This tour will be May 1-8 (weekdays only)
I am scheduling reviews, spotlights, interviews with all authors, and guest blogs with S. K. Gregory, Erin Hayes, and Kat Gracey.
If you have a specific author you wish to interview or have a guest blog with please include that with your request.
If you have a specific author you wish to interview or have a guest blog with please include that with your request.
Your blog name and url
A couple suggested dates during the tour
Please let me know if you wish to review
Twisted Princess Box Set
Genre:
Dark fantasy
Publisher:
SKGregory
Date
of Publication: April 1st 2017
ASIN:
B06XNKC22Q
Number
of pages: 261
Word
Count: 70,000
Cover
Artist: SKGregory
The
Beast Within
S.
K. Gregory
Book Description:
For Izzy,
working with supernatural beings is part of her job. When she is called to
clean up the mess of a cursed werewolf, her life takes a dark turn as she faces
the beast within.
Excerpt
The Beast Within:
I scrubbed at
the floor, arms aching, as I tried to remove the blood. The floor was covered
in pink tainted water but I seemed to have gotten most of it off.
Tossing the
cloth into the bucket, I stood up, wiping my hands on my t shirt. Judging from
the stains on it, I was going to have to throw it out anyway. I really should
have asked for a clothing budget when I took this gig.
I caught
movement in the doorway. He was there, lurking in the shadows.
“I’m sorry,” he
said softly.
It took all my
self-control to say, “It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine.
He tore a man to shreds, mangled his corpse and he was sorry?
“I killed
someone Izzy.”
Turning to face
him, I said, “Well that will teach you to upgrade your security when I tell you
to. You’re lucky he didn’t get out of here. According to his ID, he was a
reporter.”
Adam bowed his
head and sighed. I guess knowing who the guy was didn’t make it any easier, but
it wasn’t my job to make him feel better, I was just here to clean up the mess.
Well technically my job is security expert and advisor to the Alpha werewolf of
the city. Cleaning up after his cursed son is just a bonus. One I didn’t ask
for, but who else was he going to call?
“I’ll be sure to
invoice your father,” I said.
It would be
double time too considering it was 3am.
Adam moved aside
as I stepped out of the room. His dark curly hair fell over his face as he kept
his head bowed in shame. As a human he was quiet, apologetic and a pushover.
Nothing like his father, Mr. CEO.
He was cursed
when he was in his teens. I don’t know by who, but he was never in control of
the beast within. All werewolves can control the change, shifting seamlessly
from one form to the other. For Adam though, he had no control and the shift was
agony. He was kept locked away in this huge mansion, making him the source of
many rumors, which was probably what led the reporter here in the first place.
Bet he didn’t
think he’d end up a stain on the floor, I thought.
“Goodnight
Adam,” I said.
He muttered
something in reply but I was already half way to the door. I stepped out into
the frigid morning air. Maybe I could get a couple of hours sleep before my
morning meetings.
“Werewolves,” I
muttered.
Once behind the
wheel I took another look at the reporter’s credentials which I found buried in
guts. His name was Noah Baxter. I tossed the idea into the glovebox, I’d
dispose of it later. For now, I just wanted to sleep and get the image of blood
out of my mind.
***
I met with
Adam’s father before lunch the next day. I was strictly off book so he didn’t
like me hanging around his office. I didn’t like getting called out in the
middle of the night, I guess we both had a reason to be annoyed. Knowing about
the supernatural puts me in a unique position. I have the skills necessary to
help various beings out, for the right price, and they know I won’t reveal
their secret. I haven’t always known about them. A few years back when I was
fresh out of college and desperate for work, I took a job as a PA to a man
called Hank Fletcher. I thought he worked in home and private security, I had
no idea he spent his days working with werewolves, demons and vampires. When he
clued me in I was shocked to say the least, but I was smart enough to know what
would happen if their existence became public knowledge. Hank was a good man,
he taught me everything he knew although at the time I had no intention of
using it. He died suddenly, three years in. His death left a hole and since I
needed the money, I decided to fill it, temporarily at least. That was seven
years ago, I guess it took over my life.
“Isabelle, to
what do I owe the pleasure?” Mr. Foster said as I entered his office. The cold
look in his eyes betrayed his real mood. I had no love for him either, but he
was one of my top paying clients.
“It’s Izzy,” I
said. I hated my full name. It made me sound like I was some dainty little
girl, which I most definitely wasn’t. I’m a black belt and I can turn pretty
much anything into a weapon if I need to. You have to be prepared in this game.
Everything I was up against had fangs or claws or super strength, so I needed
to be able to protect myself.
Unfolding an
invoice from my pocket, I placed it on his desk. It was for my work last night,
plus the late night call out fee which brought the total to 2k. “For last
night.”
“Yes, I heard
about the incident. Very unfortunate.”
That was all he
had to say? His son massacred a man and it was unfortunate? Unfortunate was
getting a parking ticket or losing out on a promotion, not cold blooded
murder. I waited while he wrote me a
check, biting my tongue.
His office was
void of personal items, except for one photo of Adam. He looked about
seventeen, leaning on a red corvette. He looked different, confident. Cocky
even. Was that before the curse? I wondered. If his manners were anything like
his father’s, then I’m not surprised he pissed someone off. It was one of the
reasons I didn’t deal with witches, one cross word and you end up spending the
rest of your life as a toad or worse.
