My Ex From Hell Blog Tour

My Ex From Hell
by Tellulah Darling


Published: April 1st 2013
Genre: Young Adult
Format: Ebook
Pages: 272
Source: For review
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Sixteen-year-old Sophie Bloom wishes she’d been taught the following:

a) Bad boy’s presence (TrOuBlE) + teen girl’s brain (DraMa) = TrAuMa (Highly unstable and very volatile.)

b) The Genus Greekulum Godissimus is notable for three traits: 1) awesome abilities, 2) grudges, and 3) hook-ups, break-ups, and in-fighting that puts cable to shame.

Prior to the Halloween dance, Sophie figures her worst problems involve adolescent theatrics, bitchy yoga girls, and being on probation at her boarding school for mouthy behaviour. Then she meets bad boy Kai and gets the kiss that rocks her world.

Literally.

This breath stealing lip lock reawakens Sophie’s true identity: Persephone, Goddess of Spring. She’s key to saving humanity in the war between the Underworld and Olympus, target numero uno of Hades and Zeus, and totally screwed.

Plus there’s also the little issue that Sophie’s last memory as Persephone was just before someone tried to murder her.

Big picture: master her powers, get her memories back, defeat Persephone’s would be assassin, and save the world. Also, sneak into the Underworld to retrieve stolen property, battle the minions of Hades and Zeus, outwit psycho nymphs, slay a dragon, rescue a classmate, keep from getting her butt expelled from the one place designed to keep her safe …

… and stop kissing Kai, Prince of the Underworld.

Excerpt
A lone figure stood awaiting my arrival.

Take the natural snobbiness of your everyday hipster, compound it by the regular arrogance of guys in their mid-twenties, and magnify it by infinity thanks to that whole god factor. You’d start to come close to the waves of disdain that just naturally rolled off this dude. The Eau de Smarm he exuded ensured that I wasn’t going to be cozying up to him any time soon.

It may have seemed like his denim shirt, worn unbuttoned over a white wife beater and skinny jeans had been picked up directly off of the floor that morning, but no. From the top of his rakish fedora sitting on his bright red- dyed hair to his pink socks and white vintage Keds, Hephaestus was calculated cool.

And weirdly cute, but I wasn’t going to give him that.

Not even the cane he sported, due to his left foot being twisted inwards could detract from his projecting an overall “don’t even bother reaching for my greatness” status. If anything, the cane was a sleek, black, way cool accessory. “Hephaestus, I presume.”

He crossed his arms. “It’s Festos. And you better have a damn good reason for showing up here with that password, honeybunch.”

“Theo sent me. Prometheus,” I amended, since I wasn’t sure if he knew Theo’s human name.

Given the double take I received, I guess he did.
“I don’t believe you,” he said flatly.

“I swear. He thought you could help break a memory spell.”

“Too bad. I’m busy.”
I took a step forward, my hand up to keep him from ordering me out.

“Please. I don’t think he would have sent me unless he believed you were truly the one person who could help.”

Festos considered me for a second, then rolled his eyes. “Lovely. You’re her. Did Prometheus mention any type of payment for my services?”

“His undying thanks?”

Festos looked a bit too hopeful at that. You know, if you looked past the “couldn’t care less” vibe.

“Not really,” I amended. “But you’re the only god he’s ever mentioned in a remotely respectful way.”

“Wow. Such flattery.” He sighed and waved me toward the machine in the middle of the room. “Get on.”

I hesitated.

He limped over to the contraption. “You want it undone or not? Lose the pillow you’re wearing and move.”

I tossed my puffy coat onto one of the sofas. Then glanced outside. I couldn’t help it. I was worried the minions had come back.

“We’re warded up,” Festos said and flicked a switch.
The machine came to life in a roar of sound.
I bet you a bajillion dollars that if you made a list of all the ways you might remove a memory suppression spell, no matter how weird you got, none of the items would include being hooked up to one of those kinda grungy, video arcade dance machines and trying desperately to keep up with the patterns whipping past.

I win, right?

Surrender Blog Tour

Surrender
by Rhiannon Paille

Published: October 2nd 2012 (first published October 6th 2011)

Genre: YA Fantasy, Paranormal Romance
Publisher: CreateSpace
Cover Artist: Marc Wolfe
Number of pages: 402
Word Count: 100k
Buy from Amazon

How far would you go to save everything you ever loved?

Kaliel was warned about her love for the Ferryman. One day he will marry the land and leave Avristar forever.
She doesn't listen, and because of what she is - a Flame - one of nine apocalyptic weapons, she sparks a war.

In a desperate attempt to save her home and her love, Kaliel tries to awaken Avred, not knowing she may have to make the ultimate sacrifice.

