Sophia Shade – A Curse of Fire


A magical calling card, a murderous secret, and an ancient, dangerous realm.

The Fae have been hunting Imogen’s mother for nearly eighteen years. She has something they want: her daughter. Now they’ve caught up with her, and Imogen’s faced with a choice: attend their fae college by choice…or by force.

That should’ve been enough warning that Callador, school for the fae, is a manipulative and dangerous place. But it’s not until the school is under attack and the students are facing death by curse that Imogen realizes Callador’s darkest secret isn’t how they get their students to attend.

You won’t want to fall behind on the series readers are calling a “brilliant, magical new world.”


Amazon US I Amazon UK

I feel the same calming feeling wash over me I felt earlier. Is Erick using magic on me? I don’t think so. I don’t see any of the sparks around him I usually see when he uses magic. He just has a calming presence, I suppose. Some people are like that. I often felt something similar from Mom. She could comfort me or calm me with just a touch. That’s all he’s doing, comforting a friend in her time of need.

Ella bursts into the room, Caleb right behind her, and I pull my hand away from Erick. Caleb doesn’t even seem to notice.

“I have it!” Ella says excitedly.


Sophia Shade is the enchanting author of the Fae Academy world. She lives beyond the Shadow Veil with the students, teachers, and creatures who attend Callador: Academy of the Aos Sí. When not writing, she spends her time battling darkness to save her newfound friends and family from the mysterious force that wants to drain all magic from Faerie once and for all.


Website I Facebook I Instagram

A Sense of Community

I’m writing this a day after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. My country remembers this great man as a Civil Rights leader, a compassionate man, a minister, an agitator who became the face of a movement we still need today. We remember him with a holiday, celebrating his birthday with community events and community service, outreach to make our corner of the world just a little better.

Very fitting. Community outreach was the very thing we love Dr. King for, and yet it’s not exactly the reason we remember him.

Community…a seemingly elusive concept that grows more distant every year. We can chat with perfect strangers on Facebook, but we don’t even know our neighbor’s names. We can tell you all about our ‘Facebook friends’ and their kids, what they’ve done, their accomplishments, vacations, parties…but we don’t know if the elderly people down the road have heat this winter or if the new mother two houses away gets enough food.

We don’t care that our school systems are broken, we don’t care that states now have the wherewithal to pronounce healthcare as unnecessary because it ‘doesn’t prevent enough illness’, we only just feel bad for those people swept up in hurricanes, tornadoes, blizzards, fires and mudslides, and we don’t care that homeless men, women and children may be freezing to death on the streets or that some are starving to death in Puerto Rico.

Except, we do. On a deep and profound level, we absolutely care, and it’s just awful. These things that are happening are just awful…But it’s overwhelming, and what can we do? That’s what we have governments for…

But we see where that got us. We need to start helping ourselves, too. We need to stop relying on some outside force that obviously stopped caring about its people a long time ago and start caring for ourselves…and our neighbors.

So this year, let’s honor the memories of all the great men and women who have gone before, who have managed to make their corner of the world just a little better—whether they be celebrated or humble, whether we know of their accomplishments or if they just touched a handful of people—let us celebrate them by bring back a sense of community.

There are things you can do that don’t take much time or money. Help somebody with their bags, shovel the snow off their sidewalk, mow their grass. Give to food banks and homeless shelters. Donate pens and pencils to schools.

Be nice to others.

Part of our problem here, in this country, is that there is always someone ‘different’. Different is code for ‘not my kind of person’ right?

I used to live in Africa, where there is a very strong sense of community. That’s not my point, though. Having lived overseas for a number of years, I’d reached a place where I could Spot The Americans. I knew them right off—because they moved a certain way, owned whatever space they currently occupied a certain way. There was some innate arrogance/confidence/aggression in their very demeanor—and I don’t mean that in a bad way. They weren’t necessarily rude, just…different from everyone else.

Americans are encouraged to say they’re Canadians when they travel overseas. I don’t know why, but I can tell you it doesn’t work. You do something like that, and whoever you’re talking to will just think you’re a liar. Even if they go along with it. You’re American, and it’s telling in every breath you take.

I wish I could hold up a mirror and show my countrymen how very similar we are. We are unlike everyone else, and yet we descend from everyone else. We’re so busy trying to define our differences that we keep overlooking our similarities, and that prevents us from developing our sense of community into the greatness that so many are clamoring for.

We are one nation. A nation is a people. We are one people. One community.

Let’s start acting like it.

Annora Wilson – Incrusted Release Day!

To save myself, I must kill my own heartbeat…

I was that unique breed, the ‘werepire’ a rare and powerful one that was made from a deadly and impossible combination of a Vampire and a Werewolf.

