When at first you don’t succeed–turn to abduction.
It’s all in a day’s work when this Russian Siberian tiger meets the woman he wants.
An accidental kidnapping? Check.
A forced marriage? Check.
A virgin bride? Damn. There go his plans for seduction and here comes the pressure into making her first time perfect. Because everyone knows that’s the one she’ll remember, forever. Gulp.
Add in a plane crash as well as hunters out to capture them and the heat is truly on.
Can this suave Russian mobster meet the challenge?
Now some would probably say, if he knew he was being chased, and if he valued his hide, then all he had to do was give Teena up. Leave her behind and go home.
To that, the man, not the beast, growled, “Hell no.”
But escaping with her was only part of the steps to ensure their future. Once he reached his homeland, he’d have only a little time to convince her to keep him before the council became involved. They tended to frown on shifters, even practically royal ones, abducting women.
Apparently it was so eighteen hundreds.
Awareness came with the speed of cold honey spooling from a dangling spoon. Slowly. So slowly, and that was why it took the third time for her to grasp someone spoke.
“Say I do.”
“Hunh?” Eyes closed, and the lids too heavy to lift, her mouth a fuzzy peach in need of water, Teena’s mind struggled to wake from the most molasses sleep ever.
“Say I do,” hissed an accented voice, a voice that seemed familiar. But it was the scent that made her smile. Manly musk intermixed with a spicy cologne. It seemed her Russian admirer was still at her side. Had she fallen asleep on him at the party?
It was so hard to remember.
“Repeat after me. I. Do.”
What did she do? Forcing her brain into gear, she strove to recall events. Last she remembered, she was weaving back to the house after her sister’s wedding—drunk as hell because she was so mad at her interfering family—when Dmitri, that sexy Russian, waylaid her. He’d made sure the ground didn’t get fresh with her body parts. Instead, he let them get fresh with his solid frame.
He held her in his arms. Said stuff. Nice stuff. But forget that and fast forward to the exciting part where he kissed her.
Oh my. Upon her he bestowed a masterful kiss that melted her. She remembered the sense of weakness in her limbs. The roam of his hands, then…?
Her brow wrinkled. She couldn’t recollect anything past the amazing kiss.
Nothing. At all.
Had she seriously fallen asleep during the most intense embrace of her life?
Was this why Dmitri held her in his arms, his musky scent surrounding her? “Wake, little kitten. Just for a moment. I need you to say I do.”
“I do?” Do what? Surely he didn’t demand permission to kiss her again? Was he after something else? Blerg. She wished her brain wasn’t such a sluggish mess.
Giving her cobwebbed thoughts a mental shake, she pried her eyes open in time to see Dmitri’s handsome face hovering close to hers. She also heard the words, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Before she could grasp what had happened, lips pressed against hers in a molten touch that melted her questions and awakened a fire. The kiss didn’t help her regain her senses. On the contrary, she slipped into a pleasurable state with only one real thought in mind—more.
More kisses. More heat. More Dmitri.
The arms wrapped around her body held her upright and a good thing, too, seeing as how her legs had the consistency of soft rubber. A tiny part of her remarked she should protest, or at least make an effort to assert some kind of control.
She wasn’t firing on all cylinders. A sluggishness still held her. It occurred to her she should cry and be frightened, and yet…
She truly was enjoying the soft mesh of lips and the warmth of his breath. Or she was until she found herself deposited in a chair. Talk about a rude awakening.
Her body lamented the loss of the warmth from his while her inner lioness meowed in frustration. A frustration she understood all too well, given the ardor he woke refused to settle so easily.
Struggling against the lassitude in her body, she managed to flutter her eyes open, not that it helped her comprehension much. She didn’t recognize her surroundings.
A pen was pushed into her hands. “Sign here,” Dmitri’s accented voice purred in her ear.
“What is it?” she muttered through numb lips as she struggled to remain awake. She peered blearily at the white sheet in front of her, to no avail. The words on the paper wavered.
“It is what you want.”
Truly? Because…I want him.
Without giving it a second thought, she signed.
Then he did too, using the same pen she had, his bold signature alongside hers on the marriage certificate.
Nope, the words on the paper hadn’t change.