Excerpt
“Sorry I scared you,” he said.
Kaliel pressed her lips to her knees, hoping she could hold in her emotions. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Silence hung between them for awhile. He shifted on the cloak, the black tunic he wore shifting with him. He stretched his legs out, and Kaliel looked at his shin-high boots and breeches. He stole a glance at her turtle shell. “What are you afraid of?”
Kaliel stood. “Happy endings.” She didn’t know how else to explain it. She had contemplated the parable so many times it was exhausting. It didn’t matter which path she took—neither of them seemed very appealing. She let the mist soak her sleeves and stick to her skin. She heard Krishani behind her before he ran his hand down her back making shivers run up her spine. He stayed there, a foot away, and she wished he would move closer, envelope her in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to talk to her. This had to be wrong. What would the brotherhood think?
“Happy endings?” he whispered. He sounded both unsure and nervous. “What do you mean?” “What if someone comes?” She was worried Lord Istar would burst through the trees and find them in this compromising awkwardness. It seemed more taboo than practically drowning in the lake.
Krishani let out a breath. “Nobody ever comes here.”
Kaliel closed her eyes. “You come here.”
Krishani took a step forward and she could feel the heat radiating off him. “All the time.”

She didn’t answer, instead listening to the sound of the falls. Moonlight glinted off the flecks of water. She thought about the orb of ice he created for her. She hadn’t been able to do anything close to that awesome.

“What are you thinking?” he asked again.

She closed her eyes and felt her energy shift; like it had the day she went to the Great Oak. Heat rushed through her as she leaned back, trying to feel him, but not trying to force it if it wasn’t what he wanted. It was clear to her he cared, but she was so worried about whether or not she should let him.

“My parable,” she whispered.
He went rigid, his hand sliding down her upper forearm. “What did the Oak say to you?”
She shook her head. “Never mind, I have to figure it out. Both paths seem so dreary.”
“You seem too sweet to have a bad parable.”

She didn’t want to talk about the nightmares of the Flames, the parable, the fact the Brotherhood would disapprove of him touching her. It felt so natural; the last few moons had been lonely without him. She couldn’t explain what she felt, but she couldn’t watch him marry the land and leave the island.
“But I do,” she said. She drew her hands instinctively to her chest, her elbows digging into her ribs. He dropped his hand as she turned, and buried her face in his chest. He reluctantly ran his hands through her hair, letting them rest on the small of her back.
“I thought about you every day,” he said as she pressed her cheek into his tunic.
She smiled against his shirt. “And I thought about you.”
“Promise me something?” He wasn’t holding her, not really, their bodies weren’t pressed together and the inches between them made Kaliel feel cold.
“What?”
“You’ll find a happy ending.”
“What if I can’t?”
He pulled back and brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Promise me you will.” His eyes met hers and his jaw dropped. His hand paused, cupping her face in his palm. He held her gaze, her heart beating hard. Before she had time to answer, he pressed his lips against hers. She didn’t expect him to do that and it was better than she imagined. She came to life under him, kissing him back with unyielding passion that made him pull away to seemingly catch his breath.
Kaliel’s sadness drained away as he broke from her lips and then cupped her face with both hands and kissed her again, pressing the length of his body against her. His kisses made her feel light and giddy, like she could float into the sky. She slid her hands up his chest and looped them around his neck. There was swimming in the lake and losing her breath and then there was this. Being out of breath with him was like drowning in a sea of happiness. He could keep her prisoner forever and she’d never complain. He pulled away again, and wound his arms around her waist, trapping her against him. His lips found hers again, rough and inexperienced, but strong and satisfying.

She opened her mouth and his tongue grazed hers, warmth spreading from her heart to the rest of her body, making her tingle. She smiled against his lips.

“I missed you.” She tried to steady her breathing.

Krishani shook his head and put his hands on either side of her face. “This is all I want. This and nothing else, ever.” His mouth covered hers again. He pressed himself against her and she sighed. It felt like she had known him her entire life and even longer, if longer even existed.

Images appeared behind her eyelids — the shape of a boy and a girl wearing gaudy crowns on their heads. They were painted into parchment, but they were blurry. She was too elated by Krishani and his lips on hers to record the images, but they seemed familiar.

And then everything changed. Krishani pushed his lips against hers one last time and she felt the shift in her energy dissipate. It was as though all the joy evaporated, replaced by intense fear. She pushed him away and tried to understand the pounding in her heart that made her want to break in half.

Bloom the weed of temptation.
He looked confused and shocked. Without a word, she turned and fled towards the Elmare Castle.

Rhi was never a normal girl. Her life was an urban fantasy wrapped in a paranormal romance and served with a side of horror.

