Top 8 Tips For Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse by Samie Sands – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Samie Sands will be awarding a $10 Amazon or BN GC to one winner, and three additional winners will each receive a print copy of a book in the series.

Top 8 Tips For Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse
Since Lockdown and the AM13 Outbreak Series are set in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, I thought I would share the top 8 tips for surviving that I learned while researching for my books:

1. The Rule of Three – Alyssa in Forgotten notes the rule of three: you can survive for 3 minutes without oxygen, 3 hours without shelter, 3 days without water, and 3 weeks without food…if necessary.

2. Clear First – Leah in Lockdown learns the hard way that before anything else you need to make sure that a room is cleared out of any infected first!

3. Know your Enemy – as Georgie in Extinct discovers, zombies aren’t always the biggest threat out there. The apocalypse brings out the worst in people.

4. Be Careful – Michelle in Lockdown gets injured before she even has to face any zombies which instantly puts her at as disadvantage.

5. Choose your Weapon – Ethan in Forgotten struggles with the world anyway because of his severe Obsessive Compulsive Disorder so when the outbreak happens that intensifies massively. Choosing the right weapon is key to his survival.

6. Pack a Bug Out Bag – all the characters in the AM13 Outbreak series have to get hold of supplies for moving about during the apocalypse. Just ensure it has food, water, medical supplies, weapons, something to protect yourself from bad weather, and a flashlight in it as the essentials.

7. Find a Safe Place – many of the characters in Not Dead Yet are trying to find somewhere safe to survive while the outbreak happens around them. For some of them it’s their own home, for others it’s more public buildings such as shopping malls. Whatever you pick, make sure it’s safe.

8. Don’t get Bit – it might be an obvious one, but avoid the zombies as much as possible. Don’t try to be a hero for the sake of it, you’ll just end up another one of the shuffling, undead army roaming the streets outside.

Leah Watton’s practical joke has spiralled way out of control—all to impress a crush…

With a prank online video, Leah hopes to catch the attention of Jake Colton, a cute, blond-haired, blue-eyed co-worker she’s had a crush on for months. But instead of sending it to Jake, she manages to forward the clip to her boss—who buys every gory second.

When mass panic ensues, Leah learns the video is more than a staged act…

The government is calling the virus AM13. As the outbreak spreads, citizens are forced to stay indoors while they assess the gravity of the illness. Most people are quarantined in their homes, but Leah, Jake, and Leah’s best friend Michelle are some of the unlucky few who are stuck at work when the Lockdown occurs.

That’s where she first encounters one of the infected…

Aside from a contaminated woman devouring one of her co-workers, Leah has another problem. Does she do as she’s ordered and stay at work? Or should she disobey government orders and break free to reunite with her family?

She can’t go it alone—after all, Leah has none of the skills needed to survive—but with Michelle and Jake by her side, not even a contagious virus and a sea of the dead can keep her from…

Breaking out of the Lockdown…

Enjoy an Excerpt

I know that others are walking alongside and behind me, but I don’t know if they’re infected or healthy. I’ve become weirdly desensitised to it all. Logic would dictate that there are no other humans out here, but as I’m not in direct trouble right now, I’m not too bothered about figuring it out.

I spot a girl, maybe six or seven-years-old. She’s fallen over before me, in the middle of the road. I need to help her. That’s what people do, help children, isn’t it? Others are just stepping over her, ignoring her. But I won’t do that. I’m going to help her. There’s a tight knot of anxiety forming and twisting in my chest. I need to help her.

I try to pick up the pace and get to her before anything bad can happen, but my sluggish body can only do so much. As I get nearer to where she lays, I feel the familiar rage overtaking me. I’m suddenly angrier than I’ve ever been in my life. How can people just leave this sweet innocent girl like this? In the middle of the road, potentially injured, definitely in a lot of danger! God, the human race is so screwed up. I can’t be the only one who can see that she needs someone to look after her.

That’s when I realise, with a sickening crunch that she hasn’t fallen. Both her legs have broken. And not just broken, snapped off her body. And she’s growling. Moaning and growling just like the others…

About the Author: Samie Sands is the author of the AM13 Outbreak series – Lockdown, Forgotten, and Extinct. She’s also had a number of short stories published in very successful short story anthologies. To find out more about her and her work, check out her website.

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ENTER THE GIVEAWAY
 

What Happens in Velos Stays in Velos… by Amanda Bouchet – Giveaway


Long and Short Reviews is happy to share an original piece written by Amanda Bouchet to celebrate the upcoming release of the final installment in her The Kingmaker Chronicles, Heart of Fire. Readers of The Kingmaker Chronicles are already well-acquainted with Griffin, but never before have we had the chance to see the world of Thalyria—and Cat—through his eyes. In anticipation of the final installment of the series, Heart on Fire, Amanda Bouchet has written this companion piece from Griffin’s POV!

So, get comfy and dig in!

What Happened in Velos Stays in Velos…
by Amanda Bouchet
Griffin watched Cat figure out their location from only architectural clues and the fact that there was a nearby forest. The way she put things together using a knowledge base most people didn’t possess amazed him.

“How do you know so much about Velos?” he asked, curious. “The circus travels a route farther to the west.”

“I’ve met people, heard things,” she answered with a small shrug.