She stabbed a finger at the paper, not trusting herself to speak. But if she had, it might have sounded a lot like her father, but with fewer swear words. What the fuck just happened?
He answered her unspoken question. “We are husband and wife, little kitten.”
Oh my. How unexpected.
Married. She was married. To Dmitri. I am married to the tiger.
Hunh, a coerced wedding, a first for the family and certainly never a disaster her sister had ever managed.
Point for me?
No, because Meena evaded Dmitri’s plans.
I, on the other hand, fell like a domino. Worse, I didn’t see it coming. I really thought he liked me. Thought he’d meant it when he said he would woo her and prove his intent.
What a jerk, kidnapping her like this and marrying her on the sly. Making her his wife.
Could a lioness giggle? Her inner feline certainly seemed a tad too pleased.
His mate. The mental rumble vibrated through her body like a ghostly purr, one that left her senses alive.
Are you going to stand up and assert your rights?
“You can’t force me to marry you. Tell him.” She addressed the latter to the man dressed in a suit with a clerical collar of black and white, some kind of religious guy. Surely he wouldn’t condone this farce. “Tell him it doesn’t count because I didn’t agree.”
“You said I do,” Dmitri reminded her.
“Because you told me to while I wasn’t even awake. It doesn’t count. And why is that priest ignoring me?”
“Little kitten, if you calm down, we can—”
“I will not calm down.” She lunged from the chair, only belatedly realizing the flimsiness of it.
The plastic bucket chair with its metal legs, a relic from the seventies, cracked. The hand she’d used to push off slid as the plastic snapped, and she lost her balance. Tipping sideways, she threw out her hand, but her reflexes were still kind of woozy and she missed, hitting the floor with her shoulder then a ricochet of her head. Damned industrial marble floor.
She lay there, at an angle, stunned, and also exposing a lot more leg than she should. Through squinted eyes, she noted her skirt riding high on her hip.
Dmitri noticed too. Interest smoldered in his gaze, a gaze stolen by the collared man, who cleared his throat.
How dare he steal Dmitri’s attention?
“Now, now, little kitten, give me a moment to deal with this obviously brave man, daring your vicious rage.”
Hello, my name is Eve and I am a Canadian author who loves to write hot romance, usually with hot shifters, cyborgs or aliens. I should warn you that I possess a twisted imagination and a sarcastic sense of humor something I like to let loose in my writing.
I love to write, and while I don't always know what my mind is going to come up with next, I can promise it will be fun, probably humorous and most of all romantic, because I love a happily ever after.
Thanks so much for coming by and checking me out. If you'd like to know more, read some excerpts or find out what's coming next, then please visit me at http://www.EveLanglais.com
Well today I made some changes to my blog, more than anything on the tabs, For you author's I made a special tab for you with all you need to know, my Review Policy, My Services and Fee (they're two tabs because one is promotions and the other one is for graphics and PR services).
Additional to that I have a new service called Rush Review that will put your review on top of my list for a minimum amount of money.
I added a tab on blog events for Thunderclaps so if any of you have one you can feature it on my blog, no charge for this one, you can send me a message and I will put it there so everyone can participate.
If I do more changes in the next month I will let you know =)
Jeramiah Poe isn’t just any character in the Realm of Fiction; he is Muse Master—Destiny Diviner—Mysterious Miskriat. Being of neither the Traditional Genre Provinces nor Independent, Poe enjoys an eternal lease on life, so long as his Scribbler keeps him out of publication.
Poe meets Kane, a seven-year-old boy from the Independent Horror Province, where he learns ancient codes are being broken and the horror that should be an act, is real.
But the evil clutching Octava is not new and Seven Arks have been sent to Earth to stop it.
Only something has gone wrong and Poe is commissioned as the 8th Ark of Octava to discover what has become of the Seven.
But his passage to Earth comes with revelations he's not prepared for. Not only does his Scribbler not know of his existence, he's a she that his human form seems allergic to.
Poe soon realizes that with each Ark he locates, his powers grow along with his feelings for the Scribbler. And the enemy will try and use both to gain control of the two realms.
The fellow hurried forward, gripping Poe’s arm. “Do you even know who is on duty there?”