To escape her everyday weirdness she began writing fantasy. She studied at U of Sedona and MIMT, obtaining a PhD in Metaphysical Science and Parapsychology.

She’s married to a chef/comic book shop owner and she has a fondness for architecture.

She frequents twitter and facebook, but if you really want to get to know her you should visit her site: www.yafantasyauthor.com

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Frost Fire Book Blitz

Frost Fire
by Olivia Rivers

Published: November 20th 2012
Format: Ebook
Series: Tortured Elements #1
Publisher: Red Sparrow Press
Buy from Amazon

“Magic is just like love, Allai. It won’t wait for permission before it destroys you.”

Like sand in an hourglass, Allai’s future is dwindling away. She’s spent her entire life fighting the Mages who threaten humanity, and dreams of someday eradicating magic. But all it takes is an anonymous phone call for the truth to spill out: Allai is the one thing she despises most.

She’s a Mage.

Though ancient law mandates Allai’s death, she still has one last chance of survival. His name is Drake Rhaize, and he swears he can lead Allai to a sanctuary for Mages. Allai hasn’t seen Drake in years, but she remembers him as the Demon boy who used to hold her close and softly whisper that he’d keep her safe. But Drake has changed since then: He’s now suspected of murder, and has been out-casted for betraying his own kind.

While Allai doesn’t trust Drake, she has no choice but to put her life in his hands and hope he can get her to safety. Because Allai’s father has hired a pack of Demons to bring her back to him, dead or alive – and Demons never stop the hunt.

Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Excerpt

For a moment, all she felt was relief. Jareth didn’t seem to know that Drake had saved her life. And for some reason, she didn’t want all of the Sentinel knowing that. It somehow seemed... personal.

But then one of Jareth’s words slammed into her.

“Captured?” Allai repeated. She tried to keep her voice calm. Everyone in the Manor knew her history with Drake, but that didn’t mean they needed to know how much it confused or scared her.

“Yeah, Shieldak didn’t kill him.” Jareth paused and raised his eyebrows at her. “You really haven’t heard about this? Really? The guy tried to kill you, you know.”

“Believe me, I know,” Allai snapped. Then she said in a cooler tone, “It’s barely been a day since he was found. It’s not my fault that I didn’t get the news as fast as you did.”

It was a lie. If she had just gone into Shieldak’s office and asked about Drake, she would have known the outcome. But she hadn’t wanted to ask, because she had thought she’d just hear that Drake was dead. And Allai wasn’t sure how she would have reacted to that.

River Road Blog Tour

River Road
by Suzanne Johnson

Published: November 13th 2012
Series: Sentinels of New Orleans #2
Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Tor Books
Cover Artist: Cliff Nielsen
Number of pages: 336
Word Count: 92,000

Hurricane Katrina is long gone, but the preternatural storm rages on in New Orleans.
New species from the Beyond moved into Louisiana after the hurricane destroyed the borders between worlds, and it falls to wizard sentinel Drusilla Jaco and her partner, Alex Warin, to keep the preternaturals peaceful and the humans unaware.
But a war is brewing between two clans of Cajun merpeople in Plaquemines Parish, and down in the swamp, DJ learns, there’s more stirring than angry mermen and the threat of a were-gator.

Wizards are dying, and something — or someone — from the Beyond is poisoning the waters of the mighty Mississippi, threatening the humans who live and work along the river. DJ and Alex must figure out what unearthly source is contaminating the water and who — or what — is killing the wizards.

Is it a malcontented merman, the naughty nymph, or some other critter altogether? After all, DJ’s undead suitor, the pirate Jean Lafitte, knows his way around a body or two.

It’s anything but smooth sailing on the bayou as the Sentinels of New Orleans series continues.