Annoyance ground against his earlier admiration. Cat knew the truth—always—and yet she lied to him constantly. He could see it in her face, knew when she was hiding something. He wanted what was best for Sinta. Griffin was convinced that Cat did, too, but for them to start making changes happen, he had to break through her animosity first. Sometimes, he saw flashes of something else in her when she forgot to guard her expression, something that made his chest clench. Maybe there was still hope.

“Help me, Cat,” he said, trying not to sound like he was begging. Weakness wouldn’t go over well with her. She responded negatively to force—that much was clear—but she respected strength. “Or at least tell me the truth. I know when you’re lying.”

“Oh?” She looked like her last meal was abruptly curdling in her stomach.

“Your eyes get twitchy.”

“My eyes do not get twitchy!” she spat back, clearly horrified.

Did she really not know? She had so many tells, but he almost felt like he was alone in seeing them. No one else seemed to notice every nuance of her breath and skin.

“This one gets narrower.” Griffin lightly touched the tip of his finger to the corner of her right eye. Cat jolted at the contact. He wasn’t sure if that brought him satisfaction or regret. Maybe it was some of both. He couldn’t figure out a lot of things when it came to Cat, but he knew his own heart and body. They didn’t lie to him. He cared about her deeply; he wanted her madly.

“It’s as if you’re expecting the lie to hurt, but it doesn’t because it’s your own,” he explained.

Still looking like there was a sour grape in her mouth, she leaned away from him and started walking again. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll have to work on that,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Cat…” he growled, stalking after her. “Everything would be so much easier if—”

“—you let me go.”

Griffin shook his head. “I can’t. You’re too valuable.”

“Aren’t you the lucky despot? The one who caught the Kingmaker. Forgive me for not being overjoyed about becoming your slave.”

“Not a slave.” Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed her arm, swinging her back to him. “One of us.”

Cat wrenched out of his hold, looking more than incredulous. She looked furious, her mesmerizing green eyes practically on fire.

Gods, he wanted to shake her. Kiss her. Make her believe him. It should have been obvious to her of all people that he was telling the truth.

Once again, the fact that he’d dragged her unwillingly from her home punched Griffin in the stomach, making his gut twist. What in the bloody Underworld had he been thinking? His logic and reason had seemed to melt in the heat between them and then abandon him entirely when they’d really begun interacting. In the end, he’d just known she had to be with him. They had to be together.

He inwardly grimaced. As far as choices went about how to make that happen, though, there were undoubtedly better ones. And now he was paying. Cat was making sure of it—as she should.

“I’ll never be one of you,” she bit out with enough conviction to almost convince him.

Almost.

Griffin dragged a hand through his hair, tugging it back. “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

She glared at him. She was something fierce.

Emotion tore through his chest. Would she ever forgive him?

The five of them—Beta Team, Cat, and him—eventually reached the market rows, and Griffin pulled four silver coins from his money pouch.

Flynn’s eyes brightened as he rubbed his hands together. “Payday!”

Flynn, Carver, and Kato each took the coin Griffin owed them, leaving one in the palm of his hand.

“Cat.” Griffin extended the coin to her, an uncomfortable hesitancy making his heart pound. “Your pay.”

As he expected, Cat refused the money. He wouldn’t push her. He wasn’t out to prove she was part of their team with one gesture. It was a long-term effort, one that meant a great deal to him.

He put the coin away. “I’ll hold it for you. I know what you want. You complain about it often enough.”

She looked up sharply, and then her eyes narrowed. Did she like it when he teased her?

Cat moved along next to him while he bought her some fruit he thought she would like as well as some bread and cheese. Not goat cheese. He knew better than that. Griffin tried to keep the rope from pulling taut, but it wasn’t always easy. He hated to remind her it was there. Not that she ever forgot. He just didn’t want to make things worse between them.

He located a soap seller next and tried to find something nice-smelling to replace Cat’s shrinking bar. He’d been using hers, and there wasn’t much left.

The turn of his thoughts reminded him of bathing so close to her, only a few feet apart. Gods, he wished he could see her. Just a glimpse. Just the slope of her bare shoulder while her hair was slicked back and water slid down the column of her throat…

Taking a deep breath, Griffin tried to control the jagged, unsatisfied heat prowling through him like a caged beast.

Cat rolled her eyes. “You’re worse than a woman. Just take the yellow one. It’s always the best.”

He reached for a block of bright-yellow soap, picked it up, and sniffed. “Lemon.” He closed his eyes and inhaled again, imagining breathing against Cat’s smooth skin. “Smells like you.”

“And you,” she shot back, her color rising. “My soap should have lasted another month.”

Ignoring the bite in her tone and doing his best to redirect his blood to his brain, Griffin handed over payment to the vendor. “We’ll take two,” he said in a voice like gravel.

“There is no we,” Cat muttered irritably as they continued down the row of market stalls. “Don’t act like I have a say in any of this.”

Now that wasn’t true. Griffin turned, frustrated again. Yes, he’d willingly pay for his highhanded stupidity. He’d pay forever if it kept Cat with him, but short of letting her go just to watch her walk away from him, from Sinta, and from everything they could accomplish together, he’d give her anything she asked for. And she damn well knew it.

“You could have a say,” he growled at her. “And you could bloody well choose your own soap!”

“I did! I told you to take the yellow one.”

“And I did!” Cursing under his breath, Griffin stalked toward the next vendor, somehow forgetting about the magic rope. The bloody thing pulled taut, and he accidentally jerked Cat right into someone who suddenly stumbled in from the side. The man looked innocuous enough, but off-balance and dazed. High from some spell, no doubt.

