Bartholomew Buggins (Our Favorite Zombie) is our Special Guest! #kidlit #IARTG #FridayReads



Today, we have a special treat for you. Our favorite zombie (kid-friendly, of course) is here as our special guest. He wants to be your friend. Welcome, Bartholomew to the POTL Blog.

Hello, thank you very much for inviting me to be interviewed. I am very excited that you would want to meet me. I even wore my best suit and dusted myself off as much as I could.


What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Well, perfect happiness today would be if we could go to the park after this interview to sit under a tree and read a good book. Afterwards, we could discuss it over a picnic tea. Doesn’t that sound nice?


Which talent would you most like to have?

I wish that I could speed read. Then, I could read more books.


Where would you most like to live?

I like where I live now, the town is full of interesting people and I haven’t had the chance to meet them all yet and I would like nothing more than to do that.


What is your most treasured possession?

My book of poetry that I have written. I sometimes read them aloud at poetry nights. I enjoy sharing my thoughts.


What is your most marked characteristic?

I’d have to say that I get frequent compliment on my eyes. How big and round and cute they are. Can you tell I am blushing?


Aww, you’re cute! What do you most value in your friends?

I believe I value loyalty the most. It’s important to have friends who will stand by you and support you. I will always do the same for my friends.


What is your current state of mind?

I am currently very happy because I have gotten to meet you and made another friend.


What is your motto?

Being yourself is key to you being you and me being me.




Title: Bartholomew Buggins: A Zombie with Different Cravings

Author: Crystal Marcos

Genre: Children’s Picture Book

Publisher: Cat Marcs Publishing


Book Blurb:

A humorous rhyming picture book for ages 4 and up by award-winning author Crystal Marcos features a distinguished little zombie who just wants to be your friend.

Dive head-first into the infectiously charming pages, oozing with whimsical verse and stricken with colorful and amusing illustrations. Bartholomew Buggins: A Zombie with Different Cravings is a unique, fun book that will have kids and adults shrieking with delight.




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Crystal Marcos


Author Biography:

Award-winning author Crystal Marcos has been a storyteller her entire life. As the oldest of five children, she had to do a lot of entertaining. Crystal is the author of two children’s books, BELLYACHE: A Delicious Tale and HEADACHE: The Hair-Raising Sequel to BELLYACHE. She recently wrote her first Young Adult novel, Novus (The Cresecren Chronicles, Book 1). Bartholomew Buggins is her first picture book. She lives in Washington State with her husband, daughter Kaylee, and son Jaxon.


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Meet Luke Roberts from @KryssieFortune’s Submission, Secrets and the Solider #BDSM #Romance #Military

396kb KF_SubmissionSecretsandtheSoldier_coverin


Today it is my great pleasure to introduce Luke Roberts, alpha hero from Kryssie Fortune’s latest release, Submission, Secrets and the Solider. I convinced him to sit down for an interview and it was eye-opening. I know you’ll enjoy it, too. Take it away, Luke.


What is your greatest fear?

Losing Kathryn. She’s my wife and my submissive, but only behind closed doors. Her acceptance and common sense turned my life around. She’s sort of sparky if she thinks anyone’s putting me down for my scars. Honestly, she stunned me the first time she waded in on my side. The maître ‘d in De Marco’s restaurant tried to hide us away at an out of the way table. I’d have accepted it, but not my Kate. What with her threatening to have the owner revoke the restaurant’s lease and threatening him with legal action, he backed down real quick. There’s so much more to her than the shy sub I’d terrified back at the BDSM club. Chemistry sizzled between us that first night, but the night at De Marco’s, she stole my heart.


Which living person do you most admire?

Kathryn. Okay, I won’t answer that to every question. Maybe Adam Montgomery because of the things he’s setting in place to help veterans settle back into civilian life. I’ve got a lot of time for Dr. Chris Anders too. He lost part of his leg in Afghanistan, but he refused to let it get him down. He trained as a psychotherapist, and Adam’s brought him in to help vets with PTSD. He certainly helped me come to terms with everything I saw while serving my country.


What do you most dislike about your appearance?

Easy. My scars. Some days, I can’t get past them. Kathryn always knows when I’m down, but I know better than to expect sympathy from her. The first time I met, her let my appearance get in the way. I walked off like a coward. The next thing I know, she thumped me in the back and told me to stop wallowing in self-pity. Her version of tough love was just what I needed. I still do really, but don’t go thinking she’s all spit and gristle. She’s kindhearted, beautiful, brave, and caring. And she’s all mine.


Which living person do you most despise?

I’m not fond of Candice anymore. I hated her reaction to my scars. When she Dear Johnned me, I thought my life was over. Eventually I discovered she’d been married for years. Her husband wasn’t into BDSM so she used me as her bit on the side. I can’t believe I was too dim to realize it. Despise is a bit strong though.

There’s this guy, Farlaise, who used to own a building company. He terrorized my Kathryn, kidnapped us, and we were lucky to escape with our lives. Him, I find real easy to despise.


What is the quality you most like in a man?

I hate when a man’s a bully, especially if his victim is a woman. I don’t hold with it, and I won’t stand by and let it happen.


What or who is the greatest love of your life?

Three guesses. Not that you need them. Kathryn’s everything to me. The way she goes out of her way to help people is special. When your back’s to the wall—and believe me, ours was—she’s the woman you want at your side. Everyone adores her, but the way her submissive side only surfaces for me is a delight.


When and where were you happiest?

Last Labour day. I sprang surprise after surprise on Kathryn. I’d arranged for her mom to make pirate costumes for the kids she’d coached for the parade. I had her sister design a pirate ship to sit on a float. Jared Armstrong built it, and I restored a beat-up flatbed for it to ride on. Of course, she got me back when she sprang the biggest surprise of the day on me. Better still, the whole town rallied around to make it happen. I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling since.


Where would you most like to live?

Right here in Westhorpe Ridge. It’s a small town with a great heart. No one stares at my scars. I bought the local auto shop so I have a thriving business here, and best of all, it’s Kathryn’s home town. That said, wherever she wants to live is perfect by me.


What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

After the IED exploded the army sent me to an American military hospital to recuperate. I thought I’d lose my leg.  I was coming to terms with the scars that run from my left eye, down my torso, and down my left leg. Then the woman I thought I’d be with forever arrived, took one look at my scars, and threw up. She left soon after that, but with hindsight, I had a lucky escape.


What is your favorite occupation?

Kissing Kathryn. Okay. Except for that. l. I like to work with my hands, and I’m a trained mechanic. Thanks to my time in the army, I can fix just about anything. If I can’t find the parts I need to fix a vehicle, then I’ll set to and make them from scratch.


Want to read Luke’s story? Here’s all the details –


Title Submission, Secrets, and the Soldier

Author Kryssie Fortune

Genre contemporary romance, ex-military, BDSM Romance

Publisher Loose id


Book Blurb

Luke Roberts, a former army mechanic, has a new sub. She’s shy and inexperienced, but willing. As he teaches her about sensation play, she fears he’ll really hurt her and screams her safewords at him. Her reaction causes Luke to have a flashback. Although he’s clawing his way back to normal, he suffers from PTSD. Determined to get well, he contacts a PTSD specialist in Westhorpe Ridge.

Kathryn Johnson has visited a BDSM club three times. When she hooks up with Luke Roberts, he unintentionally terrifies her. She swears off spankings and goes home to Westhorpe Ridge. The last person she expects to see there is Luke Roberts.

Circumstances force them to share an apartment. Can Luke protect her when danger threatens? Or is she just a temporary sub in residence?




Luke loved how Kathryn didn’t back down from him when things got tough. She’d even talked him down from a flashback. Grinning, he decided to lighten the mood. Tossing Kathryn over his shoulder, he strode toward the rock pools. He patted her butt, then spanked it once. “Your favorite Dom, huh? I like that.”


Hung head down, she beat on his back and kicked her legs in token protest but could practically feel the way her gaze fixed on his ass. Rather than beat on it, she gave it a squeeze. He repaid her with a gentle swat of his hand on her bikini bottoms. “Behave, or I’ll drape you over a rock and spank you right here, no matter what the sheriff said.”


Spine soldier straight, he marched to the pool where he’d caught the crab earlier. Letting her slide down his body, he waited until her bare feet touched the sand before grabbing her around the waist and holding her over the water. “I wonder if crabs like nibbling toes?”


She shrieked and drew her knees up to her chest. “They don’t. Really, truly, they prefer shellfish to toes.”


Laughing, he lowered her into the shallow pool, held her until she found her balance, and hastily backed off. He didn’t trust the mischievous grin on her face.


Kathryn took a step back, bent, and scooped armfuls of water toward him, soaking his T-shirt and making it cling to his pecs. Judging by her smile, she liked that. He leaped in beside her, deliberately splashing her as he landed. “This means war.”


They spent fifteen minutes laughing and soaking each other.


Finally, Kathryn held her hands up before her. “I’m done. You win. I stuck a couple of towels in my backpack. Let’s dry off and head home. I need a shower if we’re hitting Steve’s Bar tonight.”


He lifted her again. “Kick your feet in the water to rinse the sand off. I’ll carry you back to our base. Is there any of that lemonade left?”


He’d never seen anything as beautiful as the smile that lit up her face as she poured a cold drink from the flask. In military speak, this woman was PFA—pretty freaking awesome—and he’d do whatever it took to make her proud.


Once they’d dried off and finished their drinks, they packed up and strolled back toward the town. When she linked her fingers through his, his heart beat faster, warming his blood and melting the ice around his emotions. Normally, he dropped a portcullis between himself and anyone who tried to befriend him. His layers of defenses ensured he didn’t get hurt again, but his pain felt like a primed hand grenade ready to explode inside him. For the first time since the IED maimed him, he wanted to be whole.


Something about Kathryn crashed through his defenses. Her smile, perhaps. Tonight, he’d take her to Steve’s Bar and socialize with former soldiers who wouldn’t judge him. It surprised him how much he looked forward to it.


Best of all, Kathryn had told him she loved to dance, and according to Adam, the bar played rockabilly music. When Luke had been in his teens, his mom had taught him some moves. He hoped to surprise Kathryn on the dance floor—and maybe surprise her again when they came home after.



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Kryssie Fortune


Author Biography

Kryssie is never seen without her kindle. She reads everything and anything she can get her hands on. When she discovered hot, sexy reads, she felt like she’d found her home. The only books she hates are the ones that end with a cliff hanger or have unhappy endings.


Kryssie tries to set her stories in places she’s explored. Hopefully, it adds color to her writing. Anything can spark a story idea. Sometimes she takes liberties though. The North Yorkshire town of Whitby is one of her favorite places. To keep the details of her imaginary town, Westhorpe Ridge consistent, she mentally shunted Whitby over the Atlantic and renamed it Westhorpe Ridge.


When not writing, Kryssie loves to walk on the beach of home town, Bridlington, or potter in her garden. Popping down to London to see her family is her favorite thing to do.


Kryssie currently has thirteen books on general release along with a boxed e-book of the first three Westhorpe Ridge stories. All her stories are M/ F or M/M/F. All are edited by publishing houses in either the UK or the USA. While her stories sizzle with sex, plot comes before bed. Life’s always an adventure going on in Kryssie’s world.


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#CharacterInterview: Coel from Just One Mistake by @libraryoferana #SFF #fantasy #FridayReads

Tales of Erana Series


My name is Coel, I am a bard. I make my living singing and selling songs.


At least that’s the way it should be, but of course things are rarely that simple, I am a wanted man. I would say I am innocent, but two men are dead by my hand and as much as I wish it that is the truth. These days I must supplement my income by any means necessary for those in my position do what they must do see another dawn.


Presently I live at the Stuck Pig Tavern, in Varlek. It’s not exactly the height of comfort but it does have the advantage the clientele don’t ask awkward questions and the Order of Witch-Hunters leave it alone. This is worth the leaky roof and dubious ale.


I’m what’s called a Bard Adept – so I have recently learned by music and the handful of other magical skills I have are just that – fuelled by magic. Possession of magic is illegal here so I have to be careful. The music side is reasonably easy to hide, the rest – not so easy. It’s all a bit new so I can’t really control it properly, it controls me, I suppose.



What is your greatest fear? 

It used to be death – but when one walks with death it becomes less frightening. Now – I’d say losing my music. I could not live without the songs and tales in my soul.


What is your greatest extravagance? 

My rebec. It’s a bit old now, but if she needs strings or polish she gets them. I’d rather go hungry than have an unplayable instrument. Music is my blessing, my curse and my soul.


What do you consider the most overrated virtue? 

Pride. It is easily lost and brings out the worst in a person.


Which talent would you most like to have? 

I’d like to be able to be invisible – to walk around unseen. I’m learning that some adepts can. Shadowplay they call it, and some mages can fool the sight. I’ve called up shadows a couple of times but usually it doesn’t work unless I REALLY need it. To be truly able to vanish – that would be extremely useful.


What do you consider your greatest achievement? 

I’m still alive!


What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery? 

Despair. I have been there more than once. Because of my lust I caused the death of two men, the ruin of a woman and the shame of my own kin. I’ve been hungry and cold, I’ve been terrified out of my wits, and I have been seriously wounded but nothing is like the pain of knowing one has nothing left to live for and knowing it was all by one’s own hand.


I have made some amends for what I have done but my debt is far from paid.


What is your greatest regret? 

How long do you have? As I said I killed a man, it was an accident. He was my lover’s husband and he found us together. In the light of day I say it was self-defence, but in the darkness of my nightmares I know it wasn’t. I don’t regret killing him, but I regret getting caught in the situation I did. Another man hanged for my crime and I stood by and watched him die. That is the murder I truly regret. That poor man was an elf, and elves have no rights. Would it have made a difference if I’d confessed? Maybe. But I was too much a coward for that.


How would you like to die? 

I spend a lot of time and energy not dying. So far it’s working but luck is a fickle mistress.

If I get a choice I’d say old, rich and famous. At the rate I am going it’s likely to be young, broke and infamous.


TOE Just One Mistake


Title Tales of Erana: Just One Mistake

Author A. L. Butcher

Genre Fantasy


Book Blurb 

Coel, the bard, thinks his life has taken a turn for the worst, but he hasn’t met the Thiefmaster yet. An ill-conceived notion of earning more money to pay off his debt and escape a dark past leaves the minstrel in a situation he can’t escape and with a deadly bargain. Will he survive his mistake? Who is this mysterious patron?


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The candle spluttered in the attic as the wind curled about the badly thatched roof. Glowglobes were currently beyond Coel’s means so in the small flickering circle of meagre light Coel assessed his night’s takings. The tavern wench had gone to her own bed or someone else’s and in many ways he was glad; any undue attention would be unwelcome in the circumstances. Coel had got away with the theft, at least he could hear no hue and cry from below or boots on the stairs. With luck the fellow would either not miss the trinket or simply not recall his movements that evening. There had been no mistake, not this time.


Darkness oozed lazily in the remainder of the room, nosing into corners, under furniture and behind Coel, unseen, part of it detached. “That was quite a performance, bard. You have some talent, and not just your music. Although your judgement is flawed, it never wise to steal from a thief,” the voice was smooth, like liquid velvet and very sure of itself.


Coel’s hand moved towards the dagger nestling in his belt; it would not be the first time he had been called on to defend himself, although that was how he had ended up in this mess he thought bitterly. Just one mistake, then another and now, it would seem, another.


“I do not know of what you speak! I am not a thief.” His brain caught up and he continued, “How did you get into my room? The door was locked. I’m not a bloody fool.” Coel could hear his own heart pounding. There was something about this man which frightened him. He felt like a mouse beneath the gaze of a cat. Perhaps the hangman’s noose would have been the better option.


The slate-grey cloak swirled around boots of ebony leather and the cowled figure chuckled. “That lock was barely a moment’s work. I must have a word with the owner of this place about his security. I have yet to find a door in Erana which will not yield to me. You may as well remove your hand from that blade, or would you bet your life you are swifter than the Thiefmaster? I doubt it, boy, I doubt it. Believe me when I say you would be dead before that knife left its scabbard. It would be a pity to waste such talent, would it not?”


Coel removed his hand from the dagger, his sense telling him that continuing to draw it would be a terminal decision. Instead, he placed he placed his hand on the table and the voice breathed into his ear, Coel shivered, he had not heard the man move.


“I thought not. Sensible lad, if a lying one. This too can be a skill which can save your life, if it is used correctly and with assurance,” Darius told him.


This menacing shape was right behind him and Coel began to turn, opening his mouth to protest, and found a gloved hand on his jaw, firm but not unduly painful. “Curious are we not? This may sometimes serve you well. As for other occasions, it is wise to accept things as they are, this is one such occasion… Coel.”


The bard caught his breath, how did this man know his name? The sweat began to pool in his back, making his shirt stick unpleasantly to his skin. Had this man been hired to kill him? Had his mistake finally caught him up? Yet as Coel’s brain frantically grasped at any hope and his fingers tried to overrule his brain and reach for the dagger he realised the man had said he was a thief. A robbery, that was not so bad. It would not be the first time.


“This is not a merely social call; you are honoured for the Master of Thieves does not always test a potential recruit’s skills for himself.”


Just One Mistake Print


Author Bio

British-born Alexandra Butcher (a/k/a  A. L. Butcher) is an avid reader and creator of worlds, a poet, and a dreamer, a lover of science, natural history, history, and monkeys. Her prose has been described as ‘dark and gritty’ and her poetry as evocative.  She writes with a sure and sometimes erotic sensibility of things that might have been, never were, but could be.

Alex is the author of the Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles, and the Tales of Erana lyrical fantasy series, She also has several short stories in the fantasy, fantasy romance genres with occasional forays into gothic style horror. With a background in politics, classical studies, ancient history and myth, her affinities bring an eclectic and unique flavour in her work, mixing reality and dream in alchemical proportions that bring her characters and worlds to life.


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Meet Alpha Male JD Watson from Happily Ever After by @RuthACasie #romance #TuesdayBookBlog


happily ever after FINAL


Hi, I’m JD Watson. Most of you know me as the love interest in Ruth A. Casie’s story, Happily Ever After. Ruth gave me quite a challenge. I’m the top selling author of the Jack Daniel series and enjoy writing my alpha hero. I use my initials because my agent didn’t think readers would buy my stories if they knew a man was writing romance. I’ve started a new series. It’s a collaborative effort with the brilliant Beth Alexander of NY Times and USA Today bestselling fame.


I fell in love with Beth’s character Jo Dee. She’s determined, witty, and smart. Jo Dee and her canine companion help the police solve crimes. A chance meeting made me realize Jo Dee had to be Beth’s alter ego. I bumped into her at industry events before I hit the lists and liked her more and more. One Christmas I had the opportunity to spend some time with her and knew she was special to me. She is smart, witty, and eventually I found out passionate. Yea, I’m a man in love.


What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Pen, paper and Beth are my idea of perfect happiness.


What is your current state of mind?

I’m glad the book Beth and I wrote is with our publisher and we can enjoy our vacation.


What do you most dislike about your appearance?

It’s not that I dislike it but my shoulders are wide and my waist and hips are narrow. Sometimes finding clothes is difficult. Beth tells me to take them off.


What or who is the greatest love of your life?

Beth is my greatest love. I’ve loved her for a long time and don’t plan to ever stop.


What is your most treasured possession?

My most treasured possession is the silver pen my father gave me when I published my first book. There were tears in his eyes and mine.


What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Beth knew me as Jarred. My lowest depth of misery was when I let me agent convince me not to tell Beth I was JD Watson. Beth attributed her fall off the bestseller’s list to JD. When I told her the truth and saw the hurt and anger in her eyes I hated myself more than she did.


What is your favorite occupation?

No contest. My favorite occupation is author.


 Moments - Ruth 5


Title: Happily Ever After

Author: Ruth A. Casie

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Publisher: Timeless Scribes Publishing


Book Blurb:

From a fall from literary stardom to becoming the heroine in her own romance story, Beth Holmes has turned around her career and her love life. She owes it all to one very special person.


Jarred Watson has loved Beth since he read her first novel and suspected the heroine was the embodiment of the author. But the road to romance was fraught with pitfalls. He almost lost everything because of a conniving agent and a little white lie that got out of hand. At the eleventh hour, with honesty and hard work, their book sales are off the charts and a movie deal is in negotiations.


Interfering families and changed plans take their toll. Will they go their separate ways or will Holmes and Watson continue their literary collaboration and personal partnership in order to find their own happily ever after?



“What have you found?” She pushed her research aside, more interested in what he had to say.

He put his pen down and sat back, his casual manner indicating he wasn’t in any hurry. A glint of humor lit his eyes, and an easy smile played at the corners of his mouth. The thrill of his obvious interest in her buoyed her spirits. Her smile broadened, it was the polite thing to do, although polite never entered her mind.

“Men tend to be task-oriented, not at all talkative. They’re more action oriented when it comes to dealing with emotions. Faced with a woman’s emotions, rather than listen, they try to fix it.”

That made her think. Visions of how her Detective Ryan reacted to Jo Dee ran through her mind. They weren’t in line with Jarred’s conclusion. Startled and intrigued by the revelation that Ryan’s reactions were more like those of a woman.

“Women, on the other hand,” she responded before he could say another word, “are intuitive, especially about the nonverbal cues like tone, emotion, and empathy. Because they’re good communicators they do well in groups, talk through the issues, and focus on how to create solutions that work for the group. You’re right. When men are faced with a woman’s emotion, they go right for the solution. But solutions are the last thing she wants. A woman wants comfort, cuddling, and empathy.”

“Interesting.” He chuckled. “Men are not known for their empathy.” He brought his chair closer to hers. “Like stress,” he said. “Under stress, men exhibit the “fight or flight” response.”

Beth nodded. She hadn’t considered the differences in gender reactions in that context. “Women don’t think fight or flight, at least not initially. Under stress they work to protect the group. It has to do with protecting the young and seeing to the family unit. They also think very differently about sex.”

A sly smile brightened his face. She wanted to slam her hand over her mouth.

“They do?” He dropped his voice to a low raspy whisper and sent chills, the good kind, up her back and to other places.

“For a woman, sex starts in their head, not necessarily between her legs.” Shit. Her face was so hot she was going to go up in flames. Jeez, that’s what Jo Dee would say, definitely not Beth Alexander.

“Oh really?” If she thought his soft, male mellow voice or his smoldering stare couldn’t get any sexier, she got that totally wrong.

“I’m a romance writer. I write about relationships and emotions,” she replied.

“And sex,” he added. Was he extending an invitation? She wasn’t a loose woman, but she was more than tempted to say yes. And that was her notion, not Jo Dee’s.


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Author Biography:
RUTH A. CASIE is a USA Today bestselling author of historical swashbuckling action-adventure time-travel romance about strong empowered women and the men who deserve them, endearing flaws and all. Ruth also writes contemporary romance with enough action to keep you turning pages. She lives in New Jersey with her husband, three empty bedrooms and a growing number of incomplete counted cross-stitch projects. Before she found her voice, she was a speech therapist (pun intended), client liaison for a corrugated manufacturer, and international bank product and marketing manager vice president, but her favorite job is the one she’s doing now—writing romance. She hopes her stories become your favorite adventures. For more information, please visit or visit her on Facebook, @RuthACasie, Twitter, @RuthACasie, or Pinterest RuthACasie.


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Meet Elias (sexy #vampire) from @KryssieFortune’s New #Paranormal #EroticRomance! #romance

KF_Claimed by the Vampire


Have you ever wondered what a vampire thinks and feels? Today’s it’s my great pleasure to introduce you to Elias from the newly released erotic romance, Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf. He’s, well, I’ll let him introduce himself. Take it away, Elias:


I’m a soldier of Sparta. Once I thought that was everything. It didn’t matter that my father was the Macedonian king, although I hated him for throwing me, Elias—heir to the Macedonian throne—away like I was nothing.


