Saturday, October 31, 2015

Life After the Undead blitz, Excerpt & Giveaway!

Life After The Undead 
Pembroke Sinclair
Published by: Booktrope Publishing
Publication date: October 27th 2015
Genres: Post-Apocalyptic, Young Adult, Zombies


Seventeen-year-old Krista must quickly figure out how she’s going to survive in the zombie-destroyed world. The one advantage humans have is that the zombies hate humid environments, so they’re migrating west to escape its deteriorating effects. The survivors plan to construct a wall at North Platte to keep the undead out, and Krista has come to Nebraska to start a new life.

Zombies aren’t the only creatures she has to be cautious of—the other survivors have a dark side. Krista must fight not only to live but also to defend everything she holds dear—her country, her freedom, and ultimately, those she loves.

Join Krista in her quest to survive in this thrilling apocalyptic novel by Pembroke Sinclair.


Will be found here come release day:



I will never understand peoples’ fascination with the apocalypse. Why would you waste so much time and energy worrying about something you can’t change? Besides, most of the time, it never comes to fruition, anyway. Remember Y2K? I don’t. I was too young, but I’ve heard stories. What a hullabaloo that was. People were so afraid of computers failing and throwing society back into the Dark Ages, they stockpiled supplies and moved into the wilderness so they could get away from technology. Why would they move to the wilderness? If technology was going to fail, wouldn’t they be just as safe in a city? I guess they were afraid when it did, everyone would go crazy and start killing each other. Either way, it didn’t happen. I wonder how those people felt afterward.
Then there was the whole 2012 scare. This one was supposedly based on an ancient prediction, so you know it was reliable. Are you kidding? Even the Mayans didn’t believe their own ancestors’ “vision.” What happened was there had been a tablet that had the Mayan calendar carved into it. The end was broken and faded, so no one knew what it said. Our culture, being the pessimistic lot we are, automatically assumed it was an end-of-the-world warning, but, again, nothing happened on December 21, 2012. Christmas came and went, and I think everyone everywhere, even the skeptics, had a little something more to be thankful for. Life went on as usual, and all those doomsayers faded into obscurity.
The day the world did end was pretty nondescript. By that I mean there was no nuclear explosion or asteroid or monumental natural disaster. There weren’t even any horsemen or plagues to announce the end was coming. The world ended fairly quietly. I couldn’t even give you a date because it happened at different times depending on where you were. It was never predicted, and I’m sure a scenario no one even considered. Who really thinks the dead are going to rise from the grave and destroy the majority of the population?  No one but Hollywood, and we all know those are just movies, but that’s exactly what happened. Those of us who survived were left wide-eyed, mouth agape, trying to figure out what to do next.
There were a few who were able to pull their heads out and organize those left behind. They made sure the populace had food, shelter, and protection. They were saviors, the United States’ heroes. Life wouldn’t have gone on without them, and it was pretty difficult those first few years after the zompocalypse.
Sometimes it’s difficult for me to remember what life was like before the rise of the undead. I was a teenager, though I hesitate to say normal. I wasn’t deformed or anything, but my classmates thought I was strange. I had a fascination with the dark, the macabre, although I wasn’t a Goth or Emo. I read books and magazines about serial killers. I didn’t idolize them or want to be like them—hell no—I was fascinated with how evil and black a human’s soul could get.
I wanted to be a psychologist and work with the criminally insane, maybe figure out why they did what they did. Apparently, when you’re fifteen, your friends think you’re weird if you have desires to help someone other than yourself. While they were worried about becoming popular and getting the right boyfriend, I tried to figure out how to make society better.
Of course, those dreams will never come true. Society doesn’t exist. Everything I once held dear is gone. I lost my parents to the horde, like a lot of kids. Unlike some of the others, mine weren’t taken by surprise or in some freak accident. They were taken because of their own stupidity. Some days I miss them a lot, but others I believe they got what they deserved. I might sound callous and uncaring, but what about them? Why would they abandon their fifteen-year-old daughter? It used to keep me up at night, trying to find the answer to that question, but I’ve given up asking it. No reason wasting time on things that could’ve or should’ve been.
As I stare out the passenger side window of the semi, I’m reminded how bleak the future has become. The truck rolls down a once heavily traveled highway that has been reduced to a cracked trail. Gas stations and towns dotting the landscape have been abandoned and are crumpling into the weeds that are taking them over. There are a few areas that still resemble pre-zombie destruction, and these are the military outposts set up along the road, used for protection and refueling. I use the term “military” loosely because there is no formal military anymore. It’s a rag-tag group of men and women who were lucky enough to get guns. I chuckle to myself. It’s been two years since I was last out in the world, and a lot has changed since then. I still remember the day the zombies attacked. It’s as clear as if it’d happened yesterday.