Griffin was about to intervene when Cat gasped and reached out to the stranger with a visible shudder. Her face lit up as she grabbed the man’s shoulders and pulled him even closer.

Griffin scowled. What in the Underworld was she up to now?

***

“Cat?” Griffin stepped closer to her. “Cat! What are you doing?”

Laughing, she finally released the stunned-looking man. She turned and stumbled straight into Griffin, sucking in a sharp breath when he caught her bare arms to steady her. Her eyes flared, then softened.

“You’re pink!” She giggled, the sound seeming strange and unnatural coming from her.

Griffin frowned, which apparently made her laugh harder. Her eyes unfocused, Cat splayed her hand over his chest. He thought it was for balance. She probably wouldn’t have touched him otherwise. He still reveled in the warm, light weight of her fingers. He’d longed to have her hands on him.

Cat stared at his chest. She seemed fascinated. She slowed her breathing to match his.

“Poseidon’s balls! What in the Underworld did you do to me?” The man who’d stumbled into Cat didn’t look dazed anymore; he looked infuriated.

Cat blinked. She blinked again, tilting her head to one side. She stayed right next to Griffin, her hand still on his chest.

The man staggered, fighting tremors and hiccupping down a series of short, disjointed breaths. His overly lean, unhealthy frame spoke of dependence and bad choices. Griffin tensed in case the addict got any stupid ideas about accosting Cat—who had clearly done something to him with her magic.

“That dose was supposed to last all day!” the man snarled. “I paid good silver for it. Give it back!” He lunged at Cat.

Griffin wrapped his arm around Cat’s waist and swept her out of the man’s path. The addict howled, and she laughed, leaning into Griffin in a way that warmed his entire side. Enraged, the addict drew a knife and waved it in Cat’s direction, a crazed light sparking in his already frantic eyes.

No one threatened Cat. Griffin shot out his hand and knocked the knife from the other man’s grip. It wasn’t hard; the addict already shook. He had no intention of stopping there. He leapt forward and wrapped his hand around the man’s throat. He held on to Cat as well. There was no way he was letting her go.

Her gaze bright, almost rapt, Cat stared fixedly at Griffin’s arm until he tossed the man to the ground. Kato, Flynn, and Carver formed a perimeter, keeping everyone else away and the addict in. Cat clapped and smiled, wiggling in apparent delight.

“Dose of what?” Griffin demanded in a hard voice. He needed to know what was wrong with her, and he needed to know now.

Cat shivered, and he couldn’t help gripping her tighter. He was self-aware enough to know he didn’t pull her closer solely for her protection.

Banking on sheer intimidation as the best way to handle the addict, Griffin drew a knife and threw it with precision, sticking it a mere inch from the man’s ear. “The next one lands somewhere that hurts,” he snarled.

The addict paled, his mouth going slack as his eyes darted to the blade next to his face.

“Brutal,” Cat commented. She didn’t sound averse.

Griffin glanced at her. “No one touches you.”

She bit her lower lip, looking adorably confused. “You’re touching me.”

Griffin’s eyes fixed on her mouth. “I’m the exception.”

She seemed to stop breathing, to maybe even like what she heard. Hope jerked in his chest. Smiling, Cat swayed toward him, and his fingers tightened on her hip. It took an almost herculean effort to resist hauling her up against him and kissing her like he’d wanted to since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her, weeks ago.

Griffin briefly closed his eyes. Cat wasn’t herself, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her.

Focusing on the addict again, he ground out, “I’m waiting.”

Cat turned back to the man at their feet as well and pointed her finger. “Answer or die!”

She did menace with absolute believability, and the man’s face went cloud-white. Cat burst out laughing.

“Euphoria,” he finally answered, pushing himself up to sitting. “Paid five silvers for it, and the little leech stole it with one touch.”

The addict spat at Cat, and a low growl rumbled in Griffin’s throat. He wasn’t in the habit of beating on people weaker than himself, but right then, he was sorely tempted.

“You bumped into me,” Cat announced, although she didn’t look entirely certain. She peeled Griffin’s arm off her waist and then stumbled away, unsteady on her feet.

The rope snapped tight, and she swayed. Following her, Griffin put his hand on her lower back to steady her, and the slight, momentary hitch in Cat’s stride was the only indication that she’d felt him behind her. She ignored him otherwise.

“What about the addict?” Carver asked, handing Griffin back his knife.

“Leave him.” Griffin stayed close to Cat as he sheathed the blade. “Make sure he’s not following.”

Cat hummed as she walked, almost dancing. Without her usual dark cloud of cynicism and understandable fury in place, there was a brightness to her that riveted him. Griffin wanted to enjoy it, enjoy her, but he was too worried about what she’d done to herself—and how it would end. Highs inevitably came with lows.

She stumbled, dizzy and distracted, and he easily caught her around the waist. Gods, he loved the feel of this woman in his hands. He wanted her under him. Over him. Everywhere.

“You’re high on euphoria.” He slid his hands up her ribcage to better balance her as she swayed. “A strong dose, calibrated to a man twice your size.” Their eyes met, and Griffin felt her soft, dreamy gaze straight down to his groin. “How did that happen?”

Cat beckoned, and he lowered his head. Their faces brushed, and he wished he could turn and capture her lips with his. It was torture to hold back, especially when Cat pressed into him, seeming to enjoy the contact.

