Monday, September 19, 2016

A Wicked Halloween/FREEBIE Alert A Wicked Affair September 20

A Wicked Halloween/FREEBIE Alert A Wicked Affair September 20

Feed your paranormal cravings!

Halloween can't get here soon enough! Especially when we have this tantalizing boxed set to look forward to.

A Wicked Halloween ~ 13 **BRAND NEW & EXCLUSIVE** paranormal romance tales that will thrill and chill you just in time for All Hallow's Eve.

Preorder for only #99cent today!

Visit the page: A Wicked Halloween

#Nook #Kindle #iBooks #ARe #Kobo

#paranormal #witches #salem #pnr #romance #preorder #giveaway #limitedtime

5 things I like: (Reading and Writing are a given!)

1. Watching college football - Roll Tide, Alabama! 

2. pizza and cheesecake - the ultimate meal 

3. jet skiing at the lake

4. lazing around in the pool

5. All-girl beach trips with my friends or my sister

"At the Women’s College of Salem, Sarah hopes to meet like-minded students of The Craft. But after joining a coven, the other girls seem to have it in for her and she can’t figure out why . . . 

. . . until Tanner, the new, cute IT guy, helps uncover her family’s dark secret. Sarah will have to learn to trust Tanner if she’s to survive a killer freshman year. And Tanner must accept his paranormal powers to save Sarah when the blood moon rises at Samhain, the witch’s Halloween."

Go to Salem, they urged.

You’ll love it, they promised.

It will be fun, they said.

They lied.

Tanner rubbed
his eyes and tried to focus on a string of computer code. Some fun. He could
have stayed in Alabama if he’d wanted to be stuck in a boring tech job.
Sighing, he shoved out of his chair and walked to the window. In the darkness
of late afternoon, a light shone in the library next door on the campus quad.

She was there
again. Sitting alone at a table, her long, brown hair swept to one side, her
enchanting profile glowing like a halo of warmth against the New England chill.
Damn, the unbearable cold had turned his brain to poetic mush. She was just a
girl, and he’d had more than his fair share of dating last year. Before
everything had turned to shit.

He’d prove she
was nothing special. Tanner abruptly closed down the computer, grabbed his
coat, and walked down the semi-deserted hallway. “See you in the morning,” he
called to his boss.

Mr. Higginboth
didn’t bother looking up from his hunched position over a computer. “Night,” he
mumbled, pushing up wire-framed glasses from the bridge of his nose.

shuddered. Would that be him thirty years from now? Buried in an academic
environment, wearing old-man woolen sweaters and deciphering endless lines of
computer code with steadily declining eyesight? Not how he’d envisioned his
future. He closed his eyes and remembered the thrill of catching his one and
only touchdown pass—the cheering crowd, outrunning the opposing team’s
defenders, the ball tucked safely in his arms, and crossing the goal line.

How things had
changed in one year. And not for the good.

Bitter wind
slammed into his body as he exited the tech lab. He clutched his leather jacket
tighter, glumly trying to imagine how much colder Salem would be in winter.
Back home, he’d still be in short sleeves and enjoying sunshine.

His right knee
throbbed, as it always did in cold weather. Damn nuisance. You’d think he was
ninety instead of nineteen. He walked as quickly as he could with the bum knee,
grateful for the warmth of the library as he pushed open its heavy, wooden
doors. The cozy scent of old books and weathered oak lifted his sour mood.

Quickly, he
scanned the towering rows of books and the whispering crowd of students at the
center tables. In the far right corner, on the second level, she was bent over a book, her long hair
a veil, covering her face.

Tanner inwardly
groaned as he climbed the stairs, trying to avoid wincing at the darting pain
needling through his knee. A gaggle of girls passed, shooting him sly glances.
He winked at the boldest one, who had flaming red hair, dressed all in black,
and sported a large pentacle pendant. Back home, she’d have stuck out like a
black widow on a bed of white linen. But at the Women’s College of Salem, she
was part of a notable minority that flaunted a belief in witchcraft. She smiled,
but her eyes held no warmth. She turned her back and elbowed the girl nearest
her orbit. “He’s cute but . . . all crippled up. Too bad.”