“I will be going
on a business trip in a few days. Given what happened, I hope you’ll make
yourself available during that time to ensure nothing happens again,” Mr.
Foster said.
Sure, it’s not
like I have a life or other clients to deal with.
“I’ll keep my
phone on,” I said. I wasn’t promising him anything, I had plans with Gavin this
weekend. He has been away on business for weeks and I was looking forward to
our reunion.
Once I had the
check, I headed up town to meet with my next client, a woman called Dusty, who
happened to be a vampire. She ran a tea shop, while trafficking blood through
the city in her spare time. Vampires weren’t a huge problem, mostly due to
Dusty’s efforts. By keeping them supplied with blood ‘acquired’ from the local
hospital, it stopped them from snacking on humans. I acted as security to the
transactions.
It’s amazing
what goes on under regular people’s noses. How much they don’t ‘see.’ Ask
someone on the street if they believe in werewolves or vampires and they’ll
laugh in your face. Right after they bought a cup of coffee from one or sat
next to one on the bus.
Dusty was
carefully slicing a large chocolate cake when I entered her shop. There were a
few customers, but otherwise it was quiet. Dusty was short with red hair and
really pale skin. Most vampires covered that with fake tan, but Dusty went au
naturale.
“Can I interest
you in a slice?” she asked.
“I would, but
I’m planning a romantic weekend, so better not.”
She tutted,
“Please there isn’t an ounce of fat on you.”
My job did have
some perks, always running around meant I rarely had to go to the gym.
“What time is
the delivery?” I asked.
“Half eight.
Dimitri will meet you in the usual spot.” Dimitri has a similar job to mine
although he works primarily with the vampires.
“I’ll be there.”
My mouth was
watering at the sight of the cake so I relented and took a slice to go. I
didn’t have time for lunch anyway.
At eight
fifteen, I parked my car a block away and walked to an alleyway near Dusty’s
shop. I found a spot in the shadows and waited. At half eight, the truck backed
into the alley and Dimitri hopped out.
He was a tall,
hulking man who always wore a leather jacket, even in summer. He gave me a nod
to let me know he had seen me.
A few minutes
later a scared looking intern arrived carrying a cooler. He looked like he was
going to piss himself. Dimitri took the
cooler from him and looked inside.
“What's this?”
he asked. “We need more than this.”
“I tried, man,
but they're clamping down. I barely got out with this.” His voice was high and
whiny.
Dimitri swore in
Russian. I stepped forward, making the intern jump. He hadn't seen me.
“I swear it's
all I could get,” he protested.
“You better make
up for it next time,” I said.
He opened his
mouth to argue but thought better of it and took off.
“The clients
won't be happy,” Dimitri said.
“I know. Make
sure the worst get their supply. Let the rest know what will happen if they
break the rules,” I said.
Vampires could
last a couple of months without blood, but it drove them crazy. The last thing
I needed was more trouble. As much as I would have enjoyed pounding on that
guy, we couldn’t afford to alienate him. Besides he was human, it wasn’t his
fault he had gotten sucked into this mess. He didn’t even know what the blood
was for. The only thing he knew was that we had incriminating evidence of him
stealing painkillers from the hospital pharmacy.
The vamps would
have to tough it out a while longer.
About
the Author:
S. K. Gregory was born in
Northern Ireland in 1985. She is the author of several series of books
including Daemon Persuasion, which was published by Mockingbird Lane Press.
She loves horror movies, reading
and archery. In her spare time she runs
a review blog for authors. All of her works are available to purchase through
Amazon.
Sleepless
Beauty
Erin
Hayes
Book Description:
Jane knows the tale of Sleepless
Beauty well, an urban legend in her home town which tells the story of a
beautiful woman who enraptures her prey with a kiss and steals their sleep.
Jane tries to convince herself that it's just a fairy tale, until Sleepless
Beauty kisses her best friend Hayden.
Excerpt Sleepless
Beauty:
The fairy tale
of Sleeping Beauty used to terrify me as a child.
No, seriously.
The thought of
sleeping for a hundred years, only to be woken by true love’s first kiss—is it
really true love when you’re kissed by someone you don’t know? I remember being
scared of spindles. Why were they so pointy and made princesses sleep? And that
was made worse by the fact that my eccentric mother kept an antique up in the
attic among the many other weird things she keeps of our family history.
And she wonders
why I moved in with Dad after the divorce.
But I think
something else contributed to my terror of that one fairy tale. Growing up in
Savannah, Georgia, I’d always hear about this ghost that floated around
Colonial Park Cemetery. If you saw her, you’d fall in love with her and become
so obsessed that you’d stop sleeping. And then you died.
And the ghost
was called Sleepless Beauty.
For a young girl
like me, an urban legend may as well be a fairy tale. In fact, I consider them
to be worse because they don’t have that ‘once upon a time’ element. Urban
legends happen in the now and in your corner of the world.
So while the
stories Sleepless Beauty and Sleeping Beauty seemed to be the exact opposites
of each other, my mind equated both Beauties to the same scary character that
haunted my nightmares.
Did I believe in
them? Oh yeah, even now that I’m sixteen. And I think Sleepless Beauty
especially haunted everyone I know, because five of us are standing outside of
the Colonial Park Cemetery at midnight while my friend Hayden scales the gates
to go visit Sleepless Beauty.