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Indiebound

Excerpt
The minute hand of the ornate grandfather clock crept like a gator stuck in swamp mud. I’d been watching it for half an hour, nursing a fizzy cocktail from my perch inside the Hotel Monteleone. The plaque on the enormous clock claimed it had been hand- carved of mahogany in 1909, about 130 years after the birth of the undead pirate waiting for me upstairs.
They were both quite handsome, but the clock was a lot safer.
The infamous Jean Lafitte had expected me at seven. He’d summoned me to his French Quarter hotel suite by courier like I was one of his early nineteenth-century wenches, and I hated to destroy his pirate-king delusions, but the historical undead don’t summon wizards. We summon them.
I’d have blown him off if my boss on the Congress of Elders hadn’t ordered me to comply and my co-sentinel, Alex, hadn’t claimed a prior engagement.
At seven thirty, I abandoned my drink, took a deep breath, and marched through the lobby toward the bank of elevators.
On the long dead-man-walking stroll down the carpeted hallway, I imagined all the horrible requests Jean might make. He’d saved my life a few years ago, after Hurricane Katrina sent the city into freefall, and I hadn’t seen him since. I’d been desperate at the time. I might have promised him unfettered access to modern New Orleans in exchange for his assistance. I might have promised him a place to live. I might have promised him things I don’t even remember. In other words, I might be totally screwed.
I reached the door of the Eudora Welty Suite and knocked, reflecting that Jean Lafitte probably had no idea who Eudora Welty was, and wouldn’t like her if he did. Ms. Welty had been a modern sort of woman who wouldn’t hop to attention when summoned by a scoundrel.
He didn’t answer immediately. I’d made him wait, after all, and Jean lived in a tit- for- tat world. I paused a few breaths and knocked harder. Finally, he flung open the door, waving me inside to a suite plush with tapestries of peach and royal blue, thick carpet that swallowed the narrow heels of my pumps, and a plasma TV he couldn’t possibly know how to operate. What a waste.
“You have many assets, Drusilla, but apparently a respect for time is not among them.” Deep, disapproving voice, French accent, broad shoulders encased in a red linen shirt, long dark hair pulled back into a tail, eyes such a cobalt blue they bordered on navy. And technically speaking, dead.
He was as sexy as ever.
“Sorry.” I slipped my hand in my skirt pocket, fingering the small pouch of magic-infused herbs I carried at all times. My mojo bag wouldn’t help with my own perverse attraction to the man, but it would keep my empathic abilities in check. If he still had a perverse attraction to me, I didn’t want to feel it.
He eased his six-foot-two frame into a sturdy blue chair and slung one long leg over the arm as he gave me a thorough eyeraking, a ghost of a smile on his face.
I perched on the edge of the adjacent sofa, easing back against a pair of plump throw pillows, and looked at him expectantly. I hoped what ever he wanted wouldn’t jeopardize my life, my job, or my meager bank account.
“You are as lovely as ever, Jolie,” Jean said, trotting out his pet name for me that sounded deceptively intimate and brought back a lot of memories, most of them bad. “I will forgive your tardiness— perhaps you were late because you were selecting clothing that I would like.” His gaze lingered on my legs. “You chose beautifully.”
I’d picked a conservative black skirt and simple white blouse with the aim of looking professional for a business meeting, part of my ongoing attempt to prove to the Elders I was a mature wizard worthy of a pay raise. But this was Jean Lafitte, so I should have worn coveralls. I’d forgotten what a letch he could be.
“I have a date after our meeting,” I lied. He didn’t need to know said date involved a round carton with the words Blue Bell Ice Cream printed on front. “Why did you want to see me?” There, that hadn’t been so difficult—just a simple request. No drama. No threats. No double- entendre. Straight to business.
“Does a man need a reason to see a beautiful woman? Especially one who is indebted to him, and who has made him many promises?” A slow smile spread across his face, drawing my eyes to his full lips and the ragged scar that trailed his jawline.
I might be the empath in the room, but he knew very well that, in some undead kind of way, I thought he was hot.
I felt my face warming to the shade of a trailer- trash bridesmaid’s dress, one whose color had a name like raging rouge. I’d had a similar reaction when I first met Jean in 2005, two days before a mean hurricane with a sissy name turned her malevolent eye toward the Gulf Coast. I blamed my whole predicament on Katrina, the bitch.
Her winds had driven the waters of Lake Pontchartrain into the canals that crisscrossed the city, collapsing levees and filling the low, concave metro area like a gigantic soup bowl.
But NBC Nightly News and Anderson Cooper had missed the biggest story of all: how, after the storm, a mob of old gods, historical undead, and other preternatural victims of the scientific age flooded New Orleans. As a wizard, I’d had a ringside seat. Now, three years later, the wizards had finally reached accords with the major preternatural ruling bodies, and the borders were down, as of two days ago. Jean hadn’t wasted any time.

Suzanne Johnson writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance from Auburn, Alabama, after a career in educational publishing that has spanned five states and six universities.

She grew up halfway between the Bear Bryant Museum and Elvis' birthplace and lived in New Orleans for fifteen years, so she has a highly refined sense of the absurd and an ingrained love of SEC football and fried gator on a stick.

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |

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Blood and Moonlight Blog Tour

Blood and Moonlight
by Moira Keith

Published: August 11th 2012
Genre: Urban Fantasy / Paranormal Romance
Publisher: SP
Cover Artist: Elaina Lee at For the Muse Designs
Number of pages: 270
Word Count: 92,812

Though she shares the bloodlines of both Fae and Wolf, Kiara Morrigan O’Conaill refuses to claim her place in the Fae courts or submit to the animal within.

