breasts jiggled, the camera gave a shot of the man’s ass cheeks as he thrust with ever-increasing speed.
Polly clenched her internal muscles as another shout of “It’s here, oh yes, oh yes, fuck me, fuck me harder,” rattled from her laptop speakers.
The man groaned, deep and guttural, a sound that spoke to Polly. When had she last heard Lucan moan like that? He seemed to hold his pleasure in, a few panting breaths, a low rumble in his throat perhaps. Why couldn’t he let go? Allow his release to be unharnessed and escape wild and free. It wasn’t as if they had any children to worry about, their house was their own, they had all the privacy a married couple needed.
Quickly Polly dumped her work-bag on the counter. She reached into the fridge for a bottle of Chardonnay and poured herself a large glass. Then, with her laptop under her arm, she headed up the stairs.
The cat was on the bed. “Tilly, come on, out you go. I don’t want an audience,” she said as she tugged the covers.
Tilly voiced a quick complaint then sauntered from the room. She’d likely been asleep all day so Polly didn’t feel guilty. Her own needs were greater and they needed seeing to.
After taking a few more big sips of wine, she began to strip. When she was down to knickers and bra she flicked on the shower in the en suite. She had at least an hour and a half before Lucan came home. The traffic was always heavy on the ring road on a Friday with everyone escaping London for the weekend. Perhaps he’d be even later than she expected. But she couldn’t count on that, she had to presume he’d be in at the earliest time possible.
She pulled the curtains closed, even though it was still daylight, then shucked her underwear.
Humming a happy tune, she twisted her hair on the top of her head and stepped into the stream of warm water. She filled her palms with coconut scented shower gel and rubbed it over her breasts. Her nipples spiked and she held her face to the water, letting it tap on her eyelids and run over her lips. Her breasts were heavy and had always been very sensitive, especially on the outer curves. She adored having the skin there lightly brushed, stroked, caressed, because it sent a tingle to her clit. Shame Lucan only thought it was her nipples that needed stimulating.
Had he always been that way?


About the Author:

Lily Harlem lives in the UK and is an award-winning author of erotic romance. She writes for publishers on both sides of the Atlantic including HarperCollins, All Romance eBooks, Totally Bound, Pride, Evernight, and Stormy Nights Publishing. Her work regularly receives high praise and industry nominations.

Before turning her hand to writing Lily Harlem worked as a trauma nurse and her latest HarperCollins release, Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse draws on her many experiences while nursing in London. Lily also self-publishes and The Silk Tie, The Glass Knot, Bite Mark, Shared, and Cold Nights, Hot Bodies have been blessed with many 5* reviews.

Lily writes MF, MM and ménage a trois, her books regularly hit the #1 spot on Bestseller lists and Breathe You In was named a USA Today Reviewer’s Recommended Read of 2014. Her latest MM novel is Dark Warriorand you can grab Part One of her series Caught on Camera for FREE! Don’t miss HOT ICE, a popular hockey series, again first book FREE!

One thing you can be sure of, whatever book you pick up by Ms Harlem, is it will be wildly romantic and down-and-dirty sexy. Enjoy!

For more information on other books by Lily, visit her website:



Thrust Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway!


Thrust
Sybil Bartel
Publication date: December 6th 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance


Alex

I know the game. I know the angle. I know how to make you beg.

My hands on your body, my mouth hovering over yours—I’ll tell you everything you want to hear. Ten inches of real estate never felt so good.

But don’t take my word for it. My client list is long and my motto is short—one single thrust and you’re mine. I’m not good at what I do, I’m fantastic. But satisfaction doesn’t come cheap. So open your wallet and prepare to forget your name. I’m about to ruin you for any other man.

One single thrust and you’re mine.