The man shook his head. “Then you know it’s not safe.”
“Of course it is.”
“With all due respect,” the man said quietly, “Dr. Science and Hop-A-Long Cassidy are both cruel beings, they—”
“What nerve,” Poe said. “The good Doctor and Hoppy happen to be my friends.”
The fellow stepped back as though treading carefully, staring intently at Poe. “But… I’ve heard bad things about any who attempt to obtain energy from The Bog with those two. Rumor has it they’re not too happy with the job.”
“And I don’t blame them!” Poe downed his tea in one shot and tossed his cup into the copper sink with a clank. ”Imagine living lives of fictional adventure for centuries and then being stuck on Bog duty in the Romance Province.” Poe didn’t hold back his growl of disgust. “They must be bored out of their minds.”
The man glanced at his wife and back at Poe, confused. “I… heard they sucked a man’s energy until he disappeared.”
“An exaggerated story. The man broke clear Bog protocol.”
“By not dancing fast enough?”
Poe shrugged with wide eyes. “Rules are made for a reason. And I know the Doc and Hoppy, they had good reason. Plus the man was a second class Miskriat.”
The man drew his head back. “Miskriats are people too.”
Anger flashed through Poe. “I never said they were not. But for logic’s sake and my patience, both of which you have bankrupt, you, lover boy, are a registered inhabitant of Octava, therefore under the protection of the realm’s laws. The Bog’s Guardians are not capable of harming you. Since second class Miskriats exist only in the minds of their Scribblers,” Poe reminded, fluttering his fingers at his temple, “they are not warranted by Octava’s laws.”
The gent spun and put his back to Poe as heated whispers erupted between the two. He finally faced him again. “Are you not Miskriat as well?”
Poe stiffened at the scent of trickery. “What does that matter to you?”
The woman answered this time. “We… wouldn’t want to put your life in danger.”
The lie sparked against his shields, angering him greatly. “I am Jeramiah Poe, madam. The Muse Rider. Use sorcery once more with me and I just may re-write your destiny to something more fitting.” A love bird or perhaps a lovely toad, maybe.
The man’s strangled confession added a shot of anger to the brew of angst in Poe. “Were you?” He turned back to the task of tea preparations, pumping the arm on the mini-hand well. “Then I should suggest you go to that blather mouth for whatever it is you want from me!”
“Please,” the woman gasped. “We gave our word and—”
“It was Kane?” Poe mumbled, “I’d bet my Scribbler’s lineage on it.” He plonked the copper kettle onto the stove, wishing it were the little runt’s bottom. “Patron of the pulmonary carrying-on’s, that one.” Poe added a few cedar logs to the belly of his black iron stove. He’d deal with him at first light. Poe faced the couple who seemed taken with curiosity at his outdated kitchen appliances.
“Not everybody wants to indulge in the new gadgets of their Scribblers realm. My own Scribbler created me to love antiquation, simplicity, classicality. I happen to find more value in these things.”
“It’s a lovely home,” the woman hurried. “Very…”
“Simple,” the man helped when she fretted for an agreeable term.
“Fantastical, even,” she dared in a singsong voice. “Like a cute hobbit home.”
Poe turned and rolled his eyes, fetching cups from his simple cupboard as the two filled his kitchen with an odd cackling laugh.
“I suppose since you know where I live, then you also know everything else you shouldn’t about me.”
“We were told you could help,” the man said.
"And that you were good," the woman reminded. “That’s all, I give you my word on that.”
“Your word.” Poe set three tin cups on the counter, irked with her sorcery. Giving a compliment strictly to secure his submission to this ‘goodness’ didn’t help them one bit. “Do you have any idea at all about words? The power behind them?”
“Words?” she echoed, appearing worried. “I… know the power of the Scribbler’s words, yes.”
“So what value do your words have, madam, a mere creation that you are? Why should I feel remotely impressed with your word?”