“I can steal magic,” she told him in a conspiratorial whisper. “If you had any, I’d steal yours.”

Griffin kept a steady expression, even though her words shocked him. He’d never heard of that. He’d known Cat was valuable, powerful, but good Gods, was there nothing she couldn’t do?

Without his immunity to harmful magic, he could never hold on to a Magoi like Cat—magic rope or not. Although the rope certainly helped.

Helped keep her, he thought grimly. It didn’t help their relationship.

Her sudden smile nearly winded him.

“I can give it away, too.” Cat laid her hands on his chest and then shuddered. She frowned, seeming baffled.

“You don’t want any?” She pushed on his chest again before dropping her hands. “There’s something very strange about you.”

The realization appeared to delight her. Laughter bubbled up straight from her belly. Griffin felt his own mouth twitch.
Her amusement cut off abruptly, and she scooted out of his arms, reaching for Kato. Kato’s eyes glazed over the instant she touched him. He grinned like a fool.

“Everything’s pink!” Kato turned, lost his balance, and knocked over an entire table of leather goods.

“For the Gods’ sakes!” Griffin muttered. Now there were two of them.

The irate vendor started grumbling curses, so Griffin handed over some money. Nothing was broken, and the silver coin would more than pay for the mess.

He turned to someone who still had his wits intact. “Flynn! Take care of him. Take him back to the inn. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid or kill anyone by accident.”

“Oh, no!” Cat sang out in a loud voice. “We mustn’t kill by accident. Only on purpose.”

“My sentiment exactly.” Griffin gripped her hand and led her away from the growing crowd of staring people.

Cat giggled. Carver kept pace behind them.

“Where are we going?” Cat asked, starting to dance in circles around him. Griffin turned as well to keep the rope from tangling—not that he’d mind if it drew her right up against him.

Her hands suddenly flew up, and she started almost frantically taking apart her braid.

“We have one more thing to buy,” Griffin answered, wondering if he should help her with whatever she was doing.

“I knew it!” She seemed to forget about her now-disheveled hair and clapped, beaming. “What?”

“A drying cloth.”

Her face fell. Griffin knew a drying cloth wasn’t very exciting, but she needed one, so there was that.

Cat’s head swiveled around, and she walked off to the right, taking Griffin with her.

Her expression brightened once more. “A sword! I want a sword. Can I have a sword?”

The way her eyes glittered when she looked up at him punched a hole of happiness straight through his ribs. Right then, he knew he could deny her nothing—except the freedom she wanted most.

“You can’t even lift a sword.” He followed her toward the table of blades anyway. Maybe the vendor had something small.

“I can. Watch me.” She reached for a huge monstrosity of a weapon. It looked big, even to Griffin’s eyes.

“That’s odd. Someone must have glued it.” She bent over the sword for a closer look and ended up hitting her face on it.
Griffin’s heart spasmed. Was she hurt?

“Ow!” Cat popped up, rubbing her nose and nearly falling over backward. His hand shot out to steady her, but this time, she didn’t need him.

She frowned ferociously at the blood on her fingers, but Griffin breathed a sigh of relief. The cut was a small thing.

Cat eventually shrugged and then wiped the red smudge from her hand, laughing again. The euphoria must still have been strong in her system.

Brushing flyaway hair out of her face, Griffin leaned in for a closer look. The nick had already stopped bleeding.

In a move that startled him, Cat’s hands shot up and gripped his face back. Griffin’s heart stopped dead in his chest. She held on, her grasp tight at first. Then it loosened, and she trailed her fingertips down his cheeks.

Heat rushed through him. He wished he’d shaved for her. He didn’t dare breathe.

“Hmmm.” Her eyelids seemed to grow heavy, her lashing dipping to shade her beautiful eyes. “Scratchy.”

Griffin swallowed hard. Cat was touching him, and circumstances made it so that he couldn’t reciprocate.

He captured her hands in his and slowly lowered them. He couldn’t help the light caress he gave her knuckles. He didn’t do it consciously.

“The cut’s nothing.” Hardly recognizing his own voice, he released her. If he’d held on to her much longer, his skin would have caught fire.

With what felt like an Olympian effort, Griffin turned away from Cat and nodded to a small blade at the end of the table. The merchant handed it over, and he tested it, only partially to distract himself. If it wasn’t a quality blade, it wasn’t for Cat.
The sword turned out to be sturdy, well-crafted, and straight. “We’ll take it,” he announced. “And your smallest sword belt with dagger loops.”

Cat looked thrilled, and Griffin felt his chest expand.

“You’re buying me a sword? And a belt for my knives?” Grinning, she astonished him by leaping on him.

Griffin caught her as her arms and legs clamped around him. His heart thudded hard, his lungs seized, and his whole body ignited. She felt painfully perfect in his arms.

Unable to resist, he angled his head toward her and inhaled deeply. Cat smelled like frosted lemons—fresh and tangy, with a hint of acidity. He loved her bite. He was fairly certain he loved her.

As he breathed her in, his chest pressed against hers. The contact was exhilarating. His long, slow exhale shuddered over her neck, and Cat shivered in his arms.

Breathy laughter fluttered against his ear. “Ack! That tickles!”

A strained chuckle was Griffin’s only response.