EXCERPT

“How do you wanna settle up?” I tied off the condom and slipped it into my pocket as I pulled my pants up. Rule number one—never leave behind any evidence.
Naked except for her heels, she got off the bed and sauntered to her purse. “How much?”
“Four grand.” I smiled like I was checking her out.
“Four?”
I took two strides and tipped her chin. “Two rounds and oral. You want a third? I just got hard watching that ass of yours.” I could fit in another quickie before my next appointment.
She smiled coyly. “Maybe next time.”
I held back my laugh, just barely. I was hung as hell. If she wasn’t sore from all that pounding, my name wasn’t Alex Vega. “You know where to find me.” I dropped her chin. “Cash or credit?”
She handed me her card and I swiped it through the small credit card reader attached to my cell phone. “Need me to text you a receipt?”
She smiled. “Receipt?”
“Deep tissue massage.” I was legit as fuck. I’d even gotten the damn massage therapist license. “Medical expense. You can deduct it on your taxes.” I winked. “You’re welcome.”
She shook her head but she looked amused. The card went through and I got dressed ASAP. Rule number two—never stick around—unless they pay you.
“So….” She twirled her hair like she was twelve. “What are you doing Saturday night? I’m looking for a date to this fundraiser that’s for—”
I was already shaking my head. “Sorry, babe. I don’t do show and tell. Strictly bedroom scenes. But text me after if you’re bored.” I shot her my money smile and buckled my Ferragamo belt then threw on the jacket of my custom-tailored suit. Stepping into my loafers sans socks, I was out. “Later, gorgeous.” Three steps backward, a wink for good measure and I turned.
On the elevator ride to the lobby, I checked my messages, scheduled three more clients and pulled up my E-Trade account balance. Nothing got me hard like seven digits in a row.


teaser2

Author Bio:
Sybil Bartel grew up in Northern California with her head in a book and her feet in the sand. She dreamt of becoming a painter but the heady scent of libraries with their shelves full of books drew her into the world of storytelling. She loves the New Adult genre, but any story about a love so desperately wrong and impossibly beautiful makes her swoon.
Sybil now resides in Southern Florida and while she doesn’t get to read as much as she likes, she still buries her toes in the sand. If she isn’t writing or fighting to contain the banana plantation in her backyard, you can find her spending time with her handsomely tattooed husband, her brilliantly practical son and a mischievous miniature boxer…
But Seriously?
Here are ten things you probably really want to know about Sybil.
She grew up a faculty brat. She can swear like a sailor. She loves men in uniform. She hates being told what to do. She can do your taxes (but don’t ask). The Bird Market in Hong Kong freaks her out. Her favorite word is desperate…or dirty, or both—she can’t decide. She has a thing for muscle cars. But never reply on her for driving directions, ever. And she has a new book boyfriend every week—don’t tell her husband.
To find out more about Sybil Bartel, be sure to follow her on Twitter (she loves to hear about your favorite book boyfriend!), visit her website, like her on Facebook or join her Facebook group Book Boyfriend Heroes for exclusive excerpts and giveaways. 

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Thursday, December 15, 2016

Blood Ice and Oak Moon Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway!



Blood Ice and Oak Moon
Coon Hollow Coven Tales 
Book Three
Marsha A Moore

Print Length: 211 pages

Publication Date: October 3, 2016

ASIN: B01LWS4V2G

Genre: PNR

Book Description:

Esme Underhill is about to discover a darkness hidden inside her that could destroy her chance for independence and possibly kill her.

Esme’s mother took her young daughter away from Southern Indiana’s Coon Hollow Coven to prevent her from learning about the unusual witchcraft she had inherited. When Esme is twenty-seven, her beloved Grammy Flora passes away and leaves her property in the Hollow to her granddaughter. With this opportunity to remake her life and gain independence, Esme attempts to emulate Grammy Flora as a wildwood mystic who relies on the hedge world of faeries to locate healing herbs. But fae are shrewd traders. When they open their world to her, she must meet the unknown malevolence of her birthright.

Thayne, the handsome king of the fae Winter Court, faces his own struggle to establish autonomy as a new regent. He is swept into the tempest of Esme’s unfolding powers, a dangerous threat to his court. His sworn duty is to protect his people, despite Esme’s beauty and allure, which tear at his resolve.