“A hostage to the fragile peace,” he called it


I grew up in the Spartan agoge, aka the cruelest boy training academy ever. I leaned about hunger and hurting, but that made me no different to any other Spartan warrior in training. After all that, King Leonidas refused to let me fight at Thermopylae. My new wife, a woman I loathed on sight, said it shamed her and slit my throat while I slept.


That’s when the real torture started. Powerful forces pulled my soul into the Etruscan Hell Zone, and for seven centuries, the Tuchulcha demons taught me what pain really was. Spartan’s don’t scream. Ever. In life, I was stoic, stronger than any of my contemporaries. In death, I learned to scream. The only way to survive was to turn vampire. Then Tempest, my curvy red-haired angel, pulled me back into the real world.


What is your idea of perfect happiness?

A full belly, a blanket for warmth, and Tempest in my bed.


What is your greatest extravagance?

I don’t need much. Growing up as a Spartan warrior told me that. I love my 1,000cc motorbike and my sports car. As a Spartan, we marched everywhere. Twenty-first century transport is amazing, but I’d give up everything to keep Tempest safe.


What is your current state of mind?

Edgy. Angry. Deadly, maybe. I need to claim Tempest and bind her to me forever, but she’s not ready. For a vampire, finding his bride is everything, but for all she’s a witch—albeit a weak one—and she doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Worse, one of my younger brothers has somehow turned werewolf. He scented Tempest and claimed she was his mate. I’d drain every drop of blood from his body, but he came to our aid when we fought Tuchulcha demons in your world. Tempest thinks we owe him. Seth, my half-brother, grew up with everything, fine food, good clothes, and a family who loved him. I had nothing and no one. Now I have Tempest, he wants to take her from me too. Just once, I want something good to happen for me. Honestly, Tempest is my addiction, my heart and my world. I can’t live without her.


What is your most treasured possession?

My bride. The one woman who completes my soul and makes my heart beat. That’s Tempest, of course.


What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

I spent seven centuries in the Etruscan hell, and you at ask me that? I endured cold so intense it froze the flesh from my bones. Even with my vampire healing I have scars around my wrists where the demons wrapped leather thongs around them and suspended me from the ceiling. They enjoyed poking my wounds with hot pokers and they whipped the flesh from my bones. The only thing worse than them recapturing me would be if I lost Tempest. I’d endure anything to protect her.


What is your favorite occupation?

Kissing Tempest. Stroking her body until she whimpers with desire. Did I say she has the world’s most spankable ass? Afterward, she comes apart as I love her long and hard. I never imagined a woman like her, let alone that I’d find my eternal bride, but making Tempest smile motivates my every action and thought.


What is your most marked characteristic?

I grew up wearing rags. The Spartans kept the boys in the agoge hungry and cold. By law, the elders gave us one cloak a year and nothing else. We stole clothes from washing lines and ate rotten food from the midden, or slipped into homes and pilfered some warrior’s meal. The penalties if we were caught were sometimes fatal. After that, all adult Spartans like to look good. Remember the stories about the warriors at Thermopylae washing and combing each other’s hair before battle. Despite expecting to die the next day, they wanted to look their best as they met their fate.


I’m the same. I keep my hair short and well-tended. Twenty-first century clothes are wonderful. I’m the guy in a suit when others wearing ripped jeans and muscles shirts. Of course, Tempest prefers me bare chested so she can run her fingers over my eight pack or lick my chest. I’m good with that too, but looking smart matters to me.


Who are your favorite writers?

I’ve so much catching up to do. Having spent seven centuries locked in the Etruscan Hell, I know little about twenty-first century life. I read nonfiction. Mostly history books, and thankfully, I’m a quick learner.


Who are your heroes in real life?

This is hard. I was born before most of them. The Macedonian line gave the world Alexander the Great. He’s the descendant of one of my half-brothers. I’ve not met most of them, and I have eight. I forget which one took the throne after my death. Like me all my family, myself included, Alexander had mismatched eyes.


Alexander’s battle tactics are still studied by the military today. He never did the things his enemies expected. Instead, he homed in on their weaknesses and decimated them.  He even solved the riddle of the Gordian knot. With his warrior’s body and striking looks women were all over him. Despite that, his greatest weapon was his mind.


What are your favorite names?

Tempest, of course.


What is it that you most dislike?

Werewolves who come after my woman.


How would you like to die?

I’ve done that already. I’d like to avoid doing it again. Being a vampire makes me immortal, but without Tempest I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t drink. My body will fail and I will die of a broken heart. And do you know what? I wouldn’t care. Life without my bride is unthinkable.


Title: Claimed by the Vampire, Seduced by the Werewolf

Author:  Kryssie Fortune

Genre: Paranormal, erotic romance / Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Loose id

Book Cover: Designed by Dar Albert


Book Blurb:  

After seven centuries, Elias, a former Spartan turned vampire, finds his eternal bride.
Seth, Elias’s werewolf half-brother, scents his mate.

Vampire and werewolf loathe each other. The only thing they agree on is that Tempest is their mate–and they’re not sharing.

A prophecy will force Tempest, a twenty-first-century witch, to choose between them. As the half-brothers vie to win her heart, they teach her about spanking, the way pain heightens pleasure, and the joy of multiple orgasms.

A vampire can’t survive without his fated bride. A werewolf dies if he loses his mate. Their future rests in Tempest’s hands. Which one will she choose?



Even when Tempest threw all the fabled eye-of-newt stuff into a caldron, it only burned and stuck to the sides. She’d no stored magic or super-strength spells to aid Elias. Trembling, she took two steps back. When she finally found her voice, she screamed and looked around for a weapon. Her grandmother—the Superwitch—would have zapped those demon things with a spell to turn them inside out by now.


Tempest grabbed a fallen branch and yelled like a banshee, ready to charge the demons. Their high-pitched jabber grew louder. More dark shapes dropped to the ground behind Elias. No matter how many demons Elias ripped apart, their numbers kept growing. The way they waved their legs and homed in on their prey horrified her. She froze when four scuttled into the trees and swung around Elias, heading toward her. The way they waved their too-thin limbs as they moved over the ground or dangled from webs they’d spun around the overhanging leafy branches sparked a primeval terror in Tempest’s soul. She wished she’d run rather than summoned her useless magic. Although she swung her stick like a madwoman, fear pulsed in her soul. The closer the demons came, the harder she found it to breathe.


A beast charged from the shadows, all fur, fangs, and fury. Over eight-feet tall, it towered over the spider demons. The overhanging tree branches brushed the golden hairs on its ears. Its growl sounded like thunder, and when it extended its claws, the beast looked like it belonged in a slasher movie. Bizarrely, it carried a sword.


The beast’s shaggy blond fur and contorted features chilled Tempest’s blood. He looked like a giant wolf, albeit one with supersized fangs and claws. Goddess, is that a werewolf? Whatever its origins, the beast roared a challenge at the demons. The sound echoed down the deserted footpath and set the demons chittering again. When the beast moved toward her, she took a faltering step back, but she lifted her makeshift weapon. She wasn’t going down without a fight, but if it came after her, she wouldn’t last a minute.


It leaped between her and Tuchulcha demons, its huge head swinging left and right as if deciding whether to snatch her in its claws or fight off her attackers. Finally, sword in hand, it turned toward the Tuchulcha. Another growl—deep and rough—rumbled from its throat. “Nothing touches what’s mine.”


The beast’s rough, raspy voice made Tempest think of unrefined whisky and sex. Her toes curled in delight. Better still, the beast sounded as though he was on her side. She pointed toward Elias and begged, “Help him. Please.”


The beast’s roar drowned out the sounds of Elias’s battle. It stared at Tempest for a full five seconds. Finally, he bowed his head toward her and tossed the sword to Elias. “Spartan, catch.”


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Kryssie Fortune


Author Biography:

Kryssie Fortune writes the sort of hot sexy books she loves to read. If she can sneak a dragon into her paranormal books she will. Her paranormal heroes are muscular werewolves, arrogant Fae or BDSM loving dragons.
Kryssie likes her contemporary heroes ex-military and dominant. Her heroines are kick ass females who can hold their own against whatever life – or Kryssie – throws at them.

Kryssie’s pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.
Her books are all stand-alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.


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Meet Paula from The Fragrance Shed by a Violet by @LinWilder #medicalmystery #thriller

Fragrance Shed by a Violet


Today, it’s our great pleasure to bring you this exclusive interview from one of the characters from Lin Wilder’s The Fragrance Shed by a Violet. Paula Livingston, sister to Dr. Lindsey McCall, agreed to an interview conducted by MRS N and we think you’ll be surprised by her candor. Welcome, Paula. Please introduce yourself.


Hello, my name is Paula Livingston, the older sister of Dr. Lindsey McCall, world-famous Interventional Cardiologist and Researcher. I am a cardiac nurse, single mother of three and until very recently, the main caregiver for our desperately ill mother. Mom died because Lindsey used her non -FDA approved drug Digipro to augment Mom’s failing heart. But Mom’s heart was too damaged from long-term cardiomyopathy, Lindsey’s drug pushed it too hard.



  • What is your idea of perfect happiness?

The life I am living right this very minute. Finally, the great Lindsey McCall knows what it’s like to feel alone, frightened, and hopeless. Exactly the way I have felt most of my life. This journalist, Kate Townsend, is getting a Pulitzer Prize for the story she wrote about Lindsey. And Lindsey sits in Huntsville Prison because she murdered our mother. How perfect is that?


  • What is your greatest fear?

That I am an alcoholic, that I’m addicted to drugs. That I can no longer control how much I need to drink. The shaking in my hands scares me. And there have been too many instances of blackouts where I can’t remember what happened. I think they are increasing. My coordination is getting worse as well.



  • What is your current state of mind?

I am ecstatic. Lindsey’s drug Digipro works-it’s been approved by the FDA. She did it, revolutionized the treatment for heart failure but she’ll be in prison for years. But I admit I am a little worried about the reporter. I don’t think Kate Townsend likes me.


  • On what occasion do you lie?

I’ve been lying since I was twelve. When I began to drink. To Mom and Dad, to just about everyone, teachers, boyfriends, husband and kids. It’s an art, lying. And requires enormous creativity and memory. Because it’s critical to remember the lies, if you forget the lies, then the problems start. I never forget.


  • When and where were you happiest?

I was a really happy kid. We moved all over the country because Dad was in the Air Force. I never minded because making friends came so easily to me. But when I was almost eleven, Mom had Lindsey. And I had to help her with the baby. At first, it was okay, she was kind of cute but then it wasn’t. Mom was tired a lot. She probably had the cardiomyopathy long before she was diagnosed. And Mom expected more and more of my help after school. So I started lying about homework and studying with friends. I guess the lying started even before I started drinking.


Title: The Fragrance Shed By A Violet: Murder in the Medical Center

Author: Lin Wilder

Genre: Medical Mystery, Courtroom Thriller

Publisher: Wyatt-Makenzie Imprint


Book Blurb:

Why did a Houston district attorney decide to involve the state in an area of the law that it has historically treated as sacrosanct: that of medical decision-making? Why did the DA decide to charge McCall with murder rather than criminal negligence in a civil court? Author Lin Weeks Wilder continues Dr. Lindsey McCall’s story in the new book, “The Fragrance Shed By A Violet Cover: Murder in The Medical Center”.


In a city where the Texas Medical Center reigns as one of the top employers in Houston, housing over three thousand medical researchers making the news with new pharmaceutical discoveries almost daily, why did twelve Houstonians unanimously decide to convict Dr. McCall for intentional murder following her trial?


These are the questions that lead investigative reporter Kate Townsend to write a Pulitzer Prize winning series called Murder in the Texas Medical Center. Haunted by the knowledge that her new-found fame has been purchased at too high a price; Kate is sure that McCall is not guilty.
Texas Governor Greg Bell hires former homicide detective and criminal defense attorney Rich Jansen to fix the escalating problems at the Huntsville Prisons recently inflamed by a lawsuit against infamous inmate Dr. Lindsey McCall. Dr. McCall is an internationally acclaimed cardiologist, researcher, and a 2002 nominee for the Nobel Prize for Medicine. When Jansen’s skills quickly result in the resignation of an incompetent prison medical director, he realizes that this strange saga is just beginning.
Mark Twain wrote that forgiveness was the fragrance shed by a violet upon the heel of the boot that has crushed it. This medical mystery weaves together the lives of two sisters, Lindsey, and Paula, with those of strangers as each cope with loss, betrayal, jealousy, and the exquisitely painful journey to forgiveness.
Wilder’s second edition of her debut novel has it all. Mystery, romance, and dysfunctional family relationships wrapped up in a tale of big pharma and medicine. Literary Fiction Review dubbed it ‘A story fragrant with love and forgiveness’:


Extended Excerpt:



She lay listening to the unfamiliar night sounds: the pacing of other sleepless prisoners, the occasional echo of a heavy-footed guard making his rounds. Mostly though, she waited for the terror of the dream to subside, for the iron bands around her heart to loosen, and for the awful pressure on her chest to lighten so that she could breathe. And she waited for her heart to climb back down into her chest and out of her throat.


The dream was a familiar one. It had begun four years before following the sudden death of a fifty-two-year-old man whose heart she had catheterized. Dr. Lindsey McCall had surgical hands—a reference to the skill and dexterity that she brought to the Cardiac Catheterization Laboratory at the University of Houston General Hospital. A colleague had made the comment during rounds one day during her cardiology fellowship at Houston General, and it had stuck.


There had been no reason for his death. Nate Morrison was a healthy senior executive with Southwest Oil, one of the largest oil conglomerates in the world. During his annual physical, Morrison had been referred to Houston General for a work up based on nonspecific changes in his cardiac diagnostic tests.


Upon reviewing his tests, Lindsey had suspected that the man’s coronaries might be clean—free of coronary artery disease. She was well aware of the numbers. Of the sixty thousand cardiac catheterizations performed each year in the United States, over 30 percent revealed clean coronaries: absence of plaque in the vessels supplying the heart with oxygenated blood. And the procedure was not benign. Complications of cardiac catheterization were not uncommon and ranged from mild hematoma to death. In twelve years, Lindsey had done over five hundred cardiac catheterizations and over three hundred angioplasties. She had never lost a patient.


But close to 75 percent of the revenue of her department was due to referrals from doctors practicing in Texas and the Houston metropolitan area; the physicians at Southwest Oil referred hundreds of patients to Houston General per year, usually for an angioplasty or cardiac cath. Furthermore, McCall was well acquainted with the financial realities of her profession—turning down lucrative procedures like cardiac catheterizations was not smart.


For some reason she could no longer recall, she, rather than one of the cath lab nurses, had gone to see this man the night before the procedure. While she had been reviewing the potential complications with her patient and obtaining his informed consent, Morrison had asked with a wink, “Just how many patients have you lost in your twelve-year career, Dr. McCall?”


His quick-grinned response to her answer had been, “Well then, let’s you and I make sure that I’m not the first, deal?”


Lindsey could picture that conversation as if it had happened a moment ago. Fourteen hours later, he was dead.


As she had done hundreds of times before upon awakening from the dream, Lindsey lay there second-guessing herself— asking all the questions that had been asked by his family, by the morbidity and mortality committee at the hospital, and by her chairman of medicine. The final diagnosis had been sudden death due to a massive left ventricular infarct most likely from coronary spasm. Neither his family nor the hospital held her responsible. There had never been even the suggestion of negligence on her part.


Her technique had been flawless. She had been calm and confident throughout the two-hour procedure, explaining what she was doing to her patient and laughing at his quick-witted responses. Lindsey had completed the injection of dye into the man’s left anterior coronary artery, and after satisfying herself that it, too, was free of plaque and had almost completely extracted the catheter from his coronary in preparation to end the procedure was when she heard the startled cry of her technician.


“Lindsey, he’s fibrillating, he’s fibrillating!”


For just a second, her gaze met that of her lead tech, Ben, who responded to her unspoken question. “He’s been in sinus rhythm for the whole exam—there was never any arrhythmia, not even a PVC!”


Ben was referring to premature ventricular contractions that are frequently harbingers of serious cardiac arrhythmias. Lindsey trusted this guy implicitly; they had worked together for over ten years. If Ben said there had been no warning of this potentially fatal arrhythmia, she believed him. So she and her staff went to work, certain that in just a few minutes, they would get control and be back to the routine work of winding down the procedure.


But they couldn’t.


They had worked for over three hours, along with six members of the hospital’s on-call code team who had responded to the emergency in the Cath lab. They were never able to restore a normal cardiac rhythm, despite massive amounts of antiarrhythmic and other emergency drugs along with numerous attempts at electrical defibrillation.


That was the last time she had accepted a patient for catheterization.


The chairman of Medicine at Houston General had spent hours with Lindsey over that first year following the death of this patient trying, in futile attempts, to help her forgive herself. He had known her since she had been accepted into the cardiology fellowship almost fifteen years earlier and had followed the young woman’s career at first with interest and later with excitement.


Dr. Simon Bayer was known to many as the cardiologists’ cardiologist. He too had been excellent in diagnostics, research, and in education. Author of several textbooks and principal investigator of countless experimental drug protocols, Dr. Bayer was internationally admired and respected. But in close to forty years as chairman of Internal Medicine at Houston General, Dr. Bayer had never before seen the talent exhibited by this young physician.


Early in her fellowship, Lindsey had talked with Dr. Bayer about her preliminary doctoral work with alteration of the molecule for digitalis. At that time, he had listened politely. Lindsey remembered sensing that her chairman believed she was chasing windmills—the drug had been around forever after all.


For centuries, physicians have treated heart failure with digitalis. Its effect on strengthening a failing left ventricle—the main pump of the four-chambered heart—remains unparalleled. But the drug has serious systemic side effects ranging from mild to potentially fatal depending on dosage and frequency. Lindsey had become interested in the drug in high school when her mother had been diagnosed with idiopathic cardiomyopathy— heart failure of unknown origin—at the age of forty-three.


Cardiomyopathies are a strange and almost-universally-fatal type of heart failure. Thought to be caused by a virus, the actual mechanism of disease is poorly understood. But the course of the disease is all too well known: increasing heart failure and incapacitation over time and death if not treated with heart transplantation. Despite living fifty miles from the premiere transplant center if the world, the Texas Medical Center in Houston, Lindsey’s mother would not consider transplantation. That she lived for close to thirty years without surgical intervention was considered a minor miracle by her physicians. Then, as now, digitalis was the drug of choice for heart failure, and so the balancing act of dosaging began—sufficient medication to keep the heart out of failure but not so much as to cause severe nausea and vomiting and toxicity to the heart.


Before her illness, Lindsey’s mom had been physically active with many outside interests and lots of friends. Although she had never worked outside her home, she had been active in volunteer and church work. The disease completely changed her personality; Ann became incapable of focusing on much other than her symptoms and the acute anxiety brought about by the facts of her disease and incapacitation.


Only thirteen at the time, Lindsey handled the virtual loss of her mother through intense study: of the heart, of her mother’s disease, and of the drugs that manage heart failure, specifically digitalis. This intellectual response to loss, crisis, and fear worked exceedingly well for the young girl and would become her major response to trauma throughout her life.


At the age of seven, Lindsey had decided that she would be a cardiologist and a research scientist; the acute onset of Ann McCall’s illness served to augment and crystallize Lindsey’s ambition. Throughout her junior and senior high school years, the young girl persuaded her chemistry and biology teachers to support her determination to alter the digitalis molecule in ways that would optimize its inotropic or strengthening effects on the heart, while mitigating its toxic effects.


Recognizing and respecting his daughter’s ambition, Tom McCall, Lindsey’s father, a NASA test pilot, made certain that Lindsey received the best of what the Clear Lake Texas schools offered in their advanced science courses. Therefore, Lindsey received quality tutors throughout the six years of junior and senior high school. Lindsey McCall’s cardiac models were entered at each science fair and, without fail, received first prize.


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Lin Wilder


Author Biography:

Lin Wilder holds a Doctorate in Public Health and has published extensively in fields like cardiac physiology, institutional ethics, and hospital management. In 2005, she switched from non-fiction to fiction. Her series of medical thrillers are situated in Houston, Texas with many references to the Texas Medical Center where Lin worked for over twenty-three years. Her latest book is A Price for Genius. All her books are available at Amazon.


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Amazon Author Page


About Me

Meet Allen and Elaine from @BarbCaffrey’s Brand New Release #romance #LGBT #books


An Interview with Allen and Elaine from CHANGING FACES

By Barb Caffrey


A lean, tall, dark-haired man of average looks comes in, sits down on a long, comfortable couch, and crosses his legs at the ankles. He seems nervous, but friendly.


“Hi,” he says. “I’m Allen Bridgeway, clarinetist, graduate student in Music at Willa Cather University, and the fiancé of Elaine Foster—also a graduate student at WCU. I’m partial to Weber, allergic to cats, and I’m thirty years old.” He smiles wryly, adding, “Is that enough detail for now?”


Then a shorter, rounder, beautiful woman of Hispanic descent comes in and sits next to him. After giving him a quick hug and a squeeze of the hand, she speaks.


“And as you may have guessed, I’m Elaine, Allen’s fiancée. Though I’m not quite what I appear. I might look female, and I always identify as female for whatever it’s worth—”


Allen butts in. “You’re a feminist scholar, love. How could you be anything else?”


Elaine gives him a fond look. “But I’m not straight, and more to the point, sometimes I feel more male than female.”


Allen shrugs. “Whatever you are, however you present yourself, I will always love you.”


Elaine blushes. “Good to know.” Then she turns to me, the interviewer—otherwise known as author Barb Caffrey, who wrote their story in the new romantic fantasy, CHANGING FACES—and says, “Can we get to the questions now? So we can get back to playing our clarinets and living our lives?”


“Of course,” I tell them. “What is your idea of perfect happiness?”


Allen and Elaine look at each other, smile, and say nothing for a long time. Finally, Allen husks out, “Any day with Elaine suits me fine.”


Elaine blushes again, nods, and squeezes his hand. Apparently she agrees.


Next, I asked them, “What is your greatest fear?”


“Living without Elaine,” Allen says right off the bat.


“Telling Allen who I really am, because once I do, he’ll leave,” Elaine says in a low tone.


Allen looks confused for one moment, until Elaine squeezes his hand. “I’ll explain later, love,” she says.


“What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?” Then I look at them both, and ask, “Can Elaine answer this first? Allen, you always jump in…”


Allen mumbles something, and motions with his hand to Elaine.


“Ah, I like it when he goes first,” she says playfully. “It gives me more time to consider my answer.” Then she turned serious. “I am often hasty, and while I try to think things through, sometimes I just don’t. This causes trouble, but I can’t seem to break the habit.”


“I like all your habits,” Allen said, giving her a sidelong look. Then, focusing on me, he added, “I am reserved. This makes it harder for me to open up to people, and it takes a long time for me to make new friends. That’s caused me a lot of trouble in my life, especially as musicians are supposed to be gregarious sorts and I’m just not.”


“Who you are is just fine with me, love,” Elaine put in loyally.


I raised an eyebrow, and told them, “I like you both. So stop all this nonsense and just answer the questions, will you?”


“But it’s so much fun to tease you,” Elaine said.


Allen just laughed.


These two. What could I do with them?


“All right. What is the trait you most deplore in others?” I asked.


Elaine went first again. “Hostility. I can’t stand it. And ignorance is a close second.”