Witnessing the murder of her Fae mother two years ago drives her back into those worlds, to search for answers and revenge.

Devlin McClure lives for one thing — the Pack. When their leader, the Cadeyrn, disappears, desperation sends Devlin to the last person he should be asking for help—the Cadeyrn’s estranged daughter, Kiara.

Kiara and Devlin are drawn to each other by fate and destined to embrace the very thing that threatens to rip their worlds apart. Now, Kiara will have to decide which is stronger, blood or moonlight?

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Excerpt
"Thanks for nothing!" I slammed down the phone, then picked it back up and screamed into the handset once more. "Asshole!"

As if on cue, the office door opened and Reese breezed in like a tornado, the local paper tucked under her arm. Her hair, the perfect shade of cotton-candy pink, trailed down her back in a waterfall of curls from the taut ponytail atop her head. The dagger strapped to her thigh was the only indication there was more to the woman than met the eye. Perching herself on the corner of my desk, she studied me with eyes flecked with shades of midnight, turquoise, and powder blue. She was a beautiful representation of full-blooded fae and my best friend.

"I take it the lead was a dead end."

"The elusive white fucking rabbit." I rested my head on the edge of the desk. Today marked the second anniversary of my mother’s death and the blame I felt for her absence was overwhelming.

"Tá grá agam duit," Reese softly professed her love for my mother as she kissed her finger and touched the photo of the woman who’d given me life. Her picture held a prominent place on my desk and served as a constant reminder of the pain and loss I’d suffered. After displaying her reverence, she put the photo face down on my desk and looked at me. "Kiara, maybe you aren’t meant to solve this puzzle."

"Perhaps, but considering we keep getting the same canned response I think we’re on to something here." I spun my mother’s ring, which now sat on my finger and sighed.

"You want answers. Need them so you can move on. I get it." She turned her head slightly. "You look like hell."

"The visions are getting worse." I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to fight them even as they pushed their way into my consciousness. Haunting screams, wolves with feral eyes and the constant feeling of unease flooded my mind.

"They won't cease until there's closure. I'm exhausted." The only reason we were in this godforsaken city of sin had to do with my hellish visions.

"Or until you stop carrying around that damn letter. Isleen promised you answers in that note and we’ve heard nothing from her since." Reese shifted slightly on the desk. "Did you drink the tea I made you?"

"Of course I did, but you know none of your fancy concoctions work on me."

"Yeah, well I keep hoping I’ll hit the magic combination one day and all of your sleeping woes will disappear." She bit her bottom lip and her brow furrowed. "You are the only person who’s unaffected by anything I whip up. I just don’t understand it."

"Blame the wolf blood in my veins." Silence fell like a heavy cloak over the room and I quickly changed the subject. "Anything new in the paper?"

She unfolded the paper and placed it in front of me without commenting. I prepared myself for what I would read, knowing the headlines would reveal nothing good. I glanced down, not surprised to see the mayor’s latest showgirl-flanked appearance took top billing. Unfortunately, the headline beneath the fold didn’t hold much shock value either:

Local Pack Loses Another.

I’d followed the story since it first broke but I ignored the temptation to pick it up, not wanting to feel the pain I didn't want to feel or even admit existed. It came as each new story or detail surfaced. One day I feared the news would offer confirmation that my visions were accurate and the names listed would bring my search for answers to a tragic end. I rubbed at my temples.

This was too much. Reality and vision meshed in a mix of macabre surrealist imagery that often left me feeling sick. It was difficult to explain, even to Reese. To her credit, she never pushed.

"Why don’t we discuss what’s in the lobby asking to speak with you." Excitement laced her voice as she fanned herself. Often, she could be read like a book. Whatever waited in the next room would be, at the very least, a nice piece of eye candy. Hopefully, the tantalizing feast would be interested in a nice art piece, but years of friendship and studying Reese’s body language told me otherwise.

"What, exactly, is waiting in the other room?" The faint musk of wolf trailed from the direction of the door. There was something familiar about it but it was so subtle, I couldn’t place it. Every inch of me screamed danger, while at the same time something called to a part of me I tried to forget existed and never could. Not good. Nearly every shifter encounter I’d faced ended in the battle scars that now marred both my mind and body. In a deliberate attempt to mask my unease, I snatched up the paper, leaned back in the chair and kicked my feet up on the desk. The steaming cup of coffee on the blotter would have helped, but I didn’t trust my hands to remain steady enough to allow for spill-free drinking.

My nervously twitching foot drew Reese’s gaze to my recently purchased Louboutin heels and her eyes glimmered, but even shoes weren’t enough to divert her attention from the man in the other room. "Nice try, Kiara, but your mastery in the art of distraction will not work this time. Just smile and be polite."