But I am no more than a sin to them. I am desperately trying to seek some answers, whilst my unknown enemies are on the prowl to destroy me, if I want to survive them, I need to know myself first.

 

Join Ingrid in her exciting game of life and death and see how she plays with her own fate…

I had always felt like a stranger to the world etched in charcoal. The absence of the vibrant hues of color gave me a strangling feeling; a feeling that was unexplainable, a feeling that made my whole body shudder with an unbearable pain. The blindness, the fear of the unknown and the wretched memories attached to it, pinched several holes into my defenseless soul.

My soul-shattering agony wasn’t unknown to him either, in fact, I even had the delusion that he understood my pain in a way that no one else could ever fathom. But, it didn’t take him a blink of an eye to throw me right into the arms of darkness!

And now I was running in the middle of an unknown forest, from a bunch of enemies whom I never saw before. My enemies were as unknown to me as this ruffling forest, that was covered in an ominous veil of darkness. As the strong fragrance of blood and rotten flesh numbed my nostrils, all I knew was that I was running amidst an endless row of giant pine trees.

“Don’t look back!” I whispered to myself. My weak voice got overshadowed by the thunder like sounds of my panicked breaths. My heart had forgotten its sense of rhythmic breaths and was now pounding like crazy. Fulfilling the demand of the adrenaline rush in my body I ran, I ran with my full speed, yet I couldn’t escape them. Even my full strength was falling short in front of those night beasts. My aunt always taught me to trust my own strength, she told me that my belief in myself was far stronger than any force in this whole universe. Everything was gone, forget confidence, I wasn’t even sure if I knew myself anymore!

The hungry howls of those baying night creatures froze my senses. They were getting closer with each passing second, I had no idea how much more pressure my bruised feet could handle. I knew that I was fighting a lost battle, they were the shadows of the devil, it wouldn’t take them a minute to kill me. But something inside me refused to accept defeat.

“I don’t want to die like this” I cried with my broken voice, aiming for the sky. Though I knew that there was no one listening to me, I knew my prayers would bounce back from the sky, then also I prayed, I prayed with the little ray of hope, that told me that this wasn’t the end for me. My feet gave up, the pain was unbearable, it felt like the white blankets of snow were made up of thousands of sharp pointed needles. The once green pine tree that now looked like it was showered in the snow, offered me its branch to lean on.

I rested my back against that giant pine tree to calm down my heaving chest. The cold bark was hard on my back, yet it soothed me somehow.

And for a moment, it felt like the world stood still, the silence was comforting yet horrifying at the same time. I had no idea what the next moment could bring.

After taking some deep breaths when I dared to look back, my hazy vision could detect some red footprints stained against the white snowy carpet. The slight hint of moonlight on the dove gray sky was making the white snow shine like glitter. My eyes got widened in alarm, Great! now it wouldn’t even take them a minute to find me, I thought while banging my head against the rough bark of the pine tree. The distant sound of howling had now turned into an aggressive and urgent grunting. I needed no more directions to detect that the bunch of werewolves had found me and were ready to rip my heart apart from my exhausted body.

I had no idea how many miles I had run, but all the muscles of my body were worn out and I had no once of strength left in me. When I tried to move, my feet slipped, I lost my balance and fell down. My face crashed into the icy ground, the dripping blood from my mouth, colored the white snow into saffron color. Before I could realize anything else, the shadow of a tall figure blinded my eyes. I knew who it was and what he wanted, I had reached the dead end and now there was no escaping.

Add it to Goodreads

Available Now!! $.99 or Free on KU

Buy it on Amazon

 

About the Author

Thank you for stopping by to read about me. My name is Annora, I was a studious girl in my high school, I always loved to read and write stuff. I used to write stories when I was in school. Now, when I look back, they seem quite amusing to me :):). When I got into college, I pursued my passion for writing, I really loved it as a hobby. Then Twilight came out. I absolutely loved the series. I finally found the genre that I loved. Somehow these vampire, werewolves and paranormal genre, in general, intrigued me so much.
I love to see how human relations work, I have always been fascinated with the human psychology. When I write my characters, I get to know them much better. I get to know how they feel, how they perceive. This helps me a lot to understand myself and people around me. So my writing is like an Emotion Lab for me believe me, It has taught me so much!

I hope you like my work, Please feel free to contact me, I am always open to chats and discussions

Join my Fan Club NewsLetter

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

Kira Archer – The Billionaire’s Unexpected Baby

One minute, pregnant Leah Andrews is throwing up over the side of a yacht and the next, she’s married to party boy Brooks. It’s an arrangement born of sheer desperation to save her job, but now the tabloids are all over them, their friends are running a pool betting on whether they’ll actually stay married until Baby Day, and worst of all, she and her new husband might just be falling for one another. But they belong in opposite worlds. It’ll never work.