Jessica Robinson is an editor by day and a zombie-killer by night (at least in her books). Since the first time she watched Night of the Living Dead, she has been obsessed with zombies and often thinks of ways to survive the uprising. In addition to her nonfiction book, under the pen name Pembroke Sinclair, she has written YA novels about zombies and the tough teens who survive the apocalyptic world. She has also written nonfiction stories for Serial Killer Magazine and published a book about slasher films called Life Lessons from Slasher Films.

You can learn more about Pembroke Sinclair by visiting her at:

Friday, October 30, 2015

Season of the Witch Tour & Excerpt!

Season Of The Witch
Shades Below
Book 1.5
L.J.K. Oliva

Genre: urban fantasy/paranormal romance

Date of Publication: Oct. 1, 2015

Word Count: 99,733

Cover Artist: Amy Mateyka

Book Description:

Something wicked this way comes...well, more wicked than usual.

Georgia Clare needs help, and fast.  As the lone survivor of—and witness to—her coven's brutal massacre, she's felt the killer hunting her.  There's just one problem: the rest of San Francisco's witching community wants nothing to do with her, and the one man she can turn to doesn't do witches.

Darius deCompostela has done his best to steer clear of subversive affairs.  A private investigator and reluctant medium, the last thing he wants is to advertise his existence to the things that go bump in the night.  But then Georgia knocks on his door, and try as he might, he can't turn her away.