Both Esme’s and Thayne’s dreams of personal freedom are lost…unless they can trust each other and overcome surmounting dangers.


Excerpt from Chapter One: Winter Began

Dear Miss Rebecca Esmeralda Underhill,

Please accept our deepest sympathies concerning the loss of your grandmother, Flora Esmeralda Freestone. She was much loved and well-respected in our community.

As per her documented wishes, the ownership of her property on 10510 East Lost Branch Run passes to you. This transfer has been filed in our office. At the request of High Priest Logan Dennehy, all council members have voted to reinstate you as a member of Coon Hollow Coven after your absence of twenty years.

However, despite Coon Hollow Coven being your birthplace, a majority indicated the lapsed time was sufficient cause to withhold transfer of Ms. Freestone’s ceremonial standing to you, which customarily would accompany a property transference to blood kin of adult age. For explanation of how you may attain ceremonial approval in your name, please visit the council office at 50013 Owls Tail Creek Road.

Enclosed, please find pamphlets describing the expected dress and personal property code of our coven, which adheres to the time period in which the coven was founded in 1935. This is to best protect our witchcraft traditions.

Sincerely,

Nathan Wells
Coon Hollow Coven Council, secretary



Esme’s gaze fixed on the words that acknowledged her as the property owner. She’d never lived alone. First her mom, then a roommate and finally Doug. Esme’s shoulders straightened and chest lifted with strength and independence at the thought of owning her own place. But, why wasn’t she approved for ceremonial status? Her hands gripped the edge of the table, knuckles whitening, and her heart raced. It’s not fair. I won’t be accepted as a healer. Only children not yet graduated from the coven’s secondary school were kept from participating fully in ceremonies. Esme loved learning the ways of a hedge witch and helped Gram every summer from grade school through college. Fascinated with tending Gram’s plants, Esme even studied botany in college.
The research company she worked for had already accepted her request to work offsite and study mystic plants…at the stipulation she be reduced to part-time. She needed work here as a healer to supplement her income. She’d assumed incorrectly that her experience with Gram and college studies would’ve qualified her as an accepted healer. Her standing in the coven would be important to patrons, all except Gram’s closest friends who knew Esme well. An attempt at independence seemed bound to fail before she started.
Her gaze drifted to the name used in the letter’s greeting. She hadn’t seen her full name in print for decades. It didn’t even appear on her birth certificate, which labeled her as Rebecca E. Underhill, one of the many things her mother insisted upon. Mother wanted nothing to do with the coven or witchcraft and said, “Esmeralda sounds too much like a witch. No need to encourage the darkness out.” Grudgingly, she accepted her own mother’s middle name for her child to uphold custom. Esme never understood Mother’s view since Gram was well-respected for her kind and gentle strength by all who knew her.
To Esme’s Indianapolis friends, she was Becky. Only her mother addressed her as Rebecca. But inside, she was Esme. Gram had always called her that, or Esmeray in carefree moments. Her middle name suited the mystic inside Esme, something Gram must have known. If only Esme could use Gram’s last name Freestone. Underhill felt like a lead weight.
Esme set the letter aside and paced the length of the rag runner through the small kitchen. Frustration wound her along a circular track through the sitting room, to her closet-sized guest room, and back. The space was too small to work answers out of her tangled mind. On the second pass, she sank onto the goose down comforter of Gram’s iron bed. Billowing fluff sheltered her from the problems. Gram’s linens, scented with homegrown lavender and rose sleep liniment, comforted Esme and tugged on her eyelids.
She forced her eyes open and pushed herself up and off the bed. Hiding wasn’t the way to begin this fresh start in life. She’d done enough kowtowing to stronger wills, letting Doug and her mother run over her. At the back door, she paused long enough to grab a rain parka and pulled it on as she strode outside.
Gram’s cat, Dove, zipped alongside with a sharp meow, slipping out before the door closed. Esme smiled, grateful the tomcat kept Gram company during her illness. She’ doted on the smoky blue stray that happened into her garden one early fall afternoon and never left. Gram swore he was an omen and chose his name ‘cause of his white-winged breast patch. She used to say, “One day soon my spirit will fly on those outspread wings, and together Dove and me we’ll roam the wooded hills.” Gram loved those hills. Thinking about the hills drew Esme to gather Dove and head outside.
Ice still peppered down, adding more layers to the spiky crystalline grass blades. A breeze blew at Esme’s back. She allowed the wind to guide her toward the woods behind the cabin. At the trailhead, ice coating the bittersweet vine berries glistened the same shade of blue she’d rubbed from Dove’s coat. Alert to the strange color, she followed a line of branches dangling sky blue icicles, each one more fanciful and richer in hue than the last. A beautiful play of light, ranging from cerulean to ultramarine. Even worth the chill at her ankles, which were bare in her cropped jeans.
Whenever Esme paused to marvel at the colored icicles, Dove pawed them and then dodged when they dropped.
Minutes later and deeper in the forest, the ice pelted heavier, and Esme reached for the hood of her raincoat. Strands of hair fell forward, woven with frozen ultramarine threads. The same purplish tint coated twigs along the path. Light from the sky reached this far into the woods since all but the oak trees had lost their leaves. The unusual color couldn’t be caused by light refraction. She’d never seen any rain, sleet, or snow like this, not even in the Hollow. Grammy had taught her a little about omens. Was this a sign?
Esme scurried along the trail, sliding at times and spotting richer and deeper shades of purple and red-violets. At the far side of the woodlot, iris-hued spider webs clung to berry brambles. She gasped at the beauty. Tempted to touch, she extended a hand but at the last instant resisted.
A deep groan echoed from the adjoining property ahead.