Billionaire app developer Brooks Larson lives his life on the light side. Until he tries to play hero and claims to be Leah’s husband. Now he’s up to his ears in Lamaze classes, baby powder…and unexpected marital bliss. But he’d make a rotten husband and horrible father. Leah and the baby deserve so much better. Add in major baby daddy drama and the whole situation is the worst idea EVER. But sometimes those bad ideas might just be the best ones.

Amazon US I Amazon UK I iBooks I Nook I Kobo

Kira Archer resides in Pennsylvania with her husband, two kiddos, and far too many animals in the house. She tends to laugh at inappropriate moments and break all the rules she gives her kids (but only when they aren’t looking), and would rather be reading a book than doing almost anything else. Most of her non-writing hours are spent hanging with her family and running her kids around because they are busy and she’s the taxi driver. She loves her romances a little playful, a lot sexy, and always with a happily ever after. She also writes historical romances as Michelle McLean.

Website I Facebook I Instagram I Twitter

TL Reeve & Michele Ryan – Kalkin


Keeley Blueriver is not doing a very good job hiding out. After being viciously attacked, she and her sister Danielle pack up and move across the country to Window Rock, Arizona. But Simon found them before, and he’ll do it again. How and when are the only questions.

 

Kalkin Raferty, Alpha of the Raferty pack, has spent his life protecting his family and pack from outside threats. He believes his time for finding a mate has passed. Who would want an old Alpha wolf?

 

A chance meeting puts Kalkin face to face with his destiny and now he can’t get the blonde-haired, hazel-eyed woman out of his mind. His wolf is poised to claim her, but with danger lurking around every corner, is he willing to risk everything to have her?

“Where the fuck is the baby?” He kept his voice controlled, knowing the pup was safe and sound with Danielle—for now. Kal tried in vain to keep his voice down so their neighbors couldn’t overhear their conversation. As it stood, he still wasn’t sure how he felt about Keeley. Well, he did, but acknowledging the mating and participating in it were two totally different things. Right now, they didn’t need any extra headaches. However, he had a sneaky suspicion he was in over his head and he was too stupid, or ignorant, to admit it.
“He’s with Danielle.” Caden shrugged, moving around his brother. “The boy was in his pup form when I got him. I couldn’t take him to a hospital and you know if I took him to a vet—which there isn’t one in a twenty-mile radius—they would have freaked out if he spontaneously shifted. So, I brought him back here.”
“You don’t think the girl will freak the fuck out when he spontaneously shifts, Caden?” Kal couldn’t believe what his brother said.
“No,” he answered plainly.
“No?” Kalkin snorted. “I have got to hear this explanation. Come on, lay it on me. Tell me, ‘oh smart one,’ why she won’t freak the fuck out when the baby shifts.”
“She’s not normal either.” A slow small crossed his brother’s lips. “She got this…thing. I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone about it, but bro. She’s special.”
“Great. Fan-fucking-tastic. So, she could have a serious case of gas, but she’s special.” Wow, he knew his brother could be stupid sometimes, but this was a colossal fuck up. It ranked right up there with the time they were sixteen and Caden decided he was going to pull the tail of a cat shifter. The asshole ended up in bed for a week with tiger claw slashes to his side.
“I’m being serious, asshole,” Caden snapped, going nose to nose with his brother. “She helped the pup more in five minutes than a hospital could in two fucking weeks. I promised her I wouldn’t say what it was, but I felt her. She did something to him and he was a different pup when he woke up.”
Kalkin blinked, taking in everything his brother said. A part of him wanted to believe his brother and another part of him wanted to continue to chew his ass. He also realized he should be more concerned with the pup. Kal blew out a breath and scrubbed his hand across his brow. “How bad?”
“Two broken legs and some bites. Danielle thinks he’ll be fine. She wrapped the wounds and set his back legs.” He chuckled a bit. “Aiden ate up the attention when I checked on them after Mrs. Martin hooked me up with some breast milk for the boy.” Caden turned serious for a moment. “I don’t know why Tiffany had fucking pups. She couldn’t even take care of herself when we were younger. Then she goes off and gets fucking pregnant. The bitch tried to kill him!” Kalkin watched his brother pace. “Aiden is now parentless. Why? Because she doesn’t have enough fucking sense to bring all the pups to her Alpha.”
Wait. “There are more?” He couldn’t believe Caden would take one and leave the others. “Why did you leave them?”
“Aiden is the only one who survived.”
“Fuck.” He’d have to deal with this sooner rather than later. “Do we know the father?”
Caden snorted. “If I had to guess? Someone in the Quincy pack. The kid smelled of piss and shit, though, so I couldn’t be sure.”
“Shit. Not what we need right now, but because you went off half-cocked, you brought shit down on our new neighbors.” Kalkin couldn’t even be angry anymore. He understood Caden’s need to protect the baby. However, it couldn’t be at the expense of two women who’d been through their own shit. “What are you going to do when Aiden shifts and is a baby?”
“Well, I had been thinking about it when you pulled up to house like Billy Bad Ass. I’m going to tell her what we are.”
What? “Are you fucking kidding me?” He couldn’t believe what his brother was saying. “Why?”
“Tell me you aren’t planning to do the same.” Caden’s blue eyes swirled with intent. “Tell me you weren’t going to have Keeley run with you during the full moon.” His brother had him. He had been contemplating revealing himself during the first day of the summer festival.
“Shit,” he said, blowing out a frustrated breath. “This is all FUBAR.” Fucked up beyond all recognition.
“Tell me about it.”
“You’re part of the reason, asshole.” He turned away from his brother and caught his neighbor staring at him. “Great.”
“What?” His brother stepped over to where he was standing. “Ah, shit.” There, peeking out of their window, stood Keeley, Danielle, and a very happy little boy. Shit, maybe his brother had been right.
“Yeah, great fucking work, asshole. I’m betting they saw and heard everything. So much for having to explain it to them.”
“Hold on. You’re assuming they heard anything. They’re completely human. They couldn’t hear a flea fart.”
“I thought you said Danielle is special.” Kal cocked a brow. “Or were you blowing smoke up my ass about her?”
“She is. I can assure you what I experienced when she started working with Aiden,” Caden paused. “Shit, bro. It was amazing.”
“Are you sure she was touching the pup?” he quipped.
“Yes, dickhead. It wasn’t sexual at all, but it had been amazing nonetheless.” Caden’s blue gaze locked with Kal’s and his demeanor turned serious. “She’s my mate.”
Of all the fucking things he expected his brother to say, finding his mate hadn’t been one of them. “Shit. Are you sure?”
“Oh yeah.”