His face warmed.
The remark had been whispered, but it was loud enough to carry—as the girl no
doubt intended. He was used to being called cute, but not to people wondering
at his injury. At least, not that he’d overheard. Way to build his confidence
as he approached the girl to whom he’d been drawn for the past few weeks.

He squared his
shoulders, determined not to let the offhand comment ruin his plans. If he’d
learned nothing else from his old football coach, it was to persevere, no
matter the obstacles. Still, he was used to outmaneuvering three-hundred-pound
linebackers, not pathetically limping like an old man as he climbed a set of
stairs. All while a group of girls insulted his dignity.

The girls went
their way, chattering, never sparing a glance behind them. Amazing—not in a
good way—that he’d gone from a rising football star to nearly invisible.

Different. A tiny flash of red on the floor
caught his attention. Tanner bent over, picking up a small, black feather with
a skein of red floss clumsily woven into its spine. A few inches of the red
thread formed a tiny circle, perhaps large enough for a small wrist. Some kind
of Native American bracelet, perhaps? He looked around, but nobody caught his
eye. It probably belonged to one of the girls who had laughed at him. Too bad.
He wasn’t going to search them out and ask. He shrugged and stuffed it into his
jacket pocket, intending to throw it in the nearest trashcan.

At last, he
reached the top. Tanner gripped the railing, collecting his breath and his
pride. Once both were again intact, he walked toward the mystery girl, his
footsteps creaking on the old pine flooring, but she didn’t look up from the
book held in her hands, a heavy, dusty tome—Salem
Witch Trials and Mass Hysteria: 1692—1693
Tanner flicked
his index finger against the book’s spine to get her attention. “A little light
reading?” he joked.

Eyes as gray as
a November sky regarded him with a decided chill. He was definitely striking
out with the ladies today.

Her voice was
smooth and cold as ice. “Nothing light
about the killing of innocent women.”

“That’s what you
call irony.” Tanner pulled out a chair across from her and sat, uninvited. “You
writing a history paper on the trials?”

She cocked her
head to one side and regarded him with a raised brow. “Yes. Do you need to use
this book?”

“Oh, no, I’m not
a student.”

sharpened her delicate features, and her fingers gripped the edge of the table.
Real smooth there, Tanner. Now you’re scaring the women away.

“Then who—”

“It’s okay,” he
said quickly. “I work here. In the IT department. My uncle—Ralph Landers—is the
college dean.”

Her death grip
on the book relaxed a fraction.

“I can prove
it.” He dug in his coat pocket and fished out his employee ID. “See? I’m
totally legit.” He slapped the card on the table and slid it toward her.

“Tanner Adams,”
she read aloud, comparing his face to the awkward employee picture. “Computer
tech, WCS.”

Monday, September 12, 2016

A Wicked Halloween

 A Wicked Halloween

Feed your paranormal cravings!

Halloween can't get here soon enough! Especially when we have this tantalizing boxed set to look forward to.

A Wicked Halloween ~ 13 **BRAND NEW & EXCLUSIVE** paranormal romance tales that will thrill and chill you just in time for All Hallow's Eve.

Preorder for only #99cent today!

Visit the page: A Wicked Halloween

#Nook #Kindle #iBooks #ARe #Kobo

#paranormal #witches #salem #pnr #romance #preorder #giveaway #limitedtime

1.      Dates with my husband.
2.      Trips to Charleston with my family
3.      Drinking a hot hazelnut coffee in peace and quiet
4.      Reading a good book

5.      That moment when I type THE END

Kassandra Darkmorré is hiding behind the mask of humanity, living her life as nothing more than a spectator. She watches, knowing the outcome of the lives around her.

They lived.

They died.

While she was left all alone.