On a dare.
Yeah, we’re not
very smart, and I can see the tension on all our too-wide-eyed faces.
“Careful,
Hayden!” my best friend Lizzie yells up at him as he swings one leg over the
spiked, wrought iron fence.
“He’ll be fine,”
Marcel tells her with a smirk. Of course he’d be smirking, this whole dare was
his idea. I want to point out to him that since we’re stuck on this side of the
fence, we have no way of knowing whether or not Hayden will be fine or not.
There could be raccoons or coyotes or police over there.
Or even ghosts
that kill you slowly.
I wince watching
Hayden, my mind painting pictures of him slipping and impaling his leg on the
vicious, ornate fence. Colonial Park Cemetery is a couple hundred years old. I
wonder who the builders of it were trying to keep out. Or keep in.
Hayden finally
pushes himself over and jumps down, landing on his feet on the other side. He
gives a triumphant grin—one that I can’t help but roll my eyes at—as he salutes
us.
“Totally easy,”
he says, brushing off his letterman’s jacket.
“Just be
careful,” I tell him.
He nods. “Start
the clock. An hour, right?”
Marcel holds up
his phone, the light emanating from it telling us that he has already started
timing. “Time’s a-wastin.’”
“I’ll be back,”
Hayden says in a bad imitation of Arnold Schwarzenegger. He winks at me before
taking off at a jog. I feel that familiar flutter in my heart as the shadows
swallow him up. It’s a flutter that hasn’t been there for very long, but it
gets stronger and stronger the more time we spend together.
“Why don’t they
have street lights down there?” Lizzie mutters, rubbing the chill from her
arms. Her breath comes out in little white clouds.
“It’s a historic
landmark,” our friend Cole says. He’s been kind of quiet all night, underneath
his beanie and his hoodie. But then again, Cole has always been quiet. “And
there are so many unmarked graves there, they don’t want to disturb them by
running electrical lines all over the place.”
Makes sense, but
still, it’s too eerie, too dark for me to feel easy around here. I can’t shake
the feeling that I’m being watched.
Like something
within those shadows wants to reach out and pull me into the depths of hell.
Okay, that may
be a little dramatic, but it certainly feels that way.
I shiver.
“Hey,” Lizzie
says, “he’ll be fine.”
“Oh,” I say,
trying to shake it off. “Of course. I mean, who’s going to be at a cemetery at
this time of night?”
“Sleepless
Beauty,” Marcel says, and I clench my teeth with that. “So, what’s happening
with you and Hayden anyways?”
And, just like
that, my mind goes from being terrified to being absolutely mortified. It’s not
the first time this topic has been brought up in my little group of friends.
Sometimes just to either me or Hayden, but sometimes, it’s in front of everyone
with a little bit of teasing.
It was just in
good fun. I think.
“Leave Jane
alone,” Lizzie says, giving Marcel a glare. “They’re working things out.”
I guess that’s
what you could call it. If working it out meant chuckling about it later and me
holding my breath for Hayden to say that we should try it. But, the last time
we did talk about it, Hayden just smirked and gave me a hug.
“Wouldn’t want
to ruin our friendship, Jane,” he told me that time. “We’ve been friends since
we were two.”
But isn’t that
how a good romance goes? People can have their fairy tales. What I think we had
is something bound by fate. We know each other better than we know ourselves.
Wouldn’t we be
the perfect match? And then I can justify these strange feelings that I’ve been
having for the past two years. And it didn’t used to be like that—hell, Hayden
and I grew up together, as neighbors. I saw him naked when I was three years
old. We were best friends, shared birthday parties and toys. When his mother
went to the grocery store, my mom would watch after us. When my parents argued
before they got divorced, I’d sneak over to his room and stay there until
morning.
But then, when
high school started, something changed. He started looking less like the Hayden
that peed himself in the pool when we were five and more like…well, Hayden the
heartthrob. His arms filled out from playing football and his acne, bad in
middle school, finally stopped being a problem, leaving smooth, tanned skin.
All the girls
loved him. And I found that I’m one of them.
“Hey.” I jump
and blink at Lizzie who had spoken. She looks at me, concern etched into her
face. “You okay?”
I shrug, trying
to play it cool. Not like I was just trying to figure out my love life. “Yeah.
Totally fine.”
“You look like
you’ve seen a ghost.”
I give a hollow
laugh. “Well, isn’t that why we’re here? To see a ghost?”
“That’s why
Hayden’s here,” Marcel says, breaking into the conversation. “I’m here for my
twenty bucks when he pisses himself and has to come crawling back.”
“You really
think he’ll come running back?” Cole asks dazedly.
“Yeah,” Marcel
says. “Didn’t you see how scared he looked?”
Actually, Hayden
didn’t look very scared at all. Marcel’s uneasy chuckling makes him look like
he’s terrified out of his mind.
“Well, I’m
scared, and I’m not even on the other side,” Lizzie says, straightening up.
“Ghost or no ghost.”
“Do you really
think he’ll see her?” I ask.
“Something would
have to be real for you to see it,” Marcel says cockily. At my narrowed eyes,
he belts out a laugh. “What, do you believe in Sleepless Beauty, Jane? C’mon,
I’ll give you forty bucks to go join your lover boy.”