She snatched her hand back and scanned for some god of nature angry at her ruinous attempt. Grappling for Dove, Esme crouched behind a thicket.
The cat gave a single hiss, then clung to her leg.
In the distance, a big middle-aged man, both tall and wide, staggered behind a shed, dragging a long, clumsy load wrapped and tied into a blanket. His balding head snapped in her direction, eyes wide and face blanched gray-white. “Who’s there?” His booming voice sliced the delicate webs from their branches. Crimson freezing rain assaulted both trail and yard.
Esme froze, afraid to move and attract his attention. Her heart, drumming against her ribs, threatened to give her away. She wanted to run home. But if the colored ice omen was meant for her, she needed to stay and learn its meaning. Could the man see the omen?
Thankfully, her cover must’ve fooled Baldy. He resumed lugging the limp bundle, and didn’t seem affected by the magical ice.
From between the tangle of branches, Esme studied him.
His wet, black shirt clung to his round belly. Blood-red ice coated his load, tracing the outline of a human body. Smaller than his, probably a female. Was she dead? Of natural causes? Or had he murdered her? The thought wrapped around Esme’s breath and trapped it deep in her lungs. Her legs twitched. Gaze riveted on Baldy, she positioned to bolt from potential danger.
He rolled the body into a depression Esme couldn’t see.
She leaned to one side, bracing herself with a hand on the ground.
Over what looked like a freshly dug grave, Baldy grunted as he shoveled and kicked dirt and large rocks. Clumps of red clung to long strands of his comb-over, now hanging along one ear. Was it ice or real blood?
Dove huddled closer, and Gram’s voice from years ago spoke in Esme’s mind. “Blood ice is stained with revenge.”
Crimson liquid dripped from the man’s eyes and fell from grimacing jowls. The face of a demon


 © Copyright 2016 Marsha A. Moore. All rights reserved.




Tea Leaf Tales: Which Yule Tree Will Pick Me?

Fantasy Flash Fiction by Marsha A. Moore


I suck in a gulp of thick, pine-scented air, faced with the difficult question—which one. I tick through the usual criteria—fullness, tightly attached needles, correct height. Beyond that the trouble begins for me when I consider needle length, color, tightness of branches. 