She never imagined one of her hospice patients would figure out what she was or ask for an explanation on her death bed. And Kassandra surely didn’t expect the dying woman to give her something she hadn’t had in almost two hundred years. Hope.“What you desire most is achievable. You must accept the invitation when it’s presented.”While on the search for her true desire, she finds the man of her one and only dream, Cyrus Good. The attraction between them is instantaneous, but Kassandra can’t help but feel like something is missing. And that maybe he has secrets as  sinister as Salem itself.

And what about Xavier Drago? The mysterious man keeps popping up when she least expects him to. As annoying and demanding as he is, though, she can’t help but be drawn to him just as intensely.

It all began with an invitation, but will it end with a happily ever after?

Excerpt from Behind The Mask by C.E. Black


I put on my coat, buttoning it up to my chin, and threw a scarf around my neck for good measure. Though the fall night had turned brisk, and the people entering the hospital from outside all wore matching red noses, I didn’t need the coat. But I liked the feeling of being one of them.
Seeing my little friend from earlier that evening waiting on me, I crouched down to get closer and held out my hand. “Hi again, little guy,” I said softly.
He purred as he bumped his onyx-colored head against my hand. Smiling, I rubbed my palm over his soft back. He didn’t have a collar, and though he looked fairly clean I could see his ribs showing, he was so thin. “Are you hungry, boy?” He wrapped around my leg in answer, and I laughed as I scooped him up in my arms. “Then let’s get you something to eat.” I was starving, but my hunger could wait. This guy probably hadn’t seen a decent meal in weeks.
After a stop at the grocery store for all the essentials he might need, I rushed home to my condo. Though in a hurry, I still took the time to fill a bowl with cat food and another with water. While he chowed down, I set up the litter box, and by the time I’d finished I couldn’t ignore the ache any longer.
I pulled the blood bag from my purse, put it in the microwave, then pressed the quick thrity-second button before grabbing a glass out of the cabinet. Warm blood was much more satisfying. Before the microwave dinged, I pulled out the bag and cut open the top with my kitchen shears. My mouth watered as the fresh, metallic scent reached my nostrils, and a small moan squeezed from my lips.
Careful not to spill a drop, I poured the thick red liquid into the glass before tossing the empty bag in the trash. I could have pierced the bag with my teeth, as they had already elongated, ready to feed, but I had the need to do things a more human way. Drinking from the glass made me feel like less of a monster.
As usual, I started off by sipping leisurely, as though it was a fine wine I’d purchased for pleasure, but as the sweet coppery flavor burst over my tongue, my hunger seized control, and the glass was empty less than a second later.
Staring at the thin red film that coated the inside of the glass, I licked my lips. I had the insane idea to use my finger to scrape off every last bit. Not a good sign.
Feeling eyes on me, I turned to find the cat sitting next to his empty bowls, watching me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looked curious, maybe even a bit anxious. “Don’t worry, boy. You have nothing to fear from me.” I could have sworn he nodded before he stalked out of the room.
Shaking my head, I rinsed out the glass, breathing a sigh of relief when it was clear of all blood. “Not classy, Kassandra,” I said to myself. I hadn’t been feeding enough, but how could I justify taking another’s source of life? These bags of blood would save a human life. At as little as one a week, that was fifty-two deaths a year I could potentially cause.
It was bad enough the donor center was amidst a shortage. The possibility that my necessary feeding habit would cause issues had guilt eating away at me. But it was better than taking from the source. I’d never do that. Never again.

C.E. Black self-published her first book in 2011 and has since published several novels, novellas, and short stories. Though she began her writing career in the Paranormal Romance genre, she found her niche in erotic PNR/Fantasy with her breakout novel, Shifted Temptations. What started out as a standalone romance, became the Amazon best selling Alpha Division series. Though steamy romance, hunky heroes, and feisty heroines are C.E.'s specialty, she enjoys surprising her readers with action-filled plots and exciting twists that makes for a fast-paced read.

¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•
Enter to ‪#‎WIN
‬ ‬

Come to the party!

Sunday, September 11, 2016

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Bianca Sommerland Tamed
Erika Masten Bonnie Sass
Gracen Miller Kissing Sassy
Jessie Lane Sassy and a little Bad Assy
Melanie James A Hot Piece of Sass
Mychal Daniels A Witchingly Sassy Seduction
Renee George Mate of Honor
Selena Kitt Dragon Sass
Serena Pettus Kiss My Sass
Tasha Black Wise Sass Mates
V Vaughn Bite My Sass

Tuesday, August 30, 2016

A Wicked Halloween Tour Stop

Feed your paranormal cravings!

Halloween can't get here soon enough! Especially when we have this tantalizing boxed set to look forward to.

A Wicked Halloween ~ 13 **BRAND NEW & EXCLUSIVE** paranormal romance tales that will thrill and chill you just in time for All Hallow's Eve.

Preorder for only #99cent today!

Visit the page: A Wicked Halloween

#Nook #Kindle #iBooks #ARe #Kobo

#paranormal #witches #salem #pnr #romance #preorder #giveaway #limitedtime

Five favorites:

Favorite Magical Creature/being: Dragons. It's always going to be dragons.
Favorite Book: Passage by Connie Willis (this changes almost daily).
Favorite Holiday: Thanksgiving. It's all about family and food for me, what could be better?
Favorite Sport: Pretty much anything Equestrian. For watching, nothing can be quite as exciting as Eventing. As far as participating... I'm not quite that brave. I do enjoy riding, though.
Favorite Fairy Tale: Beauty and the Beast. I love that it has historical origins in truth. And it's just a lovely idea, all around.

Witness to her own mother's murder, Lena Scott long ago gave up any hope that she would be able to lead a normal, healthy life. She also thought that she'd left Salem, and that night, behind. She was never going to look back. But, looking back may be the key to more than just that mysterious Halloween night. And her home, her life, and even her work at the Salem Cafe are more intertwined than she ever imagined.

And the past is full of more secrets than Lena could ever have imagined. Everything she believed about herself, everything she knew about herself… all of that comes into question on yet another dark, Salem Halloween night.