He forced himself to unlock his greedy arms from around her and set her back on her feet. He knew Cat—an undrugged Cat—wouldn’t want to be in his embrace.

Staying close to him of her own accord, she smiled up at him in a way she never had before, like she meant it, rather than like she wanted to chew him up, spit him out, and then stomp on him until he was good and bloody.

Was this how things between them could be if she trusted him? If he’d convinced her that night at the circus fair instead of capturing her?

The thought made his chest ache, and Griffin cleared his throat, chasing out regret and need with a gruff sound. He’d figure out a way to win her over. He had to.

“The sword’s really for me?” Cat asked.

He hadn’t fully let her go since she hadn’t stepped back, and his fingers pressed lightly into her sides. “You said you wanted one.”

Cat’s smile grew brilliant. “In that case, I want two! One for each hip.”

He chuckled in spite of everything, imagining it all too well. The problem was, Cat was dangerous enough already.

“Let’s start with one,” he answered, drawing her a fraction closer.

Her breath caught, and it was agony not to lower his head and kiss her.

To avoid temptation, Griffin turned and paid for the sword.

Cat hopped along next to him when he began walking again. “Can I have it? Can I? Can I, please?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You can have it when I can trust you.”

She nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Griffin’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “That’s it?”

“What’s it?” She flapped her hands, swatting at something. “Did you see that?”

He frowned. “See what?”

“The bee. The Centaur bee. The pink one.”

Glancing briefly toward Olympus for guidance—and to keep from laughing—Griffin took Cat’s hand and led her through the market. It would have been easier if she hadn’t been dancing—not that he would ever stop her.

When she looked up at him again, the joy in her eyes almost blinded him. “Thank you.”

Her simple words punched the air from his lungs. “You’re welcome,” he answered gruffly.

“Not you,” she declared in an exasperated tone.

Griffin was content to not comment and watch her dance some more. She stumbled over Carver’s feet. Quick, as always, his brother helped her back up before he could reach for her, and Griffin’s hands clenched with the need to steady her himself.
In thanks for Carver’s aid, Cat dipped into a deep and graceful curtsy that looked like it could have been executed in any royal court. He was surprised she managed it so well, given her current state. The ease with which she moved smacked of years of practice and raised questions he knew she wouldn’t answer.

Carver bowed back awkwardly enough to make Cat laugh until she could barely breathe. They weren’t used to such pomp in the south. Court etiquette was something he and his family still had to figure out—preferably fast.

Feeling a rush of worry for his family right now trying to integrate into royal life in Sinta City without him, Griffin guided Cat toward a table covered in drying cloths. Cat jumped, trying to catch the hanging ones while he looked through the selection on the table, suddenly ready to be done with the market in Velos and get back on the road.

“This one,” he said, selecting a yellow one about the same shade as Cat’s usual soap. She’d like that, wouldn’t she? It was almost like having a set.

“Is that for me?” she asked.

Griffin nodded, his stomach sinking at how disgusted she looked by his choice.

“Not that one. It looks like Cerberus threw up on it.” She glanced from side to side. “I want that one!”

She seemed ecstatic about a flashy red cloth big enough to cover four of her, so he put the yellow one back and bought the red.
He couldn’t think of anything else she—or anyone—needed, so Griffin steered Cat back toward the inn. Without warning, she sat down in the street, yanking the rope tight between them and pulling him to a sudden stop. Griffin let out a grunt of surprise.
Cat looked up at him, her nose scrunching. “Serves you right. You could just untie me. Or let me go.”

There was the usual Cat. Her tongue was still sharp, even if her mind was fuzzy. “And miss all this fun?” he teased.

Her laughter shook her all over. Griffin smiled back, wishing things could always be this easy and enjoyable between them. Maybe they would have been if he hadn’t been such a colossal arse the night they met.

He opened his mouth to apologize for capturing her, to solemnly ask her forgiveness, for another chance, for a better them he was desperate to have, when Cat’s head snapped around, and she jumped up, already running.

Bollocks! He’d missed his opportunity. He knew himself; there was a good chance he wouldn’t take it again. Cat’s barbed tongue could make even him hesitate, and she’d be back to her normal self soon. And in the end, he wasn’t sorry they were together. He’d never be sorry for that. Griffin ran after her.

“Where are you going?” he asked. Carver jogged next to them on Cat’s other side.

She didn’t answer but then veered off and ran up the steps of a bathhouse, crashing through the doors and nearly plowing into a couple. She reached for the woman but then pulled back before Griffin had to intervene. She kept going.

Chortling with glee, Cat raced toward what Griffin suspected was the men’s pool from the artwork on the walls. She didn’t seem to notice the increasingly explicit mosaics lining the corridor.

They arrived at a tall door that Cat tried unsuccessfully to open. She repeatedly groped for and missed the very prominent latch.

Griffin reached around her to open the door, not sure he shouldn’t have been barring the way instead. “I get the feeling you’ve never been high before.”

She glanced up at him. “Have you?”

He shook his head. Never—and he didn’t plan on it.

“Looks like fun,” Carver chimed in, rather idiotically in Griffin’s opinion. It looked like a dangerous loss of control to him.

Cat teetered toward Carver. “Want some? It’s fabulous!”

Carver grinned. “No thanks. Offering anything else?” he asked so smoothly that Griffin had to do a double-take before the urge to punch his brother hit him.

Cat laughed, blushing prettily. Then she sighed. “Don’t flirt.”