She lowered her head like he’d taken a hammer to her self-esteem, filling Poe with a mix of odd frustration. “Your words have as much value as your Scribbler, woman.” Despite his efforts to calm down, Poe took the lower road for a change. “Why is it so difficult for Creations to understand that they are not mere Characters in a story, but replicas of their Creators—not only in image, but far beyond? Life and death succumb to the Scribbler’s will and that power indwells the creation if you but believe it.” Poe looked between the intent faces before him, both straining to compute—not to understand mind you, but to placate the terrible master from whom they sought favor, whom they had need.
Disgusted, Poe was ready to be rid of the pair, and the fear and drama that indwelled them. “I will help you.”
A moment of shock preceded the pair shooting up from their seats for a bouncing, dancing embrace. Poe couldn’t help but gawk at the touching fetish. Like the eyes and ears lacked ample function thereby requiring the third sense for comprehensive communication. “But there is a price,” Poe added, desperate to put an end to the strange energy molesting his aura.
The fortress rose before her, a strong silhouette
against the rising sun of a new morning. Finally, after a few days of walking,
her destination was within sight. She was unaccustomed to dealing with outsiders,
but still she was confident she could get the answers to her peoples’ many
questions, and she reminded herself that in this situation, she was the
outsider. Her people and those she had traveled to speak with were related
distantly, but she reminded herself that her people were feared by outsiders.
She was kirelas-rir, a mystical race whose inherent
grasp of arcane magic, attunement with nature, and innate powers of the mind
led others – even of the other rir species – to fear them. While they were, at
their core, still just rir – a semi-draconic but mammalian folk – they were
different, and that led the other rir species to treat them with either
deference or contempt.
She held hope in her heart that those she traveled to
speak with were of the former variety, but history kept her cautious. The man
she went to speak to – one Braxus Gaswell, a General among his kind – was the
descendant of a man who’d tried to conquer her people several generations
before. She and her people found it unlikely that he sought to repeat his
ancestor’s actions, as they had resulted in the death of Gaswell’s forefather,
but she had traveled here to make certain of it. Her people were not a warlike
people, and though they had tremendous strength as practitioners of the arcane,
they preferred not to use that strength to bring harm to others, even in
She found it far more likely that Gaswell was simply
organizing a standing army in the face of what was going on in the world. Only
days before, the Apocalypse had come to an end: the Devil Queen’s forces were
decisively defeated and the Devil Queen herself met her end. While most of the
fighting had been contained to other continents far from her home, its effects
rippled through the ether and could be felt by those attuned to power, whether
divine, arcane, or natural in origin. People were uncertain what the future
held, and uncertain people frequently made errors out of fear. And that was
what she had come here to investigate and, if necessary, prevent. It was also possible
that Gaswell sought to lend aid to one of the factions on the mainland, where a
civil war had waxed and waned for nearly two centuries. She knew little enough
of the war, its purpose, or its results, and thankfully, the fighting had yet
to touch this island of Tsalbrin or her own peoples’ small island home. She
thought perhaps that there had been some major turning of tides in the mainland
war, and that perhaps Gaswell sought to either join the winning side or bolster
the losing side. There were many possibilities.
As she approached, she could see that there were
several uniformed officers out before the fortress’ front gates, and by the
regal dress of one of them, she assumed she had already found General Braxus
Gaswell. There were only slight bristles of anticipation amongst the men as she
made her approach: they apparently couldn’t see that she was kirelas-rir from
the distance between them. If they could, she thought it likely they would be
much more on their guard, but she was conscious to not make any sudden or
threatening moves, and she kept her hands in plain sight outside the wide
sleeves of her robe. There was a vague sense of danger, a tickle of warning in
her mind and below her skin as she drew closer to Gaswell and his men.
Something was out of place: she could feel an immense
arcane power close by, one that easily rivaled her own. Gaswell’s recruitment
letters and fliers had not mentioned seeking those of arcane or divine power,
so she was somewhat surprised to find he had an archmage amongst his followers.