Needles crunch under the soles of my shoes as I slowly pass down the row, hoping one tree chooses me. Those I don’t give a full inspection slyly begin to stretch their postures more erect before I turn completely away. If I pause to admire one, branches brush past the backs of my legs until I turn around and give that tree a careful look.
Ahead in the center of the display, I hear voices in foreign languages—hurried bits of anxious dialog that quiet as I grow near.
One small blue spruce tries his best to stretch taller but cannot reach up to his neighbors, so I lean in and whisper, “If you talk to me, I’ll take you home.”

I wait, determined, and the nearby treetops bend over the tiny spruce until finally a gentle tinkling begins deep inside at its trunk, radiating to the tips of the boughs at my side. I caress the singing branch, then wave an arm to the shop owner.

Tea Leaf Tales is a series of original ten-sentence short stories by Marsha A. Moore, relating to photos/scenes that resonate with her. Read more Tea Leaf Tales archived in Marsha’s Mercantile of Tea Leaf Tales.




About the Author:

Marsha A. Moore loves to write fantasy and paranormal romance. Much of her life feeds the creative flow she uses to weave highly imaginative tales. 

The magic of art and nature spark life into her writing, as well as other pursuits of watercolor painting and drawing. She’s been a yoga enthusiast for over a decade and is a registered yoga teacher. Her practice helps weave the mystical into her writing. After a move from Toledo to Tampa in 2008, she’s happily transformed into a Floridian, in love with the outdoors where she’s always on the lookout for portals to other worlds. Marsha is crazy about cycling. She lives with her husband on a large saltwater lagoon, where taking her kayak out is a real treat. She never has enough days spent at the beach, usually scribbling away at stories with toes wiggling in the sand. Every day at the beach is magical! 








Goodreads author page  http://www.goodreads.com/marshaamoore

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Pocket Full of Tinder Blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway!


Pocket Full of Tinder
Jill Archer
(Noon Onyx #4)
Publication date: December 15th 2016
Genres: Fantasy, New Adult, Science Fiction
Noon Onyx is back! In this long-awaited fourth installment, Jill Archer returns readers to the dangerous world of Halja, where demons, angels, and humans coexist in an uneasy state of détente.
Maegester-in-Training Noon Onyx feels like she’s done it all – mastered fiery magic, become an adept fighter, learned the law, killed countless demons, and survived having her heart broken by both love and an arrow, but now she’ll face her greatest challenge yet…
Far to the north lies an outpost famous for its unrest – Rockthorn Gorge. The town’s patron has specifically requested Noon’s help. Her assignment? Help the neophyte demon lord build his fiefdom and keep what’s his. The problem? Lord Aristos – Noon’s new employer – is her erstwhile lover, Ari Carmine, the aforementioned heart breaker. And the number one thing he wants is her.
When Rockthorn Gorge’s viaduct is destroyed by Displodo, an enigmatic bomber, killing a dozen settlers and wounding scores more, Noon sets off early to aid in the search and rescue. Ari is listed among the missing and the suspects are legion. But Noon’s search is just the beginning. Her journey forces Noon to confront not only those she loves, but also enemies hell-bent on destroying them.