“He’s not my
lover boy,” I say, too defensively.
“Leave her
alone,” Cole sighs.
I can’t help but
feel like I should be on the other side of that fence though. Like this is all
my doing. After all, I was the one who brought up Sleepless Beauty. We were
over at Lizzie’s having some drinks and just, you know, talking when we played
a game of Truth or Dare to spice things up a little bit. I chose Truth and that
was where I admitted that I’d been terrified of Sleepless beauty since before I
could remember. Hayden backed up my story, which turned into this dare/bet from
Marcel.
And here we are.
Time seems to go
by so slowly here. I talk with Lizzie, discuss boys and the squad. Marcel and
Cole do their own thing, but we’re sure to be quiet, since the cops could show
up at any point.
Cole kicks a
rock, sending it off into the darkness. I watch as he paces, his hands in his
hoodie’s front pocket. Such a quiet guy.
Meanwhile,
Marcel is playing on his phone, the screen lighting up his face in sinister
blues and whites. Marcel’s the loud one, with a wide grin and the wit of
someone who’d grow up to be Seth Rogan. He fits in any group at school, and for
some reason, chooses to hang out with us.
“I’ve got such a
bad feeling about this,” Lizzie murmurs, her frown mirroring my own.
I hope she’s not
right. Lizzie replaced Hayden as my best friend when we went through a period
of boys have cooties. With her darker hair and bright blue eyes, she’s
gorgeous. And I know she’d do anything for me.
Then there’s
Hayden, the jock and the brains all rolled into one. Like Marcel, he fits into
any group on campus, and I think that’s why they’re best friends.
And last, but
not least, there’s me. Jane Dyer, the popular girl because she can do a double
handspring for the cheerleading squad. I’m smart too, and with my dad’s lawyer
connections, I’ll probably get into an Ivy League college after high school.
From there, I don’t know what else to expect out of life.
But I expect
Hayden to be a part of it.
“Been in there
for a bit, hasn’t he?” Cole murmurs suddenly.
As if on cue,
Marcel’s alarm goes off. The loud noise in the otherwise quiet cemetery makes
both Lizzie and me shriek in unison.
“Jesus, Marcel,
do you have to have the Self Destruct Alarm on your phone?” Lizzie gasps.
Marcel snickers
as he takes out his phone and turns it off. “Keeping you on your toes, ladies.”
Lizzie scoffs,
but not before I see movement on the other side of the fence.
“Hayden?”
Silence. The
rest of my friends follow my gaze towards the space where I’m squinting at, and
come up behind me. There’s some movement there, so there is definitely
something on the other side.
I lean forward,
threading my hands through the bars to get a better look.
“Hayden?”
“I saw her!”
I scream and
stumble backwards, away from the fence. Hayden stands in the space where my
face had been. He’s grinning widely at us from the other side of the fence, his
smile contagious. My scream, however, sets Marcel rolling with laughter.
“Dammit,
Hayden!” I say. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Hayden at least
has the decency to look apologetic as he scales the fence. He climbs it faster
this time, his movements more sure than they were when he climbed over an hour
ago. He drops to the ground and dusts off his pants.
“Gah, I guess I
owe you twenty bucks,” Marcel mutters, taking out his wallet.
“What do you
mean, you saw her?” Cole asks, frowning. “Who’s her?”
“Who do you
think?” Hayden asks as he takes the bill from Marcel. “I saw Sleepless Beauty.”
The floor seems
to tilt underneath me and I force myself to stay upright. “You saw her? Did
she?”
Hayden beams at
me. “I saw her. She kissed me. Told me she loved me. And…”
“And?” I ask.
Hayden just
smiles. But there’s something different about him, something that I can’t quite
place. Because he looks joyful at the moment. Glowing, like he’s found true
happiness.
“You’re so full
of crap,” Marcel mutters.
“Am I?” Hayden
asks, sounding genuinely offended.
“Remind me never
to bet with you again,” Marcel counters. “And how do I know that you were
actually at her grave?”
“Oh, I was,”
Hayden promises. “And she’s beautiful.”
Marcel makes a
disgusted noise as he turns away, grumbling about Hayden cheating and being a
dipshit. I want to ask Hayden more, but from the roll of Lizzie’s eyes, she
doesn’t believe him either.
“Let’s get
going, Jane,” Lizzie says, as she’s joined by Cole.
Hayden gives me
a playful shrug as he follows them, leaving me to frown in his wake. Did he or
did he not see Sleepless Beauty? He seems all right, not scared out of his wits
like I would have been in his shoes. Then again, Hayden was always the stronger
one, so he could spend an hour in a graveyard by himself, just to make a point.
I sigh and start
walking after them. But a few steps from the fence, I turn back, feeling the
eyes of something on me as I walk away. The cemetery is still silent, still
dark.
I can’t help but
feel like something very wrong had happened out here tonight.
About
the Author:
Sci-fi junkie, video game nerd,
and wannabe manga artist Erin Hayes writes a lot of things. Sometimes she
writes books.
She works as an advertising
copywriter by day, and she's an award-winning New York Times Bestselling Author
by night. She has lived in New Zealand, Hawaii, Texas, Alabama, and now San
Francisco with her husband, cat, and a growing collection of geek
paraphernalia.