“People who think the arts are silly,” Allen said after a long pause. “Without the arts, we’d not have any culture to speak of and we’d probably be brute beasts.”


“I never knew you felt that strongly, love,” Elaine said, squeezing his hand again. “But I like it.”


Allen blushed dark red.


“And in that vein…what do you consider the most overrated virtue?”


After a look at Elaine, Allen went first this time. “Charity. Because people who believe they are charitable often have problems with hypocrisy, and I can’t stand it. They also seem to think that they are the best people on the face of the planet, and that annoys me, too.”


Elaine nodded, but her answer was different. “I think faith is the most overrated virtue, because most people seem to think of it only as faith in the Higher Power, not as faith in yourself. And really, it should be both.”


“Interesting,” I told them. “Now, here’s an easy one. Which living person do you most despise?”


Allen and Elaine looked at each other, looked at me, and in one voice said, “Donald Trump.” Then Elaine continued, “That man never should’ve become President, and has caused all sorts of problems, especially for the LGBT community, of which I am one.”


“Donald Trump gives Americans a bad name,” Allen added. “I am embarrassed for our country. We should have Hillary Clinton as our President, right now.”


“So, would you say that Hillary is the person you most admire, then?”


Elaine nodded, saying, “Her work with women and children throughout her lifetime—not to mention the disabled—has been exemplary.”


“Personally, I admire Nelson Mandela more, but he’s passed away. I can say that, can’t I?” Allen gave me a worried look.


“Sure. Who doesn’t admire Nelson Mandela?” Then I smiled, and said, “Here’s another easy one. Who is the greatest love of your life?”


Both Allen and Elaine burst out laughing. “If we weren’t each other’s biggest love, we’d not be here, Barb.” Allen raised an eyebrow, but still looked amused.


“Yeah, why are you asking us this. You know better.” Elaine wagged her finger at me, playfully.


“All right. Here’s a more serious question, and it’s the very last one. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? Elaine, you go first.”


“If I had the power, I’d allow my gender-fluidity freer rein. Some days, I would be fully male outwardly. Other days, I’d be fully female. Maybe I’d change during the day, for variety’s sake…that way, I wouldn’t feel so alien in my body all the time.”


Allen gave her a look of concern. “This is a tough one. When I was younger, I wanted more athletic talent. When I first met Elaine, I wanted to be bisexual like her, so we’d have more to talk about.”


“I never knew that,” Elaine interjected.


“You weren’t supposed to,” Allen muttered. “But I’m depressingly heterosexual.” He sighed. “Now, I think the only thing I’d change, if I could, is to be healthier. I had a gall bladder operation last year that should’ve been routine, but wasn’t because of a complication…and poor Elaine had to take care of me.”


Then, he smiled. “Thanks for interviewing us in our original bodies, by the way. It’s harder for us to explain who we are, looking like each other.”


“No problem,” I told them. “Glad to do it.” (If this throws you, gentle reader, you really need to go read at least the blurb, and possibly the sample chapters, of CHANGING FACES. And as it’s only ninety-nine cents/ninety-nine pence for an e-book for a limited time, it’s quite affordable. Really.)





Author: Barb Caffrey

Genre: Contemporary LGBT Fantasy-Romance

Publisher: Twilight Times Books


Book Blurb:

Allen and Elaine are graduate students in Nebraska, have been together for seven years, and are engaged. They love each other very much, and have many things in common. Both play the clarinet, are teaching assistants, are well-respected and seem to have their lives firmly on track. In fact, their life should be idyllic, but Elaine’s past includes rape, neglect, and abuse from those who should’ve loved her—but didn’t, because from childhood, Elaine identified as transgender.


When Elaine tells Allen right before Christmas, he doesn’t know what to do. He loves Elaine, loves her soul, has heard about transgender people before, but didn’t think Elaine was one of them—she looks and acts like anyone else. Now, she wants to become a man and is going to leave.


He prays for divine intervention, and says he’ll do anything, just please don’t separate him from Elaine. And in the form of a car accident, he gets his wish.


Now, he’s in Elaine’s body. And she’s in his. But both were injured, and Allen’s old body (with Elaine inside) is in a coma.


Allen can’t tell anyone who he is. But one thing’s certain: if Elaine can wake up, he wants to be with her. He doesn’t care what body he’s in, or that he, too, is now transgender.




True love matters so much to the universe, once you have found your soulmate, the universe will do anything to keep you together—even change your faces.



 Two angels decide to take a hand and help Allen and Elaine by changing their faces.


From the ether, I watched as Allen’s little car crashed into something. No one saw it but us, perhaps because of the dense fog along with the ice and snow. “What is that thing?”


“It’s a road grader,” Michael said absently.


“Is there anyone around to help?” Surely we couldn’t just leave them in this condition—could we?


“I thought I’d help them,” Michael told me, sounding deceptively casual. Then, just like that, he wore a human body again and stood directly behind Allen’s wrecked car—to human eyes, he now looked like a healthy, compact young woman. I wasn’t sure why he’d picked that particular form, but Michael liked variety. The light around his body danced with his usual rainbow prisms—what I thought of as his true form— before he said, “You could help, too, you know.”


Stung, I incorporated also, using the form I’d used at Jolene and Paula’s wedding months ago. “Will this do?”


“I hope so.” He turned to look at me; his blue eyes were grave, unchanging. “We have about two minutes, maybe three, before this car blows up.”




“They had extra gas in the back of the car in case of emergencies.” As he said this, he opened the passenger side door. Elaine’s head had hit the windshield so hard, the windshield had cracked; fortunately, her seatbelt and airbag had protected most of the rest of her body. She was still breathing, albeit shallowly. “Help me get her out.”


On this plane, we could not tap into any primal energy sources; at least, I couldn’t, or I’d risk an explosion. I was limited to what this body could do, as it was the only one I knew well enough to summon; fortunately, Elaine didn’t weigh very much, and we were able to get her out of the car. I picked up her purse and put it beside her, along with a blanket that had fallen to the floor, before racing back to help with Allen.


This was going to be much harder. Allen’s body was wedged in between the steering wheel and the bent, damaged door. The road grader was firmly on the other side; no help there.


“Why can’t we keep the car from blowing up?” I asked.


“I can only interfere so much. Now, help me with Allen!”




“Get the other blankets out of the car, and put them on the ground. This is going to be tricky.”


While I hastened to do that, Michael reached inside the car. I heard the seat belt unlatch, and as I ran back to the car, I saw Michael start to pull Allen away from the steering wheel. Then, I don’t know how, Michael had pulled him backward, out of the car.


“He’s got a pulse. But he’s got multiple fractures, minimum,” Michael reported.


“We have to use their cell phones to call an ambulance.” As I blinked, he added, “Elaine’s phone has a pink cover. Get it and call 911—that’s for emergencies.”


I raced back to Elaine’s purse, grabbed her phone, and ran back. By this time, Allen was on the ground, but only a foot or so from the car. And there was something going on with the car, now…it looked unstable, to me, as an energy-being, rather than solid. I’d only seen this in the elderly, who were about to end their existence.


My unfamiliar fingers fumbled with the phone, but I was able to use it. I reported the emergency, said two people were on the side of the road after a crash, and gave the location. Before they could ask anything else, the phone went dead.


“Here. We need to get them to safety. Now!”


I helped Michael pull first Elaine, then Allen, about thirty feet. We did our best to protect their heads, but there wasn’t much time; we had to get them away from that car before it exploded.


Just as we got them both onto the nearby sidewalk, the car blew up. Even the foggy sky couldn’t hide that conflagration…surely someone would get here soon to take care of them. Right?


But before I could ask Michael anything, he yelled, “Now! Shift to the ethereal plane!”


I shifted planes, and saw Michael—now the Big Man, in his accustomed rainbow-prism form—dance over Allen’s body, then Elaine’s. “What are you doing?” I asked in pulse-speech.


“Changing faces,” he said succinctly.




He took Elaine’s soul and bound it into Allen’s body, then put Allen’s soul into Elaine’s and bound it there as well. As the ambulance came, he told them, “Be well, children. This is the best I can do.”


“Why do this, though?” I asked. “It’ll disrupt so many things.”


“Separating them wouldn’t?”




Buy Links:

Amazon (US):

Amazon (UK):

Amazon (CA):

Amazon (AUS):

Amazon (IN):

Barnes and Noble:




Author Biography:

Barb Caffrey is a writer, editor, and musician who holds two degrees in Music.

She has a particular fondness for the clarinet, lived in Nebraska for the better part of

three years, and appreciated the ability to combine both her loves with the writing of

Changing Faces.


Her other books are An Elfy on the Loose and A Little Elfy in Big Trouble (otherwise

known as the Elfy duology), while her short stories have appeared in a number of

places (most recently in Realms of Darkover). She’s also the co-writer of the Joey Maverick

series of stories (with late husband Michael B. Caffrey), so the next story you might see

from her could be military science fiction—or better yet, military science fiction with



She lives in Wisconsin.


Social Media Links:

Blog: Barb Caffrey’s Elfyverse






Meet Beth Alexander (Christmas in Havenport by @RuthACasie) #romance #TuesdayBookBlog


It’s our great pleasure to have Beth Alexander (Ruth A. Casie’s I’ll Be Home for Christmas in Christmas in Havenport) appear on the POTL Blog today. She’s one of our favorite residents of Havenport. She agreed to sit down with MRS N for a candid character interview. Take it away, Beth:


Hi, I’m Beth Alexander, a New York Times, USA Today best-selling author. I want to thank you for inviting me to speak to you today.


How did you first meet your writer?

I met Ruth A. Casie at a book signing in a Bergen County New Jersey bookstore. We were both signing our new releases. We had a great time discussing the industry and finding out about each other. I look back on that discussion often. I knew she wrote historical fantasy, but had no idea she had branched out into contemporary romance. She was telling me about some of her concerns about changing genres. That turned out to be exactly what I did by the end of I’ll Be Home for Christmas.


Did you ever think that your life would end up being in a book?

Actually, no. I write books. I’m not in them. I will say that this story shows you who I am, warts and all.


What are your favorite scenes in your book: the action, the dialog or the romance?

Oh, the dialog. The repartee between me and Jarred is priceless, especially in the library scene. We were talking about the different way men and women react to stress and sex. I still can’t believe how open and frank I was, nor the low timber of his voice and his eyes. Do you mind if I have a drink of water. It’s hot in here.


What do you like to do when you are not being actively read somewhere?

I love to brainstorm new stories and think of ways to put my hero and heroine in danger. There are times when I have no idea how I’m going to get them out on the other side. There are times when they take the pen right out of my hand. I don’t know how they do it but they come up with the answer. At those times I’m simply their scribe.


Do you like the way the book ended?

I find my true love and resurrect my sinking writing career. I wouldn’t have Ruth change a word.


Would you be interested in a sequel, if your writer was so inclined?

After the story released we went into discussions with our publisher, Timeless Scribes. I presented a story concept for a sequel. Timeless Scribes and Ms. Casie liked it so much they encouraged me to move forward with it. The Game’s A’Foot, part of Welcome to Havenport, released last May. I’ve been speaking to Ms. Casie about a third story and possibly putting all three stories together. The working titles is Love Between the Sheets. I’m trying to convince her to release it this summer. I think I’ve almost got her convinced.


What is your least favorite characteristic your writer has attributed to you?

I had been snarky on a social media chat that went viral. My fan base abandoned me. Let’s just say my reaction wasn’t pretty, nor something I want to remember.


What do you wear when you go to sleep?

Hmmm, nothing.


What is your most prized possession?

My Jimmy Choos!


What do you like most about where you live?

I live in Havenport, Rhode Island, a small town on the coast. It’s very similar to Newport. I’ve lived here all my life. My parents have retired to Florida and gave the house to me, my two brothers and my sister as a vacation home. Vacations became only Christmas. So I bought my brothers and sister out and now live there year round. They still invade for Christmas which suites me just fine.


What’s your favorite thing to do on a rainy fall Sunday?

If Jarred is home and not giving lectures in New York City, he’s glued to the television watching a game and I’m right there next to him. When he’s away is like to catch up on my reading.


Thank you so much for having me today. I had a great time speaking with you. I hope your readers enjoy Ruth A. Casie’s I’ll Be Home for Christmas, one of five short stories in Christmas in Havenport.  But don’t forget to look for more about me and Jarred in her story, The Game’s A’Foot in Welcome to Havenport.



Title: Christmas in Havenport

Author: Ruth A. Casie, Lita Harris, Emma Kaye, Nicole S. Patrick, Julie Rowe

Genre: Holiday Romance


Book Blurb:

In the quaint seaside town of Havenport, Rhode Island, five couples find their happily ever afters with a little help from the romance section of The Final Chapter bookstore.


Ruth A. Casie ~ I’ll Be Home for Christmas


Beth Alexander, best-selling romance writer, has lost her muse, her fan base, and maybe the loyalty of her beloved agent. Sales of her new release plummet on the best seller list, and her contract with her publisher is in jeopardy. A heat-of-the-moment social media comment about a rival author goes viral, and not in a good way. No one knows that the rival author is the stuff male cover models are made of, least of all Beth Alexander. She heads home to Havenport, Rhode Island for a Christmas book signing, and a chance to lay low and let the storm pass.


Beth’s chance encounter with a handsome, witty stranger has her heart racing, and her muse seemingly back. But, will the new story line she’s created save her career? Or will her handsome savior betray her and turn out to be her worst nightmare?


Lita Harris ~ Winter Wonderland


Olivia Baxter struggles with her indecision to return to college and heads to Havenport, Rhode Island to visit her aunt during winter break. Memories of prior Christmas’ emerge, and a chance meeting with an interesting stranger makes Olivia think twice about staying in New England or returning to her studies.


Max Porter has been searching for his biological parents, which leads him to Havenport, Rhode Island. He wanders into the Final Chapter bookstore and befriends Olivia, an open minded, and warm person who wants to help him find the answers to his past.


Together, the young couple discover new things about themselves that lead them to think about where their lives may lead next. Will they move on to the next chapter together, or go their separate ways?


Emma Kaye ~ Baby, It’s Cold Outside


Jane Caulfield should have known better than to read aloud from a book of magick during her famous sister-in-law’s book signing at The Final Chapter bookstore. After all, the last spell she cast brought her and her brother forward in time two hundred years. She knows the power of magick.


She didn’t know the spell would bring her nineteenth century love, Adam Royce, forward in time. Or that he would assume he’d died and joined her in heaven. Jane gets more than she bargained for trying to persuade Adam they’re both alive and in the twenty-first century.


Jane knows they’re soul mates, but convincing Adam may not be so easy. Will Adam insist on returning to his own time, or can Jane use both love and a little magick to help him understand that this time and place is exactly where he’s meant to be?


Nicole S. Patrick ~ White Christmas


Prosecutor Savannah Moore’s life changed in an instant. Career on hiatus, recovering from an attack, she finds solace for the holidays in the town of Havenport, Rhode Island.  A change of pace for sure. Just what she needs to heal and rebuild her confidence to testify against her attacker. An unexpected meeting of gorgeous Marc “Mac” MacDonald leaves Savannah unsure of her next move. Should she stay in Havenport with this brave, sexy, and hard, yet gentle former Marine? Or, should she return to the crazy life of courtrooms and cases? Mac helps her understand that taking one day at a time might lead to a future she least expected.


Mac MacDonald has finally found a place to call home. A place where he feels part of a family. His car repair business is booming, his former girlfriend and all her drama is history, and he’s ready to move on to the next chapter in his life. Savannah Moore is cute, sexy, and tougher than she looks. But when someone tries to hurt her, Mac realizes he’s never had this intense degree of protective instincts for anyone, not even in combat. Savannah has touched a place in his heart that surprises and thrills him. Can he convince her to let this thing between them grow?


Julie Rowe ~ Merry Christmas, Baby


Marine biologist Mattie Clark is moving back to her hometown after the break-up of her marriage, but she doesn’t expect to run into her high school crush (literally) only days after returning, or to discover he’s not the smooth operator she remembers. Charles Walker survived a horrific fire only to have his whole world fall apart. His fiancé walked out on him, taking his confidence in himself with her. His own family avoids him now, uncomfortable with the scars he carries. He sinks into a depression nothing will cure, except a short, curvy tornado named Mattie Clark. She seems determined to pull him out of the black hole he’s been living in, but is this a short term fling or is she willing to stay for the long haul?


Buy e-Book: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Kobo

Buy Print Book: Amazon


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Author Biography:

RUTH A. CASIE is a USA Today bestselling author of swashbuckling action-adventure time-travel romance about strong empowered women and the men who deserve them, endearing flaws and all. Her Druid Knight novels have both finaled in the NJRW Golden Leaf contest. The Guardian’s Witch, part of the Stelton Legacy series was a Reader’s Crown Finalist. Ruth also writes contemporary romance in the Havenport series with enough action to keep you turning pages. Ruth lives in New Jersey with her husband, three empty bedrooms and a growing number of incomplete counted cross-stitch projects. Before she started writing time travel romance, she was a speech therapist, international bank product and marketing manager, but her favorite job is the one she’s doing now—writing time travel romance. For more information, please visit or visit her on Facebook, @RuthACasie, Twitter, @RuthACasie, or Pinterest RuthACasie.


Social Media Links:

Website: http://

Personal Blog:



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Meet Talfor and Discover Why We Think He’s Fascinating @libraryoferana #books #audio

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We’re so excited because Talfor from The Shining Citadel – The Light Beyond the Storm – Book II by A. L. Butcher is here. He’s the main character in A. L. Butcher’s The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles fantasy series and one of our favourites. It took some convincing to make the journey but he relented. Please welcome him to the POTL blog. Introduce yourself, Talfor:


I am Talfor Var, Hirik Lord of troll tribe of Var. Varris is my home, in what the humans call the Jagged Peak mountains, the Helmerri plateau.  I am son of Shaman Kherak Var, and brother of Shamania Mirandra. I am Captain of the Hirik and thus, to your way of thinking third only to Shaman and Shamania. I can never rule – as that is woman’s role – but I can advise, I can fight, I can lead.


I am taller than human, greater built, with horns and armour plating on belly and arms. My skin is blue-black like my mother’s and the dark of the mountain, hair is red, like blood and eyes jade green. I fight with mace as a man and claws and teeth as bear. To humans we are strange and frightening – we are ‘barbarians’. Trolls fight – we make war on enemy tribes and sometimes Witch-Hunters but we are also scholars and merchants. Trolls are civilized.


Hirik are warriors of tribe – shape changers. Only man-troll is Hirik for that is our magic. Women-troll she may fight, but cannot shape change. She has magic of her own in different ways.


What is your greatest fear?

I am Hirik, I should say I fear nothing. But every person fears something. I fear Plague returning and dark magic which corrupted by people, the elves and the humans.  No race was spared its wrath.  I fear Order of Witch-Hunting scouring land of magic. Without magic land will die, they do not see this. Magic is everywhere and cannot be tamed but it can be destroyed, or changed. It can hide, and it can die.


My ancestors fought with fae, and troll and elf and even magic itself; even now the taint of it touches us. Once, long ago, Trollkind held a greater magic, a greater glory than now-times. Once, long ago, my people walked every mountain and hill, and dwelled in the valleys. Now we are fewer, and lesser.  Now we know war will return, and fear a darkness will come with the steps of Order, and their blades will run with blood.  They are shadowed in evil, pawns you would say in a game of which they are unaware, but they will come and bring death.


Fight we shall. Each and every troll will give what they must, yet I fear it may be the end of us all.


On what occasion do you lie?

Lying is dishonorable. But sometimes half-truth is needed. All who carry magic in their blood must live a half-truth, for Order of Witch-Hunters claim magic is wicked, and forbidden.  Mostly we are left alone. Witch-Hunter he prefers easier target, but sometimes trolls are taken. I hear of troll slaves in mines, or executed for magic. Trolls in human places must hide magic, must live lie.


What is the quality you most like in a man?

Man – he should be honourable, brave and respectful.


What is the quality you most like in a woman?

Woman – she should be resourceful, and intelligent.


What or who is the greatest love of your life?

I had a troll wife once, long ago. She died and I was unable to stop it. Since then only M’alia. My elven snowflake.


Where would you most like to live?

Varris. My town. Is good town, why would I want to live elsewhere?


What do you most value in your friends?

Honour and loyalty.


How would you like to die?

In battle. With honour.




Title: The Shining Citadel – The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles Book II

Author: A.L. Butcher

Genre: Fantasy/Fantasy Romance


Book Blurb:

Who rules in this game of intrigue where magic is forbidden and elves enslaved? Journey where beliefs shatter like glass, truth is unwelcome and monsters from ancient times abound: share the romance and revenge, magic and passion, and the wages of greed in a world of darkest fantasy. (Please note the 18+ rating.)



From The Shining Citadel – The Light Beyond the Storm – Book II


Talfor saw the man standing in the snow and the confused and desolate look he held. Hurrying forward as Marden began to shuffle towards the edge, he said, “What you doing here? Is cold, you need rest, healing.”

“Sword, I was looking for the sword…thinking,” he mumbled vaguely, looking at Talfor almost without seeing.

Talfor gazed at him shivering and threw his cloak over the man’s shoulders. “Sword…is lost. It be good sword but was…damaged. Not fit to find, I think, is…gone. Marden, I think you are good man. You do what be right, for you, and for them.”

Staring at him, Marden replied in a low voice, “I am not a good man. I have done many things, terrible things.”

“Things done for many reasons, some not right, yet man may change, become good man, better man. You could have cut rope, save yourself, drop them, you did not. I am not Shaman, but I see many things. You are good man, just not know it.”

“Archos, he could kill me with a mere word.”

“Yes, any of us, but he good man also. Maybe he see what you are now, not what was. You saved his life, is more important you saved hers. Come now, you be cold, and hurt. We go back inside cave, is warm, you rest.”

Talfor steered him back inside and settled the Witch-Hunter close to the fire. “We cannot go back; pass is same as past, we must go another way.”


Buy Links:

Now Available in Audio –

Amazon UK

Audible UK


Also available in e-book and print –


Barnes and Noble




Author Biography:

A.L. Butcher is the British author of the Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles fantasy series, and several short stories in the fantasy and fantasy romance genres.  She is an avid reader and creator of worlds, a poet and a dreamer. When she is grounded in the real world she likes science, natural history, history and monkeys.  Her work has been described as ‘dark and gritty’ and her poetry as evocative.


Social Media Links:




Twitter:                @libraryoferana






Sally From Planting the Seeds of Love Sits Down With MRS N #romance #ASMSG #IARTG


Mrs. N: It’s my great pleasure to introduce you to one of my favorite characters, Sally Rayton. She’s the leading lady in Planting the Seeds of Love: A Novella.

Sally: For Pete’s sake, you’re going to have them think I’m a celebrity, like Kristin Kreuk. I’m just a normal girl trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.

Mrs. N: This was your idea, Sally. Now’s not the time to be modest. These fine readers want to know more about you. (pauses to look down) Now then let’s start with the first question. What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Sally: Hmm, I used to think that opening my own café in the city, away from the Rayton Farm and all the gossipers, was my idea of happiness.

Mrs. N: And now?

Sally: Now, I’m conflicted. I mean, on one hand I have Trevor and life with him in the city is perfect. We make the perfect couple and both have our sights set on becoming a success in the city. But then there’s Jack…

Mrs. N: Ah yes, Jack, the sexy boy next door who’s loved you since you were little.

Sally: (rolls eyes) You always bring that up. Yes, Jack’s my best friend and I guess he could be considered sexy, although I don’t see him that way.

Mrs. N: You don’t?