It's just one case, after all.  It's not like it's going to change his life…

Add it on Goodreads


It was her third night in a row of frozen pasta for dinner.  Not that she was counting.
Georgia popped the top off yet another bottle of Corona and took a long draw.  She leaned back against the counter.  The microwave hummed behind her.  She glanced over her shoulder at the digital clock on the unused stove.  Sighed.
Nearly six o'clock, and still no sign of deCompostela.  The pang of disappointment in her chest chafed at her pride.  She should have known better than to believe he would stop by.  He'd already made it abundantly clear he thought she was out of her mind.
Truth be told, the possibility had occurred to her.  It had been a week since the new moon, and she hadn't seen hide nor hair  Whatever it was.  If not for the lingering scent of blood in her nostrils, she could almost believe she'd hallucinated the whole thing.
The microwave beeped.  Georgia took one last drag of beer, then set her bottle down next to the two that had preceded it and opened the door.  Fragrant steam rushed out; a heady blend of tomato, basil, and MSG.
Georgia reached in and grabbed the microwaveable plastic bowl, hissed and yanked her hand back again.  She scanned the kitchen for something she could use as a potholder.  Finally, she settled on a bunched-up paper towel.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled as she pulled out the pasta bowl.  Georgia tensed, turned...
...Just in time to see her living room window explode inward in a hail of glass.  She let out a startled shriek.  A massive, dark creature suddenly occupied the space where her coffee table used to sit.
Everything else seemed to happen in slow-motion.  The creature straightened, shaking shards of glass off its dull black fur.  Its ears twitched towards her.  Its lips peeled back from its razor-sharp teeth.
Georgia's chest seized.  Recognition slammed through her.  The creature snarled.  Any lingering doubts she'd been harboring instantly evaporated.
It was here.
Georgia blindly hurled her steaming pasta bowl in the direction of the living room and bolted from the kitchen.  She looked over in time to see it connect with a loud splat squarely between the intruder's eyes.  The creature howled and clawed desperately at its face.
Georgia didn't wait for it to recover.  Her altar.  If she could just get to her altar, she could banish the ugly fucker and buy herself some time.
The creature was planted in the dead center of the straightest path across the living room.  Georgia veered wide.  She had almost cleared the front door when it flew open in a barrage of splinters.  Someone barreled into her.  They both sprawled to the ground.
The new intruder landed on top.  Georgia hissed, bucked, clawed at anything she could reach.  Her mystery assailant scrambled off her.
"Jesus Christ, would you calm down, you crazy—what the f*ck?"
deCompostela.  Georgia didn't let herself pause to feel relief.  She rolled to her feet, grabbed his hand and dragged him after her.  They dove behind her sagging couch just as the creature regained its bearings.  It threw back its head and let out a roar that shook her remaining windows.
Darius sniffed.  "Is that tomato sauce?"
Georgia didn't answer.  Her focus was squarely on her altar again.  It was still too far away.  "Wait here."
She leaped to her feet.  The creature's eyes locked on her.  Georgia swallowed the terror that welled in her chest and sprinted for the altar.  She skidded to the floor in front of it like a baseball player sliding into home, yanked open one of the drawers and fumbled for the first items that came to mind.
The creature roared again.  A blast of superheated air hit the back of her neck.  Georgia braced for the feel of teeth around her throat.
"Right here, ugly!"
She turned in time to see Darius' massive fist catch the creature square in the nose.  The creature yelped, then retaliated with a swipe of an even-more-massive paw.  The blow swept Darius clear off his feet.  He flew backwards and hit the wall with a dull crunch, then sagged to the ground with a wheeze.  Flecks of paint and drywall fluttered to the floor around him.
But he'd bought her the time she needed.  Georgia held up her black candle and flicked her Bic lighter to life.  She touched the flame to the wick.  The creature's eyes widened.
"Black, the color of protection.  Black, the color of night."
The creature snarled.  Darius heaved himself to his feet and surged forward.  He wrapped his arms around the creature's hind legs and held tight.
"Black, the color of silence.  Black, the color of stillness."
The creature swiped at Darius again.  Its paw caught empty air where his head had been just seconds earlier.  It tried to move.  Darius' arms visibly tightened.  Muscles bunched under his suit jacket.
"With black I banish thee.  With will I banish thee." Georgia poured intent into her words.  Her voice grew heavier, fuller.  "Return to the night.  Return to the silence.  Return to the stillness.  Be gone from this place."
The creature let out a strange yelp-hiss as invisible forces compelled it to obey.  Darius released it and scrambled backwards.
Georgia lifted her chin.  Magic crackled through her veins, tinged her vision black.  "Be gone from this place," she repeated.  "With black and with will, by my power and by the power of the Lady, I banish thee.  So mote it be."  She blew out the candle.
The creature vanished in a swirl of acrid black smoke.  Its final, infuriated roar echoed through the small apartment.
Georgia finally allowed herself to breathe again.  For the first time, she realized she was coated in a fine film of glass and wood slivers.  She reached up to dust herself off, at the last minute thought better of it.
Instead, she turned to Darius.  He had hauled himself onto her sad excuse of a sofa.  His hands were planted on his knees.  He stared at the spot where the creature had last stood.
Georgia crossed her arms and cleared her throat.  She waited until he looked up at her, then arched an eyebrow.  "So.  Do you believe me now?"

About the Author:

L.J.K. Oliva is the devil-may-care alter-ego of noir romance novelist Laura Oliva. She likes her whiskey strong, her chocolate dark, and her steak bloody. L.J.K. likes monsters… and knows the darkest ones don’t live in closets.


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Cado blitz & Excerpt!

D.T. Dyllin
Publication date: October 26th 2015
Genres: New Adult, Paranormal Romance


Is the love of a bad man as fulfilling as that of a good man—if he’s good to you?

The fantasy for most women is the happily ever after, the white knight or the prince charming. Or maybe they imagine the hero swoops in to save them from their mundane existence. But what happens if you catch the attention of the villain instead? Tiffany aka Karma is about to find out…

Karma isn’t just a name; it’s a way of life for an exotic dancer with a taste for vigilante justice. She should have been more careful though, because her deeds haven’t gone completely unnoticed. A man who isn’t quite human, with the predilection for destruction, has set his sights on her. His brand of love is tainted…twisted, and Karma is powerless to resist.




His muddy gaze slid over me with disdain and his lips curled up into a sneer. “You really didn’t think I was going to let you get away with that, did you?”
Internally I was trying to quickly come up with a plan. I wasn’t some preternaturally gifted being of some sort, not that those existed. Sure I took martial arts and self-defense real life being about a foot shorter than this guy put me at a huge disadvantage. I usually used surprise...and weapons to even those kinds of odds. I was lacking both of those at the moment. I donned the best fake smile I could muster. “Get away with what? I told you I’m not for sale. You got what you paid for.”
The kid’s eyes narrowed and hostility rolled off of him in waves. “You led me on. You made me think—”
“I never led you on for even a second. You paid for and I gave you time in the private room with me where you received a very up close and personal dance that lasted the span of a few songs. I told you before, my sexual favors aren’t for sale. Whatever you’ve heard about me or any of the other girls at Club Elite is a lie. This isn’t that kind of place.” I crossed my arms over my chest and attempted to make it seem like he wasn’t intimidating me. How the hell did he get past the security downstairs and know where to find me?
He rushed at me, letting me know that our little tête-à-tête was over. I dropped my bag and made myself ready. I can do this. Just pretend— My inner pep talk was cut off as I was tackled to the ground and all the air left my lungs. I strained my neck muscles to keep the impact on my head as little as possible. I tried to bring my knee up between his legs but he was already pinning me with his full body weight. I head butted him instead. My forehead made contact with his nose and he screamed in tandem with the loud crunching noise the blow made. Blood spurted everywhere and he rolled off of me. He recovered more quickly than I expected and stars danced in front of my eyes when his fist connected with the side of my face. I collapsed onto my back and blinked dazedly. Taking a full out punch was something I’d never done before. It didn’t feel good, to say the least, and it was more difficult to shake off than people in movies always made it seem. 


D.T. Dyllin is a bestselling author who writes both paranormal and contemporary romance. Anything with a love story is her kryptonite. Her obsession with affairs-of-the-heart is what first drove her to begin twisting her own tales of scorching romance.

D.T. was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. (Black & Gold for life, baby!) She now lives in Little Rock, Arkansas with her husband and two spoiled German Shepherds.

Author links:

Thursday, October 29, 2015

Warriors of Hir tour, Excerpt & Giveaway!

Warriors of Hir
Book One
Willow Danes

Genre: Science Fiction Romance/
Paranormal Erotica

Publisher: Here Be Dragons

Date of Publication: August 8, 2014

ISBN: 0692271813
ISBN: 978-0692271810

Number of pages: 218
Word Count: 55,000

Cover Artist: Steven James Catizone

Book Description:

Jenna McNally is tending to the heartrending task of clearing out her grandfather’s cabin when she’s knocked off her feet by the impact of a nearby plane crash. She races into the snowy North Carolina woods to help and discovers that this is no plane that’s crashed.

Ra’kur’s people have been brought to the brink of extinction by war. After years spent searching for a compatible mate to bond with, an enemy attack lands him on a backward, primitive planet and right to the very female he has been seeking. And a Hir warrior’s first task in claiming a mate is to capture her . . .

Available at Amazon


The screaming came from overhead, like metal ripping through the sky.
In the next instant Jenna stumbled, falling onto her hands and knees as the cabin itself seemed to be lifted up a bit before being slammed back down in a puff of dust, the books and boxes and Pap’s many doohickeys rattling around her.
She was gasping, her ears still ringing as the cabin settled into quiet again. Shaking, Jenna eased back onto her haunches, her hand going to the little golden bird charm that hung on a chain around her neck.
Quakes were rare in this part of North Carolina, and besides, she’d felt that tremble, that rumbling, beneath her feet a few times out west and this was nothing like that.
Jenna’s glance darted about the room—the half-packed boxes, the groupings she’d made as she sorted her grandfather’s things into piles of stuff to keep or give away or throw out. Through the cabin’s front window, she caught sight of a far-off spray of snow thrown high into the air and now falling rapidly to the ground. 
When she’d fallen, she’d dropped the framed photo of her and Pap standing in front of The Sweet Tooth on opening day. Thankfully it hadn’t broken, but the faded oval rag rug had done little to protect her knees from the fall and her palms felt raw and scraped.
Shakily Jenna placed the picture on the coffee table, put a hand on the worn red and black plaid sofa, and, wincing, got to her feet. Her right knee was likely going to sport a nasty bruise tomorrow but the couple steps across the living room to the window assured her that would be the worst of it. She frowned out at the sunny, snow-covered landscape, her breath fogging up the windowpane.
 Plane crash, maybe?
There was a tiny airport not far from here. Recently built and meant for small craft—a few of the new, wealthy residents of Brittle Bridge used it when they didn’t want to go to Six Oaks—it was little more than a runway and a couple hangars.
Jenna scanned the woods, looking for smoke, but even the snow had settled now and the mountain seemed peaceful as ever. It took her a moment to realize that the TV that she’d had on to keep her company while she tended to the heartrending task of packing up Pap’s things had gone dark. A quick look at the blinking red light showed the Wi-Fi was out too.
No satellite, no Internet.
“Great,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips. Thinking she could get by fine with just her cell she’d made the mistake of having the landline cut off last week before she realized her fancy—and expensive—new phone didn’t work inside the cabin. Outside, sure. Go twenty feet or sit in the SUV and the damned thing worked perfectly.
Jenna chewed the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t seen anything except the now-resettled spray of snow but if it were a downed plane then someone could be hurt out there. It got dark around five this time of year so there were a few hours of daylight left at least and she knew these woods better than anyone—excepting her grandfather, of course. 
She grabbed her cell off the coffee table and in a few moments had her white down jacket zipped, the hood yanked up, and her gloves on. She was already wearing her sheepskin boots; the cabin floor sometimes felt cold to her even in the summer and now in January it was bitterly so.
Jenna drew in the bracing smell of snow and pine as she stepped onto the porch and shut the front door behind her. She was careful going down the cabin’s front steps; she’d slipped often enough on them over the years to remember to hold the handrail in winter. The soft powdery snow crunched under her boots as she walked and, as expected, three steps past her SUV the cell had reception again.
She scrolled through the numbers to the right one and hit “Dial” as she headed in the direction where she’d seen the snow spray.
“Sheriff’s Department.”
“Sarah Jane? It’s Jenna McNally.”
“Hey there, Jenna, you okay?” Sarah Jane had once been a model, or so Pap had said. Got her heart broke by a famous artist in New York and fled to Brittle Bridge to escape it all.
But then again, he’d made up stories about everyone with Jenna—the mayor was in the witness protection program, her teacher was a secret agent. She’d been labeled a “sensitive child” by the social worker who had handled the transfer of custody to him. Of course to Pap “sensitive” meant “creative” so he’d gone all out in encouraging her in all of it—the arts and music, crafting, baking—anything she wanted to try, and he was proud as punch to let her.