“Why not?” Carver asked, completely ignoring Griffin’s hard stare.

“Don’t you know? Poseidon sent your incredibly annoying brother to me with an oracular dream. Once-in-a-lifetime thing. Except for most people. Most people never have one. Anyway”—she rolled her eyes—“he probably thinks it means something.” She snorted like that was beyond ridiculous when it was likely the most important thing that had ever happened to him. “I’d rather eat goat balls. Or goat shit.” She frowned, clearly confused. “Or goat cheese!” she abruptly shouted.

“Oracular dream?” Griffin turned the term over in his mind and in his mouth. He hadn’t known what it was called, or that it occasionally happened to others, but he’d known it was life-changing. He’d known it meant he was supposed to be with Cat.

“She’s a wealth of information,” Carver murmured.

“What? Never heard of one?” Cat shrugged. “I’m hot.” She turned, tripped, and went down before Griffin could catch her.

He helped her to her feet again and then followed as she ran straight into the men’s bathing chamber. Three naked men looked over, startled.

Cat yanked her tunic over her head.

Griffin’s eyes widened. “For the Gods’ sakes, Cat!” He wanted to look. He knew he shouldn’t.

Everyone else needed to get out now.

She kept stripping, and something roared inside him.

“Out!” he shouted to the other men. What in the Underworld was he supposed to do? He couldn’t leave her alone in here. Not looking seemed impossible, especially when he needed to keep her safe. And because he desperately wanted to.

The need to protect her, even from himself, battered his chest. At the savage look on his face, the three men scrambled out of the pool and ran. They averted their gazes from Cat, obviously knowing what was good for them.

Cat turned back to him, completely bare. Heat built in his groin and crept through his abdomen. Griffin wanted to reach for her, to cover her. To cover her with himself. He nearly groaned.

His brother moved in his peripheral vision. What in the Gods’ names was Carver still doing here? A growl ground deep in his throat.

Before his narrowed eyes could snap to Carver, Cat reached up and swept her fingers through his hair. Her touch was light but sure. There was no hesitation, and even some gentleness. He wished she would never stop.

She smiled and patted his head. “Good Beta.”

The growl meant for Carver turned into a grunted laugh.

“Woof!” she barked back.

Gods, she was amazing. And fun. And strong. The knowledge made him grin and hit him square in the chest—which made his eyes automatically drop to hers.

Griffin froze, balling his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her.

She flushed. Her nipples hardened as he watched, and the tension inside him exploded into something nearly unbearable—hot and urgent. Griffin felt a muscle tick in his jaw as he clenched his teeth, fighting to tear his eyes away from her. He lost the battle, and his eyes dipped, sweeping over her. He swallowed hard. He wanted this woman more than his next breath. But he wanted her to like him first.

“Untie me or get in.” Cat’s throaty whisper, her invitation, nearly brought him to his knees.

Griffin stepped closer to hide her nakedness from Carver. He didn’t watch Carver leave the room, but he did watch Cat blow his brother a kiss, and Griffin practically saw red. He’d never felt so barbarically possessive in his life.

Finally alone with her, Griffin lifted his eyes to Cat’s. “Give me your binding word you won’t leave without me.”

“All right,” she agreed.

Could it be that easy? “Say it,” he insisted.

She rolled her eyes with extra exuberance and then bowed dramatically. “I won’t leave the bathing chamber without you, O Imperious One.”

It was hard not to laugh. His ire deflated instantly. Cat was his only concern.

Griffin untied the rope, trying to keep his hands to himself. He accidentally brushed Cat’s waist at one point, though, and his fingers almost caught fire. His whole body tightened with the need to claim Cat for his own.

The instant she was free of the rope, Cat turned and dove into the pool. She stayed underwater for so long that Griffin started to get anxious. He realized he shouldn’t have worried when she popped up a moment later, whooping and laughing.
She swam forever, and Griffin couldn’t do anything but watch and make sure she didn’t hurt herself. She played, frolicking in a way that made him long to join her. But she wouldn’t like that. She might like it now—she’d even splashed him and tried to coax him in—but she wouldn’t like it later. He wouldn’t make the inevitable end of her fun worse by joining her and giving her something more to regret from today.

Besides, how would he keep from touching her? From showing her how hot he burned for her? If he got in, the whole damn pool might evaporate just from the fire inside him.

Another long hour of torture later, Griffin pulled up short. He saw the exact moment Cat’s high burned itself out and fatigue and reality came crashing back to take its place.

She gasped, paling to near-translucent. She started to sink.

Griffin stepped forward, but then she seemed to recover enough to float. He hesitated. He wanted to help her, but she probably wouldn’t want him touching her.

Cat’s face went from white to red so fast it was blinding. She bowed her head, looking defeated, and Griffin’s heart clenched hard.

“That’s why addicts stay high,” he said softly. “It’s too awful when it ends.”

She sniffed but didn’t look up.

“Come.” Dropping his gaze to the marble floor, Griffin held out her new drying cloth. It was more than big enough to cover her up and warm her.

He didn’t look directly at Cat, but he could still tell that she crawled up the steps, shaking, shivering, and almost too weak to make it to the cloth he held. Griffin was going to hand it to her, but then she just oozed into the material and waited. He wrapped it around her and began gently patting her dry.

“Why did you take it?” he asked when she closed her eyes, looking mortified, weary, and utterly alone.