You can reach her at
erinhayesbooks@gmail.com and she’ll be happy to chat. Especially if you want to
debate Star Wars.
Spectral
Velocity
Margo
Bond Collins
Book Description:
Aboard the Rapunzel-320, Cybele
helps a plague ridden planet with medical supplies. Her budding romance with
Finlay is both forbidden and risky. Can she figure out a way for them to be
together or is she doomed to a life of solitude?
Excerpt
Spectral Velocity:
“Rapunzel-320,
do you copy?” The slightly mechanized voice buzzed through Cybele’s helmet—an
utterly unnecessary piece of equipment in her opinion, but one that she donned
every time she took the pilot’s seat, exactly as protocol required.
“Copy, ground
control. I’m ready to drop the line whenever you say the word. Over.”
“Hold that,
Rapunzel-320. Maintain altitude.”
“Copy that.” Cybele
tapped her forefinger against the control panel impatiently, waiting for the
moment she could dip down into the atmosphere and ride the currents. That was
really the only reason she looked forward to these trips down-planet.
At least, that’s
what she told herself.
It has nothing
to do with a chance to speak to another person.
Another lie.
And one person
in particular?
Absolutely not
the reason to look forward to this day.
The biggest lie
of all.
She was almost
at the end of her tour of duty here at the ass-end of the galaxy, doing what
she’d initially considered playing nanny to a planet full of plague-ridden
colonists.
10 years.
That’s how long
would’ve passed by the time she got home, back to Earth, most of it spent in
cryo—humanity’s faster-than-light drives still weren’t quite able to cut out
all the travel time, despite what the R&D guys had been promising for a
generation.
Four years out
here, four years home—all gone in cryo-induced dreams. It was the two long
years spent on weekly milk-runs to the colonists that ate away at her soul. Or
it had, until she met Finlay.
“Rapunzel-320.
Position and hold.”
“Copy, ground
control. Positioning.” She smiled as she recognized the voice. “Finlay, that
you?”
“Hi, Cybele.
Glad to have you back.”
“What’s the hold
up down there?”
She could almost
feel the hesitation coming up through the airwaves as Finlay tried to decide
how much to tell her.
“Nothing
unusual,” he finally said, his nonchalant tone too studied to be believable.
Cybele allowed
her own skepticism to come through. “Want to try again?”
“Just a
placement issue. And it’s fixed. Send down the hair, Rapunzel-320.”
“Dropping line.”
With one hand on the controls, Cybele carefully lowered the telescoping
pipeline toward the water facility on the ground. Getting it just right was
like threading the eye of a needle with a single hair, even though Cybele knew
that both the line and the target would seem enormous if she were to stand next
to them.
Of course,
standing next to them would mean standing on the ground, and that would mean
exposing herself to the Gotha Plague—the entire reason she was here, piloting
the medical supply ship that provided relief to the colonists.
Most of the
pipeline had unfolded on its way to the ground, and Cybele flipped her goggles
over to VR to finish the process, standing and stretching her arms over her
head before making her way into the more immersive experience. Inside the
virtual reality, Finlay was waiting for her.
“Hey,” he said.
“I wasn’t sure you would make it in time.”
“Wasn’t sure I’d
need to come,” she said, a smile quirking up one side of her face, even here in
the interface.
Finlay rolled
his eyes, but he was smiling, as well. There must’ve been someone monitoring
the communication system, or he would have said something more openly
flirtatious. As it was, Cybele didn’t need him to say the words. He knew she
would be here to see him, whether or not she needed to manage the threading
process herself.
They worked
together mostly in silence, their physical movements in VR translating to
commands that guided the giant line into the planetary water filtration system.
After a while, once they were truly alone, Finlay called up an image to float
in the air in front of her—a silly pictogram taken from a civilization long
dead, a two-dimensional representation of a perfectly round, smiling face in an
improbable color, with a matching hand waving next to it. It was one of
hundreds of such images she had found in a database of old Earth languages.
Cybele had
shared it with Finlay early on, and in the last two years, it had become their
private language, only partially decipherable by anyone who saw it.
“Hi,” she said,
carefully neutral. Finlay replied with a stylized image of a heart, his usual
signal that he was free to communicate without any outside interference.
“How was your
day?” she asked, now that she was certain they were alone in their VR
environment.
He returned an
image of fireworks glittering across the sky.
Explosive.
“Work or home?”
Cybele already knew the answer, but asking was part of their ritual.
“Work, always.”
He didn’t say any more, making sure the conversation wasn’t anything his
superiors would be likely to discipline him for.
Not this time,
anyway.
Mostly, they
discussed the work at hand, the things they needed to do to make sure the
Rapunzel-320’s transmissions kept the population of Finlay’s planet safe and
alive.
That wasn’t
always the case.
Inside the VR
unit, their lives outside faded away. They were no longer Terran and Germanian,
but merely Finlay and Cybele. Two humans.
A man and a
woman.
It was those
final categories that could get them in trouble.
As often as they
could manage it these days, the drop and transfer schedule brought Cybele and
her ship around to Finlay’s station during the late-night shift.
Their respective
loneliness had gotten the better of them, so they spent every possible moment
together in the VR environment.
These days,
virtual reality felt more real than Cybele could’ve imagined before this
posting.