As often happened, when the world felt a little festive, Lena felt more alone than usual. She was an outsider to the laughter and teasing that marked off the hours among the rest of the staff. Oh, she smiled, and she even spoke a few times, but it was always with a sense that she didn’t belong.
She never had quite fit.
Her required break was punctuated by a mug of the best hot chocolate in the world—the menu even said so—and a thin slice of apple pie.
It was a risky move. Apple pie always made her think about Gran. Lena closed her eyes against the warmth of cinnamon, cooled by the gentle kiss of vanilla from the ice cream Luisa made in the big machine in the back. There was nothing fancy about it—no frills at all.
But it was perfect.
Lena put her fork down after one bite. A second one, she thought, could never be as good as that first taste.
It was starting to get late. Fewer customers came through the door, despite the well-lit sign saying that they’d be open all night for Halloween.
“It’s starting to really come down out there,” a man told her, as she handed him and his wife their menus.
“Oh,” she said, surprised. “I didn’t even realize that it was snowing.”
“If it was raining, I’d say it was raining cats and dogs,” the woman said with a laugh. “I don’t know what you say for that kind of snow.”
“Falling like goose down,” Lena heard her own voice say. The words startled her. She couldn’t remember having heard them before, and yet, she had a feeling that they were just right.
“Charming,” the woman said, widening her eyes. “What a lovely image.”
Obviously the woman had never met geese, Lena thought wryly. In her limited experience, they were rarely lovely.
She did take the time, though, to stand at the door and watch the snow fall. It really was coming down, in great, fluffy flakes.
Lena laughed softly. It really did look like feathers falling out of the sky.
“Look at that,” Martin said, turned in his seat to watch the snow come down. “That’s a real treat for Halloween—or is Old Mother Nature playing some tricks on us all?” He laughed. “Weather like this always gets the ghosts thumping around, doesn’t it, Luisa?” He turned his head towards where she stood, silent for once.
“You hush,” she said.
“Don’t pretend that you’ve never seen him,” Martin teased. “You and I both know that you did. You can’t deny it.”
“Saw who?” Lena asked, despite the frisson of goosebumps crawling spider-like up her back.
Martin blinked at her in surprise. “I keep forgetting that you didn’t grow up around these parts.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Luisa huffed. “Lena doesn’t want to listen to your ghost stories.”
“We do.” The woman and her husband looked to Martin with eager expression. “It’s the perfect weather for a ghost story. Is it a local ghost?”
“He lives about half a block down, that way,” Martin waved his hand absently. “But, you can see him walking down the street, sometimes at night. Especially when it has been snowing. You know he’s a ghost because he’s dressed in stockings and breeches—and a three-cornered hat—you know, the kind men wore in the early eighteenth century.”
“So, a ghost unrelated to the witch trials?” The woman sounded almost disappointed.
Martin laughed. “Everything around here ends up pointing to the witch trials, one way or another. Some people say that this man had an ancestor that had been cursed by one of the witches. Others say that he was descended from a witch. One this is very sure, though—he was terribly unlucky in love.”
The woman made a sighing sound. Lena made a face to herself. She’d never understood what was romantic about tragedy. Despite herself, she wanted to listen to this story. Ignoring, of course, the fact that Martin had waved his hand in the direction of her own, historical monument of a house.
“This used to be the outskirts of town,” Martin said, warming to his story. His face was lit up with excitement that, for once, he had an audience that wanted to hear what he had to say. “Our ghost was a prosperous man in these parts, and known to be a quiet gentleman. He kept to himself, so of course there were gossips who said that he was surly and thought too well of himself. That he was too proud to marry a local girl.”
How could Martin possibly know such a thing? Lena wondered, but she gave in to the magic of the story-telling.
“The stories agree that he was a handsome man. You thought he was handsome, when you saw him, didn’t you, Luisa?”
The chef made a huffing sound, but made no move to go back to the kitchen.
“So, he was handsome and wealthy, and could have married any girl in these parts just for the asking, but he never seemed interested in any of them. Not until a girl showed up at his door, shivering with the cold on a night just like this.” Martin knew he had his listeners hooked now. He spoke softly, forcing them to lean closer and hold their breaths to be able to hear. “No one knew anything about her. Not who her people were, not where she had come from. It was love at first sight, they say. He built up his house as a kind of shrine to her, and to their love. They married and gossip said that they were expecting their first child. But, it wasn’t to last.”
Lena heard the woman at the table sigh again, this time regretfully. “What happened?”
“The girl disappeared,” Martin said. “The records don’t say how or why—they didn’t in those days, you know. But, the legend that my grandfather learned from his grandfather, and passed down to me, was that she ran away from him. No one ever saw her again.”
Gasps of sympathetic horror filled the room.
“He didn’t live long after she vanished,” Martin continued, ignoring the shocked faces surrounding his casual mention of murder. “It might have been an accident, but again it might have not. He was killed in a fall off of that big, proud stallion of his, while he was out searching for his lost love. That’s why he still walks to this day. They say that he’s looking for her still… unable to rest until he finds her again.”
Lena rubbed her icy fingers together. The chill had nothing to do with the snow outside and everything to do with the ghost story Martin was reciting.
“What was her name?” The woman asked, her hands clasped together. “What was his name?”
“His name was Edward Pryce,” Martin said. “As for the girl… the only name we have for her is ‘Mellie’.”

Elizabeth A Reeves is a socially-phobic introvert with a rich fantasy life. While physically she may be a mother to five boys (and a wife to one more), mentally she is roaming universes and planes of existence known only to her.

She tries to capture some of these for other book-lovers like her to enjoy.
Find her on Facebook

¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•
Enter to ‪#‎WIN

Come to the party!