Amazon US I Amazon UK I Kobo I Nook I iBooks I Google-Books

 

TL Reeve: TL Reeve, a best-selling, multi-published author, was born out of a love of family and a bond that became unbreakable. Living in Alabama, TL misses Los Angeles, and will one day return to the beaches of Southern California. When not writing something hot and sexy, TL can be found curled up with a good book, or working on homework with a cute little pixie.

Michele Ryan: Michele Ryan is an author with Decadent and After Glows Publishing. She embraced her creative passion and co-authored several books with fellow author TL Reeve. Michele has also published two solo novellas. Michele is a lifelong resident of the state of New Jersey, along with her husband and three children, whom she refers to as her hobbits. When Michele is not plotting or writing, she can be found either volunteering at her children’s school or reading.

TL Reeve:

Facebook I Newsletter I Blog I Site I Twitter I Group I BookBub I Amazon

Michele Ryan:

Facebook I Site I Twitter I BookBub I Group

Combined sites:

Michele/TL Reeve I ACS I Combined Newsletter

Grand Prize: 7’ Kindle Fire and bag

1st Prize: 1 Paperback copy of Kalkin and a bookmark

2nd Prize: 1 $10 gift card

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

Dakota Willink – Heart of Stone

Bound by need. Entwined in secrets.

Krystina Cole was a girl on a mission. She had big dreams and aspirations, none of which included a man by her side. She knew better than that – at least until she met Alexander Stone, the New York billionaire real estate tycoon. She saw the way he looked at her, and the dark promises in his eyes. She was curious about his world and all it entailed. But the shadows of her past haunted her, making her afraid to explore the possibilities she could never before have imagined.

Alexander Stone was a man who knew how to get what he wanted. He understood the value of finesse, and the importance of patience and diligence to achieve the desired result. He was successful and wealthy, relying on his naturally sharp instincts to guide him through life. But a chance run in with Krystina Cole quickly turned his world upside down. Her quick wit and firecracker attitude was the complete opposite of what he wanted in a woman, and his instincts failed him at every turn.

However, both Krystina and Alexander are clinging to the secrets in their past, and neither of them are willing to compromise. Krystina’s hardened heart makes emotional surrender a hard limit. But for Alexander, revealing his past could have devastating results.

Amazon US I Amazon UK I iBooks I Nook I Kobo

 

Dakota Willink is a contemporary romance writer and editor, and the author of The Stone Series. She is an associate member of Romance Writers of America and a two time Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards winner.

Dakota has always had a passion for reading and writing. From the time she was an adolescent, she enjoyed curling up with a good paperback, reading genres that ranged from thriller and fantasy, to mystery and romance. She always dreamed of one day writing her own book, but had put her aspirations on hold to focus on her family and a career that would pay the bills. However, her heart continued to be with fictional characters – whether they belonged to a favorite author or if they were just stories that she made up in her own head.