About
the Author:
NYT bestselling author Margo Bond
Collins is a former college English professor who, tired of explaining the
difference between "hanged" and "hung," turned to writing
romance novels instead. (Sometimes her heroines kill monsters, too.)
You can learn more about her at www.MargoBondCollins.net
The
Origin of Snow
M.
L. Sparrow
Book Description:
A king searches for a wife and
turns to a mysterious witch for help. Will the girl she produces be his true
love or his downfall?
Excerpt
The Origins of Snow:
Nervous beads of
sweat sprung forth on his brow as he approached the witch’s cabin. Dismounting
his horse, the usually docile creature’s eyes rolled and it tried to dance away
as he tied its reins to the fencepost.
Pushing open the
creaky front gate, he hesitated to go any further. An acquaintance of his, a
good-for-nothing peddler if truth be told, had told him of a powerful witch
living in the dark forest that bordered his lands… A witch that could grant his
every wish. He had only one wish.
“I’ve been
expecting you.” A soft female voice emanated from the ramshackle old cabin. He
jumped and the horse whinnied nervously, pulling at its secured reins. The gate
rocked shut behind him and the wooden front door slowly eased open. Out of the
dark depths stepped the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen.
Lord White was a
collector, a connoisseur of beautiful things. His stables housed only the best
thoroughbreds and his vast manor had been furnished from top to bottom by the
most skilled craftsmen from across all three kingdoms. It was this attention to
detail, this desire for perfection which had rendered him wifeless at the age
of thirty-eight. He had inspected heiresses and milkmaids alike, even a
princess or two, and found them all lacking. Which was how he’d ended up here.
“You are truly
magnificent,” he murmured, drawn unconsciously closer like a moth to a flame,
“such beauty, such perfection.”
Perfectly
proportioned, her skin alabaster white, lips plump and red as if painted with
fresh blood. Tossing her head, sending a waterfall of silken black hair sliding
down her back, she laughed in the face of his awe. She knew she was beautiful
in that moment, but she also knew that beauty was a trick; people saw only what
they wanted to see.
Beneath his
amazed gaze, the witch slowly, sensually shrugged out of the unflattering grey
cloak she wore, letting it pool at her feet and posing in the doorway, totally
at ease with her glorious nudity.
“I assume you
came here for something,” she stated, as if she weren’t standing before him
inviting him to sin, her own hand teasingly sliding up her flat stomach to
caress her heavy breasts right there in front of him. “A wish granted perhaps.”
“All my wishes
have just come true,” he whispered, his breath hitching as she tweaked one
perfect pink nipple. A harsh groan escaped as he dropped a hand down to his
cock, painfully hard and threatening to rip through his breeches.
She laughed once
more, the sound husky and sensual, travelling down his spine like a stroking
hand. Stepping out from the shelter of the cabin, she walked towards him, hips
swaying, the sunlight that managed to fight its way through the thick canopy of
trees above making her white skin glow. Shocked by how brazen she was, he quickly
glanced around, but they were completely alone, few people ventured this far
into the forest. When he looked back, she was standing directly in front of
him. Soft, skilled hands stripped him of his clothes and soon he was as bare as
she was, shivering in the cool autumn air.
“Tell me your
wish,” she breathed against his neck, heating his skin, before trailing her
hands and lips downwards.
Once she was on
her knees in front of him, at eye level with his straining cock, he gazed down
at her in amazement. How could someone like her exist?
One hand
expertly fondled his testicles while the other wrapped firmly around the base
of his cock, pumping it once, twice, before her ruby lips wrapped around the
bulbous head, sucking him into the scorching, wet heaven of her mouth. He
bumped against the back of her throat, his hips jerking, trying to push deeper
as sensations overwhelmed him. His hands fisted in her long hair, attempting to
takeover.
However, as soon
as he did so, she drew back, pulling away from him and sitting back on her
heels despite his angry snarl, leaving him throbbing with every heartbeat. Her
tongue peeked out to rim her glistening lips as she stared up at him.
Immediately, he knew what she wanted and part of him resented her for making him
say it.
“I want a wife,”
he bit out, “a wife more beautiful than any other maiden in the land. I want
you.”
Again she
laughed, but this time, it angered instead of aroused. He was not a man who
allowed himself to be laughed at.
“Well, you can’t
have me,” she answered smoothly, rising in one fluid movement that brushed her
body against the length of his, her nipples twin flames that trailed over his
chest. Sliding one hand up his neck and into his hair, her nails scraping
against his sensitive scalp, she stretched up to whisper in his ear. “You
couldn’t control me.”
To punctuate the
point, her fingers fisted in his hair and wrenched his head back, exposing his
throat, making it hard to breath. He felt the bite of teeth and hissed in pain.
But then he was free once more and he staggered back a step, watching her with
a complicated mix of fear, confusion and awe. She truly was stunning, but she
was also right; he wanted a biddable wife who would pander to his every whim
and take his word as law.
“I can, however,
create a girl to your specifications.”
“Yes,” he jumped
at the idea, heart pounding in anticipation. “Do it.”
“Payment first.”
Frustrated, he
cast around for his money bag, which had been attached to his belt. He found it
several feet away, alongside his shirt. Pouring the entire content into his
palm he said, “Take it, take it all. I have more if needed.”