Sally: Well… maybe a little. (clears throat nervously) Can we move onto the next question?

Mrs. N: Sure… What is your greatest fear?

Sally: Oh, that’s easy, ending up like my sister. My sister got pregnant when she was fifteen, ran away from home with the Mayor’s son and hasn’t been heard of since.

Mrs. N: Why is that a fear of yours?

Sally: You should realize that since my sister was six years older than me, the gossipers reminded me on a daily basis what a disappointment she became and an embarrassment to the Rayton name. See, we’re one of the oldest families in the county and well-respected. But my sister messed up and people used her misfortune to make themselves feel better. I vowed when I was fifteen, I would NEVER allow people to talk that way about me.

Mrs. N: Good for you. You’re a strong woman and I admire that trait in you. What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Sally: I hate liars. I’m a big girl. I’d much rather someone speaks the truth to me than lie. I guess I learned that from my grandfather. I remember when I was about six years old, I chased rabbits into the woods behind the barn. I knew I wasn’t allowed back there but I did it anyway. When it was time for supper, my grandfather asked me where I’d been. I lied and told him I was off playing in the wheat field. He scolded me for not only going back into the woods (which he saw from the barn window) but lying about it. “Never lie, Sally, especially to me. It’s the worst thing you can do.” I never forgot and adopted his view on lying.

Mrs. N: I already know the answer to this next question. What is your greatest extravagance?

Sally: Oooh, my books. I love books and have a nice collection of leather-bound classics. Trevor gave me a first-edition of one of my favorite books and it was the nicest birthday present I’ve ever received.

Mrs. N: How lovely. That must’ve cost him a pretty penny. First editions are expensive but even more so in hardcover.

Sally: I don’t know how much it cost but evidentially he thought I was worth it.

Mrs. N: No need to be defensive, dear. I was merely pointing out a fact.

Sally: I’m sorry, I’m a little touchy when it comes to money.

Mrs. N: It’s okay, I know how much Trevor means to you. Let’s move on to the last question. If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

Sally: (Laughs) You’ll think it’s funny but I’d love to come back as a bunny. They’re soft, fluffy and hop around the garden finding food to nibble on. Think Peter Cottontail, that’s me.

Mrs. N: (Laughs) Only it would be Sally Cottontail in your case. Thank you, Sally, for sitting down for a few moments and chatting with me.

Sally: It was my pleasure.

Mrs. N: If you’d like to find out more about this fascinating love triangle (Sally, Trevor and Jack), now is a great time to purchase Planting the Seeds of Love: A Novella.




Title: Planting the Seeds of Love: A Novella

Author: N. N. Light

Genre: Contemporary Romance, New Adult, New Adult Romance


Torn between two men, Sally must follow her heart and decide if love will lead her to the city or the countryside.

Twenty-Two year old Sally Rayton returns to the family farm she deserted four years ago to bury her grandfather. Her plan: to settle her grandfather’s estate and return to her life in the city with her boyfriend, Trevor Mattson.

Her childhood friend, Jack Smith, has other ideas.

Jack convinces Sally to transform the farm into a brewery and fulfill her grandfather’s dream while keeping the Rayton Farm in the family. Sally works side-by-side with Jack while Trevor is hundreds of miles away in the city. The more time she spends with Jack, the stronger her feelings are for him.

When Trevor shows up to propose to Sally right before Christmas and finds her in Jack’s embrace, she must make the biggest choice of her life: true love.


“Jack, thank you so much for the lift into town,” a woman replied behind Sally. “Let’s grab some lunch before we shop.”

Sally froze. She stared at Linda who shook her head. What was Jack doing with a woman in town?


“Here, let me take your coat, Emma,” Jack said.

Emma? mouthed Sally to Linda.

“She’s the daughter of Lonnie and Mary Beth.” Linda gave Emma the look-over and scoffed, “She can’t be a day over sixteen.”

“What do I do?” Sally panicked. Normally she didn’t care what Jack did or who he went off with. Curiosity got the better of her and she turned around.

Emma stood five foot three with curly blonde hair and innocent green eyes. Her figure was slim with curves in all the right places. Sally narrowed her eyes as Emma stood on tiptoe to kiss Jack on the cheek.

Fuming, Sally turned around. Linda chuckled.


“You better tone down your jealousy, darlin’. You’re shooting darts everywhere.”

Sally gritted her teeth.

“I’m not jealous. If Jack wants school girls kissing him, what do I care?” She took a deep drink of her coffee, draining the cup. She slammed it down.

“Simmer down, here they come,” whispered Linda. She waved to Jack while Sally swore under her breath.

“Well, fancy meeting you two here,” Jack drawled.

Without looking up Sally retorted, “I told you I was coming into town today.”

Linda kicked Sally’s leg under the table. Sally plastered a smile across her face, greeting Jack and Emma.

“Yes, what a coincidence.” Sally noticed Emma looping her arm in Jack’s and snuggling closer.

“I was on my way into town to pick up those parts we ordered for the tractor when I ran into Emma walking by herself in the snow.” Jack smiled. Emma squeezed his arm.

“He pulled over and offered me a lift into town. Isn’t he a gentleman?” cooed Emma. Jack patted her hand.

Sally’s chest constricted at the sight of the two of them acting all couple-y. She stared into his twinkling eyes. Oh God, is he laughing at me? Emma can’t have him. He’s mine. Wait what?


“So,” Linda broke the strained silence. “I have to go powder my nose. Emma, would you care to join me?”

“What’s that?” Emma looked confused.

Linda laughed. “It’s the bathroom, dear sweet child.” She stood up, untangled Emma from Jack and guided Emma away from the table.

Jack sat down.

“What’s with you today?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Sally cleared her throat.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Really!” A few diners turned to stare. Sally flushed with embarrassment. She didn’t mean to talk so loud. She looked everywhere except in Jack’s direction.

Jack observed Sally as she fidgeted, first with her coffee cup then with the silverware. His gaze unnerved her and she practically jumped out of her chair when he placed a hand over hers. Electricity flew up her arm while warmth filled her core. Butterflies raced around her stomach, only she didn’t feel sick; she pulsed with life, like never before.

“Sally…look at me.”

Sally shook her head.

“You’ll only laugh at me.”

Jack’s thumb caressed her hand gently, causing her breath to hitch.

“You know I’d never laugh at you. Laugh with you, definitely, but never at you.”

Sally lifted her gaze to meet Jack’s loving eyes. He slid his fingers between hers, never breaking eye contact. Sparks flew between them. He moistened his lips with a flick of his tongue. Her gaze dropped to his lips.

“Please tell me. I’m begging you,” he whispered.

Unable to think clearly through the fog of desire, Sally tilted her head to one side. Her skin vibrated with heat while her nerve-endings jumped at the slightest caress.

“Tell you what?” she whispered. Her throat dry, her breathing shallow, she wet her lips with her tongue. She was under a spell and everything fell away except for Jack’s passionate eyes.

“Tell me what my wasted heart needs to hear.” His eyes flashed. “Tell me Emma made you jealous.”

Sally started to nod but Emma interrupted.

“What are you guys talking about in hushed tones? Crops and stuff?”

Jack groaned. He dropped Sally’s hand as if it burned him, causing the water glasses to jostle.

Buy Links:

Amazon US:

Amazon CA

Amazon UK


couple N N Light

Author Bio: N. N. Light is the best-selling husband-wife writing team, commonly known as Mr. N and Mrs. N. Mrs. N. has been creating stories ever since she was little. Her grandfather remembers when she was two years old, she would stand at the top of the stairs and tell him a story filled with emotion (and in a language foreign to him) with her hands on her hips. Let’s just say she was a born storyteller.

They’re blissfully happy and love all things chocolate, books, music, movies, art, sports, trains, history, cooking and baking. Their mantra is to spread the Light.

Most of the time you can find them on Twitter or getting new ideas on how to spread the Light on Pinterest. They’re a proud member of ASMSG and Independent Author Network.

In addition to being authors, they’re also book promoters/reviewers, social media marketers/influencers and the owners of N. N. Light Author Promotions. They both love books, have ever since they were young. Matching up books and readers is something that gives them great pleasure.

They’d love to connect with you either via email or via these various social media sites:









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Sara Reeder from Asunder by @CurtLock Sits Down With N. N. Light #interview #books



Sara Reeder – 17 years old, lives on a dairy farm south of Springfield, Missouri, near Wilson Creek


My name is Sara Reeder. I’m the only daughter of Lucas Reeder. My three poor brothers are all dead and buried in a little plot near our home. I pray for them each day. The oldest two died when I was six when they went to tussling and fell in a pit of rattlesnakes. We could not save ‘em. My other brother died a few weeks later of a bilious fever of some sort. My ma died when I was about two, so I have no recollection of her. Our slave, my dearest Abram, cared for me and played with me and taught me to read. I have lived with my pa and Abram all these years. He’s a retired army major and mostly deaf because a cannon exploded in the War with Mexico. War is all around us now. It is horrid and fills me with dread. I wish the Yanks would just go home and leave us alone.


Which living person do you admire the most?

I so admire my pa with his strong arms and advisement. He’s as strong as an ox. He hates the Yankee president. That Lincoln cheated his friend out of justice usin’ his lawyer wiles and slippery tongue.  My pa loves the Yanks and our Southern boys and wants no more war, and desires to have a comeuppance for Lincoln for bringin’ this war upon the land. His best friend is our slave, Abram.

 Which talent would you most like to have?

Though folks tell me I’ve got a gladsome singin’ voice, I wish for all the world I could play an instrument like our dear Abram does when he plays his banja. He brings such joy to us all, includin’ the soldier boys. He’s gray-headed now and his old hands get some pained, but he’s brave, and I love him so.

What is your most marked characteristic?

You mean my unbecoming attribute? Well, my pa would say it’s my bullheadedness. I see a path that needs followin’ and I do it. I ain’t as a’feared as I oughta be. I guess you’d say I need to let others’ calumny just abide. But I can’t. Pa worries that I have too much fight in me.

Who are your favorite writers?

Well, my pa has a slew of books on botany and the sciences, but I prefer the great novelists, Alexander Dumas and Cervantes.  Of an occasion, I’ll read a tract of some minor author, but my books are my treasures. And, of course, I dwell often on God’s holy word in the Bible.


Which living person do you most despise?

There’s none to compare with that foul snake, Frank Richards. He’s bent on stealin’ our livestock and craves to rape me. He’s out there, runnin’ with them marauders, bringin’ devastation to the land.


 Who is the greatest love of your life?

I’ll admit I was often smitten with a handsome face and a beguiling singin’ voice, but my heart belongs now entirely to Joseph Favor. I believe God’s hand brought us together, and though he went off with the cavalry, I will find him and be a good wife to him.

 What is your greatest fear?

I have two fears. One is that this loathsome war will go on forever. The fightin’ and the dyin’.  My second fear is that Joseph will not have me. He’s so conflicted, what with his memory thwarted. I know he loves me but he’s in a powerful lonely place.



Title:  Asunder, A Novel of the Civil War

Author: Curt Locklear

Genre:  Historical Fiction/ Romance

Publisher: Outskirts Press

Book Cover Credit:  Karen Phillips

Author Picture Credit:  Sandra Timm


Book Blurb:

“I’M TRAPPED!” Sara Reeder, a headstrong, beguiling, Southern sympathizer is caught between charging armies!

“AWAKEN, SPIRITS”… “Tell me where my husband, Joseph, fell in battle.” Cyntha Favor, an ardent abolitionist and believer in Spiritualism, seeks to free her dead husband’s tormented soul.

EXCEPT… Joseph, a Union soldier, is not dead! Knocked unconscious in battle, he has lost all memory. Nursed to health by Sara and her father, Lucas, a disabled veteran, Joseph feels drawn to Sara, yet compelled to find his past.

WAR SURROUNDS the Reeder home. Transformed into a field hospital, their only support is Dred Workman, a Union traitor.

FORMER SLAVE, Josiah Reynolds, is protector and confidant of Cyntha. Deep in slave territory, he knows the danger he faces.

THE FOX SISTERS –President Lincoln’s wife invited spiritualists to invoke séances in the White House. These most famous of all Spiritualists become Cyntha’s hope.

MARAUDERS terrorize, kill and move ever closer to the Reeders’ farm.


from Texas to New York, Missouri to Minnesota, the WAR rages. Can love triumph? Who will survive? ASUNDER is a GRIPPING EPIC.



Sara looked down at the embers and then at the white smoke that rose between her and Joseph. “These embers are your love for an unknown woman, and this smoke is hiding me from you.”

“My whole life is clouded with smoke,” Joseph responded. “I need your patience and time.”

Sara lowered her eyes.

Joseph looked admiringly at her, then began to pull the wet clothes out of the caldron and loaded them into a handcart. His sleeves were rolled up, but he still got his shirt wet. Sara, too, gathered the bulky clothing, soaking her blouse. She wiped a wisp of hair from her forehead with her wrist. Joseph watched her. Though he felt confusion about the woman in his flashes of memories, he felt an overpowering attraction to this petite, tough-minded girl. He was grateful for her benevolence towards him. He would miss her singing and her smiles. He felt conflicted, bound both to the woman of his dream and to Sara.

He grabbed the handles of the barrow and forced it forward. Not speaking, they cut to the south through the trees on a meandering path, Sara walking a few feet behind him. The hot sun bore down on them, riffling in and out of wisps of clouds. At length, they reached the clear creek, flowing steadily, the bed filled with large, round, smooth rocks protruding above the waterline. The sunlight danced and shimmered on the water. Yellow, curled, elm tree leaves floated on the water like tiny golden boats. More leaves tumbled from the trees with each breeze gust. Turtles basked on the sun-drenched rocks.

Sara picked a daisy by the water’s edge. She twirled it, ran it briefly under her nose, kissed the petals, then handed the flower to Joseph. He took it, smelled it, and placed it on a shelf rock near the stream. Sara pulled her skirt hem up and tucked the front and back into the waistband, revealing her strong legs from halfway up her thigh, down to her ankles. “I know no other way to do this without ruining my skirt,” she said, blushing. “I hope you don’t find me untoward.”

Joseph rolled his pants legs up to his knees. “Not at all. We’ve got to get these clothes done for the soldiers. I hope the glare of the sun off my white legs doesn’t blind you.”

Sara giggled.

They removed their footwear and socks and rolled up their sleeves to the shoulder. Sara tied her hair back with a pink ribbon from her skirt pocket.

Together, they unloaded the soapy clothes on the rocks, then taking a piece at a time, they dragged the clothes through the flowing stream until the suds were washed free. After that, they wrung the water out and spread each garment and bandage cloth on a sun-blanched rock to dry. Whenever Sara was bent, rinsing a piece, Joseph watched her. When she raised up, he ducked his head, working with his own shirt or cloth, at which time, he noticed out of the corner of his eye Sara sneaking a look at him. Neither said anything to the other. Joseph struggled to think of a clever or uplifting thing to say, but his mind was crisscrossed.  I wish she’d sing, he thought. Occasionally, Sara splashed some of the cool water on her sunburned cheeks.

The water was cold despite the late summer heat. Goosebumps rose on their legs and arms. By the time they were finishing, the fronts of their own clothes were again soaked.  Sara’s white shirt pressed against the corset of her full breasts, following their contour. A ribbon of water trickled down her neck.

When she laid out the last pair of trousers, she turned to Joseph. He had quit his awkward glances, and now stared at her with complete admiration. He walked carefully to her, for the flat rock bottom of the stream was smooth and slippery with algae. He placed one hand around her waist and pulled her to him, their feet sliding on the glass-like surface of the stream bed. With his other hand, he traced the outline of her chin, then softly touched her cheek.

Her heart racing, Sara raised her arms, placing one about his waist, the other at his shoulder. She glided that hand up and down his neck in a slow, deliberate, affectionate manner.

He stroked her wet arms, feeling the suppleness and the tightness of her muscles. Her skin shivered with pleasure under his touch. With his forefinger he brushed her full lips. She closed her eyes, and ran her fingers into his blond locks and gently tilted his head towards hers till their foreheads touched. They held each other in that manner, her with eyes closed, deep in his embrace while he gazed at the loveliest face he knew.


Buy Links:

Amazon    Asunder, hardback


Amazon   Asunder, Kindle

Amazon    Asunder paperback


Barnes and Noble paperback


Barnes and Noble hardcover


Outskirts Press


Wordery Online books




Author Biography:

CURT LOCKLEAR – award-winning author, history teacher, musician, composer, and positive education consultant.  In my career, I have delivered presentations to thousands, small and large groups. My talks are always sprinkled with jokes and intriguing stories. If asked, I can play a few Civil War era tunes on my banjo and/or guitar.

My father trained a race-horse in the Kentucky Derby. My mother was a librarian. I’m related to the first wing-walker. My heritage is Southern and Northern. My Rebel forbearer once cleverly hid from a Yankee squad in corn crib. My Yankee forbearer was a bugler.


Social Media Links:



Twitter @CurtLock





Meet Haatim Arison from World on Fire Series by @LincolnjCole #Interview #Horror #POTLReads



My name is Haatim Arison. I’m a recent college graduate with a degree in Theology, and I’ve studied basically every major religion during my tenure at Arizona State University. I love learning about new things, and I write a blog in my spare time. A few months ago, my sister passed away, and it’s been rough on me, but since that happened I’ve found out a lot of things about the world I never imagined possible. Basically, everything that happened leading up to Raven’s Peak changed my life. I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about that, however…


What is your current state of mind?

A little hectic and frantic, to be honest. I’ve had a little bit of time to process this new reality that I never expected, but it’s still been entirely overwhelming. Frieda has been good to me and brought me in slowly, but I still feel like I have a lot to learn.


On what occasion do you lie?

If you asked me this a few months ago, I would have said never. But, now, I find myself lying more often than I would like. To my family, mostly, but especially my mother. I hated my father for keeping this reality from me, but now I think I’m beginning to understand why he did it.


When and where were you happiest?

When I was young with my sister and just being silly and carefree. I miss her so much, and it has really had a huge impact on me losing her the way I did. Losing her like we did was the hardest thing in my life.


Which talent would you most like to have?

Sword Fighting. I’m always impressed by people who can hold their own in a brawl. It’s never really been my thing, which is why I think I like it so much. We rarely acknowledge the talents we actually have.


What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Again, I’m not allowed to talk about what happened in Raven’s Peak…


Where would you most like to live?

I love traveling, and especially in these last few months. Frieda is a true globe trotter, and now I think I want to experience a little bit of everything.


What do you most value in your friends?

Honesty. I love people who are open and honest about everything.





Title: Raven’s Peak (Book I, World on Fire)/ Raven’s Fall (Book II, World on Fire)

Author: Lincoln Cole

Genre: Horror/Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Kindle Press


Book Blurb:

Raven’s Peak:

A quiet little mountain town is hiding a big problem. When the townsfolk of Raven’s Peak start acting crazy, Abigail Dressler is called upon to discover the root of the evil affecting people. She uncovers a demonic threat unlike any she’s ever faced and finds herself in a fight just to stay alive.

Abigail rescues Haatim Arison from a terrifying fate and discovers that he has a family legacy in the supernatural that he knows nothing about. Now she’s forced to protect him, which is easy, but also to trust him if she wants to save the townsfolk of Raven’s Peak. Trust, however, is something hard to have for someone who grew up living on the knife’s edge of danger.

Can they discover the cause of the town’s insanity and put a stop to it before it is too late?


Raven’s Fall:

Abigail was arrested by the Council, and now she’s awaiting trial for the decisions she made leading up to and culminating in the events of Raven’s Peak. She is restless while she waits for answers and knows that there is a real threat outside their walls plotting to bring them down.

Meanwhile, Haatim is getting a crash course in this world he knew nothing about and finding out that nothing is as it seems. He’s being taught how to survive, but will it be enough?

There are dark clouds on the horizon and it is coming whether they are prepared or not. Will they be able to weather this storm?



“Reverend, you have a visitor.”


He couldn’t remember when he fell in love with the pain. When agony first turned to pleasure, and then to joy. Of course, it hadn’t always been like this. He remembered screaming all those years ago when first they put him in this cell; those memories were vague, though, like reflections in a dusty mirror.


“Open D4.”


A buzz as the door slid open, inconsequential. The aching need was what drove him in this moment, and nothing else mattered. It was a primal desire: a longing for the tingly rush of adrenaline each time the lash licked his flesh. The blood dripping down his parched skin fulfilled him like biting into a juicy strawberry on a warm summer’s day.


“Some woman. Says she needs to speak with you immediately. She says her name is Frieda.”


A pause, the lash hovering in the air like a poised snake. The Reverend remembered that name, found it dancing in the recesses of his mind. He tried to pull himself back from the ritual, back to reality, but it was an uphill slog through knee-deep mud to reclaim those memories.


It was always difficult to focus when he was in the midst of his cleansing. All he managed to cling to was the name. Frieda. It was the name of an angel, he knew. . . or perhaps a devil.


One and the same when all was said and done.


She belonged to a past life, only the whispers of which he could recall. The ritual reclaimed him, embraced him with its fiery need. His memories were nothing compared to the whip in his hand, its nine tails gracing his flesh.


The lash struck down on his left shoulder blade, scattering droplets of blood against the wall behind him. Those droplets would stain the granite for months, he knew, before finally fading away. He clenched his teeth in a feral grin as the whip landed with a sickening, wet slapping sound.


“Jesus,” a new voice whispered from the doorway. “Does he always do that?”


“Every morning.”


“You’ll cuff him?”


“Why? Are you scared?”


The Reverend raised the lash into the air, poised for another strike.


“Just…man, you said he was crazy…but this…”


The lash came down, lapping at his back and the tender muscles hidden there. He let out a groan of mixed agony and pleasure.


These men were meaningless, their voices only echoes amid the rest, an endless drone. He wanted them to leave him alone with his ritual. They weren’t worth his time.


“I think we can spare the handcuffs this time; the last guy who tried spent a month in the hospital.”


“Regulation says we have to.”


“Then you do it.”


The guards fell silent. The cat-o’-nine-tails, his friend, his love, became the only sound in the roughhewn cell, echoing off the granite walls. He took a rasping breath, blew it out, and cracked the lash again. More blood. More agony. More pleasure.


“I don’t think we need to cuff him,” the second guard decided.


“Good idea. Besides, the Reverend isn’t going to cause us any trouble. He only hurts himself. Right, Reverend?”


The air tasted of copper, sickly sweet. He wished he could see his back and the scars, but there were no mirrors in his cell. They removed the only one he had when he broke shards off to slice into his arms and legs. They were afraid he would kill himself.


How ironic was that?


“Right, Reverend?”


Mirrors were dangerous things, he remembered from that past life. They called the other side, the darker side. An imperfect reflection stared back, threatening to steal pieces of the soul away forever.



Buy Links:

Raven’s Peak:

The Ninth Circle:

Raven’s Fall:


Lincoln Cole


Author Biography:

Lincoln Cole is a Columbus-based author who enjoys traveling and has visited many different parts of the world, including Australia and Cambodia, but always returns home to his pugamonster and wife. His love for writing was kindled at an early age through the works of Isaac Asimov and Stephen King and he enjoys telling stories to anyone who will listen.


Social Media Links:



We’re celebrating books and authors all October on the POTL Blog. Follow #POTLReads on Twitter to not miss our recommendations and to offer your own! Spread the Word! 

Shapeshifter Kat Sits Down With N. N. Light #paranormalromance #IARTG #POTLReads

Kat from Take These Broken Wings by Livia Quinn (Photo Credit: pixabay)


“Come on, Kat. Don’t you mean he licked you with his tongue and held you with his furry paws?” Tempe was shocked when she overheard me telling Aurora about my confused feelings.