In 2013, Dakota gathered enough courage to turn her dreams into a reality. In between playing chauffeur to two very busy children and working her job during the day, Dakota began to put words on paper. Eventually, she began to describe her life as a book. Everything she saw or heard throughout the day, intertwined with her imagination for the creation of future writings. By 2014, with the support of her husband and two children, she gave up the security of a steady paycheck and began working on her first novel full time.

Her first novel, Heart of Stone, was published in December of 2015. Less than a year after its release, the Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards recognized Heart of Stone as the 2016 Bronze Medalist in the romance category. In September of 2017, Readers’ Favorite announced Stepping Stone as the Gold Medal winner in the Contemporary Romance category.

Dakota resides in the Western New York area, where she enjoys spending time with family, her two Labrador Retrievers, and her spoiled rotten cat. During the summer months, she can often be found soaking up the sun on the Great Lakes with her family.

Website I Facebook I Twitter I Instagram

KD Grace – Buried Pleasures

Out Now!

Buried Pleasures (Medusa’s Consortium series book 3)

by K D Grace

When Samantha Black shares her sandwich with a dog, his owner, Jon—a homeless man living in the Las Vegas storm tunnels—gives her a poker chip worth a fortune from the exclusive casino, Buried Pleasures. All Sam has to do is cash it in. Sam is in Vegas for one reason only—to get her friend, Evie Holt, away from sinister magician, Darian Fox, who holds her prisoner in an effort to force Sam to perform at his club, Illusions. A neon circus tent of strange and mystical acts, Illusions is one of the biggest draws in Vegas, and he’s hell-bent on including Sam in his disturbing plans.

The shadowy Magda Gardener will do anything to keep Sam from cashing in that chip. She knows that Buried Pleasures is the gate to Hades and cashing in the chip is a one-way ticket across the River Styx, which runs beneath the storm tunnels of Vegas. Jon is really Jack Graves, owner of Buried Pleasures, and Graves is really the god of death, himself, and if things aren’t already confusing enough, he and Magda know what Sam doesn’t. Sam is the last siren. That her song can kill is only the beginning of her story. Jon wants her safe on his side of the River, protected from Fox’s hideous magic. But even Death fears Magda Gardener, who is none other than Medusa, and the gorgon has her own agenda. If Sam is to understand her heritage and win the battle against Darian Fox, not only will she have to trust her heart to Death, but they’ll both have to work for the gorgon, whose connection with Sam runs deeper than any of them could imagine.

With a soft clink, Fox dropped the key in a small ceramic bowl on the dresser, not bothering to lock the door behind him. There was no need now.

He heard the rustle of bedding and a soft female moan before his eyes fully adjusted to the gloom. Then he saw the shape of her, duvet thrown back in spite of the chill, the pale silk of the negligee rising and falling with her anxious breathing. He always asked that they be clothed in white silk. Occasionally there was blood, and the red of blood against white silk made the experience more formal somehow, and it always felt like such an occasion should be formal.

As he became used to the gloom, he could see that she had been well-groomed for the occasion, fully made-up and hair freshly coifed, just as he had requested. It was a condition that wasn’t strictly necessary, but made the whole experience seem a little more ceremonial, a little more festive. After all, presentation was a key ingredient in every good restaurant, wasn’t it? Why should his situation be any different?

“Gabriella, you look exquisite tonight, my darling. I can’t tell you how much I’ve anticipated being with you, having you here in my bed.” He removed his jacket and hung it carefully over a cedar hanger on the back of the door. “Did I not promise you that the time would come when I would invite you into my own home, into my own bed?”

Of course it wasn’t his own bed. He never took them to his bed. He had several other rooms in several other places where he took from them what he needed, though this one was special. This one was for feasting. He carefully undressed by the side of the bed where she would be able to admire his every move. She moaned softly and writhed, not taking her eyes off him, needing him almost as much as he needed her. Almost.

At his leisure, he took in the curves that were still luscious enough to be tempting—the rise of nipples, the dilation of pupils, the rhythmic shifting of hips, all of which he could now make out. Ripe fruit, he thought. She was ripe fruit. The experience was always most ecstatic, always most satisfying, when his chosen had not yet passed her peak, when he had not used her so much that her looks had suffered, nor her hunger for him weakened. He needed her hunger as much as he needed her beauty. The two always went hand in hand. He needed her hunger to be her driving force, driving her to him over and over again, until all strength was gone. Most often he controlled his hunger, careful not to allow himself more than what was necessary to survive and thrive.