“I don’t require
that kind of payment.” Her silken, seductive voice wrapped around him,
infatuating him once more and he turned as if in a dream to see her spread out
upon a blanket of autumn leaves, arms lifted sensually above her head, knees
open wide, affording him a lewd view of her most private area, pink and
glistening. The gold coins fell to the forest floor, forgotten.
He didn’t need
to be told twice.
Sinking to his
knees between her spread thighs, he wasted no time getting down to business.
And what a pleasurable transaction it was.
Twining her arms around his neck, to lock him
to her, the witch smiled up at the sky as the man covered her. He wasn’t as
attractive, or as well-hung, as the young huntsmen who visited her
occasionally, but he was handsome enough with a strong jaw and a smattering of
grey hair at his temples. Nor was he as skilled as her huntsman, she conceded;
he thrust into her with the clumsy haste of a man with enough money that he’d
never needed to learn the skills most men had to charm women into their beds.
Desperately
licking at her breasts, he groaned against her flesh as he pumped into her and
she stroked a hand down his back, waiting patiently until he orgasmed, his body
shaking as the seed was wrung out of him, before collapsing on top of her in
exhaustion.
Feeling his
energy settle inside of her, making her strong, she gave a little push and he
flew off of her, landing with a thump against a nearby tree. Rising, she
brushed the dirt and leaves from her body, before sauntering into the cabin,
calling over her shoulder, “Get dressed and come inside.”
After he’d
recovered and donned his clothes, Lord White stepped cautiously into the cabin.
He didn’t know what had just happened, but he knew the witch had done something
to him; he’d never spent so hard in his life and he’d never felt so tired
after, as if his bones were hundreds of years old. It ached to walk and his
head hurt, vision blurring at the edges.
Yet, if that was
the price he had to pay to get what he wanted he’d gladly pay it a thousand
times over.
Inside the cabin
was surprising bright, lit by hundreds of candles that were hidden from the
outside by the heavy drapes over the windows and door. He had been half
expecting mummified animals and other disgusting paraphernalia, but the space
looked remarkably normal. The only thing out of the ordinary was the cauldron
atop the large wooden table, bubbling and spitting as if it were hung over a
roaring fire instead of sitting upon a solid slab of oak.
Standing
opposite him, the cauldron between them, the witch produced a rough, brown
sack, the kind used to carry potatoes. Casting one hand over the boiling water,
she commanded, “Tell me,” in a voice dripping with power, nothing like the
seductive purring of mere minutes ago.
“I want a girl
with skin as white as snow…”
Holding the sack
open, she gestured for him to reach his hand inside, which he did, flinching when
his fingers encountered something cold and wet. Withdrawing with a handful of
pure white snow, he gazed at it in amazement, before glancing up at the witch.
“Throw it in the
pot,” she ordered.
Swallowing
tightly, he did as he was bid, before continuing, “Hair as black as a ravens
wing…”
Again, he
reached into the sack and withdrew a freshly amputated wing, still warm and
twitching. It sizzled when he dropped it into the water.
“Lips as red as
blood…” This time he pulled out a knife. He knew what he had to do without
being told. Slicing a line in the center of his palm, he held it over the
cauldron and watched as it dripped.
“What about her
eyes?” the witch asked.
“They’re of no
consequence,” he replied, staring hungrily into the bubbling potion.
“Have it your
way.”
Gliding her
hands over the cauldron in complicated, elegant patterns, she began to chant in
a language he didn’t understand, each word seething with power. The hairs on
the back of his neck rose and he glanced around warily as the cottage began to
shake as if caught in a violent tempest. The windows rattled and the door flew
open, a cold draft rushing inside to swirl around them. And then, suddenly, it
stopped.
Reaching both
hands into the water, unbothered by the fact that it continued to simmer and
steam, the witch slowly withdrew something as he stared on in horror.
“What trickery
is this?” he hissed when he could find the words. “I ask for a wife and you
give me a babe.”
“I believe you
asked for ‘a girl.’ She is female, is she not?”
“What use do I
have for an infant? Get rid of it.”
Inwardly, the
witch smiled. “She will grow to be the most beautiful maiden in all the lands
combined, are you still so eager to discard her?”
The most
beautiful maiden in all the lands? Who wouldn’t wish to possess such a woman?
She could be his, all he need do was raise her as his ward then, when she
reached marriageable age, wed the girl. He’d have to wait another fifteen
years, but then he’d already waited this long…
“You better not
be lying to me, wench,” he warned.
“I do not lie,”
the witch responded honestly. Rather, she bent and twisted the truth, a trick
necessary in her trade.
Once the
sleeping babe had been wrapped in a sheet and transferred to his arms, Lord
White turned for the door, but as he stepped out into the cold air, the child
stirred and her eyes opened.
Horrified, he
stared into large pools of milky white. “What’s wrong with it?”
Already bustling
around, putting away the ingredients used for the spell, the witch shrugged,
answering blithely, “You did not specify a color.”
“So you gave her
none? How can a girl with eyes as hideous as these ever be classed as
beautiful?”
Looking at him
sharply, she responded, “She will see more with those eyes than any other.”
Suddenly, a hard
gust of wind pushed him over the threshold and out of the cottage, the door
slamming shut behind him. He tried to re-enter, but it was in vain. Swinging
himself onto his horse, he galloped towards the river with the baby held in one
arm, silent as a church mouse.