Right then, Griffin wished more than ever that he’d earned the right to take her into his arms and comfort her. But he hadn’t, so he wrapped the cloth more firmly around her instead. She trembled.

“The magic wanted to be inside me.” She spoke so softly he barely heard. “I couldn’t control it. I-I didn’t even try.”

Was it just his imagination, or had Cat leaned into him?

He cleared his throat.

“It wasn’t his magic. It was a spell.” Griffin straightened, wanting a better look at her. Pale face. Grey lips. Blank eyes. The sight of her made his chest ache.

“It doesn’t matter.” She slumped, hardly even upright. “It’s the same to me.”

Not knowing what else to do, Griffin made sure the cloth was secure around her before trying to guide her toward her clothes. “Let’s go.”

Instead of walking, Cat dropped to the floor and curled up in a ball.

Watching her, Griffin’s gut sank. He’d put her in a position where she’d felt compelled to steal unknown magic, undoubtedly to help her escape. Now she was sick and miserable, and it was in good part his fault. No wonder she hated him.

Griffin gathered their belongings and then carefully picked Cat up off the floor. She surprised him by not protesting. She even rested her wet head on his shoulder, her breath a sweet warmth against his neck. He cradled her against him. He’d build trust one heartbeat at a time if he had to.

“You never smell bad,” she murmured, barely forming words around her fatigue.

“Should I?” Griffin asked.

“It would make you mortal, like the rest of us.”

“I am mortal. That’s why I need—”

“—your help,” she finished with a sigh.

“This isn’t a game, Cat.”

“Just leave me here,” she said despondently. “You can’t carry me all the way back.”

Griffin grunted. That was absurd—in more ways than one. “And leave behind my most valued treasure?”

She hesitated. Her breath seemed to catch. “I won’t be used.”

Ah, the usual rhetoric. He smiled vaguely. Was she coming back to herself?

“Egeria will win you over,” he said. And he would, too.

She yawned, bringing the tip of her nose into contact with his neck. He wished she’d let herself come even closer, thought maybe a small part of her even wanted to, but suddenly she stiffened in his arms.

“It won’t get that far.” Those five words were sharper than anything she’d said in hours.

Griffin’s mouth flattened. And so it began again. “You’re wrong. You’re wrong about a lot of things.” And somehow, someday, he would prove it.

“I bled on that sword and didn’t dilute it.” The panic in Cat’s voice shot tension through his body. “They’ll track my blood. It’s been hours. They’re already on their way.”

“Who?” he demanded.

Wilting again, she yawned, exhaustion seeming to drown her fear. “It’s your fault. You exposed me.”

Griffin held her tighter, his heart hammering out adrenaline-laced beats. “I’ll protect you.”

She closed her eyes, looking alarmingly weak. Almost unconscious. “You could try,” she whispered just before her head lolled, and her body went limp in his arms.

Grim-faced, Griffin carried her toward the inn. He had to do better than try. The fate of Thalyria and both of their futures depended upon it.

The riveting conclusion to The Kingmaker Chronicles coming January 2018!

GODS. I’M AN IDIOT.
Without Griffin—and apparently a few meddling Gods—to push me along, I’d still be telling fortunes at the circus, lying about my past, ignoring my future, and living as far away from my tyrant mother as humanly possible.

True understanding thuds into place. Hope isn’t just an abstract concept; it’s me. Flesh and blood me. Griffin knew it all along. Probably everyone did. I’m an idea in human form._

I have the power of the Gods at my fingertips.
The only thing ever stopping me has been me.

About the Author:USA Today bestselling author AMANDA BOUCHET grew up in New England and studied French at the undergraduate and graduate levels, first at Bowdoin College and then at Bowling Green State University. She moved to Paris, France, in 2001 and has been there ever since. She met her husband while studying abroad, and the family now includes two bilingual children, who will soon be correcting her French.

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Ten Things Most People Don’t Know About Charles O’Keefe – Guest Blog and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Charles O’Keefe will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

10 Things most people don’t know about me

First off thank you for being a part of my blog tour, I really appreciate it.

Ten things most people don’t know about me. This is an interesting topic because I am an open and honest guy (not all the time of course). Everyone has a private side to their life but I’m willing to give readers a little glimpse into what makes me tick.

10. When I write fiction it has to be double-spaced on a computer

I think this was drilled into me when I was junior high and high school (I do also have a degree in English). I know that when a story/book is finished it will be single-spaced but the look of that drives me bonkers! When I write it just looks so much better to have it double-spaced. The same also applies for writing comments, you need the space. I used to do stories, when I was around thirteen, on paper. I don’t know about you but my handwriting is atrocious. So much so that if I write fast enough even I would have trouble making it out. It’s one of the reasons I got a computer when I was fourteen and never looked back. Also if you write it on paper and the paper is lost, it’s gone forever. At least with something on a computer there is hopefully a copy (I love Dropbox and would highly recommend it for backups) that you can recover.

9. I really hate touching or having anything near my eyes.

Most people have this fear I think, something you are told often as a child is to be careful with your eyes around anything sharp. I’ve had glasses since I was eight and when I was nineteen I tried contacts. I was so freaked out with touching my eyes all the time that I had to give them up. So yes, getting something caught in my eye can be a nightmare for me.