EXCERPT:
PROLOGUE
Ari
Last year
Second semester

He’d been traveling for weeks, following the river westward. A great aerial beast with a broken wing trying to follow the curving lines of a bigger, blacker beast on terra firma. Beneath him, the Lethe River twisted and writhed. Every left turn was agonizing. The wing, bent at an unnatural angle, caught wind where it shouldn’t. The drag was enormous. He often felt as if he were drowning, his wings clasping at the edges of a whirlpool whose edges grew taller and steeper as it closed in on him. And then he’d have to push, soaring up into the air again with labored breathing that sounded louder than a blue whale’s blowhole.
As he neared New Babylon he kept a keen eye on the water, searching for boats and sails and men. Men who may not have seen a drakon in decades, perhaps longer. Men who would sound an alarm and alert others to his presence. It was the type of homecoming he wished to avoid.
So he’d flown at night and timed his arrival with the new moon. All below was black and gray. Far off there were tall ships lit by lanterns, but closer (thank Luck closer) was his goal – Bradbury’s docks.
A man without fire or an electric torch would have been blind. But to a drakon, the world seemed drawn with charcoal and smudged with starlight. Another night, with a different wing and the company he sought, he might have thought it beautiful.
He smelled the river and the city, the scents of men and the rich food they liked to eat. Loud, boisterous voices rose from the waterside inns, saloons, and taverns. He clenched his jaw and banked left across the water toward Etincelle, straightening again – or at least trying to – before he got too close. With a last, desperate push up he rose above the Lethe, beating his inefficient wings against the midnight sky, until he found warm air to ride down, circling… waiting… watching for anyone who might still be at the docks. He did not want to be seen in drakon form.
He landed less gracefully than he would have liked, skidding to a halt just before hitting a crate that would have tumbled into the Lethe had he not finally found purchase on the dock with his claws. With a last glance around, he shifted.
Wings collapsed. Snout, jaws, and teeth were reabsorbed. Claws disintegrated, turning to dust. Tail wriggled and twisted, curling inward, like a snake eating itself. Lungs and heart halved. And then halved again. Head pounding, body shaking, Ari fell to his knees, his right palm pressed against the dock, his left arm cradled uselessly against his side.
He was home.

Author Bio: 
Jill Archer is the author of the Noon Onyx series, genre-bending fantasy novels about a postgrad magic user and her off-campus adventures. The series includes DARK LIGHT OF DAY, FIERY EDGE OF STEEL, WHITE HEART OF JUSTICE, and the upcoming POCKET FULL OF TINDER. 



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Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Bearly Working Tour, Excerpt & Giveaway!

Bearly Working
The Grizzly List
Book Three
Julia Talbot

Genre: Gay Paranormal Romance

Publisher: All Romance eBooks

Date of Publication:  12/1/2016

ISBN: 978-1-945193-82-8
ASIN: B01N3PBV25

Word Count: 23000

Cover Artist: Erin Dameron Hill      

Book Description:

How can a deaf bear find his mate?

Deaf werebear Sasha loves his data entry job at The Grizzly List. When he receives Trent’s ad to place, he knows he's going to answer it instead, even if it might cost him his job.

Sasha’s lack of hearing doesn’t bother Trent—his mother was deaf, too. There’s only one problem: it’s a long-distance relationship. It’s an issue he’s willing to overcome, because once he sees his little bear on Skype, Trent knows they’re meant to be together.

ARe    Amazon    Kobo

Excerpt

An ad in The Grizzly List weekly:

Big single grizzly bear in search of hot little bear who likes blondes from Alaska. Moved to Colorado permanently and looking for company. ND, social drinking okay. Old fashioned bear likes to go out to dinner, watch movies and cuddle. If you like hairy and totally ready to focus on you, I’m your bear. Reply to box 564 with your fav restaurant and a pic if you’re ready for fun.