Stopping upon a
bridge that stretched across the raging waters, he held the child over the
edge, ready to drop her in and have away with all this trouble, but the witches
promise echoed in his head.
She will be the
most beautiful maiden in all the lands.
He hesitated.
About
the Author:
M L Sparrow is currently the
author of four full length novels, a novella and a slew of short stories
published in various anthologies. She will write pretty much anything that pops
into her head, no matter the genre, and enjoys keeping her readers guessing as
to what she will write next, though you can pretty much guarantee that there
will be some degree of romance!
As well as writing, she enjoys
travelling and has been to some amazing countries, where she never fails to
gather inspiration and has an endless supply of ideas for future novels…
Wonderland
Casino
Kat
Gracey
Book Description:
A detective searches for a
missing woman called Alyce in the infamous Wonderland Casino. As he joins a
game of high stakes he soon realizes that there is more than money on the line.
Excerpt
Wonderland Casino:
Wonderland
Casino. Many rumors circulated about this joint, but few did it justice. The
main room was smoky and dark. I maneuvered my way through the clusters of
tables and stopped at the bar where I ordered a scotch on the rocks.
The table
closest to me contained eight men seated in a circle, playing cards. In the
dark corner at the back, sat a lone figure. The face was hidden, but I wondered
if it was the elusive Red Queen. She owned this town and no one crossed her and
lived. Only the very wealthy and the elite got in here. It took calling in a
lot of favors for me to get in and I couldn’t waste this opportunity.
I pulled the
photograph from my pocket, the one I’d been carrying for three months, ever
since Mr. and Mrs. Liddell came in asking for my help in locating their missing
daughter Alyce.
Alyce had been
missing for nearly two years and in that time the police had found nothing. Now
her parents were coming to me as their last hope.
Alyce had been
seeing an older man when she vanished. A man who turned up in the river a
little over a year ago. Whether it had anything to do with Alyce was still
unknown, but it didn’t bode well for her, especially since it looked like he
had died shortly after she went missing. Word on the street was that he was
last seen here and if he was here, then there was a chance that Alyce was too.
I knew it was a long shot to find any evidence after so long, but I also wanted
the chance to snoop around.
Alyce was 22,
with long blonde hair and blue eyes. She was quite a looker.
“Another?” the
bartender asked.
I nodded and he
refilled my glass.
“Haven’t seen
you here before,” he said.
“I’m new. An
acquaintance recommended the place to me. So far I’m impressed. Good liquor.
Pretty dames. What’s not to love?”
“Well you can’t
sit drinking all night. If you want to stay, you have to play.”
“Of course, I’m
just waiting for a game to open up.”
“Cigarettes?” a
voice said in my ear.
“No thanks, I
don’t sm…” I stopped talking when I got a good look at the cigarette girl.
“Alyce?”
She looked
surprised but quickly covered it with a smile.
“Sorry, wrong
girl.”
I held the
photograph up for her to see. “Your parents sent me to find you.”
She glanced
around then leaned in close.
“Alyce Liddell
is dead. Stay away from me.”
Perhaps not as
easy as I thought. Perhaps she suffered from Stockholm Syndrome or was being
threatened. Why else would she want to stay here? I stood up to follow her but
was interrupted by a large man in a suit.
“A spot has
opened up at one of our tables.”
“Oh, great,” I
said. Alyce would have to wait.
As I approached
a table in the back, a man was practically carried away from it. Was he
unconscious? How much money did he lose?
Reluctantly I
took a seat at the table with five other men.
“A new guy.
Good,” one of them said as he dealt me in.
“I’m Luke,” I
said.
“Eli,” the
dealer grunted but the others didn’t offer their names.
Cards weren’t my
specialty but I knew enough to play the game. The buy in was $1000. It was all
the money I had, but I had no choice.
The game began.
I scanned the room, looking for Alyce. Occasionally I would catch a glimpse of
her, but she kept her distance from my table. I realized that the other men
were staring at me, waiting for me to make my move.
“Uh, call,” I
said. Shockingly my hand won, my three of a kind beating the other hands. A
pile of chips were pushed toward me. I was up $3000. Maybe this wasn’t as hard
as I thought.
A few hands
later and I was up $6000. I almost forgot about Alyce as the money flowed in.
This was more than I made in the past year!
“It’s a trap,”
Alyce whispered in my ear.
“What?”
“Cigarettes,
sir?” she said.
“Um, no,” I
said.
One of the men
waved her over to buy some. I wanted to ask her what she meant but I doubted
she wanted anyone to hear her. A trap? Did they plan to beat me up and take my
winnings when the game was done? I couldn’t imagine that the Red Queen liked
newcomers taking her money. I folded in the next few hands, trying to lose some
of the money.
Alyce lingered
near the table, watching me.
“I think I need
another drink,” I said, hoping to steal a moment with her.
“No one leaves
the table once the game is in progress,” Eli said. He waved the bartender over
to us.
“Of course,” I
said. I ordered another drink and carried on playing.
About the Author:
Kat Gracey was born in the UK and
her books focus on her two favorite supernatural creatures - witches and
werewolves.
She enjoys reading, Netflix and
helping out her fellow authors with reviews.
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