Her gaze swept side to side as she sought the source of the power, but she had
a hard time pinpointing it; it seemed to come from all around her. She slowed
and then stopped altogether when she sensed a trap about to be sprung. Her senses
did not deceive her: she detected the unnatural tang of demonic power below the
surface of that massive arcane power. Gaswell and his men backed away, alarmed,
as her hands began to glow and lightning crackled up her sleeved forearms in
preparation to defend herself. Her mind worked to pierce the veil before her,
to peel it away and reveal the presence of the demon that she had thankfully
detected before it was too late. Even as she began to unravel the arcane veil,
a wave of concussive psychic force struck her, battering her senses to the
point where she lost all sense of equilibrium and the grasp she’d had on her
She collapsed and had to work to keep the contents of
her stomach down while the world spun violently around her. At last she got most
of her wits back about her, but her eyes widened as they fixed on the demon
before her. It grinned at her, a chilling flash of fangs, and she quickly
realized that this was not one of the minor demons native to her world: this
was a minion of the underworld, a demon in pure form. It instilled only the
slightest of fear in her, though; she was a master of the arcane, and prepared
to demonstrate such to her foe.
Even as she thought so, a second wave of that
concussive psionic force slammed into her mind, and she fell to her back,
prone, and conscious only by a tremendous amount of will. Her eyes fixed on
Gaswell and his men as they approached. She was vaguely aware of the demon
standing over her, and even in her shattered mental state, she still found herself
surprised when the voice she heard was that of a female. “This one may yet be
of use to us; keep her subdued and alive in the dungeon,” the demon commanded.
A set of manacles was locked about her ankles, wrists, and neck, connected by
sturdy chains, and her mind immediately went blank. She was stripped of all
will and nearly all conscious thought. Though her body wouldn’t respond to her
desire to cry, she did so inside: she had failed her people, and now there
would be no one to warn them of what was to come. There was a demon on
In the wake of the Apocalypse, veteran demonhunter Karian Vanador understands that the vigilance of her Order means there is rarely any time to rest. Even with a paragon of evil cast down, it isn't long before another rears its head, and for Kari, the War never ends. She will head into danger again, for it is the life she's chosen and the only path she really knows. Along the way she will face the tests of friendship, the fires of love, the heat of battle, and the limits of her faith, and in those trials, she will seek the answer to her most pressing question:
"Why was I resurrected?"
Bio: Joe Jackson was born on November 19, 1976 on Long Island, New York. A graduate of the University of Rhode Island with a bachelor's degree in Accounting, he started writing Sci-Fi short stories in fifth grade after seeing the movie "Aliens" in the theater. After getting into Dungeons & Dragons with friends as a teenager, his interests moved to Epic Fantasy, but still rooted in a Sci-Fi alien world. The Eve of Redemption series represents the culmination of years of world-building and back-story development, much of it through epic AD&D campaigns, that takes familiar epic fantasy and brings it to an alien world.
Joe currently lives in Rhode Island with his wife and daughter. When he's not chasing his daughter around the yard or counting beans for his bosses, he's usually imagining the next turn on the long road that the Eve of Redemption series brings.
This Giveaway is International so everyone can join
It's open from September 26th to September 29th
The best of lucks to all
Do you believe in DRAGONS? A book for fantasy lovers of all ages.
IN the bitter night of late November a dark and mysterious figure pushes a box through a gap in a scrap yard fence and hurries away into the darkness. Follow the adventurers of the team from 7 Pudding Founders Lane as man, dog, crow and dragon set out to fight for right in a world gone bad.
Tell us a little about yourself and your
I was born on the
Northamptonshire, Cambridgeshire border in the small town of Raunds. This is an
area unknown to most people living in England never mind those from other
countries. It was well known to thousands of American airmen during and after
the Second World War as part of the largest concentration of air bases in
Europe. I grew up knowing almost as much about the U.S.A. as I did about the
country of my birth and the US air force played a large part in my development.
My teen years coincided with the birth of the Mersey Sound and like every lad
of that era I was in a rock group. We played a mixture of R&B and covers of
chart hits in village halls and USAF base PX clubs. I then spent three
gloriously enjoyable years training to be a teacher followed by five years
realising that teaching was very badly paid. When our first child, our daughter
was born I left teaching and became a salesman for an educational supply
A career in sales and
marketing followed which in general was fun, broadened my horizons and supplied
me with a steady stream of new cars. It came as quite a shock when I retired
and had to buy my own.
Being an independent
author is great. Having spent a life in sales having to fit in with the
customer’s likes and dislikes (they are always right) I can now express my own
opinions or at least those of my characters and if the world doesn’t like them
it can do the other thing.