The ad came with a picture of this tall, broad man wearing flannel, his shaggy blond hair and bright golden eyes the very picture of health and, somehow, joy.
Sasha sighed softly, using the mouse pointer to trace the features on the photo. Oh. Oh, that was… Look at that gorgeous face. The features were large, blunt, very grizzly. Just his type.
He looked up to see Vic and Marty having a fight, which they called a “discussion” about some new Facebook page rule and whether or not they needed to form a group. They loved to fight.
Everyone else at The Grizzly List hated it.
He glanced back at the screen. He was meant to clean this ad up, post it to the website and feature it in the weekly paper that went out in four towns. They were trying to expand through Utah and Wyoming, down into New Mexico, but right now this was a Colorado company serving Colorado bears.
This guy was in—Sasha checked the IP. Boulder. Yum.
The temptation to answer the ad, to just send a picture, the name Sizzling Siam, and an image of the Gladiator movie cover to the guy and hope for the best was huge.
Still, the rules were “no dating clients or co-workers.” No co-opting the clients.
The guys kept escalating, so Sasha looked away, focusing on the screen. God, he could so use some time off from not-this. He loved the idea of The Grizzly List. Sasha sucked at working in the office.
In a perfect universe, he’d be an investor, not a peon, but everyone had to start somewhere, right? Right.
He sighed, and copied the ad to paste it into the editing software. Instead, Sasha opened his Dropbox and pasted it into a doc there.
He would do it from home. Tonight. If the guy didn’t answer, then great. The ad would go live tomorrow. That was the perfect compromise, and hey, if it gave him jack off material, so be it.
Okay. Okay, that was fair. Maybe a little sneaky, but fair.
He saved it so he would have it at home with his leftover Thai food, and glanced around one more time, the thrill of being bad racing through him.
Sometimes you just had to, Sasha told himself. Sometimes you just had to stop being a good employee. This grizzly might be his chance at a one and only, or it might not get off the ground, but he had to try.
After all, how many chances did a deaf guy get to find the bear of his dreams?

***
The email came in early in the morning when Trent was weighing the value of sit-ups and push-ups versus blueberry pancakes with pecans.
The ding made him glance at his phone, and Trent’s heart kicked into high gear when he saw the reply was from the office at The Grizzly List weekly, a newspaper that put bears in touch with guys interested in bears. Real and play. He thought he’d been pretty explicit that he was a real bear.
The email subject was, “Nice pic. Cuddling is my thing.”
There was a picture of the Gladiator movie cover, and then a smaller, kinda fuzzy picture of a dude. Then there was Restaurant: Thai food from Sizzling Siam.
Dark and little, little even for a human—was this guy even a bear? He was adorbs, though. Totally.
So.
Trent hit reply. “I like it. Gladiator is one of my faves.”
It took just seconds for a response. “I know, right? Men in skirts. Studly. What’s yrs?”
“Star Wars original trilogy. Pew pew.” He grinned. Trent was a freak for A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back. Jedi… eh.
“V. cool. I love the special effects in those.”
“I do, too. Where are you?” Was it too soon to ask? He felt good about this one.
“Sitting in my bedroom on the laptop. ;-).” Oh, teasing butthead. “What about u?”
“On the deck.” He’d been lucky enough to rent a house that backed up to a nature trail. He had this amazing deck with a view.
“Rock on. I’m in Durango, btw.”
Oh, damn. That was one hell of a drive for a possible pickup. Too bad. This little bear was adorable.
Trent grinned. “Boulder. Just moved down last month.”
“Down? From where? Do you like it?” The emails flew fast and quick, the little bear curious.
“Alaska. I do custom camping gear and it’s cheaper to manufacture down here.”
“Wow. I do data entry.”
“Yeah? Do you like your job?” He settled in, working his butt into the grooves of his chair. He started wondering if Little Bear chatted. Texted. Liked to talk on the phone.
“It’s a job. You ever do Google Hangouts or Messenger or anything?”
“I can.” He could figure it out, right? “I could call, too. Is it too soon for that?” He wanted to hear this one’s voice. Really badly.
There was a pause in the emails and he winced. Oh, yeah. Too soon.


About the Author:

Julia Talbot lives in the great Southwest, where there is hot and cold running rodeo, cowboys, and everything from meat and potatoes to the best Tex-Mex. A full time author, Julia has been published by Samhain Publishing, Dreamspinner Press, All Romance eBooks and Changeling Press. She believes in stories that leave a mark, and that everyone deserves a happy ending, so she writes about love without limits, where boys love boys, girls love girls, and boys and girls get together to get wild, especially when her crazy paranormal characters are involved. Find Julia at @juliatalbot on Twitter.

For more information on other books by Julia, please visit her official website: