THIS DEVIL IS CRAZY
The Devil’s Prophets, book 1
by Pauline Hornsby
THIS DEVIL IS CRAZY
The Devil’s Prophets, book 1
by Pauline Hornsby
ALL I WANT FOR HALLOWEEN
by Marie Harte
Book two in the Medusa’s Consortium series.
In New York City, away from those she loves, living with the enigmatic vampire, Desiree Fielding, Susan Innes struggles to come to terms with life as a vampire whose body serves as the prison for a deadly demon.
When Reese Chambers arrives unexpectedly from England, desperate for her help, she discovers that Alonso Darlington, his lover and her maker, has been taken captive and Reese has been warned to tell no one but her. Before the two can make a plan, Susan receives her own message from a man calling himself just Cyrus. He not only holds her maker prisoner, but also her lover, the angel Michael. If she wishes to see either of them alive, she’ll come to him and not tell Magda Gardener, the woman they all work for and fear.
With no help coming from Magda or her Consortium, Susan and Reese must turn to the Guardian – the terrifying demon now imprisoned in her body. He alone can help them, but how can she possibly trust him after all he’s done?
It was a dark place where she found him, with walls so high only a small patch of starlight was visible above, but she was a vampire now. She didn’t need the light, and he, well he had never needed the light, had he? He stood naked with his back to her. He was broad of shoulder. There were white scars like latticework across muscles stretched taut over his shoulder blades. At first she thought they were from a whip, but as she drew nearer, she saw that they were more geometric in form, as though perhaps they were some sort of ancient ceremonial writing. She traced the shapes of them with the tips of her fingers, and his muscles rippled with the sensation. With a start she realized she’d never seen his body before.
“That is because I have none,” came his reply. “Only in dreams can I wear the flesh of my choosing.”
“You’ve worn flesh often enough. I would have thought it was always of your choosing,” she said, making no effort to hide her bitterness.
“It was not my own, though. That pleasure, I have never known.”
“Only in dreams, you say. Then this is a dream.”
“You know that it is.” He didn’t turn to face her but leaned toward her, and she slipped her arms around him and rested her head on the flat of his back. His belly tensed at the touch of her hands, and he caught his breath in a soft moan. “Touch is what I longed for most,” he said. “I thought the lack of it would drive me insane while I languished in my previous prison. But here, with you, I’m closer to touch than I would have thought possible. I do not mind it, you know. It is no hardship to be nestled inside you, close to your heart.”
She released him and took in their surroundings once more. “This is the place I’ve created for you?”
He pulled her arms back around him and sighed with contentment as she laid her head against him once more. “This is how I have decorated. The place you created for me was only the shape of myself, both boundless and infinitesimal. Oh, it did not matter. I could see through your eyes, feel through your flesh, even though it no longer lived as it once did, even though you never spoke to me. I hoped that someday you would.”
“And when I refuse, you come uninvited into my dreams?”
“All dreams are uninvited, Susan, and perhaps this time it is you who have come uninvited into my dream.”
She thought about that for a moment. Was it even possible to visit the dreams of a demon? Did demons even have dreams?
“If I had come to you more gently, if I had courted you and companioned you and been patient with you in the ways of your world, would you have loved me?”
“You never gave me that chance.”
About K D Grace/Grace Marshall
Voted ETO Best Erotic Author of 2014, K D Grace believes Freud was right. It really IS all about sex—sex and love—and that is an absolute writer’s playground.
When she’s not writing, K D is veg gardening or walking. Her creativity is directly proportional to how quickly she wears out a pair of walking boots. She loves mythology, which inspires many of her stories. She enjoys time in the gym, where she’s having a mad affair with a pair of kettle bells. Her first love is writing, but she loves reading and watching birds. She adores anything that gets her outdoors.
K D’s novels and other works are published by Totally Bound, SourceBooks, Accent Press, Harper Collins Mischief Books, Mammoth, Cleis Press, Black Lace, and others. She also writes romance under the name Grace Marshall.
Find K D Here:
Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.
So, for a while now, I’ve been threatening to get my rant on. For the most part, I’ve wanted to keep my politics separate from my business because we all know how how fast a business goes up in flames when you voice an opinion that somebody is bound to disagree with…
Which is, ultimately, why I decided to start up this section, entitled My Bone to Pick. My opinion, my perspective, and we all know that, in this day and age, perspective IS reality, no matter if that perspective is right or wrong, true or false, yes?
I’m not a coward. My business doesn’t mean more to me than speaking out for the right things. And why should everybody else get to have their say and not me?
So, the topic du jour this Monday, September 25th, 2017: Who took a knee at the football game?
Oh, let me rephrase that: Who cares who took a knee at the football game while North Korea declares (potentially nuclear) war on the United States of America?
Y’all are so worried about your favorite player having an opinion different than yours that you’ve ignored the real threat to your freedoms and safety. Squabbling amongst ourselves is going to get much more difficult to do when we’re all choking on toxic radiation. And you were so concerned about Zika…and Ebola…wait till you get a load of what’s coming.
Hold on, though. I promised an opinion, right?
My opinion is, #takeaknee. Quite frankly, I think Kap was lazy, didn’t feel like standing up, got called out on it and came up with a brilliant protest on the fly. (So, good job, there, man.) Now that there’s something to kneel for though, I’m down with it. Since when is kneeling disrespectful? Don’t you kneel before God (because, let’s just call a stereotypical spade a stereotypical spade and posit the theory that Good Christians are the ones with the strongest Anti-Knee opinion, mmm-kay?).
They shouldn’t do it on their team owner’s time? Maybe the owner doesn’t mind. Maybe, in fact, the owner agrees with the protest. After all, he sees the value in the men of color on his team, right? He doesn’t just appreciate the white players. The owner sees their achievements, their skills and, in many cases, their humanitarian efforts. And yet, so many people in the communities these men have come from, who may even share similar value, efforts and achievements, don’t have the same opportunities…and they don’t have the same freedoms. Maybe rectifying that is a fight the owners believe in and support.
Sure, you have the right to not watch, tear up your ticket, write the Commissioner (because I’m sure he’s personally reading your letter, uh-huh, I’m positive). Or, you could just sing the anthem louder. (You do know the words right? ‘Cause, if not, that’s disrespectful, you know?) They only kneel for the length of the first verse, so, maybe you could just handle yourself until the game starts?
Maybe, while you put your hand over your heart and honor those who fought and died for your country and your Constitution, you could also spare a minute’s contemplation for the men and women who have served to protect freedoms they didn’t, and still don’t, have.
And if you’re feeling moved by any amount of Christian sentiment, any molecule of empathy for your fellow Americans, those who put their lives on the line so you could argue about non-harmful, peaceful events that took place in the last five minutes of a pre-game ritual, perhaps you, too, will be driven to your knees so you can pray that all people of your homeland, all members of what essentially amounts to being your tribe, may one day share the same equality and justice that you have.
That’s my bone to pick…
You won’t always agree, and that’s okay. I’d still love to hear your comments, so long as you can manage to keep yourself respectful, because we all deserve a little dignity. Be human, you know? I’m not a liberal and I’m not a conservative. I believe the best path lies in the middle and the truth takes participation from both sides. I also believe we’re on a dangerous, slippery slope because a lot of sides of a lot of issues aren’t listening to anyone else.
Nobody is always entirely right…
The world could use a lot more love, which is why being united in love is the theme of this short story collection. Each of the characters are dealing with horrific and heartbreaking situations—loss, grief, war, divorce, dementia, disputes over land and more, but what they all have in common is that, with the help of love, of unity, they come through. It may not be all happily-ever-after—since life just doesn’t work that way—but positivity and solidarity shine through in each of the tales and will warm your heart.
So enjoy these stories of unexpected companionship, old lovers reuniting, second chances and creative problem-solving, with the knowledge that the proceeds from your purchase will also have a deeply positive effect—with every penny going to the British Red Cross’s UK Solidarity Fund.
Featuring stories from Gina Wynn, Lily Harlem, Rebecca Chase, Rosie Jamieson, Skye MacKinnon, M H Heyer, Alyssa Drake, Arizona Tape and Lucy Felthouse.
Excerpt from What’s Past is Present by Gina Wynn
Connie always believed she’d know it was summer when the rain got warmer. And that meant summer was today.
She ran along the pavement, trying to dodge the drops as they fell in big splats on her bare arms like sloppy kisses, hunching as she attempted to shield the package of fish and chips she carried. The aroma of the hot food and warm paper tickled her nose, and she could almost taste the contents. Declan would be lucky if she arrived back with anything more than soggy, empty wrappings at this rate.