"You take away all of my fun."

"We’ve been living in this neon jungle for months now, yet you spend all of your time here. If this is fun—" She dramatically waved her arm around the office—"Then I’m seriously misinformed."

I stuck my tongue out at her. A soft knock sounded on the door and Deanne, our secretary, stepped into the office.

"Miss Morrigan?"

The masculine scent, laced with spicy undertones, wafted through the door more strongly, more enticing, more…

When Reese nudged me slightly, I glanced up to see them both watching me. Damn it. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"There is a gentleman here, insisting he speak with you. He says he is here on behalf of a Mr. O’Conaill."

Moira Keith has a penchant for men in kilts, is a lover of shoes, Celtic mythology, connoisseur of Guinness, baker of cupcakes and overall complete mess!

As an author of paranormal, urban fantasy and contemporary romance, Moira writes stories that are often filled with the magic of love and the mayhem that ensues, threatening to keep her couples apart.

Currently, Moira resides in Las Vegas with her twin zombie sons, their beta fish, and a turtle.

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads

Feedback Blog Tour

Feedback
by D.L. Richardson

Published: October 3rd 2012
Genre: YA Sci-fi/Fantasy
Publisher: Etopia Press
Cover Artist: Eithne Ni Anluaine
Number of pages: 208
Word Count: 69,263

Listening to your inner voice can get you killed.

Ethan James, Florida Bowman and Jake Inala are three teenagers who receive much-needed organ transplants.
Two weeks later they are inadvertently recruited by the CIA when a spy dies halfway through his mission. Three bacteria bombs are set to detonate, spreading illness and death across the planet, and it’s up to Ethan, Florida, and Jake to deactivate them.

Except that they have no idea where the bombs are located.

Kidnapped for information they can’t possibly know, and fuelled by the spirit of a dead CIA agent, Ethan, Florida, and Jake must look deep inside themselves if they are to finish the mission and save millions of lives.

But they’re being held captive in a strange place by a man who believes in Feedback, the theory that information is retained in the memory of organs–in this case those of a certain dead CIA agent donor. And their captor will stop at nothing to get the information retained in their newly transplanted organs.

Excerpt
Wednesday, November 9th, Ethan James

AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” blared through the speakers. Apt music considering the weather conditions. Rain pounded the windshield of the Lamborghini. Crushed beneath the noisy rain, the music took a beating, too. I flipped the volume control to the max, drowning out the steady slap of water on the roof.
The dark shroud of night cloaked the striped lines to my left and right. Street signs blasted yellow warnings to drivers to slow down on wet roads. I ignored them.
Instead, I pushed the car to 120 miles per hour. Coming around a curve in the road, I flew up on a van and sharply jerked the wheel to avoid ramming the Lamborghini up its rear end. I owed my life to my quick reflexes. Pity.
I drove for another half mile at suicidal speeds, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the guitar riff. Another half mile. Then another. Just when the buzz of the ride plunged to a level of indifference, the car hit a pothole, veered me across three lanes, and like a punch from nowhere, it was game on.
A tsunami-sized wave of water fell from the sky. Momentarily blinded by the useless wipers, I sucked in my breath when two rows of lights cut through the haze. Two white lights on the bottom and six or more yellow ones on top— the bright circles headed straight at me.
Semitrailer. Not good.
Gritting my teeth, I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. The truck swerved at the last second, missing killing me by about half that length of time. The driver blasted four long bleats of the horn.
I laughed out loud as I spun around.

I accelerated till the car caught up to its former 120 miles per hour. The chorus kicked in, and I helped with the backing vocals. “Thunder. Na-na-na- na-na-na-na-na. Thunder.”
Whether driving under a dome of blue, or a sky darkened by storms like tonight, I liked to push cars to their limit. It didn’t matter what sort of car, but slow cars tended to break apart sooner under extreme pressure. Fast cars handled the punishment of driving at stupid speeds much better.
Speeding made the rush last longer. It filled a void and carried me to a place where I let go of the angst over a waste of a life spent waiting to die of kidney failure. The rush reminded me that seventeen-year-old kids should wish for a professional ice hockey career instead of wishing to still be alive by Christmas.
The song ended, and in that second of silence, my thrill took a dismal nosedive. Images of the hospital I attended every week flickered across my vision. So, I increased the speed. Bad enough the bleak place filled my head and haunted my dreams, but to interrupt my fun—not going to happen.
The next song on the CD kicked in, and it did the trick of hauling me back to the driver’s seat, where I replaced the hospital corridor for a rain-slicked freeway. I figured if I had to die young, I’d do it on my terms. No doubt the doctors would have something to say about this philosophy. If I crashed the car and ended up in the hospital, I’d tell them I reached out to touch life. Better than dwelling on my postpubescent life spent hooked up to a dialysis machine.
I’d probably get pulled over by the cops first, and I couldn’t have that. Aside from speeding, I’d stolen the Lamborghini from a mall parking lot half an hour earlier, and I didn’t have a license.
A crack in my concentration appeared like the lightning bolts streaking the sky. The car drifted into the next lane, and I let it go. A set of lights rushed toward me, and I expertly got the car under control, but at this speed, and despite the car’s sporting capability, the Lamborghini was all over the shot. Buzzed from pushing the car, I kept going.
At 120 miles per hour, streetlights floated like satiny, white ribbons. The rain-slicked road made it impossible to judge the lines marking the lanes. Curves were hard to anticipate.