Which writers inspire you?
I like a good story with
believable characters who become friends who I care about. I also prefer books
with some humour and a proper conclusion even if it’s a cliff hanger. You won’t
find shelves of great classic authors in my collection as most of them bore the
living daylights out of me. My current favourites are Neal Asher, Randolph
Lalonde, and Steve McHugh. All are excellent story tellers with staggering
imaginations who can sweep me out of the everyday to worlds of adventure and
mystery. I like to learn from my reading and be entertained so the death
recently of Terry Pratchett has deprived me of future visits to his Disc World
and the plethora of fascinating characters that inhabit it. These writers cause
me to look again at the human condition, to take a different view and look from
a different angle. If any of these writers are unknown to you I recommend that
you dip your toe into their waters and be prepared to be sucked into a roller
When did you decide to become a writer?
Years ago when I realised
that there were so many things I wanted to say and my lack of skill with
spelling and grammar need not stop me. It then took me more years to decide
what to write about then further time making excuses for not actually starting
till it became a case of put up or shut up. I would say to all those out there
convinced they have a book in them to write it! You’re not a writer till your
words are down on paper or an e-reader so write it. Then you are a writer.
There is no guarantee that you will be a great or even a good writer that is
for others to judge, but you will be a writer.
Do you write full-time or part-time?
Oh definitely part-time. With four grand children
and a house and garden which have the habit of growing and falling apart by
turns the chance of being a full time author is a distant dream. I try to write
something every day be it replies to emails, interviews like this and even more
of my current book. But I must hold my hand up to being lazy and there are
always piles of new books to read, new places to visit, people to meet and my
wife and family to consider. Travel, friends and conversations are bread and
meat to an author. Without them I could spend my life staring at the wall
waiting for the muse to strike. Without a life what would I have to write
Do you work to an outline or plot
or do you prefer just see where an idea takes you?
Yes, but it’s very vague and my characters have a
way of detouring from the straight and logical and mapping their own course. I
know the beginning and usually reach the intended conclusion but the road
between has many twists and turns with bumps and swerves along the way. Characters
need attitude and baggage to make them real and interesting and this will
enable them to find their own route. A road to Damascus moment may help a story
line but if the people continually chop and change their ways and attitudes
without good cause then chaos ensues and the plot falls apart. Even in fantasy
logic and rules are necessary and timelines must be observed.
Do you have a strategy for finding reviewers?
Yes. Write reviews
yourself and offer a copy of your eBook to the author you have reviewed. If you
get a good review from a kind person send them a free copy of your next book by
email if you can get their email address. This takes time but you will build a
list of people who at least don’t hate your style. Encourage reviewers they are
a rare bread and deserve to be rewarded for taking the time to read your book
and then write an opinion.
What are your thoughts on good/bad reviews?
Ok, so I’m lucky I haven’t had a bad one yet so I have to talk
about the good ones. I would like to take this opportunity to thank all the
people who write reviews, even bad ones. A review proves that some kind soul
bought the book and read it. This is justification for the lonely key pounder
that their efforts were not a complete waste of time. I have only one minor
gripe about reviews form Americans and that is about spelling. I have read many
books by US authors and have become used to transatlantic spelling and usage so
can discount these variants as part of the colour of your English. However this
doesn’t appear to be reciprocal. I’m sorry but we spell colour with a u in it
and many other similar words as well. These are not spelling errors even form
me who has always had a disregard for the conventions of dictionaries. Read
more books by British authors and get over the differences. These add colour to
the narrative. Above all read and please, please write reviews, it makes our
day when we get one.
How can readers discover more about you and you
I have a website http://bryanpentelow.wix.com/bryan-pentelow, an
author’s page on facebook and goodreads. There are various bits of biography
scattered across the web but if you care to drop me an email to email@example.com I
will send you some FREE READS which include short biographical pieces and
previews of my books. I am also happy to answer questions about writing and
public speaking which is another of my strange hobbies and for which I have won
several prizes. You will also find news and reviews of other Indi authors that
I know and like so they are not an endless tide of self aggrandisement.