Picking up her pace as the smell of rain-splashed tarmac filled the air, she hurried the rest of the way back to the house. His house. She shook her head. It would take a while to see the house as anything but Mr Pearce’s place—an adjustment it felt like she’d only just made. Now, it was Dec’s. Just Dec’s. In her head, it’d only just stopped being his place where he lived with his dad. Glancing at the windows in hopes of glimpsing him inside as she walked past had been a habit for a very long time.
When her doorbell had rung the previous night, she hadn’t expected to find a very crumpled, travel-weary Dec in the dingy entryway to her bedsit. In fact, he was probably the last person she hoped to ever find gracing the stoop of what she not-quite-laughingly referred to as her hovel.
She’d barely had chance to move, or slam the door in his definitely unwelcome face, before he wrapped his arms around her, folding her into a perfect bear hug of long-ago familiarity. Caught off-guard and unprepared to see him, she rested her cheek against the soft brushed cotton of his shirt, listening to his heartbeat, as his fingers splayed over her cheek, and she pretended not to notice the rough gasps of air he drew or the silent tears landing in her hair. Her chest hollowed, her heart breaking both for him and over him anew, and a lone teardrop of her own slid noiselessly down her nose.
Of course, she’d promised to help him today because she could never deny him anything, even though she’d spent the past five years regretting him. Getting over him. The bastard. She’d never stopped loving him.
Five years had crept by in a lazy blink of his beautiful brown eyes. And now, in the place where she’d spent so many of her stolen days and illicit nights, she could almost imagine the clocks had rolled back and he’d never left. She’d certainly wished for it enough times.
Short of pressing the doorbell with her nose she had no way to attract his attention, so she pushed on the door handle with her elbow and shouldered her way through the unlocked door into the narrow hall. The same worn carpet, lending a musty smell to the house these days, ran straight ahead to the kitchen and up the stairs. She walked towards the kitchen, ignoring the grime of a house where the owner hadn’t cared as much for the fabric of the building over the years as he did the family members within it. Framed portraits and holiday snapshots of Dec and his dad lined the walls, but she brushed past each of them. She could describe the position and content of each—perhaps accurately pinpoint the date of a few if she appeared on Mastermind with ‘The early life of Declan Pearce’ as her specialist subject.
But as she turned to push through the door into the next room, she caught sight of some new pictures and swallowed down a mixture of envy and bitterness at the juxtaposition of Declan’s life before and after—the part where he’d moved on without her. Even after Dec left, his dad must have continued to hang pictures of him because there he was, framed with as much care as anything that gone before.
Dec in an office of black leather and gleaming chrome—a vista of New York spread like a map through the huge picture window behind him; Dec beside an aeroplane bearing his name—sunglasses on, wide grin in place, and a suit that must have been expensive but one he wore without effort and made it look good.
Dec behind a podium.
Dec in an apartment so swish she’d have believed someone had Photoshopped him into it if she didn’t know better.
Dec… Dec… Dec. Just him.
Her gaze skimmed the remainder of the newest frames, and her thoughts stalled. She leant closer. No. They weren’t photographs. They were pictures that had been cut with great care from glossy magazines and newspaper articles, as if someone was reduced to simply scrapbooking a loved one’s life rather than being part of it.
Regret flashed through her. It didn’t show the future—the life together— she and Dec had planned in all those late nights that somehow turned into seeing the dawn. If she was honest, it didn’t show any sort of life she’d ever imagined for anyone she knew, let alone someone she loved. And especially not for Dec. She’d always believed they were the same type of person. But maybe not now she could see his life through someone else’s eyes.
She shrugged, trying to throw off her sudden melancholy. The fish and chips wouldn’t eat themselves.
Release blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.
I decided to help readers out a bit (and hopefully I don’t get in trouble for it). Now you can read the whole first chapter of each book in the Magic Matched series to decide whether or not the story might be for you. If it looks intriguing, you can also download a FREE, three chapter preview of Betrothed, the first book in the series, on Instafreebie.
I get it. Trying a new author these days is an ordeal. Even if the books are free, do you really want to waste your time if the story is awful or doesn’t resonate. I go through this too, when I find a new book by a new author. It helps when you can preview and get a good idea of what you’re getting yourself into…
And just to toot my own horn a bit, I’ve been told by many people that my series surprised them. Many readers loved it, they all think it just gets better and better, that the suspense is perfectly balanced with the romance…
“Fast-paced with a complex backstory, it’s like you’re reading the Game of Thrones for witches!”
“Once I started reading I was instantly hooked!”
“The love scenes were excellent, quite possibly some of the best I’ve read in a while. Its intelligent paranormal erotic writing and I love that. Combine that, with suspense and some turmoil, and I am hooked.”
In witching society, there is a strict hierarchy, Family covens are ruled by Mothers or Fathers who hold the bulk of their bloodline’s power and archaic rules are enforced, disregarding modern sentiments. Magic and politics are the only things that matter, and marriages are arranged for advantage rather than love.
Silviu Lovasz and Georgeanne Davenold must learn to open their hearts to each other in order to unlock their full magical potential. But with all that stands in their way – archaic traditions, murder plots, and a betrayal that threatens all they can be – they will need the group of allies they have built to help them navigate the dangerous world of witches, and the dark magic stalking them every step of the way.
Foxes, Bookstores and Getting Organized…
What do they have in common? Me. That’s about all.
I’ve had a pretty hard summer, to be honest. If I was really honest, I’d admit to having a rough decade but, looking back, I feel like it wasn’t too bad. Sure, I cried rivers, came down with a mysterious illness doctors still can’t diagnose, developed anxiety and depression and a bit of an OCD tic where I repeat words and sentences to myself (thankfully not out loud), I’ve gone from one job to another, been stymied in my dreams, my ambition held back by old men and I’ve broken up with my oldest friend who felt I wasn’t worth the truth anymore—though I was worth asking for that loan…
I look back and think it wasn’t so bad, but that’s only because I came out stronger. It’s amazing how your perception changes over time. Hell, even just the other day I cried, but, listening to other people’s stories I consider myself lucky and blessed and I think they have had a harder time than I…Except maybe they didn’t.
Emotions, motivation, aimlessness, sickness, death…blah, blah, blah.
I’ve been trying to open a bookstore. It’s nearing the time I’d wanted to be open, and I haven’t heard from my lawyer in a month, I’m not a legal entity yet and the place I wanted was sold out from under me by a suspiciously-resistant-to-selling realtor who likes to stand entirely too close to women in basements. The new place I looked at is oddly perfect…except the left front corner of the foundation is sinking and since I pointed that out, I haven’t heard back from that realtor.
No one is talking to me.
Except the universe.
My father always pokes a bit of fun at my term ‘the universe.’ I use it in place of ‘God’ which means my mother and grandmother just call me a heathen. Mmm, for the record, pagan, yes, but not heathen.
Strap yourselves in for some mysticism.
The universe speaks to me through insects—because who doesn’t love creepy crawlies, yeah? Scores of dragonflies and the occasional butterfly, a multitude of ladybugs and moths, sometimes a cricket and rarely a katydid. Ants and spiders, earwigs and silverfish, centipedes and caterpillars…sometimes a waterbug which I’d prefer not to get, and yet, the signs are there and I see them and understand. They really do tell me what’s coming or what to focus on.
So, imagine my surprise when the bugs stopped and the foxes started. Sometimes there were birds, so it wasn’t just me and the creepy crawlies, but believe me when I say the foxes got my attention as nothing else had. They’re so different from what came before.
And I live in a city (well, at the edge). Yes, foxes and even coyotes are everywhere in the US, but you don’t normally hear them calling out in an urban environment.
A fox has been waking me in the night, screaming—but it’s not mating season, so I don’t know what she’s looking for. I feel like she’s telling me to wake up, which fits with the theme of the random bugs and birds that have been knocking on my window all summer long. The day after I first heard the fox, I met two separate people wearing fox shirts. After that, two more fox shirts, a slew of new people named Fox have come to my attention, fox emblems, charms, quotes from people named fox showing up on social media…Foxes have taken over my awareness. It’s only been a week and a half. Before you start sputtering about coincidence or seeing what I’m paying attention to, this is a very high amount of ‘fox encounters’.
So I looked them up. And there are a lot of truths that have slammed into my face as I did so. Now, in case you haven’t noticed from above, I’m closer to following pagan traditions than anything else, though I was raised Christian—specifically Lutheran. But, I also have a degree in world religions (and politics) so I understand a little bit about a lot of things. I can tell you now that no one has all the answers, and maybe one day I’ll share my theory of the Christian story concerning the Tower of Babel.