Sometimes I oversteered; sometimes I didn’t steer enough and had to yank the wheel to the left or right at the last second. Other drivers blasted their horns. I didn’t care about the rules of the road. Rules were for pussies.
For each minute I survived this suicidal cruise, I’d get two points. So far, I’d accumulated over two hundred. Fifty were up for grabs, if I made it home alive. I had a lot to lose if I crashed the car. I had nothing to lose if I killed myself.
I jumped in surprise when a car came up on my left and honked its horn, whizzing by in a blur of chrome. “I don’t think so, buddy.”
I accelerated. If the cops wanted to stop me, they’d have to use air support. Getting myself on TV only added to the thrill of the chase.
Concern over my reckless driving should have registered, but it didn’t. The speedometer now read 140 miles per hour. AC/DC screeched about “Hells Bells,” and the rain didn’t lessen. If I lost control now, I’d smash into the concrete barriers lining the highway. It’d be game over. No way I’d survive the impact. What a shame this last train of thought wasn’t on whether I’d survive or not, but on whether I’d care.
Lightning bolts exploded across the sky and lit up the windshield. In that brief flicker of visibility, I spotted the plane on fire, blocking the highway—and the spaceship blowing up a bridge with luminous green laser beams. I let go of the wheel, idly watching the Lamborghini plow into the concrete barrier.
Metal fragments and orange flames danced in front of me. The sound of something exploding boomed through the speakers. The words GAME OVER flashed across the television screen.
The plane had been okay, but the spaceship insulted me. For sure, the makers of the game reckoned it’d be a hoot to throw unrealistic obstacles in my path.
I tossed the Xbox controller aside and scratched my numb backside. My life couldn’t get any worse…might as well go to school.

D L Richardson was born in Ireland and came to Australia with her parents as a baby.
She went to a public school in Sydney's western suburbs and the books she read were given to her or borrowed from the library. However it was music that first captured her creative interest.

​She joined the school choir at age eight and got her first acoustic guitar at age ten, although she really wanted a piano. In high school she took up lead vocals after the girl she was to sing a duet with failed to show up. After that she told her stage fright to get lost and took up singing with the school band where she performed in many concerts. When she left school she helped form her own rock band where she sang lead vocals, played bass guitar, and wrote all the lyrics. At age 26 she realized she wanted to write novels for the rest of her life or die trying so she sold her equipment, quit pursuing a music career and began writing instead.

​She has two young adult novels published, "The Bird With The Broken Wing" and "Feedback" and is currently writing her third novel "Little Red Gem".

​She lives in Australia on the NSW South Coast with her husband and dog. When she's not writing or reading she can be found playing her piano or guitars, renovating the house, or walking the dog.

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First Light Blog Tour: Excerpt + Giveaway (INT)

First Light by
Samantha Summers

Series: Project Five Fifteen #1
Published: May 28th 2012
Genre: YA Romance/Thriller
Format: Paperback
Pages: 342

Amazon | Amazon UK

What do you do when you've always dreamed of a hero; your knight in shining armour, only to find when he arrives he isn't a hero at all?

... He's a killer.

Ronnie Rose is trying to cope with the loss of her father; now it looks like she might lose everything else that's dear to her too. Huge debts threaten to destroy her family, her childhood home and her future.

Only one person cuts through her pain. Kalen Smith has just moved to town. He's trouble and everyone knows it. He and his mysterious friends keep to themselves and the town likes it that way.
But when Kalen mourns at her dad's funeral, Ronnie wants to know why and her investigation plunges her into a dangerous world of murky government secrets, with deadly consequences. Ronnie knows she should walk away from Kalen before it's too late. Problem is, she's falling for him...

Can we choose who we fall in love with?