…On the eve of the chaos as the Para-moon reached its apex, a series of events changed my budding relationship with Dylan McGuinness forever, or so I’d thought. Dylan had almost died during the Para-moon as a result of a spell put on his father hundreds of years ago. He’d emerged from the shaman’s healing waters as a mere wolf pup and I thought our relationship as lovers was over. After two years of being on the run I’d only just allowed myself to have friends, to trust a man enough to let down my guard. And then he was gone and I was merely the owner of a growing wolf with lusty doggy tendencies.


It looked like he’d never have his human form again, but lately I had cause to wonder – when he looks at me so intently in his handsome wolfie form – I swear I can see Dylan’s intelligent brain. And yes, there’s a spark of attraction on my end. So, I understand Tempe’s skepticism. My first thought had been, “not my species!”


See, Dylan was a Finrir – that’s a cross between a grizzly and a wolf but after the Para-moon he was only a wolf puppy. Until recently, when he put on a growth spurt and now my panther is purring at this big beautiful black wolf. What to do? For the first time since I took refuge in Destiny I’ve turned to my friends for advice because something’s changed. Though he’s still heeding his hormonal urges to chase the neighborhood hussies, suddenly when I look into his eyes I sense my Dylan, the sexy dark investigator. Is he trying to tell me something? Maybe Conor can help…



* Conor *


The sun was sinking on the horizon as I flew over the eastern part of Laccassine parish searching for the wolf. I spotted Dylan running along the road to the levee where’d I’d seen him several times since his healing had gone awry. The wolf probably liked the view of the moon from the high point at Grande Colline. I swooped down to nab him behind the scruff of his neck, turned my head and deposited him on my back.


It had become a game with us. He ran, I chased, and then he happily rode high on my nape until I wore him out. It was hard work trying to maintain your balance on a live dragon while wind gusts tried to send you plummeting to your death. I cut the ride short to find out what was disturbing the wolf and landed near a lone Cypress to wait while he drank from the river and took a quick swim to cool himself off.


The wolf shook his fur and slunk over to lay beside me, leaning against my tail as we watched the moon start its ascent, a white ball against a dusky blue gray sky.


“Yer woman is worried about you,” I said. The wolf’s head whipped around toward me, tilting as if this was news to him. Then his shoulders settled and he resumed his survey of the sunset.


“Ach, what is this about, Dylan? Has somethin’ changed then?” This time the wolf whined and sat up, front paws stepping in place restlessly. “I don’t speak woof, mon, so ye’ll have to give me a hint or a sign if I’m on the right track.”


Dylan’s intense eyes stared at me. “You can concentrate all you want but I canna read yer mind. Montana thinks you’re out of sorts because you were unable to communicate with Katerina.”


Dylan sat up and whined, butting my dragon foot with his nose. “Ah, weel, a pretty fix yer in, then, my fine furry friend.” Dylan huffed and stretched at my feet with his nose between his paws. “She also said your woman believes you are no longer lupus inside, but a man.”


“Woof!” Dylan spun three times in a circle and jumped into the air, staring with a toothy grin that fairly shouted Yes. “Ach, weel then don’t give up. You and Lang are the most impatient charges I’ve even had the responsibility of overseeing. If you get run over or shot there’s no chance at all that you’ll enjoy your woman again in your man form, aye? And, I know you can’t help yerself, but when a bitch in heat flirts with ya, maybe you should try stayin’ inside for a while. Who knows what could happen if you stop following your hormones?”


I’d heard descriptions of the investigator’s intense persona. He would have been a master at intimidation, though this was the first time I’d seen even a hint of it having only known Dylan as a jokester under the influence of the Para-moon. Seeming a wee bit irritated he kept his eyes locked on mine. Drakos! He had balls to look at a dragon like that.


His head whipped to the side as a loud cry came from the other end of the road. A tenth of a mile away a starlit giraffe was practicing his broad jump in the moonlight. I shook my head, Jack. “He’s bright, aye?”


Dylan shook, sitting down to watch the show, further confirming what I suspected about him. For a half hour we sat watching the dragon make one futile attempt after another to take flight. “Ach, I guess I’m g’win to have to take him for a ride and drop him from about twenty-thousand feet—my version of sink or swim, aye? Sometimes it takes drastic measures, wolf.”


Dylan gave a short whine. Good, it wouldna hurt the wolf to wonder if there was some of this psychological strategy coming his way sometime soon. He rose, whining incessantly, looking up at the rising moon. “Where are you g’win, my friend?”


The wolf’s head turned back in my direction as he whined again. “Go on back to your lassie’s little funeral hearse.” He yipped, spread his front feet in a playful stance then wagged his tail and took off.


One down, one to go. Children. Things were moving along. I was only to guide and protect, not command.


Broken Wings EBOOK 06252016 copy


Buy Links:



Amazon UK


Amazon CA


All Romance








Page Foundry




Livia Quinn Head Shot_M9A0603 square sml copy


Author Biography:

Love happens…when you least expect it. So does the weather. So magic in one form or another, and storms, are at the heart of most Livia Quinn books. A DC native who lives on the bayou in Louisiana, Livia has stored up a wealth of quirky stories from her jobs as a mail lady, sales person, plant manager and small business owner that she’s anxious to share with her readers. Visit her new website


Social Media Links:















Livia’s Author Central page








Independent Author Network


Author Central



We’re celebrating books and authors all October on the POTL Blog. Follow #POTLReads on Twitter to not miss our recommendations and to offer your own! Spread the Word! 

Meet Olek from The Light Behind the Storm @libraryoferana #POTLReads #FridayReads

chronicles banner


Today, it is our pleasure to welcome Olek – the Shadowdancer from The Light Behind the Storm series by A. L. Butcher.

Greetings to you. I am the Shadowdancer, but you may call me Olek.


What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Stupidity. I don’t mean a lack of learning for most folks have not the luxury of education. I mean a failure to notice what is before them, or if they do to simply dismiss it as of no consequence.

Unfortunately, Erana is inhabited by many stupid people – those who do not see the truth but instead choose to ignore what is obvious.


What is your current state of mind?

Cautious. I am always so. If I were not cautious I’d likely be dead. I am a hunter of men, and of lies, sometimes of property and I seek to know my enemy and my prey. Those who work for the Oncoming Storm do so carefully and with discretion, for our fate otherwise is death, be it from his hand or more likely the hand of the Order of Witch-Hunters.  I have seen him kill those who have betrayed him and I have seen the Order kill far more for lesser crimes.

We dabble in the politics of the land, we kill and steal, we save and educated and if we are caught the Order will destroy us. But now the stakes are higher and so, I am sure, the price will be. Would I change this? No. I don’t think so. My life belongs to the Oncoming Storm and I give it willingly to his service and his cause.


On what occasion do you lie?

I am a lie. I am a rumour and a threat. Our whole life must be a falsehood in a world where magic is forbidden and elves and half-elves such as myself are naught but slaves. But I am the Shadowdancer – Lord of the Shadows and the shadows watch.


What is the quality you most like in a man?

The ability to do what must be done – even if it’s unpleasant.


What or who is the greatest love of your life?

You’d probably have to ask my lady Ozena… I’d dare not say anything else.


What do you consider your greatest achievement?

I’m still alive.


If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?

If I’m honest I’d come back as myself. I like myself and I’m good at what I do. The master values me, and our affection is strong. Not many elves can say that. Besides I don’t know how to be someone or something else.

I doubt I wield the sort of power to return from death. I am not a mage, although I am a user of magic in one of its forms. Or so my master tells me. Necromancy? That’s the sorcery of returning things from the dead, is it not? That’s fae magic, wicked magic. For those who are dead should not return. Apparently if the will is strong enough, or powerful enough the soul – I suppose you’d call it that – might return, or at least not depart. I’m merely a weapon adept, and such mysteries are another man’s to know.


What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

Slavery. I have been a slave. I am a half-elf. I have no rights; I am but property. At least that is what the Order of Witch-hunters would say.  In truth, I’m probably the elf with the most influence and liberty in the whole of the land.  Archos treats me well and I may come and go as I please, at least within his lands.  If I ever get captured, and Archos doesn’t come for me then I’d rather die than be a slave again. Trust me when I say a few of my captors won’t see the dawn either.


What is it that you most dislike?

The Order of Witch-Hunters. I hate those bastards. They prey on the innocent and enforce what passes for law here, simply because they believe it to be their right. How can the law be just when it automatically discriminates simply on race or magical ability?


How would you like to die?

Gloriously. Either that or at a ripe old age bedding my thirteenth wife.


Thank you for taking the time to sit down with me today. For more information or to read the exciting adventures of Olek, see below:


Title: The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book I and The Shining Citadel – The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles Book II

Author: A.L. Butcher

Genre: Fantasy/Fantasy Romance


Book Blurb:

The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book I

In a dark world where magic is illegal and elves are enslaved a young elven sorceress runs for her life from the house of her evil Keeper. Pursued by his men and the corrupt Order of Witch-Hunters she must find sanctuary. As the slavers roll across the lands stealing elves from what remains of their ancestral home the Witch-Hunters turn a blind eye to the tragedy and a story of power, love and a terrible revenge unfolds.


The Shining Citadel – The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book II

Who rules in this game of intrigue where magic is forbidden and elves enslaved? Journey where beliefs shatter like glass, truth is unwelcome and monsters from ancient times abound: share the romance and revenge, magic and passion, and the wages of greed in a world of darkest fantasy.


Please note these are both 18+ age-rated


Excerpt – From the Light Beyond the Storm – Book I:


Olek stayed in shadow and walked in silence, forever gaining upon his prey. As Petrus stepped towards the door, he was suddenly grabbed with a gloved hand across his mouth. He saw the edge of a crossbow bolt in the sleeve attached to the hand now gripping his hair as he tried to turn his head and was dragged back behind the house. As he struggled, a voice said close to his ear, “At this range I reckon I can hit the door yonder. Your brain will merely impede the speed it hits. Struggle, lad, and I will test my theory.”

The young man was forced into a small empty courtyard with no windows overlooking it, as it was full of rubbish and refuse. The voice in his ear said, “How nice privacy…”

The hand was removed from his mouth and Petrus blustered, “Who do you think you are, common thief? I will see you flogged through the streets then hanged. My father is an important man! Unhand me.”

Petrus found himself with a sharp blade pressed against his groin, the deadly edge close to his privates. He could feel the weight of the blade pressing into him. The shadows played around him and the voice in his ear softly replied, “Unhand me? Please, could you not think of less of a cliché? Move or scream and your balls will be rolling in the gutter before the cry is finished.” The young man tried to turn and felt the edge of the blade press against him again and the voice hissed, “The city guard would never find me, for I am the shadows. Now who would this illustrious father be that I am to be so afraid of?”

Trying to look down and as he moved, the swift edge of the blade split the silk of Petrus’ breeches. “My father’s men will hunt you down,” he managed, now feeling distinctly less brave.

Olek yawned loudly. “By all means, call his men. They will be hunting a shadow, a ghost. Much expense will be used, to no avail. How much is your life worth to him, do you think? Not only do you deem it suitable to rape young women and brag about your prowess to your friends, but really, you are extremely dull in conversation. If you answer my questions, you might yet live. Believe me when I say I could take you to a man who would not be as…merciful as I, for what you have done and said. A man who could no doubt keep you alive for some while, although I doubt you would be in much of a state to enjoy that life. Now who are you? This young lady whom you found so…enjoyable, where is she?”

With the blade against his skin, Petrus’ courage failed him. His voice trembled as he whispered, “I am Petrus, son of Lord Renfrew. The girl, the little virgin whore, she is in the Mermaid. She was just an elf. I paid the price thus she was mine.”

There was a hiss from behind him and the blade moved yet closer to his balls. Suddenly there was sharp pain as the edge scratched him, not quite breaking the skin. He whimpered and tried to back up. The voice continued, “There was mention of an elven girl called Dii. How do you know her? The other fellows, who were they?”

Petrus swallowed and whispered, “Just a little slut…er…I mean, girl that I had a while ago, a Kept of Lord Tremayne, used to share her around. Little witch warmed his bed too when that human witch bored him. Just an elf Kept, no one of importance, just some fun for the menfolk…the others…oh…er…fellows I just met.”

“Oh, now, lad, you were doing so well… You seemed too intimate to be mere acquaintances.” Olek smiled beneath his cloak.

Petrus felt the blade against him and with a whimper and a squeak, he felt the skin break and a thin trickle of blood begin to flow, soon joined by wetter warmth as he pissed his breeches. Suddenly the only focus was the blade against him and he squeaked, “Just a little Kept whore, I swear, merely Tremayne’s girl. The others, oh, just Janik of Argen; Edwaen, son of the House of Andert; and Reflin, son of the House of Sardak, the merchant.”

Olek twisted his wrist and drew his blade deep into the man’s private parts and as he fell screaming, drew the sword across his throat, cutting off the scream to a gurgle. Crouching, letting the blood flow away from him, he hissed, “Women are not yours to use, elf or not. I do not like a man who betrays his friends. This information will be most useful.”


Buy Links:

Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book I–ebook/dp/B0088DQO9C

Barnes and Noble

I Tunes


The Shining Citadel – The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book II

Barnes and Noble

I Tunes


Author Biography: A. L. (Alexandra) Butcher is the British author of the Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles fantasy series, and several short stories in the fantasy and fantasy romance genres.  She is an avid reader and creator of worlds, a poet and a dreamer. When she is grounded in the real world she likes science, natural history, history and monkeys. Her work has been described as ‘dark and gritty’ and her poetry as evocative.



Social Media Links:




Twitter:                @libraryoferana






Exclusive Interview: Lisbeth on Lisa Burton Radio #ASMSG #IARTG #paranormalromance



Looking for a good time? Oops, wrong audience…


My name is Lisbeth and I told MRS N to take the day off. Today, I’m running things and it’s about time. For far too long, it’s been all about the Princess of the Light and her hunky alpha male Warrior of the Light. They hog the spotlight with their donating to food banks and spreading kindness everywhere so I’m here to set the record straight. I’m your run of the mill succubus (sex demon for all you innocents out there) and when the opportunity came for me to make my mark and destroy the foretold princess, I jumped on it. Soon, I’ll be running not only Hell but the world. Who says you can’t have it all?


But when it came to telling my side of the story, N. N. Light’s  editor deleted most of the scenes. So disappointing, let me tell you. MRS N assures me the new edition, coming out next year, will have my point of view and background. But I couldn’t wait, so I contacted Lisa Burton for a radio interview. She agreed that my story needed to be told and today, it’s live on some website. Here’s the introduction:


“Welcome to another edition of Lisa Burton Radio, the show that interviews the characters you love. Today I’m in the studio with Lisbeth who is an actual demon from Hell.” Click here to read the whole transcript of this exclusive interview with yours truly Lisbeth:


Take a listen and then decide for yourself if I’m as wicked as the princess makes me out to be.


POTL 2nd anniversary


Oh, and don’t forget to buy the book. It’s only 99 cents USD at all retailers.


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Personal Interview with Jimmo from Truck Stop Earth @Perseid_Press #darkhumor #UFO #SFF



I’m not gonna give you all the ins and outs of old Jimmo’s life. I’ve sat in too many cracked plastic chairs before nosy-butt social workers doing that. You want deep psychological analysis of James Ignatius Malachi Obadiah Osborne’s life? Let me give you the name of my current shrink. I think Penelope has it on a thumb drive somewhere.

But in a nut shell — joke! — I’m just your average ex-vet wandering traveler who has been sucked up into a Gray mothership and been given the classic intimate biological examination. I’ve seen it all and been there, from Key West, Fla., to the ass-end of the road here in Della, Alaska. I like long walks on the beach, Norwegian aquavit, Irish wolfhounds, tough women (preferably redheads), and people who won’t give ya bullshit. Oh, and the smell of White Shoulders and AquaNet hairspray, but only because AquaNet has been proven to deter aliens. I don’t know why. You think Jimmo has all the answers?


What is your idea of perfect happiness?

You know that moment when you’ve had one too many beers and your bladder is bursting and you take a nice, long pee? Remember that little tickle of pleasure you get? That’s about as close as it comes to perfect happiness. Too strange?

OK, how about this. You take on some huge challenge, like fighting a kick-ass wildfire that’s roaring down at you and it’s just you and your crew, a few Pulaskis, and maybe a DC-3 dropping retardant. Everything else doesn’t exist. It’s just this moment and something you have to do or you die, that’s what it is. And you don’t die. You stop the fire or come out alive in a firefight or maybe kick cancer’s butt. That’s perfect happiness, because you thought you might die and you didn’t.

But also, having close and intimate sex with someone who understands you and you understand them, and you satisfy each other almost perfectly, yeah, that’s not bad, either.


What is your greatest fear?

When you’ve looked into the Big Black of death and come out the other end, there is no fear. But the idea that the Alien Occupation Government might eventually take over this planet, and the Grays would use us for whatever evil they have in mind, that scares me. It should scare you, too, oh dear reader, if only you knew the truth.


What is your current state of mind?

Highly under the influence of very effective psychoactive drugs. OK, not really. I realized long ago all I got was sexy pharmaceuticals that no one really knew how they worked, but they did. My current state of mind is bliss.


What do you consider your greatest achievement?

You should read my co-author’s account of that in Truck Stop Earth. Basically, we kicked alien butt and sent those asshole Grays screaming. We won a big battle. I’m hoping we win the war.


How would you like to die?

Quick and painless. Once you get past the pain and into the Big Black, there’s not much else. If I can’t die fighting, I’d be OK dying loving.


What is your motto?

Life is what happens when really good psychoactive drugs quit working.




Title: Truck Stop Earth

Author:  Michael A. Armstrong

Genre: Dark Humor, Aliens, Science Fiction

Publisher: Perseid Press

Release Date: August 1, 2016 (E-book available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble now)


Book Blurb:

The mother of all alien bases. The big one, the megabase, the center of the Alien Occupation Government, the headquarters, the brain, the nerve center, the absolute pinpoint big base, right there, right in the hills above Della. Forget Roswell. Forget Machu Picchu. Forget Stonehenge and Tikal and all those alleged alien bases, abandoned every one of them. This was the big one, right now, the source of all my troubles, the world’s troubles, the whole solar system’s troubles. Right there.


Out there across the valley, shining across it like a beacon, was a big flat mountain. “Oly’s Mountain” I later heard it called, or Table Top, some said. I could feel it, feel the humming and the disruption of the ether right down to my bones. I didn’t even have to take out my little pocket detector that’s disguised as a Swiss Army knife. I knew, I just knew. And my butt chip burned like an exploded capsule of sulfuric acid. God damn, right there in the mountain — not on it, in it.


Book Trailer:


Extended Excerpt:

We hauled butt up East Road and might have had to pass a few trucks at the speed Samm put the crew-cab to, except that everyone else was hauling butt, too: cops, fire trucks, volunteer firefighters. It was as if that fire were a big drain hole and we were rubber duckies getting sucked down into the tub, that’s how it pulled all of us to the fire. The smoke got thicker the closer we got, a nice stiff breeze out of the north whupping upon us, the day breeze. As we got closer, I began to think that maybe I should be going the other direction. Had no choice, though. I was in that damn truck.

We scarfed down our burgers as we trucked out there, Samm eating one-handed and driving with the other hand, a sort of frightening sight. I understood, though. It might be a while until we ate again. Soon enough we got to the logging camp. Samm didn’t even close his door or yank out the keys to the truck — in fact, he left it running. The only thing he did was turn it around so it faced out, toward the road. I understood. That was our lifeboat.

“Grace, you take Freddy and Jimmo,” Samm shouted. “Work on keeping the fire from jumping the road.”

“And if it jumps the road?” she asked.

“That won’t happen. Hold the line,” Samm said.

“Hold the line,” Grace mumbled. “Right.” She pointed at me and Freddy. “Freddy, you’ve got a red card. Jimmo, grab a chainsaw and a Pulaski and do what Freddy tells you. Come with me.” Grace had picked up a Pulaski, this ax-like thing that was also a pick, and we rushed up to the road side of that big clearing.

Someone had started up one of those feller-bunchers and slowly — it’s not like they moved all that fast anyway — moved toward a line of dead trees up the road. Thick smoke rolled downhill toward us, but in all the smoke I couldn’t see any flames. Maybe that was good, maybe that was bad, I just fucking didn’t know.

“Might as well attack that line of trees,” Grace said, pointing across the road from the camp. A standing clump of red, almost needleless trees lined the road across the way. It seemed kind of stupid, a logging camp surrounded by a dead forest. Later, Samm told me that it was a land dispute, this land owned by someone from Outside who hadn’t seen the land in twenty years and didn’t understand that the whole fucking forest had died and the trees had to come down. This was war. You did what you did to stop the fire and to hell with property rights.

The little forest narrowed down into a V as it came to the road. Grace explained that I should break up the grass and other ground flammables on either side of the V as she and Freddy felled trees. They began lopping off trees so they fell uphill, into the fire and a big slash pile. Even though the trees had died, they still had branches and witches’ brooms and shit that could catch fire. A lot of the dead trees had punky middles, which made them harder to burn. If you could fell ’em the middle wouldn’t catch fire and it would slow the burn down. Mainly, Grace explained in all the chaos, in a calm voice that made me listen closer, “Mainly we don’t want a crown fire, where the tops burn.” A crown fire was like a whole new level of shit.

With all the smoke and the heat I couldn’t tell if we fought back the fire or just wasted a lot of good burger fuel for nothing. I’d cut trenches in the dry underbrush, exposing dirt, so that if the fire burned out of the slash piles we made it wouldn’t go further. Grace said we were making a back burn, creating our own little Dresden there so that the big Tokyo of a fire wouldn’t have anything else to burn. You understand? Of course not, you assholes don’t know history. Dresden was like this quaint little city the Allies firebombed in Double-Ya-Double-Ya Two, and Tokyo another example of 20th Century martial urban renewal.

Get into the flow of something like that, where you’re not quite sure you’ll live but hope to fuck you don’t die, and after a while, time is nothing. Time doesn’t slow down, it doesn’t stop, it just no longer becomes a marker by which the universe gets measured. It isn’t when it once was. What mattered to me was the dirt I exposed, the flames that didn’t cross the road, and the fire that burned itself out.

You just fought. My uncle who was in the war said that once: You just fought. First came chaos and then an organization of chaos and then chaos became your local reality, and you understood it. It developed its own rules and everything and quit being chaos. I focused entirely on one task, one general series of movements: lift Pulaski, dig into ground, turn over dirt, lift Pulaski again, repeat as necessary.

Eventually, though, this new reality came into being, a new form of chaos which I realized with a start was the way the world had been some time ago. The smoke seemed thinner, the heat less. Between Grace and Freddy and that guy on the feller buncher (which I still thought was a rocket launcher), the forest in front of us turned into a big bonfire, controlled and orderly and consuming itself and not more forest. I saw around me that other workers scrambled with wet rugs or sheets stamping out fires from falling ashes that had fallen on the wind. Other than that, the fire had not crossed the road.

“We held the line,” Grace said, but with a tone of voice that said she didn’t believe it.

“Held the line,” Freddy said.

“Did it,” I said.

“Did it. Damn it, we did it!” Grace raised her chainsaw in triumph.

“Shoulda done it faster,” Kyle said from behind us. “It almost got away from us. It got one of the fuel trucks.”

Grace glared at him, bandana long ago fallen away, but her hair still in perfect shape, only with so much smoke and ash that it looked like a black helmet. “We held the line, Kyle.”

“I really need you to listen to me closer, Grace,” Kyle said. “I’m only offering criticism for your own good.”