Tonight, however, he was drained and starving from effort and exhaustion, but from excitement as well, from the knowing that Samantha Black was capable of so much more than even he had anticipated. Tonight he would take deeply from the ripest fruit, take as though it were the first and the last fullness of summer, and Gabriella was just at that point of fullness.

“I’m going to make love to you, darling.” He didn’t even try to disguise his hunger. Anxious anticipation was as much a part of the ritual as savoring the moment, and he wanted her to know how much he hungered for her, how much he needed her. “I’m going to make you come as you have never come before, my sweetheart.” He slid onto the bed next to her, his left hand stroking her soft, dark hair, his right cupping himself, making himself ready. “Would you like that, Gabriella? I know you would, I know how impatient you’ve been.”

There was a soft whimper, and the woman shifted her hips and threw back her head with a little gasp as he slid a thumb across her heavy bottom lip. He was hard, always hard when he hungered. It was a part of the ritual, a part of the consuming, a part of fulfilling his need.

Carefully he slipped down the straps of the negligee so that he could admire the fullness of her breasts. Yes, presentation was so important — ripe cherry nipples against silken white fabric, so succulent, so ready. Her skin was the color of expensive mocha, and for a moment, he took in the feast for the eyes waiting for him. Then he cupped her sex, and she arched up, her eyelids fluttering beneath lush, dark lashes so perfectly made up, so perfectly prepared to meet her lover.

La petite mort,” he said. “It’s what we all long for, isn’t it, my sweetheart, over and over and over again, we long for it. It’s what we dream about in the darkest hours of the night. It’s what we wake up longing for, goose fleshed, slick and heavy with need from those elusive dreams of perfect love, perfect union, perfect dissolving of the self into the other. Oh, my beauty,” he slid a hand between her thighs, and her tongue flicked over her lip in concentration, in anticipation, “I’ve kept you waiting too long. I do apologize. La petite mort is a small gift for a long wait. So tonight, my dearest girl, I shall give you something far grander than the little death. And our joining, our perfect dissolving into one another, will be beyond anything you could ever imagine.”

He positioned himself above her and she opened to him, rising up to meet him in gasps and groans and whimpers that neared desperation. Oh yes, he would give her so much more than la petite mort, and then, in the instant when her body dissolved in pleasure, he would take it all back, all of it and so much more.

There was breath and then there was blood, and there was the life force coursing through the beautiful Gabriella. That life force entered his body through sex, through making love. And truly he did make love, for the gift that the lovely creature writhing beneath him, no longer strong enough to keep her legs grasped around his waist, was giving him was worthy of lovemaking. The taking of the life force in such a way was sex raised above and beyond ecstasy. He seldom partook to the end. He usually made it last for months, sometimes even years, depending on how powerful the life force was.

But Gabriella had no particular power, nothing but her exquisite beauty to linger on. He saw such as her as fast food, really, a needed energy boost in desperate times, and this was one of those times. Her sacrifice would ensure that he was focused and ready for whatever obstacles Graves could throw in his way where Samantha Black was concerned, because he would have her. He had to have her.

The woman beneath him shuddered with release, and he took her mouth more fully, swallowing back the harshness of her breath to blend with his own, teasing him to join in her ecstasy. She would climax over and over, and that would be her final memory. She would come to her death in rapturous pleasure, and she would not even feel that moment when all of her breath, all of her life force, all of her power, passed to him, and the darkness took her.

Her eyelids fluttered again and again, for now she truly had not the energy left for more than the flutter of eyelids above huge, dark eyes. Even the quiver low in her loins had transferred itself to him, and he felt her orgasms as though they were his own, as though through the breath, through the coupling, he had become her and she him. He had taken her into himself as she had him into her, so open, so inviting, so willing.

“You see,” he whispered against the seashell hollow of her unhearing ear, “I have given you so much more than la petite mort, just as I promised, darling. So much more for both of us.”

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

iBooks

Kobo

Smashwords

Add on Goodreads

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:                                                                  

Websites: http://kdgrace.co.uk/

http://www.thebritbabes.co.uk

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/KDGraceAuthor

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KD_Grace

Newsletter: http://www.subscribepage.com/kdnewsletter

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/kdgraceauthor/

 

 

Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.

Not so bad after all…

So I was absolutely convinced that 2018 would be better than 2017. Convinced. Nothing seemed to go right in 2017 and the New Year was going to turn the page, start fresh, clean slate…

But I didn’t win the Powerball. That really sucks because my furnace went up…and my pipes were frozen and last night I was in a minor accident that makes me want to call out of work every time inclement weather comes to town… Except, I didn’t win the Powerball and those $5 royalty checks from Amazon won’t pay my bills.