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Excerpt

The door to the pub flew open, shaking on its hinges as it rattled to a close. We all glanced around. Four men I didn’t recognise had entered, their stance and expressions screaming trouble. The one who led them had coal-black hair and small shifty eyes like pools of tar. He scanned the crowd and waded in our direction towards the bar. I could tell from people’s reactions that the men had a reputation. Everyone watched them without actually making eye contact. Subtle movements and small adjustments to people’s stance and posture as the men walked past showed that no one wanted to get in their way.
As the group reached us, Shifty-eyes took a purposeful stride sideways, barging Adam from behind to get him to move. Adam lurched forward, his drink spilled from the glass, sloshing over Toni.
‘Watch it, mate!’ Adam exclaimed. They were all older than us, maybe in their early thirties, but something told me I couldn’t count on them acting like adults. The guy smirked at Adam and then faced the bar, bumping him again in the process.
Adam turned back to us, slightly chagrined, but obviously having the sense to ignore them. Cheryl had other ideas. Irate that Toni had been doused in beer, and too drunk to think better of it, she tapped the guy on the shoulder and started yelling abuse at him.
‘Hey, who the hell do you think you are? At least apologise to my mate, you got beer all over her, you idiot!’
The man sneered, looking over at Adam. ‘Do me a favour, mate, get your bird out of my face.’
I glanced over in the direction of Kal. He was watching us intently. Laith whispered something in his ear.
‘She’s not my bird,’ Adam said hesitantly, ‘but there’s no need to be rude.’
‘Sorry, what was that?’Shifty was not much taller than Adam, but he was stockier, with a thick neck and muscles that almost popped through his shirt. He leaned in, cupping a hand over his ear, taunting Adam into saying it again.
‘We’re not looking for any trouble,’ Adam said.
I stared between them, watching the looks on the faces of each of the men. We may not have been looking for trouble, but they definitely were.
‘Now, now fellas,’ said the barman, ‘no fighting.’
‘Get lost, Frank,’ said Shifty. ‘I think we have a big shot here.’ He pushed Adam’s chest with both hands so Adam stumbled backwards. I shot another glance at Kalen, he looked about to head over, but Laith grabbed his arm, holding him back.
Adam had his palms upwards, trying to diffuse the situation. Cheryl was still shouting in a shrill way that hurt my ears. Because of her, things were escalating out of control. Adam was going to get hit.
Unable to stand any more, I moved so I was in between them and looked up at Shifty. ‘Please, can we just leave it? We haven’t done anything to you guys,’ I told him, with my best pleading voice. With one large hand he grabbed hold of my shoulder, about to shove me to one side. Another hand locked around his wrist before he had the chance.
‘You heard the lady,’ Kal’s voice was deadly. In one hand he held Shifty’s arm and in the other, a pool cue. Around us, people fell silent. For a second I thought Shifty might back down, but he didn’t.

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Last Regress by Rachael J. Thorne: Excerpt

Last Regress
by Rachael J. Thorne

Published: July 15th 2012
Format: Kindle edition

Amazon |
Amazon.co.uk

Alyssa Matthews
thought she had an explanation for
everything.

After all, as a slightly sceptical paranormal investigator that was what she was used to doing;
researching, observing and explaining.

So when she began writing a paper about a long forgotten case of death by Spontaneous Human Combustion, she assumed it would be a run-of-the-mill piece.

Little did she realise that she was about to be plunged into a situation that would not only force her to question her own sanity, but also her scepticism about the nature of the paranormal.

Not to mention the dreams that just wouldn’t go away...

Prologue

We watch them living their lives. We watch their hearts beat, they breathe, they grow, they give birth, and ultimately of course they die.
We watch all of it happening. We are always there but they do not know it, they do not see us.
Sometimes, only very occasionally, they think that they can sense something, but more often than not the feeling passes quickly and they barely notice the difference.

If we are careless and do not obey the rules set out for us, maybe they actually do catch a glimpse, just for a second or two, but the memory inevitably fades for most of them, all apart from the more sensitive ones, and we are once again safely forgotten.

It is strictly forbidden for us to interact with them in any way, we cannot help them, we are not allowed to communicate with them at all, and we are only permitted to watch.
Anything else would carry with it the threat of dire consequences, it would upset the delicate balance that we constantly strive so very hard to maintain, and most important of all it would likely bring about our own downfall.

This is what we have learned from our own mistakes; only the few, only the most sensitive, only the ones who have been chosen to share our fate can be allowed to know us, and so we remain in the shadows, and we watch.

It has not always been this way though. We have made our mistakes, we have felt the searing pain of bearing witness to the damage that we have caused, and for this we have suffered.

Oh, how we have suffered...

Rachael J. Thorne is trying to make it in the world as an indie author between tending her garden and being a geek!

She lives in Essex, UK with her husband and crazy dog.

Last Regress is her first novel and she is currently working on her second, Running For A Life.



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