“Oh, fuck —”

She didn’t get the next words out. Freddy shoved her aside and they both rolled toward me, almost knocking me down. I stepped aside and let them fall, then looked up to see why Freddy had tackled Grace. The guy with the feller buncher held a burning tree in the claws of his machine. Smoke obscured his vision and he couldn’t quite see where he was going. The machine stopped and the guy let down that log, branches still on it, the crown roaring.

We later figured out that he must have seen a tree on our side of the road that caught fire, just one tree, and in our complacency we missed it. He didn’t, though. Guy saved the day, he did, and what did it matter what happened next?

He dropped the tree. Just like I’ll always remember that shred of metal whirling at me when the Zapata cannery blew up, I’ll remember that tree falling. It came down, right on an open part of the airstrip, which was what the feller-buncher dude was aiming for, a nice open spot. All would have been well and this story might have turned out different, if not that the tree in its falling, a branch of the tree in its falling, nicked Kyle.

“I need you to step aside,” I wanted to say, but couldn’t. I’ll feel a little guilty forever after that I didn’t.

The tree came down. The branch nicked Kyle. The tip was sharp. As it fell, it knocked off his helmet, and sliced right through his left ear, your basic Van Gogh chop job. Kyle reached up with his left hand, held it to his ear, and then looked down at a glob of blood in his palm. He didn’t scream, I’ll give him credit for that, but he did look mildly uncomfortable.

When Kyle’s helmet came off, this amazing pouf of silver-blond hair sprung straight up, kind of a Disco Do, just whisping over his ears and falling boyishly over Kyle’s forehead — over his squinty little eyes. But then a spark or a little flame from the burning tree hit his hair, and kawoosh, it went up like a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol, and inside of two seconds, Kyle went totally bald, nothing more than ashes on his scalp.

He rolled forward, over and over like you got taught in grade school to put out a fire if for some chance, hey, a burning tree fell on top of you and lit your precious little Disco ’Do on fire. Kyle slapped at his head and his ears, or what was left of the left one. His right leg stuck out kinda funny, and for a moment I thought it was broken. It was broken, I swear. Kyle reached down and twisted and turned it, then stood up.

His right ear dangled by a little thread of cartilage, only it didn’t bleed. At least, I thought his right ear had been ripped off, too. Kyle turned away from us for a second, did something to the side of his head, and turned back. He did this kind of dancing jig thing, took a deep breath, and smiled.

“Kyle, man, your ear got ripped off,” Samm said. “Are you OK?”

He reached up, felt for the bloody patch, reached down to the ground and picked up something that looked like a shriveled up mushroom. Kyle smeared that thing against the stump of his left ear, then smiled.

“What ear?” he asked.

Samm looked at Kyle, over at us, back at Kyle. He started to say something, then shook his head.

“Good as new,” Grace said.

Ayup, I thought.

Except he put the ear back on backwards.



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Author Biography:

Michael Armstrong was born in Virginia in 1956, grew up in Tampa, Florida, and moved to Anchorage, Alaska in 1979. He has lived in Homer, Alaska, since 1994. He attended the Clarion Science Fiction Writers Workshop and received a bachelor of arts from New College of Florida and a master of fine arts in creative writing from the University of Alaska Anchorage. His first novel is After the Zap. Michael’s short fiction has been published in Asimov’s, The Magazine of Science Fiction, Fiction Quarterly, and various anthologies, including Not of Woman Born, a Philip K. Dick award nominee, and several Heroes In Hell anthologies. His other novels include Agviq, The Hidden War, and Bridge Over Hell, part of the Perseid Press Heroes in Hell universe.


Michael has taught creative writing composition, and dog mushing. He is a reporter and photographer for the Homer News. He and his wife, Jenny Stroyeck, live in small house they built themselves on Diamond Ridge above Homer, which they share with an incredibly adorable labradoodle.


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Meet Marcus Brutus from Exordium of Tears by @WestonAndrew #SFF #books

IXbanner-ad_exordium - Large


My name is Marcus Brutus, onetime Triari Centurion of the 9th Legion Hispania, dispatched with my brothers to quell the Celtic uprising in the cold and misty wastelands of Caledonia, north of Britannia. We failed in our mission due to the interference of powers beyond our understanding. Thinking we had been extended a reprieve at the moment of death, my brothers and I awakened on a far distant planet where we were given a simple ultimatum. Fight or Die. Yes, it seemed our skills were needed again, and thus began an unbelievable journey that emphasized a stark reality. Death is just the beginning of the adventure.


What is your idea of perfect happiness?

To fulfill my duties with honor, and then be given an opportunity to leave a life of bloodshed behind. Before all this happened, I’d served Rome for many years and was determined to see the day when I retired, found a wife, and had the family with whom I could settle down and grow old and fat with. Just because my circumstances have changed doesn’t change my aspirations. One day, all this chaos, all this upheaval will be over, and I will make my dreams a reality.


What is your greatest fear?

That I might give way to fear in front of my enemy. Trepidation grips all soldiers from time to time. It’s what makes us human, and only a fool would deny they never experience the dread of battle. But a true warrior faces his fear. Conquers it. Makes it his constant companion. Only then can we appreciate our own mortality and the value of what it is we fight for.


What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Cowardice, and a refusal to think of your brothers in battle. Such a man is a weak link in times of crisis and often gets those around him killed. I’m glad to say, the ranks of the Ninth Legion have been purged of such dross, and we remain true to our tenet of steadfast service.


Which living person do you most admire?

Commander Saul Cameron – if indeed he still lives – for he shepherded countless thousands of refugees from Earth through a relentless siege and gave them, and the future of Arden, a fighting chance to be reborn anew.


What is your current state of mind?

Obviously, I am under a great deal of stress. To be plucked from your life and deposited on an entirely different planet to fight somebody else’s battle once, is enough in my books. To find it has happened to us again? Well, I’m still trying to get my head around the implications of that, especially as we now have the integrity of our own historical timeline to consider. You have a saying in the future: “Walking on eggshells?” I think that sums my predicament up rather well, as I constantly have to juggle the needs of the future against those of keeping my men alive.


Which living person do you most despise?

The turncoat, James Houston. Like us, he was snatched away from a normal life and placed here under extraordinary pressure. A supposed officer and a gentleman, he has done nothing but scheme and plot to use this nightmare to his own advantage. He is not only a coward, but a murderer who lacks the slightest ounce of honor. He’d see every one of us dead, just to extend his life for just one day. I’ll not give him that opportunity, and will see him ended if it’s the last thing I do.


What is the quality you most like in a man?

A willingness to do his best, whatever the circumstances, and to work as part of a team.


Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

“By Pluto’s Beard.” During the Gaul campaign, I was badly injured and at death’s door for two months. I kept the god of the underworld at bay by cursing him to his face, a habit I’ve continued since then whenever I face dangerous or frustrating situations.


If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Ha! I’d have applied to join the Eighth Legion. Perhaps then I’d have been able to settle in southern Gaul as I’d always wanted. Failing that, perhaps the Praetorian Guard? Caesar Hadrian seemed to like me enough when he bestowed the golden torc upon me. If only I’d taken him up on his offer before all this mess started.


What do you consider your greatest achievement?

I kept the majority of my men alive at the Battle of the Line in Rhomane City. Mere hundreds of us faced thousands upon thousands of Horde demons. But we showed them the mettle of the legion. Tempered in fire, we were forged anew and broke them. Since then, every one of us is closer than blood, and every one of us are willing to give our all if the need arises.


What is your favorite occupation?

I am – or should I say, was – rather fond of the pilot training I received after my arrival on Arden. I know the nano-bots inside my bloodstream help to augment my understanding and comprehension, but the wonders of soaring higher than an eagle could ever go never ceases to amaze me. Think about it. From what I have learned since my arrival on Arden, people from my time could only gaze at the stars in the night sky and wonder. This adventure may have torn me away from home, but now my battlefield exists among those very stars. And I get to see them for what they are…suns of infinite magnitude and majesty, many possessing other planets in which life teems in its myriads. Such treasures we’re beyond the imagination of those from my era. And here I am, living a dream in reality.


What is your most marked characteristic?

Despite my elevation to general, I still show regard for the common man and am willing to listen – and indeed value – the opinions of others, even when they differ from my own. Fortunate, I might be. Omniscient, I’m not. Listening to the insights of others has saved my skin on more than one occasion, and after all these years, I don’t intend to stop now.


What do you most value in your friends?

Their unflinching calmness in the face of chaos. Those closest to me have shared the crucible of battle and been flensed of pretense. My new friends from Arden have likewise faced many trials and tribulations. Such provide a great deal of support and source of wisdom when I need it most.


How would you like to die?

If I’m not extended the opportunity of growing old and fat, I hope I die making a difference. Elysian Fields or no, as long as my death has meaning, I’ll be satisfied.




Title: Exordium of Tears.

Author: Andrew P. Weston

Genre: Science Fiction.

Publisher: Perseid Press


Book Blurb:

Fight or die.

That simple yet brutal reality is the tenet by which the refugees from Earth – including the fabled lost 9th Legion of Rome; the 5th Company, 2nd Mounted Cavalry Unit; and the Special Forces Anti-Terrorist Team – were forced to live by while the Horde menace existed. Believing that the threat is over, the survivors now yearn to settle down, start families, and reclaim the lives stolen from them.

But such aspirations might remain beyond their reach, for a shadow looms on the rose-tinted horizon of new beginnings.

The release of the re-genesis matrix has done much to foster a restoration of exuberance across Arden. Along with a resurgence in floral and faunal diversity comes the results of splicing the Ardenese and human genomes: transmutation. A metamorphosis of stunning magnitude that not only affects the living, but those still is stasis as well.

Recognizing the emergence of a new hybrid species, the Architect – the arcane AI construct tasked with the preservation of the Ardenese race – responds by unlocking previously hidden and inaccessible areas of the city. It also releases an archive of sealed state secrets. Such revelations are eagerly perused, whereupon a shocking discovery is made.

Prior to the fall, it was common knowledge amongst the Senatum (the highest levels of Arden’s government) that not all the rabid Horde had joined in the rampage across the stars toward Arden.

Realizing that the peril still exists, the newly reformed administration elects to respond in earnest. Existing resources are utilized, suitable candidates are chosen, and a flotilla of ships is sent out to secure, quarantine, and reclaim the outer colonies.

A mammoth and hazardous undertaking. And nowhere more so than at the planet from where the outbreak was known to have originated – Exordium – for there, the ancient Horde are not only supremely evolved and highly organized, but are capable of a level of lethal sophistication, the likes of which has never been witnessed before.

It is into this kiln of incendiary potential that the cream of Arden’s fighting forces is deployed.

Worlds are torn asunder, suns destroyed, and star systems obliterated. Yes, tragedy is forged, in a universe spanning conflict which proves once again that…

Death is only the beginning of the adventure.



His commanders moved away, passing on his orders. With smooth precision, the legion filed inside and fanned out to take up their respective positions.

Marcus followed. He hadn’t taken more than twenty paces when he noticed a soft crackling underfoot. He glanced down and saw a brittle ivory powder covering the floor in a light dusting.

Did the re-genesis matrix manage to percolate down through the barriers? Amazing. It’ll make our job a damned sight easier if it did.

Putting that hope out of his mind, he concentrated instead on the hazards presented by their surroundings. Even after the third centuria left for their designated positions, breathing room was tight. So closely packed were the stalagmites and stalactites that he and his men were constantly squeezing between petrified tears, and the endless weave and bob soon grew exhausting. What’s more, their only light came from random illuminations cast by the drones or their helmet-cams. When these caught exposed facets of rock, the gloom was transposed by scintillant prismatic aspirations that only served to confound the eye.

Strange, how in a place and at a time like this, beauty can be an unwanted distraction.

Undeterred, they pressed forward, dogged, cautious.

Five minutes later, the telltale gleam of an energy barrier came into view. More than ten yards across and eighteen feet high, the huge blockade loomed at the exact point where the maze ended and the Cathedral narrowed into a natural chokepoint.

And beyond, we finally come to the end of our journey.

Vergilius snapped his fingers and his men deployed, adopting a series of defensive formations in preparation for the assault. Behind them, members of the first centuria completed final weapons checks.

“General,” someone hissed, “come and look at this.”

A group of soldiers to his left stood by a small fissure. From his position, the entrance was difficult to see, for it was shrouded in darkness and bent back in on itself. As Marcus strode toward them, the crunching sound beneath his feet became louder. He looked more closely, and got the impression that he walked on broken shards of discarded porcelain vessels.

He reached the crevice and peered inside to find a modest-sized antre. Except this was no fairytale grotto. It was full of bones.

Thigh bones, rib bones, pelvic bones. Femurs, fibulae, tibiae. And skulls. Skulls lay everywhere. Some were intact and grinning insanely, as if delighted at the prospect of a friendly face after an eternity of isolation; others lay in ruins, fragmented or crushed into dust. Only then did Marcus realize what they’d all been stepping on.

Of course, they must have fled here in their numbers during the initial outbreak, hoping to escape the madness. But they were found . . . and by berserkers too, from the look of it.

He studied the way the remains had been shattered and strewn about.

Not content to simply devour the essence of their victims, the monsters must have torn everyone apart, perhaps to enhance the flavor of their meal with terror?

In his mind’s eye, Marcus tried to reenact the scene.

Even so, it hurt to imagine the insatiable hunger of frenzied fiends as they rampaged, and the inevitable reaction of the helpless colonists as their flight led them here to their doom.

And they couldn’t have realized their panic would act like a beacon, drawing that doom toward them like moths to a flame. Except these moths were hulking great monstrosities driven by a craving so rabid it bordered on delirium.

Roars of glee, screams of terror. Flashing talons, primal cruelty. Severed limbs, tumbling in aerial display. Crimson orbs, glowering with lust. Ruby entrails, spilling gore. Glittering fangs and punctured jugulars, spraying blood in a fountain wash, staining ancient seams in the splith of human ruin.

An itch wormed its way up Marcus’s spine. He backed away and looked outside. The sense of unease was spreading: his hardened veterans glanced nervously from side to side. As they moved, their helmet lights sent peril reeling across the ceiling and cast flickering threats that made it appear as if danger lurked behind each column and within every shadow.

“Can you feel that?” Tiberius called.

The prickling intensified, and soon Marcus’s bowels were shuddering.

I’ve felt that sensation before.

“They’re coming,” Marcus bellowed. “Notify surface units and stand to.”



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Andrew Weston


Author Biography:

Andrew P. Weston is Royal Marine and Police veteran from the UK who now lives on the beautiful Greek island of Kos with his wife, Annette, and their growing family of rescue cats.

An astronomy and law graduate, he is the creator of the international number one bestsellers, The IX, and Hell Bound, (A novel forming part of Janet Morris’ critically acclaimed Heroes in Hell shared universe). Andrew also has the privilege of being a member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, the British Fantasy Society and the International Association of Media Tie-In Writers.

When not writing, Andrew devotes some of his spare time to assisting NASA with two of their remote research projects, and writes educational articles for  and Amazing Stories.


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We’re Interviewing Lord Jamie Collins from The Guardian’s Witch @RuthACasie #Romance #BookPromo

The Inside Scoop – Part Two

Thank you so much for joining me. In a follow up to our interview with Lord Alex and Lady Lisbeth, brother-in-law and Scotsman Jamie Collins is with us today. You must know that this has taken us months to arrange. The man just cannot be pinned down. Personally, I can’t wait to get a different perspective on the hero and heroine of Ruth A. Casie’s book, The Guardian’s Witch.


Oh wait, there’s a lot of commotion at the door to the studio. It must be him. Yes, I see he’s walking this way. You can’t miss him. He towers over everyone. Josh, our sound technician, is six feet. Jamie dwarfs him. This may take a few minutes. He’s making time to speak with everyone. For here I can feel his magnetism.


(Jamie takes his seat.)


Reporter: (Nods to Jamie then looks at the audience) Today’s guest, Lord James Collins—


Jamie: Please, Jamie will do.


Reporter: Of course… Jamie is the brother-in-law of Lord Alex Stelton and Lady Lisbeth Reynolds. Lord Alex is the exceptional knight who put his life on the line for the woman he loves, his wife, Lady Lisbeth. She too was willing to risk it all–to save her husband. Jamie was the man behind the curtain that helped them both succeed.


Reporter: (Turning to his guest) Thank you for taking time to talk to us today. My staff has tried for some time to reach you.


Jamie: I’m flattered that you sought me out, but I’m not the one you should be speaking to. Lord Alex and Lady Lisbeth are the hero and heroine of the story. The tale is theirs to tell.


Reporter: You’re much too humble. But let me start at the beginning. What was your first impression of Lord Alex?


Jamie: A handsome, prideful man, Alex had to make his own way in the world. By reputation, I knew he was loyal to his king and had his trust, to boot. Not an easy thing in these times. Still, I watched him with the castle, villagers, and Lisbeth.


Reporter: And what did you find? What part did you play in the romantic adventure?


Jamie: By the time we met I knew a great deal about him. I was sure he wasn’t there to line his pockets but rather to keep the people safe and make Glen Kirk Castle prosper. My part in the romantic adventure? Nice turn of a phrase. Glen Kirk Castle sits in a precarious place, on the border of England and Scotland. My clan and Lord Wesley Reynolds family have been close for centuries. I married their Laura, the love of my life. Since Lord Wesley and Lady Darla’s untimely death I’ve watched over Lisbeth. And that’s no easy task. She is quite the independent woman.


Reporter: And what of Lady Lisbeth?


Jamie: Ach, there’s a bonny lass. She was afraid her talents would cause the villagers great harm. You know she’s a witch.


Reporter: (nodded)


Jamie: (Bent forward toward the reporter) With the Lord and Lady gone, her king sent protectors to care for the castle and people. They were weak minded men. She feared each one he sent. Not for herself. When she stood up to the first man the king sent he called her a witch. If that wasn’t bad enough when her people stood beside her he called them her coven and threatened to kill them all. He accomplished what he wanted, kept the people and Lisbeth away. He was too busy raiding her father’s fine wine cellar and trying to strip the castle of anything worth value. After he disappeared, my men and I helped Lisbeth and the castle staff pack everything and hide it away.


Reporter: And when Lord Alex arrived?


Jamie: (Sat back and relaxed) Now there was a different man. You didn’t have to be a witch or a fey to see he was the right man for Glen Kirk and for Lisbeth. He cared about both. By the time he arrived everyone was suspect of the king’s men. He had a lot to prove.


Reporter: As Lady Lisbeth’s brother-in-law and only male relative. Did you approve their marriage?


Jamie: It was a horrible thing his king did, horrible, marrying them by proxy and Lisbeth ignorant of the plan.


Reporter: (Shuffling papers) I have a good source in the King’s most private council that the proxy marriage was your idea. (More paper shuffling) Yes, here it is. When you went to London, you spoke to the king and over a few glasses of ale you both planned the event.


Jamie: (The smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes. Jamie reached over and crushed the pages in his hand) What did you say?


Reporter: (Visibly uncomfortable) Umm… Nothing, sir. Nothing at all.


Jamie: (His demeanor softened, slightly) That the two were in love was not a question. Everyone knew but them. Lisbeth, well she vowed never to marry afraid her gift would… well, let’s just say she wanted to stop the line of magic that was well established in her mother’s family. Alex? He was no better. The king thought the solution was brilliant.


Reporter: You were a loyal son-in-law even though your political beliefs differ.


Jamie: Lord Wesley may have been English but he judged a man fairly. He and Lady Darla were good and kind to their family and their people. Our families were neighbors separated by an imaginary line. We shared many things, a love of the land, a love of family, and a love of friends.


(Jamie hesitated deep in thought)


Jamie: They didn’t deserve to be murdered. I knew the moment I saw their crumpled carriage it wasn’t an accident. I vowed I would see the assassin pay.


Reporter: You took unusual action for a Scotsman.


Jamie: (His face flushed in anger) What did you expect me to do? (He spit out the words between clenched teeth.)


Reporter: Sir, I meant no disrespect. On the contrary. For a Scotsman of your high stature to go to the English king and tell him his favored lord and lady were murdered and pledge your support. Amazing.


Jamie: Lord Wesley and Lady Darla had to be avenged. The king agreed with me. When I came back I wouldn’t rest until the puzzle was solved. I would do it all again.


Reporter: I understand you met Lord Alex’s six brothers.


Jamie: Yes. They look like a small army when they stand together. Each one is nagged by one of the deadly sins. It took Lisbeth’s love and trust to help him overcome his excessive pride. I understand there may be a book about each brother. (Jamie looks directly into the audience) You just have to tell the author you want to hear more about the Stelton Legacy. She’s immune to my badgering. Perhaps she’ll be more responsive to yours.


Reporter: Thank you for your time. (turning to the audience) You can find out more about Jamie, Lord Alex and Lady Lisbeth in The Guardian’s Witch by Ruth A. Casie available for their Nook, iBook, KOBO or Kindle


I hope you enjoyed the interview. Here’s a brief overview of The Guardian’s Witch.




England, 1290


Lord Alex Stelton can’t resist a challenge, especially one with a prize like this: protect a castle on the Scottish border for a year, and it’s his. Desperate for land of his own, he’ll do anything to win the estate—even enter a proxy marriage to Lady Lisbeth Reynolds, the rumored witch who lives there.


Feared and scorned for her second sight, Lisbeth swore she’d never marry, but she is drawn to the handsome, confident Alex. She sees great love with him but fears what he would think of her gift and her visions of a traitor in their midst.


Despite his own vow never to fall in love, Alex can’t get the alluring Lisbeth out of his mind and is driven to protect her when attacks begin on the border. But as her visions of danger intensify, Lisbeth knows it is she who must protect him. Realizing they’ll secure their future only by facing the threat together, she must choose between keeping her magic a secret and losing the man she loves.


Ruth A Casie close


Author Biography:

Ruth A. Casie’s first career as a Vice President and product manager for a major international bank took her around the world. Romance novels were her companions on the long flights and, when not with clients, solo dining experiences. On her travels, her imagination ran wild when she visited historic sites and ancient ruins. Now she loves to include little details from her travels, and her family, into her stories. In addition to writing historic fantasy time travel romance for Carina Press and Harlequin, Ruth is a participating author in the TIMELESS TALES short story series. Her book KNIGHT OF RUNES was a NJRW Golden Leaf Finalist in 2011. THE GUARDIAN’S WITCH was a RomCon Reader’s Crown Finalist in 2013. KNIGHT OF RAPTURE was a NJRW Golden Leaf finalist in 2015. You can reach her at , on Twitter @RuthACasie, at her Facebook page: or at Pinterest:

An Exclusive Interview with Lord Alex and Lady Lisbeth #characterinterview #romance @RuthACasie

Velvet lips


The Inside Scoop

Ah, there you are and just in time. Thank you for coming I knew you wouldn’t want to miss this. We’ve pulled a real coup. Let me give you a little background before they begin. Our investigative reporter is about to hold an interview the hero, Lord Alex, and heroine, Lady Lisbeth, of Ruth A. Casie’s book, The Guardian’s Witch. I see they are about to begin. I’ll fill you in on their story when the interview is over.

Reporter: (Facing the audience) Welcome and good afternoon. Today’s quests are Lord Alex Stelton, the exceptional knight who put his life on the line for the woman he loves. Also here is his extraordinary wife, Lady Lisbeth. She too was willing to risk it all–to save the man she loves.