But Fate teases me because everything is bad, but not anywhere close to as bad as it could have been. One week later, and the furnace issue would have resulted in a life-or-death struggle for my grandmother, if not me. Temperatures around here hit 1 degree. ONE. Yes. We’re not used to that. Even with the new furnace, we were layered up and still cold (drafty old house) and the hot water pipes froze to the bathroom. But again—not so bad, considering we still had water and between pipes breaking in other people’s houses and the water mains exploding all over town, we were very lucky. And we still had hot water in the kitchen.

That’s how so much seems to be, though. Especially lately. Do you read horoscopes? I’m a Libra…wasn’t I supposed to have some sort of Emerald/Jubilee year where everything went well and my life and career finally took off in an overly blessed way?

I’d hate to see what would have happened if the Heavens weren’t smiling down me.

But, seriously… It’s been hard and I’ve done a lot of complaining about that. It’s also been ‘not as bad as it could have been’ but sometimes that doesn’t feel like enough.

Today, it is enough. Today, the accident I had resulted in a small dent, and there were three cars involved on an extremely icy street. One small dent. That’s pretty good. Also, my house is toasty warm and my hot water is back so I can take a boiling hot shower, the sun is shining outside and the temperature is crawling toward the upper Thirties.

And my optimism rises again. Maybe 2018 will be just fine, after all…

Annora Wilson – Incrusted: Hiding the Demon Within

Preorder Today!

To save myself, I must kill my own heartbeat….

My bewildered eyes flickered with an orange glow as something inside me craved for another drop of blood. The red liquid’s rusty and salty taste was nothing less than heaven to me…wait..what heaven? there wasn’t any heaven for someone like me…

Yes I was that unique breed, the ‘werepire’ a rare and powerful one that was made from a deadly and impossible combination. My powers could destroy all the night creatures of this world. I was nothing more than a sin to them.

My life was at peace when I was just an innocent college going girl; soon things turned upside down when a handsome vampire saw a side of me that no one could ever fathom. His sexy charms took my breath away. I fell for him hard and fast, without having the slightest idea that he was only designed to kill.

At the other end was another night creature, the successor of the werewolf clan, he too had his eyes on me. His raw, rugged look and caring persona made me feel safe…but how could I be sure that he wasn’t an enemy?

I am desperately trying to seek some answers, whilst my unknown enemies are on the prowl to destroy me, if I want to survive them, I need to know myself first.

~~

Join Ingrid in her exciting game of life and death and see how she plays with her own fate…

Add it to Goodreads

Pre-order on Amazon

About Annora Wilson

Thank you for stopping by to read about me. My name is Annora, I was a studious girl in my high school, I always loved to read and write stuff. I used to write stories when I was in school. Now, when I look back, they seem quite amusing to me :):). When I got into college, I pursued my passion for writing, I really loved it as a hobby. Then Twilight came out. I absolutely loved the series. I finally found the genre that I loved. Somehow these vampire, werewolves and paranormal genre, in general, intrigued me so much.
I love to see how human relations work, I have always been fascinated with the human psychology. When I write my characters, I get to know them much better. I get to know how they feel, how they perceive. This helps me a lot to understand myself and people around me. So my writing is like an Emotion Lab for me believe me, It has taught me so much!

I hope you like my work, Please feel free to contact me, I am always open to chats and discussions

Join my Fan Club NewsLetter

Facebook

Twitter

Instagram

Baltimore

Baltimore.

Back in the 90s, when I was a teenager, it was called The City that Bleeds. A rip on the ‘City that Reads’ slogan we used to boast, and an indicator of the level of violence back in those days.

Today, Yahoo had a story on Baltimore, and though I knew better than to read the comments, I did read a few. And I got angry, of course. Too many people that can’t even find my city on a map have opinions on the liberal government, calling the people here entitled, blaming black leadership when this problem began under white leadership and has carried over from centuries of economic inequality.

I’ll tell you now, the problem isn’t specifically racial. Most people in Baltimore will tell you the same thing, and I even saw several try to tell the national news media when they were here for our ‘riots’ only to be shut down because it didn’t fit the narrative people were trying to tell. Or sell, as the case may be.

I hate when you start talking about my city without knowing a thing about it. I hate when you develop a misinformed opinion based on what you think you know. Just because you watched The Wire doesn’t mean you know anything about this city. You’ve got to live here to understand.

I’ll give a run-down, though. Just to help a little.