For now, let me just say that there are truths and messages coming to me on an urgent tide. Let me also give you a warning. I’ve separated my religion and my politics from my business. Writing books is my business. But I feel like spreading my truth. Like the fox, which can symbolize teaching, guidance, patience (and mischievousness, tricks and definitely intelligence) I’m ready to call out and wake someone up. Foxes have long been linked to camouflage, blending in when necessary, but, also, they know when to leap.
I’ve been hiding and I’ve been hidden. I contorted my life so as not to outshine the people around me, but I’m tired of that. I’m tired of waiting, I’m tired of others holding me back because somehow they’ve gained more influence over my life than I have, and I’m tired of biting my tongue so that my truth doesn’t offend.
But, you know what? This is my real estate. I’ve gotten my house in order and I’ve rearranged this website, hence the ‘organization’ part of the title. I’m ready to move into the next phase of my life, ready to step into my future and I pray it’s better than what I just went through.
I hope you’ll stick around and read what I’ve got to share. I hope you’ll take a look at my books and head over to my new webstore to see if there’s something you like, but if you can’t respect my opinion and my right to voice my opinion, then you may go immediately.
And to all the people personally in my life, it’s my turn now.
The cage door closes on Emma Bryant’s freedom after she is arrested for a brutal murder that she did not commit. The tough-talking lioness knows the penalty she faces is death. Can she repel all of the lies in order to survive?
Scott Frazier is always the joker. Beneath the golden lion’s mane is hidden a secret that just might save the woman he’s known to be his future mate since the first time he saw her. The blood of kings runs through him. Will he make the ultimate sacrifice to save the one he loves?
Fighting the Lies is the sequel to The Touch of Snow; the paranormal romance that had non-readers converting to the genre. It continues the story of the Glacial Blood pack as they strive to save a member from the horrific position she finds herself in. But the story isn’t that simple, not when Nuka Lincoln is around, and an impending storm threatens the world as they know it. The Glacial Blood world is full of intrigue, suspense and kick arse fights. It also features a secret that should remain untold.
Anna Edwards is a British Author that has a love of travelling and developing plot lines for stories. She has spent that last two years learning the skills of writing after being an accountant since the age of 21. As well as Roleplaying on twitter, she can also be found writing poetry on Twitter
Her debut novel, Surrendered Control was released in November 2016 and has received fantastic feedback on the drama of story. Since then she has released four other books in ‘The Control Series’. The Touch of Snow is the first book in a seven (at the moment) paranormal romance series. Anna only recently discovered paranormal romance but instantly fell in love with it. Brayden and Selene’s story came to her in a dream.
In her writing she loves to combine her love for romantic and erotic novels with her passion for travel to give an international feel to her novels.
Death Valley is somewhere she visited in 2008 after a tragic personal event. It was part of a tour of the west coast of America that she loved a great deal. The highlight of the trip was a helicopter ride over the Grand Canyon .
Anna Edwards likes her hero’s hot and hunky with a dirty mouth. Her heroines demur but spunky and her books in a kick arse series.
The best laid plans…
Marisa Clements was never satisfied writing the ‘gossip column’ in the local paper so she quit her job to follow her dream of writing fiction. Floundering in an unforgiving industry, she wrote about vampires, a popular subject she considered fascinating but as real as unicorns, to pay the rent.
Corgan Halton was tired of human misconceptions about vampires. He planned on telling Marisa his story and end his existence. It was no coincidence Corgan selected Marisa to write his story. With the ability to see the future, he knew she would be a major part of it. He knew she would be the one to help him die, but in doing so, she’d be doomed to the same fate. Once they met, their futures would be irrevocably intertwined.
Corgan began caring for Marisa and finally revealed the truth to her. He admitted his quest to atone for his past sins had put her in grave danger from a nest of revenge-seeking vampires. Corgan must claim her for her own protection. But claiming her is not enough, he must ask for help from his wizard friends and his maker in order to destroy his enemy or Marisa will never be safe.
… My heroine Marisa faces two would-be assailants before my hero Corgan valiantly swoops in and saves her …
Lost in thought, the last half of her coffee had grown cold, and she didn’t want more, anyway. The coffee shop was deserted except for the lone attendant. It must be later than she realized. Her stomach churned, and something akin to fear gripped her. She had the strangest notion she had to go home. Now.