Alex Stelton is the seventh son of Lord and Lady Stelton. Alex’s father is also a seventh son, an oddity that arises in the Stelton family from time to time. Lady Lisbeth and her younger sister, Laura survive their parents Lord and Lady Reynolds who were lost to us in a terrible carriage accident and their brother, Richard. Richard died valiantly on the Welsh battlefield.

(Turning to his guests) Thank you both for taking time to talk to us today. The first question I have is for Lord Alex.

Alex: Please, call me Alex.

Reporter: Certainly. Alex, what was your first impression of Lisbeth?

Alex: I’m embarrassed to tell you.

Lisbeth: He avoided me for weeks.

Alex: (Taking Lisbeth’s hand.) That’s not quite correct. You made it perfectly clear that you wanted no part of me. As a matter of fact I got a very clear impression that you would’ve been quite happy if I had disappeared like the others the king sent to protect you.

Lisbeth: Well, what did you expect? You came marching into Glen Kirk all proud and self-important just like all the others.

Alex: (Raising an eyebrow to his wife.) Did I now?

Lisbeth: (A bit contrite.) Well, maybe not exactly like them. (She pulls her hand away from his and faces him.) How was I to know?

Reporter: (Cough.) How did this disagreement start?

Lisbeth: He didn’t tell me for weeks.

Reporter: I beg your pardon. What didn’t Alex tell you for weeks? (Looking at Alex the reporter noticed him squirm, just a bit.)

Lisbeth: He didn’t tell me we were married.

Reporter: Married? I don’t understand?

Alex: Wait a minute, Love. You didn’t exactly make it easy.

Lisbeth: Love— (She shot Alex a glance that could turn him into a pillar of salt.)

Alex: (Alex faced the reporter) I won a bet with King James. If I held Lisbeth’s Glen Kirk Castle safe for one year it would be mine. Having an estate of my own has been a goal of mine for some time.

Lisbeth: (Foot tapping.)

Alex: (Rakes his hand through his hair.) After meeting my part of the bargain, I went to London to collect my winnings and ended proxy wed to Lady Lisbeth by order of the king.

Reporter: He what? And you didn’t tell her for weeks?

Lisbeth: (Folding her arms in front of her glaring at Alex.) Exactly.

Reporter: Perhaps we should move on. Lisbeth, I understand you come from a long line of healers and that you are quite gifted. My sources tell me you’ve used that gift to save Alex more than once.

Lisbeth: (A humbled look crosses her face.) Yes, I work hard to keep the people I love safe.

Reporter: (Shows Lisbeth a charm.) I understand you place these charms in the trees around Glen Kirk.

Alex: (Takes the charms from the interviewer.) My wife has a notion that the pretty bits shine and distract. (He gave the reporter a cold stare.)

Reporter: I understand there are rumors that your wife… uses incantations—

Alex: (Stands dragging Lisbeth with him.) This interview is over.

Reporter: (Obviously upset.) I’m sorry m’lord. I meant no disrespect to your wife or you. But sir, your wife’s special talents are common knowledge far and wide. It is to be honored sir, not reviled as some may think.

Alex: I clearly told your man that those questions were not to be asked.

Reporter: M’lord, Alex, this woman was ready to risk everything for you. She was in the midst of conjuring up the true criminal responsible for the treason for which you were accused. She was using her magic in front of the king and his court, all to protect you. Surely you know what a grave risk she was taking.

Alex: Don’t you think I know that. (Alex took his wife in his arms.) I cringe each time I think of how close she came to being judged a witch and the consequences that would have been metered out.

Lisbeth: Alex, (she pulls gently away from his embrace) come sit down. No harm was meant, surely you know that. (She pats his arm.)

Alex: (Regaining his composure.) I will not dwell on it, Lisbeth. I will protect you always.

Lisbeth: Yes, Alex. I wouldn’t have it any other way. But all here know who and what I am. There is no longer a need to hide that I am a witch.

Reporter: We have a little more time. Alex, I understand that your wife is very talented. Her dreams of the future appear to come true.

Alex: (He looks at his wife and does all he can to contain his smile.) My wife has many talents. Her dreams are–exceptional.

Lisbeth: Shhh Alex.(She leans close to him.) No one else will understand.

Alex: (Totally forgetting the reporter for the moment.) You call me into your dreams and we… Faith, (A smoldering look passes between them and he rakes his hand through his hair.) I want to spend the rest of my life in your dreams…

Reporter: Well, thank you both very much. (Pulling on his shirt collar.) Is it warm in here? (The reporter turns to the audience) You can find out more about Lord Alex and Lady Lisbeth in The Guardian’s Witch by Ruth A. Casie available for their Nook or Kobo or Kindle.

I hope you enjoyed the interview. Here’s a brief overview and trailer for The Guardian’s Witch.

England, 1290

Lord Alex Stelton can’t resist a challenge, especially one with a prize like this: protect a castle on the Scottish border for a year, and it’s his. Desperate for land of his own, he’ll do anything to win the estate—even enter a proxy marriage to Lady Lisbeth Reynolds, the rumored witch who lives there.

Feared and scorned for her second sight, Lisbeth swore she’d never marry, but she is drawn to the handsome, confident Alex. She sees great love with him but fears what he would think of her gift and her visions of a traitor in their midst.

Despite his own vow never to fall in love, Alex can’t get the alluring Lisbeth out of his mind and is driven to protect her when attacks begin on the border. But as her visions of danger intensify, Lisbeth knows it is she who must protect him. Realizing they’ll secure their future only by facing the threat together, she must choose between keeping her magic a secret and losing the man she loves.




Title: The Guardian’s Witch

Author: Ruth A. Casie

Genre: Historical Fantasy


Buy Links:



Book Trailer Link:




The berries Lisbeth had gathered tumbled forgotten from her hands. A tremor touched her lips while the vision slammed behind her eyes. She didn’t doubt the vision’s truth. Sometimes a bright light, warm and comforting, accompanied the vision; other times the wind howled, cold and disturbing. Today, panic clearly filled the air.

She spun around trying to pinpoint a direction and abruptly stopped. Facing south, she licked her lips nervously and tasted the sweetness of fresh water. A rushing sound burst in her ears. The river. Her head snapped east toward the river path and she ran. As she careened down the narrow trail, the outstretched branches tugged at her dress, pulled off her shawl and clawed at her face and arms. She took no notice. The cadence of her footfalls beat out a mantra, not him, not him, not him. She rushed on faster, mumbling enchanted words under her breath.

She exploded out of the forest and stood on the riverbank as the bridge gave way, sending the horse and rider plunging into the angry current. Swiftly the horse surfaced and headed for shore with an empty saddle. She stood on the bank, still mumbling as she scanned the river until she glimpsed a clear red aura shining deep in its middle. Her relief was momentary when the blackness began to creep in. There wasn’t much time.

Quickly she pulled off her heavy dress and, wearing only her chemise, dove into the river. Save him was her only thought. Down she plunged kicking hard against the current. The usually clear water, now choked with mud, churned with debris. She screamed the words in her head and made her demands. In response, the current slowed and as the mud began to settle, a lifeless hand beckoned to her from below.


 Ruth A Casie close


Author Biography:

Ruth A. Casie’s first career as a Vice President and product manager for a major international bank took her around the world. Romance novels were her companions on the long flights and, when not with clients, solo dining experiences. On her travels, her imagination ran wild when she visited historic sites and ancient ruins. Now she loves to include little details from her travels, and her family, into her stories. In addition to writing historic fantasy time travel romance for Carina Press and Harlequin, Ruth is a participating author in the TIMELESS TALES short story series. Her book KNIGHT OF RUNES was a NJRW Golden Leaf Finalist in 2011. THE GUARDIAN’S WITCH was a RomCon Reader’s Crown Finalist in 2013. KNIGHT OF RAPTURE was a NJRW Golden Leaf finalist in 2015. You can reach her at , on Twitter @RuthACasie, at her Facebook page: or at Pinterest:


Social Media Links:


Blog: www.ruthacasie

Twitter: @RuthACasie




Do you have any questions for Lord Alex or Lady Lisbeth?


Meet Fish From Chump Change by Jeff Lee #CharacterInterview #books @jfredlee

It’s time for another interview and this time it’s my great pleasure to introduce Fish from Chump Change (written by Jeff Lee) to you all. Fish, why don’t you introduce yourself to everyone:

I dunno, not sure I’m all that special. Hell, I’ve got an eye on each side of my nose and my legs reach all the way to the ground. Add a pair of arms that are sleeved in tattoos and healthy dose of wise-ass, and you’ve pretty much got the whole package. My mother used to joke that they broke the mold before they made me. I mean, I’ve done a lot of different things in my life. Shipping and receiving for a big department store; been a restaurant line cook and a sous chef. Worked for a big-time, downtown law firm, helping the rich avoid the consequences of their actions. (Christ, whatever you do, don’t get me started on lawyers. Please!) Now I practice a little law here, a little bail jumper apprehension and vehicle repossession there. And when we’re not doing that, the two junior members of the firm and I try to spend as much time as we can lickity-splitting up and down the coast on our Harleys. Look, at the end of the day, if we’ve done what we said we’d do; didn’t fracture any major statutes getting it done; and nobody’s wearing any fresh plaster on their extremities, then it was a good day. And if I’ve managed to royally piss off one attorney or A-list player, then life is good.


NN Light: What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

Not knowing  when to keep my big, fat pie-hole buttoned & shut. You diss the mayor of a city the size of Los Angeles, or insult the worldwide head production for one of the major studios in a meeting, and they’re gonna come looking for a little payback. And sometimes, these bozos get pretty damn creative about it. But then again, hey, screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke.

NN Light: What is your greatest extravagance?

Hell, with what I do for a living, I can afford a number of things some people might see as extravagances. Like a house up on the cliffs in the Malibu barrio. And Kenny, Einstein and me fiddle-farting around on about 150K worth of custom Harleys. But, that’s just stuff. The real extravagance is that I only work with people I want to work with. If I don’t like a client, I can tell them to blow it out their little brown star, and walk away. And I’ve got friends – not just acquaintances. But guys (and women) I would trust with my life. Because I have. In a town like this, that’s an extravagance almost nobody can brag about.

NN Light: What is the quality you most like in a woman?

OK, beauty is definitely up there. I mean, in the final analysis, I am a guy. And L.A. is the paparazzi capital of the whole freakin’ world. But if a woman doesn’t take herself or this stupid town too seriously, if there’s a well-developed brain behind those gorgeous eyes, then yeah. She definitely has my attention.

NN Light: If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Maybe get myself in better shape. What can I say? I love to cook and I’m pretty damn good at it. So, maybe I’m a little more aerodynamic than I’d like to be. Especially with what I, and my two buds do for a living. I mean, sometimes, a simple bench warrant roundup can turn into a full-contact sport.

NN Light: What do you most value in your friends?

Honesty, loyalty and a sense of humor. Look, when it comes to stuff like this, I’m old school. I need to know my friends aren’t going to try to stick it to me when I’m not looking, because that’s something I just wouldn’t do. If you’re a friend of mine, I need to know that you’ve got my back, come Hell or high water. Because I’ve definitely got yours. And if I bust your gonads over a poker bluff you couldn’t turn, a date gone sideways, or even an ugly gift you picked out for your wife, I need you to be able to laugh with me. What’s more important, I want you to be able to return my little digs in spades. That’s what I look for in a friend.

NN Light: What is your motto?

“Non illigitamus carborundum.”

It’s Latin for, “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.”


Thank you, Fish, for that, ummm, honest interview. (chuckles) To read more about Fish and his adventures in L.A., check out:


Title:   Chump Change

Author:   Jeff Lee

Genre:    Comedy/crime/mystery/thriller/satire


Book Blurb:

You think being the Bounty Hunter and Repo Guy to the Stars is easy? Just talk to “Fish” Fishbein. If he isn’t trying to round up a heavily lubricated ex-rocker, he’s flying down the freeway in a repoed Wiener Mobile, chased by the pistol-packing deadbeat who owns it.

A bail bondsman hires him to track down a crew of un-wise guys who blew off their court date to snatch L.A.’s monthly parking meter take — 300 grand in quarters. Then they start dropping like flies. And Fish has to catch the killer.

Maybe it’s the city’s armed and dangerous Parking Meter Czar. Or his brother-in-law, a corrupt televangelist who needs some serious coin to bankroll his foray into Bible-based porn. Or the Rev’s wife and co-minister, who’s several clicks beyond bonkers about toddler beauty pageants. Or, it just might be the defrocked talent agent who’s dying to make Fish a reality TV star.

With more than seven tons of quarters at stake, bodies are dropping faster than turn-downs on America’s Got Talent. And if Fish and his hog-riding buds, Kenny and Einstein, don’t nab the killer in a hurry, they could get eliminated themselves.

   Chump Change is author Jeff Lee’s third book in his Adventures in La-La Land series, following The Ladies Temperance Club’s Farewell Tour and Hair of the Dog. If you enjoy the whacko characters, situations and fast pace that Janet Evanovich, Carl Hiaasen and Elmore Leonard bring to the party, check out all of Fish Fishbein’s big adventures.

WARNING: Contains some of the most hysterical erotica scenes ever written. 


Exclusive Excerpt:

“Yeah, I’m pretty damn happy to see you too.” Fish lifted Beast up and for a few moments, it was hard to tell which of the two pack members was happier to see the other.

Then, right in the middle of madly pumping his tiny legs in mid-air and trying to lick Fish’s nose, the little dog suddenly stiffened and started growling and barking in the direction of the front. Fish set him back down and Beast tore off for the front of the house, trailing a non-stop torrent of angry barks and growls that would have been more menacing, had he been about seventy pounds heavier.

A few months ago, right after their run-in with the hit man who talked like Marilyn Monroe, Fish had security around Big Dog Recoveries’ world headquarters building seriously beefed up.

Now there were motion sensors in the hallways and every window and exterior door was wired. And about a half dozen security cameras now kept an eye peeled 24/7 on the inside and outside of the house, including the front door.

While the doorbell was serenading the interior of the house with an eighties Aussie rock band musically musing Who Can It Be Now, Fish took a second to eyeball the video screen on the wall next to the door.

Some bozo was standing on the welcome mat, looking all Fred MacMurray in a shapeless, conservative business suit.

Fish didn’t have much of an issue with that. You didn’t see a lot of three-piece banker’s suits around this part of Malibu, but what the hay.

But he did have a problem with the way this stranger checked the snub-nosed .38 in his hand and then shoved it back into the waistband of his slacks.

He pushed the talk-back button on the monitor.


The man at the door was startled by Fish’s voice and jumped a little, almost dropping his gun.

“You Morris Fishbein?”

“Maybe. Why?”

Without taking his eyes off the monitor, Fish reached behind and back into the kitchen. The junk drawer was at the top of a floor cabinet where the kitchen counter ended at the doorway.

“Because you and I need to have a talk,” came back over the intercom.

Fish slid the drawer open, rooted around and pulled out a nine millimeter Glock trailing a couple of rubber bands and miscellaneous bits of flotsam and string. Sure, the gun wasn’t loaded, but the guy on the other side of his door probably wouldn’t have that piece of intel.

“OK, Wild Bill. This here’s a gun-free zone. You want to come in … then leave your six-shooter on the chair by the door.”

“Gun?” His visitor shrugged into the monitor, trying to look innocent and clueless. “What gun?”

Fish made a loud buzzer sound. “Ehhnck! Wrong answer, buckaroo. X gets the secret square. You want to try Rose Marie to block?”

“C’mon, it’s completely legal,” Fish’s wanna-be visitor fired back as he flipped open his wallet and held an official looking, City of L.A. stamped card up to the camera. “I even got a permit to carry. See?”

“So do a lot of other people, Hoss. But you don’t see any of them around here, either.”

The man on the monitor sighed in resignation. Then he grumbled under his breath as he pulled the pistol from his belt and set it on the chair next to the door.

“Good,” Fish took another look at the monitor, where the metal detector’s LED was still glowing red.

“Now, the back-up piece.”

On the monitor, his visitor opened his mouth to protest.

Then he had second thoughts, lifted his foot onto the chair and pulled a small caliber automatic from the holster velcroed around his ankle, and left it sitting next to its larger cousin.

“You happy now?”

“Uh huh, like the pig that found out it was too late for the luau,” Fish chuckled. “Just one more question, cowboy. Who the hell are you?”

The man dug a business card holder out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and held one of his cards up in front of the camera.

Fish could make out the official city of Los Angeles seal, but that was about it.

“The name’s Harry Fairweather.”

Fish unlocked the door and pulled it open, keeping the hand with the unloaded Glock out of view.

“Hey, Harry. Call me Fish.”

He held out his free hand for his visitor to shake, but the man pressed his business card into it, so Fish took a second to read over the card.

“Hmm, so when did the city of L.A. start making armed house calls?”

“You all done being cute, wise-ass? Can we talk now, or do I have to wait for the end of your show?”

“Mighty big words, Hopalong. Especially for a guy who left his shootin’ irons out in the front yard.”


Buy Links:


Jeff Lee

Author Biography:

Born near New York City and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area, Jeff Lee has spent his entire writing career in Los Angeles. For more than 35 years, he has been a copywriter, producer and creative director for some of the advertising industry’s most recognizable agencies, winning numerous awards for his creativity and wise-ass sense of humor. Typical for his industry, none of those ad agencies are still in business, but Jeff appears to have pretty solid alibis for the deaths of each one.

Retired from advertising, Jeff now spends his time on his own writing, having produced four novels – The Ladies Temperance Club’s Farewell Tour, Hair of the Dog, Chump Change and Bird Boy. Each of these books debuted to rave reviews, garnering all 4 and 5-star reviews.

Trained as a cook in the Army, he still enjoys being creative in the kitchen, and admits that few things in life compare with the thrill of discovering you’ve just given a nasty case of food poisoning to 140 heavily-armed troops.


Social Media Links:

Author Page:

Twitter: @jfredlee





Marcus Sinclair (Character Interview) Silent Cats @ShortonTimeBooks #thriller

Today it is my pleasure to sit down with MARCUS SINCLAIR from Silent Cats: Deadly Dance. He and his wife are covert operatives and this is his story. Please give Marcus a warm welcome (disregard his disguise, no pictures or video) to the Princess of the Light blog.

MRS N: What is your greatest fear?

There are two answers to this question: (Past tense) My greatest fear was having to live without my wife and children, which, as you know, was realized in 2005. Now, for over ten years, I spend my time trying to outrun depression and suicidal thoughts, daily. Quiet times by myself are physically painful. (Present tense) I am a person who really does not possess fear for myself, and since my greatest fear has already been realized, I would have to say that I fear for those who are presently close to me who really don’t understand how “wanted” I am; much less know who I am. One slip and I will, not only, be in front of a senate house committee testifying about real CIA torture techniques at Black Sites, I too, will disappear to a Black Site facing my own “creative” techniques.

MRS N: When and where were you happiest?

Right after our second girl was born. We were living in a small town between Naples (my work) and Rome (Kat’s work). Not to take away from our first girl, but somehow we treated her like a football. With both of us doing missions and assignments with various lengths of time, we had a crew of support (the Jewish community is hugely supportive), but when our second girl was born, somehow the concept of “family” really took hold. With the threat of death around every corner, my head injury in 1994 really put life into perspective. Our happiness only lasted about a year, then life came crashing down on us. Hard.

MRS N: If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I am fortunate in being both intelligent and extremely confident. A blessing and a curse. I understand the advantages these characteristics afford me in life. They serve me well and are, no doubt, related to the CIA’s reasons for recruiting me. However, they also tend to make me come across as arrogant to a great many of my fellow Americans. I am not. In certain people, I can induce outright fear. I am sure you can imagine what crazy personality traits come out of people when they enter fear mode. I should come with an owner’s manual. This is why Mensans are shunned. Well, okay, they’re also hard to talk to (I’ll concede that). My wife, also intelligent and extremely confident, was never accused of being arrogant. She had another trait, a condition magical to me, charisma. I’ve always coveted her condition. I would happily trade my “arrogant” mannerism for those who possess that “charisma” mannerism that allows them to do and say anything to anyone. When “charismatics” do speak their mind … people thank them for their “honesty.” When I speak my mind, I get punched. Oy vey!

MRS N: What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Professionally, my greatest achievement is still classified … as far as I know. But what I can say: I received an Intelligence Star for the action (End of Book 2). I always wanted to live up to my uncle’s standard as he received a distinguished intelligence medal (one level higher than my star) for his time in “Vietnam” (actually Laos, but “shhhhh” we were never in Laos, lol). He was truly, and I mean truly, an extraordinary individual (RIP, Uncle Bill).

Personally, my greatest achievement comes in two parts. The first part was being able to meet the high standard my wife set for us as parents. It is a long story and you will read about it in the next two books. The second part – having a great partner notwithstanding – was training these two little human beings, guiding their minds and bodies to become strong and self-sufficient, in the hope that one day they too will become great assassins (sorry … “intelligence officers”). Kat and I relied on no one, solely, to teach our children. We took full responsibility for our kids’ education, physicality, spirituality (both Western and Eastern), and decision-making processes. Yes, I know, how rare to teach decision analysis to kids. Why not? We as parents were able to stay one, and occasionally, two steps ahead of our kids at all times. On each of their birthdays, Kat and I would sit our younglings down and help them set their goals for the year. Example, they were SCUBA diving at ten years old and sky diving at twelve. Of course, sometimes we cheated and threw them curveballs once in a while, but nevertheless, we would sit down and discuss every plan before putting it into motion. Kids’ participation highly encouraged. You could say we “handled” our kids just like any intelligence officer on mission. It was really fun! I miss them so much. So much.

MRS N: Where would you most like to live?

We had this little two-bedroom flat in Montreux, Schweiz. It faced west and looked out over Lake Geneva with the Freddie Mercury statue below, on Grand-Rue. It was fantastic in the summer and with Gstaad an hour and a half away, winter wasn’t too bad, either. I think it’s time to go back and visit Freddie. Kat didn’t mind Montreux, though she would say Paris is her city.

MRS N: What is your most treasured possession?

I wear it around my neck 24/7. Kat and I did our first mission together in late 1994 (Act I of Book 3) in Bangkok, Thailand. When we finished, Kat bought this two-piece Yin-Yang pendant. She wore the Yin (Moon) and I wore the Yang (Sun). This was Kat showing her support for me deciding to be a student of Taoism (Yes, it too will be in Book 3). When I returned to Tel Aviv in 2005 to claim her and my daughter’s bodies, the Yin pendant was still around her neck. The medical examiner told me that no one dared take it off her body, considering my reputation for having a short temper coupled with how protective I was of her. After the sitting Shiva, I shaved my beard, then placed the Yin-Yang pendant around my neck (yes, three years later everyone involved was dead). It hasn’t left my body since. When I re-marry – I know Kat would want me to – I will give the Yin to my new bride. Hopefully, she will understand the significance.

MRS N: Which historical figure do you most identify with?

Vlad Draculea, Crown Prince of Wallachia, also known as Vlad the Impaler, or “Dracula.” Vlad was a medieval Romanian prince famed for his brutal torture techniques and vicious lust for battle. In reality, the reverse was true. Vlad lived in a time when the torture techniques he employed were commonplace, but like all history, “truth” is written by the victorious. Read what the Russians think of him. He was actually a member of the ‘Order of the Dragon’, an order of Hungarian knights sworn to protect Christian lands from the Muslim Ottoman Empire. I was part of a group called, “Shadow Knights” and performed many international actions, sometimes without heads of state knowing. However, our methods for obtaining success were, shall we say, creative, but effective. Vlad’s reputation best represents my own reputation as a “Hunter” and “Black Site Interrogator,” and as most of us know, it’s very easy to take what I do professionally out of context and apply it to me as a person. I did evil things to evil people and saved thousands of lives. I think Machiavelli summed it up nicely in The Prince, “[M]en judge generally more by the eye than by the hand …” Though disappointing, is very true. What if I told you my wife and I lived next door to you in suburban America? Did you know we were in the same PTA as you and our kids played soccer with your kids? Surprised? There are careers, when taken on a superficial level, can be construed as “horrific” and most people would stop there. People who judge are just bad people (yes, I would like to shove a spike through their … right?). More often than not, they have zero facts and live on subjective “opinion.” I try to avoid these people, considering my skill set. All I can say is this … we stand on the frontlines and say, “No one will hurt you tonight.” Please don’t judge us. Just say, “Thank you.”