But if Sarah Jane had been a model, it was thirty-five years ago or more now and twenty since she joined the sheriff’s department. “You up at Pap’s still?”
Her grandfather’s name was William James McNally. But it had probably been since before Sarah Jane’s supposed model-artist affair days that he had been called anything other than “Pap” in the vicinity of Brittle Bridge—at least never in the twenty-six years Jenna had known him.
Well, excepting that social worker.
“Yeah, I’ll be here for a couple more days,” Jenna said, already past the clearing around the house and into the forest. “Listen, I think a plane crashed up here on our”—she swallowed hard—“my land.”
“A plane?” Sarah Jane’s voice went from neighborly to official. “Where did it come down?”
“Not sure.” Jenna ducked under a branch as she headed deeper into the woods. “I heard something real loud and then it was like ‘bam,’ something hitting the ground hard. Shook the whole place.”
“Can you see smoke from where you are now?”
“No,” Jenna admitted, trotting along as fast as the snow would allow her. Some of the drifts were deep and she had to mind where she stepped. She wouldn’t be doing anyone any good if she broke her ankle. “I’m heading out to take a look now.”
“But you saw the plane go down?”
“Uh, no.” Sarah Jane’s too-patient tone was starting to make her feel a little embarrassed for calling when she hadn’t actually seen anything. Maybe it was something else: a really big tree falling or a damn meteorite or something.
“Huh,” Sarah Jane said. “Lemme call around and see if anybody’s gone missing. But you call me straight off if you find anything, ’kay?”
“Sure thing.” Jenna ended the call and slipped the phone into her jacket pocket. Whatever crashed couldn’t be far from where she’d seen the snow spray up.
Forced by the lack of schools and friends for his young granddaughter, Pap had kept the house in Asheville, but they’d come to Brittle Bridge at every opportunity. Pap’s heart was here and she’d happily spent the summer days running barefooted in these woods clad in overalls, her chestnut hair in pigtails at first, then tied back in a ponytail as she got older.
Her stride faltered and she steadied herself against a pine, the rough trunk pulling on her knitted glove. Pap’s beloved woods were quiet and bright around her but Jenna suddenly had a strong urge to run back to the cabin.
She set her jaw and pressed on. Pap hadn’t raised her to be a coward and this was her land now. He’d left her five hundred acres and anyone on it without her say-so was trespassing, even if it was about to go up for sale.
Still, she wished she’d thought to grab Pap’s revolver or rifle or even his hunting knife before she’d come racing down here.
I’ll go as far as the creek and if I don’t find anything I’ll head on back.
But all was quiet at the creek too, the crystal clear water moving placidly between the banks—
Jenna stopped short. There was tang to the air, a burned smell that wrinkled her nose. It reminded her a little bit of the inside of a mechanic’s garage, out of place in such pristine woods.
It smelled wrong. Not only that…
There’s no snow here.
There was snow all around, covering the ground, hanging heavy in the tree limbs above, but here there was just a long patch of mud and broken sticks.
The sudden sick feeling of being watched raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. With a shock of awareness she realized just how very vulnerable she was out here, alone and unarmed.
Pap hadn’t raised her to be an idiot either. With trembling fingers she pulled her phone out and hit redial to the Sheriff’s office.
In horrified disbelief she watched the screen flash “Connection failed.”
She took a step back and searched the silent, still forest.
All I have to do is make it back up to the house. I can get the gun, get my car keys, call for help, get the hell out of here!
Her quickened breath was visible as she headed uphill back toward the cabin, the drifts and her fear slowing her down. She couldn’t remember if the ammunition was still in the kitchen cabinet or if she’d moved it to—
Something off to her right gave a soft, deep growl . . .

Warriors of Hir
Book Two
Willow Danes

Genre: Science Fiction Romance /
Paranormal Erotica

Publisher: Here Be Dragons

Date of Publication: February 1, 2015

ISBN-10: 0692377735
ISBN-13: 978-0692377734

Number of pages: 271
Word Count: 69,000

Cover Artist: Steven James Catizone

Book Description:

Hope MacGowan is a city girl but reeling from a break-up on top of a layoff has her determined to have a weekend away in the North Carolina mountains—even if all her friends have bailed at the last minute. Hope’s life is one big train-wreck and getting kidnapped by a tall, blond alien—even a gorgeous one—sure isn’t helping.

R’har crossed the galaxy to seek a mate on this newly discovered world and this delicate red-haired female is everything he’s dreamed of—except happy to find herself mated to him. R’har knows in his heart he’s her true mate, even if he’s not human. But taking her doesn’t mean he can keep her and somehow he has to convince Hope to choose him before time runs out . . .

Available at Amazon



Coldness snaked through Hope’s belly as Keri’s silence dragged on.
“Did you know?” Hope asked again. Her cell pressed hard to her ear, her heart in her throat as she waited for her friend’s answer, she had a sudden urge to open the car window and hurl the damned thing into the road before Keri could reply. “Did you know about Brian and Megan?”
Through the phone she heard Keri sigh and Hope’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, the center diamond of her engagement ring sparkling in the sunlight.
Parked in front of the diner where she was to pick up the rental’s keys, Hope blinked out at Brittle Bridge, North Carolina’s quaint Main Street. Outside her car, people strolled about on their Friday morning errands, enjoying the May sunshine and the sweet mountain air, chatting and laughing.
Inside the car, Hope’s breath had the quick shallow pant of an animal caught in a trap.
“Look,” Keri began, a little impatiently. “It wasn’t my job to tell you. Megan—Brian really—should have.”
“You’re my friend. You went with me to look at venues, at wedding gowns. You bought a bridesmaid’s dress.” Hope’s throat tightened. “Megan bought a maid of honor dress!”
“I didn’t actually buy the dress,” Keri mumbled. “I called the boutique after we left and asked them to cancel my order.”
But that was back in March!
“How long?” Hope asked, her voice high and tight. “How long has it been going on? How long have you known?”
Keri sighed again. “I went to Gable’s with some people from work back in January and I saw Brian and Megan in a booth in the back and they were—It’s probably been going on longer though.”
“January? But—” Hope began, her tone pleading now as if she could argue this away, as if to point out the faulty logic of it would cast a spell and make everything right again. “But we got engaged on Valentine’s Day! He asked me to marry him on Valentine’s Day. If he and Megan were—” Her eyes stung. “He broke our engagement by text, you know. He sent me a text today to tell me that he and Megan were together and how very, very sorry he was. Megan texted to say she’s sorry too—Oh, and since she’s not coming for the weekend she’s not going to pay her third for the rental.”
“Oh, that is shitty,” Keri said.
Shitty as letting me plan a wedding when you knew all along Megan was fucking my fiancé?
But the great burden of red hair was everyone expected you to have a bad temper and a sharp tongue. Hope had spent most of her twenty-seven years showing the world how even-keeled she was, how she could handle anything with a cool head, not raging or weeping even in the face of heartbreak and grief, not letting anyone know how bad she hurt.
Those walls went up when she was eight and were so thick now that nothing—not the death of her parents, not the humiliation of her fiancé screwing her maid of honor—was going to bring them down.
“Yeah, it is,” Hope said instead. “So when were you going to get around to telling me that you aren’t coming for the weekend either?”
“Look, I just thought if you and Megan were alone—maybe the truth would finally come out. Being with the two of you and pretending I didn’t know sucked.”
“Wow.” Hope nodded even though Keri couldn’t see her. Even a determined redhead had her limits. “That must have been really rough on you.”
Keri went silent again. 
Hope put her hand over her eyes, blocking out the cheerful spring sunlight. “I lost my job this morning.”
“What?” Keri sounded startled for the first time during their conversation.
“They made the announcement today. They sold the company to the Hindle Group last week and they had one too many graphic designers so they let me go. They made me drive all the way to Asheville to give me the news. My fiancé ends it in a text but my company had to tell me in person.”
“Jesus . . .”
“They gave me three months’ severance. And they shook my hand too. Apparently someone in the D.C. office did me the favor of clearing out my stuff while I was driving to Asheville yesterday so I’m all packed up. They’ll have everything delivered to my apartment by the end of the day.”
“So you’re driving back to D.C. tonight?”
“What for?” Hope asked bleakly. “Brian and Megan are at his place, making the most of the romantic curtained bed I bought. I don’t have work on Monday. No fiancé, no best friend, no job. My apartment lease is up in ten days and now I won’t be moving in with Brian. Maybe I’ll just move up here to the mountains. Take up wood crafting or something.”
“Call me when you get back,” Keri urged. “I’ll take you out and get you drunk. We’ll find you someone new.”
“No. I’m cursed.” Hope shut her eyes. “No one on the planet has worse luck with men than I do.”
Keri was smart enough not to argue that point. “I really am sorry.”
“Yeah, me too,” Hope said and hung up.
She turned off the car and sat there, the cell cradled in her lap. The invitations hadn’t gone out yet so she didn’t need to work through the guest list; with her parents both dead and no siblings there was no one left to call.
No one at all.

Warriors of Hir
Book Three
Willow Danes

Genre: Science Fiction Romance /
Paranormal Erotica

Publisher: Here Be Dragons

Date of Publication: July 28, 2015

ISBN-10: 0692500820
ISBN-13: 978-0692500828

Number of pages: 265

Word Count: 68,000

Cover Artist: Steven James Catizone

Book Trailer:

Book Description:

Kidnapped from Earth by an alien warrior when she visits her uncle, Summer Mills is terrified she will never be able to return home. Her alien captors are using human females as breeding stock and her only chance to return to Earth is Ke’lar, the one Hir warrior willing to stand between her and his own kind.

Returning this human female home won’t be easy and Ke’lar knows by this act of defiance he is throwing his own chances at a lifemate away. Both his family’s enemies and his own clan have pledged to reclaim the woman he has stolen, the only woman he will ever love . . .

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The alien warrior, naked beside her, gave a soft snore, his thickly muscled arm thrown over Summer, keeping her close as he slumbered.
When he had first captured her on Earth, she had only seen beast—his full mouth, his gleaming fangs, his inhuman ridged forehead and heavy brow. Now, lying beside him, his bare tan skin smooth and warm against her own, his eerie glowing amber eyes shut, she knew how very intelligent he was, this wild creature who had brought her to his planet. He, like all the males of his kind—the g’hir—was tall, powerfully built, fast as quicksilver.
Summer wet her lips. She could see the movement of his eyes behind his lids.
She’d never get a better chance.
Escaping a seven-foot-tall alien warrior who’s claimed you as his mate and taken you halfway across the galaxy is impossible.
But when it’s your only chance in hell of ever seeing home again, you just tell “impossible” to fuck off.
Six days after her abduction, her heart hammering so hard she feared the sound of it would wake the warrior at her side, Summer eased out from under his heavily muscled arm and slid from his bed.
He stirred, reaching for her. She froze, crouching beside the bed, praying his vibrant eyes stayed shut, his face slack with slumber. His long, silky, red-brown hair was spread across the white pillow, his swarthy coloring a stark contrast to her own pale complexion.
When she’d first awoken to find herself captive on his ship he’d looked her over with his unnervingly brilliant alien gaze. He’d taken a lock of her pale blond hair between his large fingers, frowned at her skin, and asked if such pallor in a human meant she was sickly. Trembling before the huge warrior, thinking he’d kill her if he thought her ill, not even understanding how she was processing those growls of his as language—Summer swore she was completely healthy. He’d given a satisfied fanged smile; pleased, she knew now, that she’d be able to produce the robust, healthy offspring he wanted.
The warrior—Ar’ar—gave another soft snore and Summer straightened to standing.
Clad only in a whisper-thin nightgown, the polished tiles cold under her feet, she padded silently through his luxurious quarters. Sweet spring air drifted through the open balcony doors, the fine silk curtains fluttering in the breeze as she passed them.
The balcony of Ar’ar’s rooms—the opulent living quarters of a clanfather’s heir—overlooked his family’s vast holdings, and the three moons of his world—Hir—lit her way. The wind stirred her long hair, momentarily blocking her vision, and impatiently Summer tucked the bright strands behind her ears to keep them out of her eyes.
She had one chance at this.
If they caught her she’d be watched constantly no matter what concessions Ar’ar—her new alien “mate”—made to his female’s pleas. He was confident enough, and proud enough, that he had dismissed the honor guards his father, Mirak, tried to attach to her. Ar’ar gave a huffing, indulgent laugh as he’d waved them off at her request. After all, compared to him, Summer, even at five foot nine, was just a slip of thing.
A weak, harmless, helpless human female . . .
Using the building to help her balance, she climbed up to stand on the balcony’s wall.
Eight stories above the ground of an alien world.
Summer swallowed hard. There was a reason she always insisted on having a room on the first floor of a hotel. Just glancing out the glass-wall window of her high-rise office back home left her woozy.
But there was only one way out into the hallway—and ultimately to Earth—that wouldn’t wake the glowing-eyed fanged warrior snoozing back there. She had to get from these quarters over to the unoccupied rooms beside them. That door she could open without fear of waking him, then get the hell out of this monstrously large building they called a clanhall and run for freedom.
It wasn’t even very far over. Twelve feet, maybe.
All she had to do was get to the next balcony.
Never mind that the only way there was a small decorative outcropping on the side of the building barely as wide as her foot . . .

Tour giveaway

2 $15 gift cards to Amazon

1 Grand Prize One $25 gift card to Amazon and Jenna’s 14K Gold Necklace with 18” chain 

This special piece was used as the model for the necklace in the novel "Captured."

A precious little bird dangling from 14k gold filled chain. The petite 14k gold dipped charm is beautifully detailed, and finished with a soft matte finish. The pendant slides freely from side to side on chain.

A lovely and minimal piece made of high quality material suitable for everyday wear. Looks great on it's own and layers well with other delicate pieces.

• Pendant: 14K Gold Dipped

• Chain: 14K Gold Filled

About the Author:

Willow Danes is the pen name of author Ariel MacArran, creator of the Tellaran Series. She is an Amazon bestselling author, currently at work on book four of the Tellaran Series, The Princess.