Leaving the mug on the table, she walked out of the restaurant without a second glance. Her step quickened as she heard frightening sounds in the darkness. Almost home. She sighed.
Two strange men, with dark hoodies concealing their faces, stepped out of the shadows.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry, pretty lady?”
She ignored the speaker and continued walking.
“Hey, we’re talking to you.”
The largest man of the duo blocked her path while the other grabbed her by the back of her neck and yanked her into the alley.
Every fiber of her being wanted to flee. “Let go of me,” Marisa demanded.
“Not until we’ve had some fun.”
She tensed and clenched her fists. “Maybe you didn’t hear me clearly before, asshole. I said let go!”
The man in front of her pulled out a knife, the metal reflecting in the dim light of the moon.
Heart racing, she struggled against her attacker, trying to kick her way free.
“The lady doesn’t want to play tonight, fellas. I suggest you find a new friend.”
The man behind her released his grip, and the two thugs inched away from her. “Hey, man. We didn’t mean any harm.”
Corgan stepped in front of her and waved his hand in the air. “You were never here. You never saw me. If you ever see this lady again, you will run away from her and won’t know why. Am I clear?”
They nodded blankly.
“Then go, before I change my mind.”
Marisa fell into Corgan’s arms as her would-be assailants dashed down the street. Sobs racked her as she shivered uncontrollably. “You saved me.”
“I should’ve been here sooner.” Holding her tightly, he stroked her hair. “Nothing will ever harm you again.”
Surrounded by the safety of his strong arms, she had complete faith in him. She leaned into his embrace and sighed.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
He scooped her up in his arms and floated into the air. His black cape swirled around him as they rose higher. Then they soared over the city, high above the buildings.
“Wow. I had no idea.” As he flew through a wet cloud, she snuggled closer. “Don’t drop me, okay?”
He chuckled, a deep and throaty sound, as if she amused him. “I’ll try not to, little one.”
“Well, try hard, mister. I’m too pretty to fall from the sky and smash on the sidewalk.”
“Yes, it would be a shame to mar your pretty face.”
Returning below the clouds, he lowered them onto a curved, marble balcony. With a wave of his hand, the double French doors swung open. Light from many flickering candles illuminated the room.
“Where are we?”
Praise for A Vampire’s Tale:
“…I have truly enjoyed reading Corgan and Marisa’s story. I loved all the new twist that the author created for the way vampires live and the magic things they are capable of doing. A Vampire’s Tale puts a whole new twist on vampires. I would recommend A Vampire’s Tale to anyone who loves reading about vampires.”
— The Avid Reader
“… A Vampire’s Tale is a unique type of romance. It is essentially a slow burn for most of the story, a deep and progressive tale of love between our intrepid heroine Marisa and the enigmatic vampire Corgan.
For me this book was reminiscent of Interview with a Vampire, a tiny smidge of Misery (you’ll get the reference once you read it), a little bit Twilight mixed with a whole lot of originality, romance and drama, with the intimate scenes being softer and more fade to black than vampire books often portray…”
— Emerald Book Reviews
“… This novel is a paranormal romance unlike any other I have read before. I must confess I was a little worried about the writer-vampire relationship. Probably because I thought the romance will be a little cheesy and not too much action or plot development into it, but I am glad I was wrong. The story ended up being a sweet and heartwarming romance mixed with a good enough dose of action and mystery.
This book is quite a specimen because it’s worth isn’t just in the romance development but in the stories behind our hero and heorine. I highly recommend this novel to those searching for something much fulfilling, interesting and enchanting than your typical romance…”
— Two Girls Book Reviews
Maya Tyler, wife and mother of two boys, writes paranormal romance with a twist. Her debut novella Dream Hunter was released in December 2014. Her second novel A Vampire’s Tale released on March 22, 2017. She’s a romantic and believes in happily-ever-after. Being an author is her lifelong dream. She enjoys reading, music (alternative rock, especially from the 90’s), yoga, movies and TV, and spending her free time writing and blogging at Maya’s Musings.
Author Site: http://www.mayatylerauthor.com/
Facebook Maya Tyler Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/mayatylerauthor
Book blitz organised by Writer Marketing Services.