Any Comments for the Blog readers?
Read on you lovely
people. Read everything you can and try these new authors. You could discover
the next best seller before any of your friends which has to be worth some
dinner party bragging rights. And for us poor lonely pen pushers in our spider
haunted garrets write your comments and reviews. After all if your review is
published you will have joined the writers club.
Any feedback for me or the blog?
More power to you. It is
so hard to become known as an author so sites like yours are a godsend. Keep it
What if Happily Ever Afters were from a place called Elsia? What if they kept that world going and intact? And what if the Fairy Godmother, young and naive, got it wrong?
Welcome to Happily Never Happened, where fairy tales are real, sexier than sin, and sweeter than deliverance. Where Fantasy Ave is a place to see your pleasures satisfied, and the stakes raised - for a price. And then meet the ladies of Fantasy Ave, hidden gems in our world, who come from the world of Elsia, escaping the hell of their Happily Ever Afters, and offered the chance, with one last wish, to find love again.
SIN married her Prince Charming, escaping into the palace and becoming one of the four queens that ruled Elsia. That glass slipper seemed to fit on the right foot - that was until Charming showed her that she meant nothing to him, and even less to others after her story was over. Sin recreated herself, tossing aside her tiara and ballgown, for stilettos and a whip - because she calls the shots now. Never again is she going to be someone's sub who doesn't know the meaning of Dominance, and never again is she going to let someone open her heart again.
And she's right. Someone can't do it. She needs two: Tobias, her trusted bodyguard, and Zuriah, a wolf of Rose's pack, to claim her, and show her just how much she's missing. Show her how much Charming didn't know about love, and that being broken only means that she can be fixed.
Now available from Evernight Publishing Naughty Fairy Tales, be ready to delve into a hot read of desire, love, and redemption.
Writing professionally since 2008, LeTeisha has spanned from Fantasy to Interracial Romance on her road to getting the jumping characters out of her head. Most days she’s pretty color blind, unless it’s a great shade of red (then she can’t ignore it). Other times she’s plotting her next twenty books and then remembering that the computer can’t read her thoughts and doesn’t type at lightning speed. Either way, she just can’t seem to get enough of quill to paper…or eh…keyboard strokes, apparently.
and thank you for reading my guest post. My name is Mike Phillips and my new
book is Hazard of Shadows. I was asked to share a little
something about my personal life. I know lots of you have pets, so I thought
I’d talk about that.
I grew up on a farm in West Michigan. We grew
most of our own food and heated our house with wood, and even made our own
furniture. For me, the best part of growing up on a farm was the animals. In
addition to the livestock, we always had a dog and an abundance of barn cats.
My absolute favorite, however, was my pet duck, Peeper. The poor thing didn’t
get off to a good start. I remember that the mother and father duck had a nest
of eggs, and we knew that it was about time for them to hatch. I had gone into
the barn just before bed and been rewarded with the sound of little duck
voices. Well, I didn’t want to disturb their momma, so I let them be and came
back excited the next morning. What I found was a tragedy. A weasel had come in
the night. Mother and father duck and about three ducklings lay dead on the
ground. The dog caught up with weasel. It too met an unfortunate end. I was
sick and in tears as I looked at it all, but heard a little voice behind me. A
single duckling was left. I took it inside and raised it under a light bulb.
All the while, I “peeped” at her so she would feel at home. That was a mistake,
because even as an adult, Peeper never quite learned to quack just right.
My next story is about my present life in
suburbia. Never did I imagine that I would make a pet out of one of a farmer’s
worse enemies. But life never seems to turn out the way we think it will. I
have a pet rat. Yuck, I know, but they really are wonderful animals. I think of
mine, Sassy, my second rat, as just a really small dog. They are good tempered
and affectionate. They are smart as a whip, which is probably why they are so
good at being a menace to farmers. My Sassy rolls around the house in a ball.
She comes when I whistle and sits up when I snap my fingers. You do have to get
used to the tail, which really isn’t that bad once you do. Just don’t look at
Thank you so
much for joining me. I hope you enjoy Hazard
of Shadows and the first book in the series, The World Below. Please visit me at mikephillipsfantasy.com.