MRS N: What is your greatest regret?

When we left Chicago in 2005 there was a significant, and I mean significant, discussion about Kat and the girls going to Tel Aviv without me. I had no interest in the “stuff” we accumulated. I wanted to sell or give away everything and leave the states. She said, “No. When the girls go to university (Sorbonne, of course), we could come back to San Diego and sit on that bench above La Jolla cave and stare out at the sunset and Scripps pier. Yeah, she had her romantic tendencies. Letting them go to Israel without me made the hair stand up on the back of my neck, but I acquiesced. You have no idea how unbelievably painful that regret is on a daily basis.

MRS N: How would you like to die?

Fast. Undoubtedly, I will be caught by one of Donald Rumsfeld’s boys one day. I just don’t want done to me what I did to so, so many others.

MRS N: What is your favorite quote?

I have two I live by …

“A dream with a plan is a goal; a dream without a plan is a wish.” – Marcus Sinclair, CIA Operations Officer, GS-13

“An obstacle is something a person sees when they take their eyes off their goal.” – E. Joseph Cossman, Businessman

Thank you, Marcus, for taking the time to sit down with me for an interview. You can find out more about Marcus in the recently released book, Silent Cats: Deadly Dance by J. D. Wallace.


Silent Cats Front Cover 2 RGB SM


Title: Silent Cats: Deadly Dance

Author: J. D. Wallace

Genre: Thriller, Mystery, Spy



A woman and her two daughters are killed in a car bombing in Tel Aviv. The woman, Kat, a sophisticated academic, is also a Mossad assassin of nearly twenty years. Her husband, Pantera, identifies the bodies of his wife and children, swearing vengeance. Reaching as far back as 1989, to their meeting in Rome at a U.S. Embassy New Year’s Eve ball, Deadly Dance starts the story of their relationship in the onion-layered world of covert operatives. Of necessity theirs is an encounter beset by lies wrapped in half-truths, concealed in shadowy realities. Kat and Pantera maneuver through action-packed covert operations, romantic encounters, torture and acrobatic combat, all while coming to grips about who they’re hunting and who is hunting them.

Deadly Dance is based on the life of the youngest Kidon Katsa agent in the history of Mossad and her husband, the fabled Chief Black Site Interrogator, who worked under such special access programs as the Operation Copper Green (created under Donald Rumsfeld), the United Nations Security Council – Special Operations Group (UN-SOG), and Task Forces 88 and 121.

Buy Link:

JD Wallace picture

Author Biography:

After spending the first ten years of his career with a US-based intelligence agency, Mr. Wallace went on to work for foreign intelligence agencies, law firms, political figures, royals, sovereigns and private corporations for the next twenty years. He is considered one of the top corporate infiltrators in the world. Mr. Wallace holds Bachelors’ degrees in Mammalian Physiology and Environmental Chemistry and a Master’s degree in Physiology/Nutrition and an MBA in Finance. Currently the widower resides in San Diego, California, with his Welsh Border Collie — “Kelly.” This is his first novel.

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Exclusive: Erin Holland from Hollywood Stardust Series @kimcarmichael4 #romance #books

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be a movie star? Me too and I’m so excited because I had the rare pleasure to interview Erin Holland from author Kim Carmichael’s Hollywood Stardust series. First, an introduction:


Seriously, I need no introduction if you’ve ever stepped inside a movie theatre or if you have eyes you know who I am.  Anyways, I am Erin Holland, star, pure and simple.  Though I’ve been acting my whole life, my breakout role was as Roxy in the movie Hollywood Stardust.  I spent the rest of my career trying to break free of her, and now I only want her back.  Seems like my whole life is spent trying to reclaim what I lost.


NN: What is your greatest fear?

I’ll never see Drew again and I’ll live my whole life wondering what could have been.

NN: What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

The fact that I’ve chosen fame above anything, worried about my reputation and what others would think instead of going after what I wanted.

NN: What is the trait you most deplore in others?

That others can make decisions and follow their hearts.  I never felt like I had that option.

NN: What is your greatest extravagance?

My wardrobe, of course.  That, and every once in a while I’ll sneak some chocolate and peanut butter.

NN: What is your current state of mind?

I don’t know.  I feel until I can straighten out things with Drew my life is in a holding pattern.  Then again I’ve been in that holding pattern for twenty years waiting for him to come back.

NN: On what occasion do you lie?

I’m an actress, I lie for a living.

NN: What do you most dislike about your appearance?

Nothing and everything.  I look in the mirror and see the starlet of twenty years ago, but deep down I know I’m not her.

NN: What is the quality you most like in a man?

Loyalty and consistency.  I just want to wake up and know that person will still be there.

NN: What or who is the greatest love of your life?

Drew, although I didn’t know it at the time.  I forced him to go and then spent the next twenty years wanting him back.

NN: Where would you most like to live?

Anywhere where Drew is.

NN: What is your greatest regret?

Not following my heart.

NN: Thank you so much, Erin Holland, for spending time with us. I sure appreciate it. If you’d like to know more about Erin and Drew, please read below.

Limelight cover

Title: Limelight

Author: Kim Carmichael

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Book Blurb:

Worth The Wait…

Twenty years ago, Drew Fulton was made famous in the genre-changing movie, Hollywood Stardust and fell in love with his costar, Erin Holland. Left heartbroken and fed up, he played his ultimate role and walked away from his life, taking on an entirely new persona. Now he wants everything back, from his place in the limelight to the love that made him leave. He only needs to make sure he can leave the past in the past.

Known as the spoiled, has-been star of Hollywood, Erin Holland has spent the last two decades pining away for the one love she cannot have. Blindsided when Drew Fulton appears in her life as mysteriously as he disappeared, she is torn between acting on her heart and using Drew’s reappearance to relight her star.

Together for the first time in twenty years, their true passion consumes them, but the sparks of old wounds still threaten to burn out of control before they can decide if their love was worth waiting for.

Limelight is a Hollywood Stardust novel. All books are stand alone, no cliff hangers, with their own central couple. They can be read in any order.

Exclusive Excerpt:

At last, she looked at him. Though it always appeared as if he were a little disheveled in a cute, scientist sort of way, at the moment he looked like the Santa Ana wind attacked him and left him with yesterday’s razor stubble. And people said appearances didn’t matter. His told her everything she needed to know.

“Well, let me explain then.” She stood and let the coat drip off her as she made her way over to him. Pushing his papers aside, she sat right down on his desk. “Normally when a man wakes up he has quite an incredible erection, and the naked woman in his bed is usually preferred over his own hand to alleviate the situation.”

“Is that what you wanted?” He stared into her eyes.

“Of course that’s what I wanted. Maybe I would have settled for a kiss and some kind words, but I’m not known for settling.”

“Didn’t you get what you had been after last night?”

“What does that mean?” Her jaw clenched, but she remained still as to not show too much emotion.

He answered with a lift of his eyebrows.

She leaned forward. “I don’t need your pity screw.”

“It wasn’t me who gave the pity screw.”

She took a second to absorb his words and once sure she had them right, she needed to say them aloud. “You think I gave you a pity screw?”

“Call it what you will. Don’t worry, I won’t say a word, no one would believe we were together anyway.” He glared at her.

His words slammed into her. “That was twenty years ago.”

“We landed on the moon over forty years ago, but it doesn’t make it less true.”

Her eyes heated, tears wanted to fall. He would never let her forget. No matter what they wanted, those words would haunt her forever. “Can you explain if I am so repulsed by you why I would even bother with a pity screw?”

He shrugged. “Who knows with you? Part pity, part conquest, part trying to pay your way?”

“Are you calling me a whore?” She ground her teeth together. How did the most important and special night of her entire life turn into an argument about her being a prostitute?

“Erin.” He used the same condescending tone everyone did when they thought she didn’t understand something perfectly simple.

“Do I have to pay you since I came?” She slid off his desk, knocking some papers to the ground in the process. “I mean if it is a job, I shouldn’t have enjoyed it.”

“Did you?” He sat back.

“Did I what?” Without taking her eyes off him, she swooped up the papers.

He pursed his lips.

“Oh, I get it, since it was my pity, conquest, pay for my keep screw, I must have faked it. I mean I’m an actress, right?” She walked across the room to retrieve her items. “Is that what you think?”

“I’m not going to go through the motions so you can feel better Erin.”

“No, I agree. Apparently the words of an eighteen-year-old saying something stupid will drown out everything else.” She crumpled his papers in her fist. “That same eighteen–year-old also has a scar on her hand from where she pounded on your car, begging for you to listen to me. Then, she was the twenty-two-year-old who lost a role because it was a comedy audition and she couldn’t stop crying because it was your birthday. Forget the thirty-something-year-old who now has the reputation for being a lunatic because she’s always searching for the one person who was missing from her life.”

Without any reaction, he simply sat there staring at her performance. She practically expected him to clap. Logan thought he was typecast. Apparently he never auditioned for Drew then he would have no doubt. Willing him to say anything, she went to pick up her coat, but first glanced at the papers. A quick scan told her everything else she needed to know, and she dropped the documents to the floor. They were garbage anyway.

“You know, I’ll give you one thing. Maybe you were a conquest. I waited for twenty years to be with you. I missed everything, I missed you earning your degree, I missed your success…” Once more, the tears threatened and she looked up. “I missed picking out the ceiling tiles in here.”

At last, he stood.

Refusing to cry real tears in front of him, she exhaled. “A conquest only means you won, it doesn’t mean you don’t want to keep what you fought so hard for. I only wish you told me I wasn’t in the running.”

Refusing to hear anything he had to say, she clutched her purse to her chest and headed for the escape route. “Just so you know, I’m not that good of an actress. Maybe I was a bit over the top, but I was really turned on. You turned me on.” She opened the door, but before leaving, turned to him. “If you were the gentleman you always pretend to be, maybe this morning you could have found out for yourself if my orgasms were real or not.”

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Kim Carmichael photo

Author Biography:

Kim Carmichael began writing ten years ago when her love of happy endings inspired her to create her own. She has a weakness for bad boys and techno geeks, and married her own computer whiz after he proved he could keep her all her gadgets running. When not writing, she can usually be found slathered in sunscreen trolling Los Angeles and helping top doctors build their practices.

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Twitter @kimcarmichael4

Blog Tour: Meet Sally From Planting the Seeds of Love #ASMSG #IARTG #MFRWAuthor

PTSOL banner

It’s Friday and that means it’s time for some fun! I’m so excited because Sally from Planting the Seeds of Love: A Novella agreed to an interview and it’s featured exclusively on Kate Hill’s blog:

She’d love to meet you and I’d be interested to know your thoughts. I had such fun telling her story. 🙂

Thank you, again, for your support and have a wonderful day!

MRS N aka N. N. Light

N N Light Book Cover Photo

Character Interview Rebeka – Knight of Rapture @RuthACasie #Romance #BookPromo #MFRWAuthor

Character Interview Rebeka – Knight of Rapture

I’d like to introduce you to Professor Rebeka Tyler, from Kensington University in Upstate New York and Oxford University in England. Dr. Tyler has an interesting background that I think you’ll find as fascinating as the lady herself. Thank you for being with us today.

Thank you for having me, but I’m really nothing special.

Nothing special! I have the quote from your husband, Lord Arik, right here,” MRS N said flipping through her papers. “Ah, here it is. Rebeka never thought herself a warrior, a renowned authority on Medieval and Renaissance studies, yes, a martial arts amateur, absolutely, but a warrior, definitely not. But I couldn’t have saved the family or our beloved Fayne Manor without her by my side.” You do know it’s not everyone who can travel four hundred years into the past to find true happiness?

Why don’t we get on with your questions.


How did you first meet your writer, Ruth A. Casie?

“It was 2011. I was at Fayne Manor and decided to take the tour bus to see the standing stones at Avebury. Ruth was my seat-mate. We talked about the stones and their age then fantasized about what people from the past would think about things in this century.”

Did you ever think that your life would end up being in a book?

“Not, in a hundred years! I never thought anyone would think my life was that exciting. I’m a history professor. So, I went back in time four hundred years. Is that something to write about?” Rebeka winked at the reporter.

What are your favorite scenes in your book: the action, the dialog or the romance?

“The romance, for sure. What woman wouldn’t love a man who breaks all the rules and travels through time to rescue her? I’m humbled thinking about what he was willing to sacrifice to find me.”

Did you have a hard time convincing your author to write any particular scenes for you?

“Ruth had a difficult time writing the scene when Arik had to return to his century without me. He had promised me we would never be apart again. But to save me, he had to return without me. It took Ruth days to finally get to the place where she could write  Arik’s frustration and defeat. Each time she worked on that scene she cried and I cried with her.”

What do you like to do when you are not being actively read somewhere?

“Aside from spending time with Arik there are several things I like to do. I enjoy researching the old documents in Arik’s massive library. Some of the manuscripts date back centuries. They are excellent examples of well-kept codices.

“I also like to spend time with Arik’s nieces. The girls were orphaned before I came to Fayne Manor. They are dear to me. We have a good time together.”

Are you happy with the genre your writer has placed you in?

“I love historic fantasy. Mine is a time travel story. It was difficult at first. In Knight of Runes I was a modern woman and in a man’s world. I thought as a history professor, specializing in this time period that I was prepared. Hardly. I had so much to learn about how to survive in the 17th century. Thankfully, Arik and the others wanted to learn about the 21st century. So in the end, I got to the live in the best of both worlds.

“In this book, Knight of Rapture, Bran, an evil druid, tricked me into the future. Arik’s the only one who can rescue me. He finds his way to me and gets a real taste of the future. He really looks hot on a motorcycle. Actually, he looks hot on anything!”

If you could rewrite anything in your book, what would it be?

“You mean change history. I wish Caylyn, Bran’s wife hadn’t died. That’s what drove Bran crazy and started the feud between him and Arik.”

Do you like the way the book ended?

“Yes, I love the way the book ended and I won’t say anymore. You’ll have to read Knight of Rapture to find out. When you do, let me know what you think.”

Would you be interested in a sequel, if your writer was so inclined?

“I’m glad you asked. Ruth has plans for a third story, Knight of Redemption. I have it on good authority that it will be out the middle of next year.”

What do you wear when you go to sleep?

“Nothing. Neither does Arik. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.”

What other profession would you like to try?

“If I chose another profession I’d be an herbalist. I love plants. I planted an herb garden at Fayne Manor. They thrived there. The villagers came to the garden often, so much so that I started the herbarium.”

What is your most favorite memory?

“My favorite memory is the day I packed up to leave for college. My dad was a history professor. He specialized in Celtic folklore. He gave me his walking stick. I had no idea that he was a druid grand master and that his walking stick was special. I took it with me everywhere I went. I felt lost without it. It’s my most prized possession.”

What’s your most favorite day?

“My wedding day, both of them. I married Arik at Fayne Manor in the 17th century and again in 21st. Both days were glorious. I love him more every day. He is my heart and my beloved.”

“That’s all the time we have for today. Thank for joining us today Rebeka. I’m sure my audience is eager to read about you and Lord Arik in Knight of Rapture.”

Knight of Rapture Final Cover RACasie

Book: Knight of Rapture

Author: Ruth A. Casie

Genre: Historical Fantasy, Time Travel, Medieval

Book Blurb:

He crossed the centuries to find her…

For months Lord Arik has been trying to find the right combination of runes to create the precise spell to rescue his wife, Rebeka, but the druid knight will soon discover that reaching her four hundred years in the future is only the beginning of his quest. He arrives in the 21st century to find her memory of him erased, his legacy on the brink of destruction, and traces of dark magick at every turn.

A threat has followed…

Bran, the dark druid, is more determined than ever to get his revenge. His evil has spread across the centuries. Arik will lose all. Time is his weapon, and he’s made sure his plan leaves no one dear to Arik, in past or present, safe from the destruction.

But their enemy has overlooked the strongest magick of all…

Professor Rebeka Tyler is dealing with more than just a faulty memory. Ownership of Fayne Manor, her home, has been called into question. Convenient accidents begin happening putting those she cares for in the line of fire. And then there’s the unexpected arrival of a strange man dressed like he belonged in a medieval fair—a man who somehow is always around when needed, and always on her mind. She doesn’t know who to trust. But one thing is certain. Her family line and manor have survived for over eleven centuries. She won’t let them fall, not on her watch… in any century.

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Author Biography:

Ruth A. Casie writes contemporary and historical fantasy romance for Carina Press, Harlequin and Timeless Scribes Publishing. Formerly from Brooklyn, New York, she lives in New Jersey with her very supportive husband Paul. When not writing you can find Ruth reading, cooking, doing Sudoku, or counted cross-stitch. Ruth and Paul have three grown children and two grandchildren.  They all thrive on spending time together.  It’s certainly a lively dinner table and they wouldn’t change it for the world. She loves to hear from readers, so drop her a line at OR visit her on Facebook: or on Twitter: @RuthACasie. If you’d like to receive her occasional newsletter, please sign up at For more information about Ruth’s books, please visit

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Meet Azrael from Angelic Business by @OlgaNM7 #characterinterview #fantasy #ASMSG

Interview with Azrael (one of the characters in the trilogy Angelic Business)

Portrait of a young handsome male model
Portrait of a young handsome male model

Hi Azrael. Thanks for agreeing to this interview.

It’s a pleasure.

It’s the first time I have an angel as my guest.

Well, I don’t get many interviews either. To tell you the truth, it’s my first one.

To tell the truth? You’re an angel. Don’t you always tell the truth?

“The Truth” is not  as clear cut as people might think. I guess you’d say it’s…relative. It’s not my area of expertise. The legal department would probably be better able to answer. But perhaps we should start with the questions. I have a busy schedule and we don’t want to lose track.

Yes, yes, of course… If you don’t mind, some of the readers had some questions…

Of course.

Here… OK, this is not me. It’s a reader. She wants to know…let me see…How should I put this? OK, she says G seems to be more interesting than you in the novels. You know, Gregorious, the demon…

Yes, yes, I know who G is. Thanks.

Of course you do. Sorry.

No, no. It’s just, I was expecting that. G always says that. Blah, blah, boring. Blah, blah, predictable. I don’t know. I guess it’s that bad boy thing, isn’t it? People, human beings, seem to think that straight laced good guys aren’t quite as interesting as shady characters. I don’t think it’s true, though.

I guess people think there are more shades of badness. I don’t think we shouldn talk about shades… Although, it’s true that your character is a bit distant, at least in the first two novels.

Perhaps it’s true that G being in human form gives him some advantage and makes it easier to connect with him. I had never had that experience. And had a very important job to do. I had to focus. That was all my training had been about. Not so much about understanding young girls.

You seemed to experience a big change in book three.

You’re right. I’d never been so close to human beings before. It was very different for me. A real shock to the system. And enlightening. I came to understand humans a bit better, I think.

And you seemed to get very close to Pink.

(Here Angel smiles, a beautiful smile.) Yes, I guess.

Had you ever had that type of feelings for another human?

No, of course not. She’s special. However much she insists she isn’t.

That it very true. But let’s not reveal too many things. People haven’t read the last novel yet. Here, somebody asks: what was the thing you most enjoyed?

The holiday. We don’t get holidays in Heaven. Although the fancy-dress party was pretty good too. Until close to the end.

Confident young businessman in suit and tie
Confident young businessman in suit and tie

No spoilers, please.


Here… This question is for me. They want to know if you’re as gorgeous as Pink describes you. Well, girls, ladies and everybody… OH, YES.

Now, don’t exaggerate.

But it’s true!

I’m sure God would be pleased to hear you appreciate his taste. And talking about God, I should be making a move.

Just one more question. Here: Will there be more adventures?

There will be more adventures, but if they’ll become books or not, it probably depends on how busy Pink is and on the readers’ opinion. I’m sure she could be persuaded if people were really interested. It’s been a pleasure to meet you!

And you too! Regards!


 llibre 3_ ing

Book Title: Angelic Business 3. Pink, Angel or Demon?

Author Name: Olga Núñez Miret

Genre: YA, fantasy/paranormal (angels and demons)

Book Blurb:

OK, OK, OK. Pink gets it. She’s the Elected, whether she likes it or not. Heaven and Hell are closing in, and their envoys are closer home than ever. So close she can’t ignore them. And she’ll do everything but.

However long she has, she’s determined to make it count. She’ll sort her friends out, she’ll help her family and, she’ll live a bit. And then, she’ll take charge. Because no one will say that Pink went down without a fight. However big and bad the enemy.

Gender benders, romances, old loves that come to fruition, new challenges, divine interventions, tears, laughter and magic. All of that and more. Because, if you‘re gonna go, you might as well go with a bang.

Exclusive Excerpt:

On Saturday afternoon, as we were debating what we might do, Jackson turned up with the tall next door neighbour Sylvia had been telling us about. Angel. He introduced him to us.

It was the weirdest thing. I knew there was something special the moment I saw him close to Jackson. It was similar to what I had felt when Sylvia mentioned his name, but multiplied exponentially. Lorna said hi, but I had to touch him.

“Hello. I’m Pink. Well, Petra, but I prefer Pink.” I offered him my hand.

“Hi Petra. Pink.” He shook mine. I felt like electricity was going through me. I looked at him. He looked at me. It was as if I were falling into the abyss. I’m not sure how long we were holding hands and looking at each other in the eyes. It seems Sylvia had to repeat her question about drinks before we answered.


We both kept looking at each other and I had to make a huge effort to move away and go to the kitchen.

“What was that?” Lorna asked as she followed me inside to help with the drinks.

“I don’t know. I felt a connexion…Strange.”

“He’s not really that attractive. Sylvia is right. Other than tall, there isn’t much to him. I didn’t fancy G, although I must admit he had something but this guy…I didn’t think you believed in love at first sight.”

“And I don’t. It isn’t love it’s…I don’t know.”

While we were sipping drinks and making general chit-chat, I could not help but keep looking at him. I knew I was behaving quite weirdly and Sylvia, in particular, couldn’t believe it. She’d been trying to convince me to go out with her brother, who was much more attractive than Angel, and I had refused, and now…And the weirdest thing was that it was mutual. I wondered if he experienced the same pull I felt, as if we were magnets facing each other with the opposite charged poles. Very weird.

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Author Biography:

Olga Núñez Miret is from Barcelona although now lives in the UK. She’s a psychiatrist who has always loved to read and write and now also does translations.

She has a PhD in American Literature, an MSc in Criminology, but her main interest is to tell stories. The Man Who Never Was is the first book she published and was followed by Twin Evils? a YA novella about sibling rivalry taken to extremes, Click Me Happy! a romantic novel with three endings to choose from, Escaping Psychiatry a collection of three noir stories with a psychiatrist as protagonist and/or victim, Family, Lust and Cameras a story of obsessions, voyeurism and “alternative” family relationships and I Love Your Cupcakes a sweet romantic novel set in the world of culinary TV contests. Her latest publication is a YA paranormal trilogy, Angelic Business. The book 1 in the series is called Pink Matters, and book 2 Shapes of Greg.

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