  1. We’re way more diverse than the media would have you believe. We’re also way more integrated in most neighborhoods…except the very poorest where the majority of residents are people of color and brown immigrants. That’s a problem that’s echoed in every city in this nation. So…if you live in a city, you’re sitting on a ticking time bomb thanks to the lack of opportunities for the poorest people.
  2. We haven’t had youth programs in this city since the early 90s, when the Police Athletic League was done away with. BTW, that was not done under black leadership, either. When you deprive the youth of safe entertainment and socialization outlets, they will create their own or fall into alternative opportunities that may result in high crimes and/or death. Spend some money on youth programs and I guarantee the crime rates will fall. Idle hands, and whatnot—you know that saying?
  3. There is no future, no community investment, no opportunities for growth and mobility. That leaves limited options. If you’re trying to support your family, where will you go for money? Gangs, when there are no legitimate means. And that goes back to youth programs because gangs recruit early and they foster a sense of loyalty and family the government and your grandma can’t compete with. Oh, and we’re currently working on the second or third generation of this, so kids learned what their parents learned…
  4. Food deserts exist in cities. We have Arabers who carry food into the communities, but we need more. We need more smaller groceries and farmer’s markets, more local produce options and community gardens. Neighborhoods don’t always have good access to markets and grocery stores because space is limited. You won’t find a Walmart close by and lots of people have to buy only what they can carry on the bus, so no savings on bulk like the suburbanites and their wholesale clubs. It’s a problem for nutrition and health, energy and output and has educational ramifications, as well. Kids don’t have enough food to concentrate on daily studies, so we need to be feeding them better in school. Don’t tell me how your kid hated the healthy food Michelle Obama chose for the education system. Don’t tell me how they threw it away and don’t be smug about it when there are legitimate cases of severe malnourishment in poor neighborhoods.
  5. The education is for shit here. They restructured thanks to George W. Bush’s (not liberal, BTW) No Child Left Behind policy, which may have had good intentions, but resulted in children being pushed through the system no matter if they could read or not. America’s literacy rate has fallen, and continues to fall, drastically, dramatically and alarmingly. Wake up, people. Start wondering what your own kids are being taught, and start questioning what the school system may have hidden from you. In my city and the surrounding counties, we are now learning some terrible truths and if you start digging, I’ll bet you’ll find some too.
  6. Entrepreneurship was turned into a dirty word, or just made impossible. Unless you want to open a liquor store, of course. How about spending some money on grants for small businesses? How about broadly advertising SBA programs and workshops to help budding businessmen and women learn about their options and what’s needed to open a business. Get more small boutiques, stores and services into every community to help lift everyone, to create a stable micro-economy that feeds into the larger city revenues. Focus on small and work up, because trickle down really, really doesn’t work.
  7. Which brings me to the politicians. It’s human nature to be greedy and grasping—and don’t try to sputter a defense of yourself, we all have those moments. Unfortunately, too many in power are allowed to have those moments too frequently, and it doesn’t matter if they’re liberals or conservatives, Democrats or Republicans, black or white. They are people, so things universal to human nature hold true regardless of whatever box you’d like to shove them into. Yes they get reelected—what do you expect of a population that has a lowering literacy rate? What do you expect of a population that is told repeatedly that they are worthless and their voice doesn’t matter?

 

And, BTW, why are any elected officials allowed to vote themselves a raise? (Revenue from the speed cameras, I suppose?) A public servant’s pay increase should be a matter of public referendum. How dare you believe you deserve more money for a job well done when we can bury the dead in all the potholes and your own detectives are being killed on the job? How dare you think you should get more money when our kids are graduating with zero proficiency in their school subjects? You think you’re doing well? Let’s take a vote. If we agree, you get your raise, if not, you don’t. It’s called accountability…or theft, the way you do it.

 

Jesus preserve us, for the second time in as many weeks I find myself repeating the words of an evil madman who doesn’t deserve the fame the world afforded him. People are reflections of the society around them. They are what we made them.

You don’t want violence in your cities? Invest in the people. Don’t give them things, teach them things. Provide opportunities and you won’t have to give them hand-outs. They’re not entitled, they’re appeased in the most negligent way the white patriarchy could come up with. And yes, I blame white patriarchy in particular even though many white people are caught in the same system with the same limitations because—from the outset—our system was set up to  accommodate the rich.

Most poor people are white, but most black people are poor.

Think about that.

Honestly, at the end of the day, this is all classist, not specifically racist, but we are appeased by racist thinking because then we of the lower 50% turn on each other rather than put our considerably energy and talents toward rectifying the true problem. The hoarding of resources.

So, the next time you want to form an opinion on a place you’ve never been based on something you saw in the media, but you’ve never heard a single truth from someone who lives there…just bite your tongue and, instead, start thinking about all the ways we could improve the lives of the clearly downtrodden.

Better schools, business loan programs, good nutrition and a focus on the youth to teach them how to be productive citizens. That kind of knowledge doesn’t result on its own, you know. Someone taught you how to tie your shoes, right? Hands-on approach rather than through observation.

Also, you with your opinions, what are doing to make your own community better?

 

That’s my bone to pick…