8. I’m a cat person, always have been, always will be.

Dogs drool, cat’s rule! Seriously, dogs are ok but a cat is so much easier to care for, no walking or letting them outside to do their business. Cats have (in my experience) much nicer fur, can purr, and show you affection when they truly need it (or when you really need it). Dogs are too easy to please, (most) cats make you work for it.

7. I’m very picky with music, mostly I like the same groups/artists that I did when I was 16.

I’m a firm believer that anything made after 2000 is 90% crap. For example Kayne, utter garbage!

6. I can’t stand the sound of a baby/child crying

Like nails on a chalkboard to me, I’ll leave a store/place if I can when a child acts up.

5. I love oranges above any other food

When I say oranges I mean Clementines or Mandarins, I have to be able to peel them with my fingers. It’s one of the reasons I love going to Florida so much, they have the best oranges and orange juice I’ve ever had.

4. I’ve loved Star Trek since I was four years old.

I’m a lifelong Trekker. My friend kept a postcard I sent where I mention Star Trek, it was dated 1980. That doesn’t mean I loved every incarnation, some of the shows and movies are terrible but I’ve stuck by it. I was even President of a Star Trek fan club in university.

3. I always look for a window seat whenever I’m in any public place.

I love to read, write, watch stuff and play games on my iPad but I always want to take breaks and look out the window. I will pay extra for a window seat and I will go around a whole library if I means finding a seat near a window.

2. I prefer to listen to books rather than read them.

I think this goes back to my childhood. Having a few drinks and having a good story read to you is bliss (Audible rules!).

1. I hate cold, snowy weather above all else in the world.

This is the reason I go somewhere warm every winter (unless something really strange happens). I know Florida gets bad press sometimes but I love it there, I plan to retire there as soon as I can afford it.

Here you’ll find nine new short-stories, some which have been from my life, or things that could have happened. One is inspired from the many games of Dungeons and Dragons I’ve played over twenty years while another is from the Call of Cthulhu role-playing game. Some are even some from other authors, who kindly contributed to my collection.

As a treat for fans of my series, I have included six deleted chapters, two from each of the three Newfoundland Vampire novels, which have been all cleaned up and have been made better than ever for your reading pleasure.

I have also included not one, but two chapters from the upcoming fourth book in the Newfoundland Vampire series, War of the Fangs. I’ve filled this collection with tales that will make you laugh, or will scare you, and will hopefully make you think a little about the world around us and the people in it.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“I’m not leaving you behind, no man gets left behind, GET MOVING!” Marlon screamed the last part at the top of his lungs and they bolted forward. It wasn’t easy with all the roots and holes in the ground. Larry fell once as did Marlon, painfully twisting his ankle so that now Larry had to help him but they moved on, spotting one mark on a tree and chalk on another. The mist had started to rise, it was at their ankles now.

“Mar I can’t feel my feet, it feels as if I’m running on blocks of ice. We need to get out!” Marlon looked about frantically, the trees were still thick, he couldn’t see the tall grass from where they had started this morning. Everything felt tight, his chest felt like it was going to explode, his heart felt like it would leap out through his throat at any second. The trees seems to be closing in on them, he felt like he was back in France, just waiting for the first bullet to split the air.

Marlon looked down for a second, legs are numb up to my knees but somehow I’m moving, I don’t feel the pain in my ankle. “We’ll get out, you are the best woodsman I’ve ever seen. I know you can do it.” Larry nodded and Marlon was glad to see a small smile creep onto one side of his face, he pointed with his right arm to a mark, an arrow pointing to the east, the way they were going. You better be, he thought, I’ll be damned if I die in a forest by some mist, I made it out of the war, I’ll make it out of here!

About the Author:Charles O’Keefe lives in the beautiful province of Newfoundland, Canada, with his wife and two feline ‘children,’ Jude and Eleanor. He is a part-owner of a beauty wholesale business. He enjoys many hobbies and activities that include reading, gaming, poker, Pilates, Dungeons and Dragons, and of course, fantasizing about vampires. Charles is the author of three books in the Newfoundland Vampire series, but this is his first collection of short-stories. Look for the fourth Newfoundland Vampire book sometime in the near future.

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Just Off the Path by Weston Sullivan – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Weston Sullivan will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

 

Hansel never asked to be a hero. He never wanted to fall in love with Rapunzel, Queen of the East. He didn’t ask to be raised by Gothel the Wretch, and he certainly never wanted to be credited for her arrest. But more than any of that, Hansel never wanted to lie: but he did. He lied about everything. He thought that he was done with it all when he and his sister Gretel retreated into the woods to reclaim their land, but he should have known better.
Hansel needs to find a way to fix this, otherwise he will be responsible for Grimm’s destruction, or that is what he thinks. As Hansel isn’t the only liar in Grimm.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The Girl in the Red Cape

My rude brother’s name is Hansel,” Gretel said, pushing her way past a particularly thorny vine. “And I’m Gretel.”

“How am I rude?” Hansel asked, his voice sharp. He wasn’t in the mood to argue. Their hunt was fruitless, and it was cold enough that his breath rushed from his nostrils and plumed into the air above his head. “I saved her life, didn’t I?”

The girls walked ahead of him, Ceara only steps ahead of Gretel. Every few seconds, she stopped to gather her bearings. They were fast friends; Hansel knew Gretel was intrigued by Ceara’s fearlessness. She walked the thickets as if they were a second home to her, leaving Hansel behind to worry about the things that hid in the darkness. He kept his bow drawn. It felt as though the briar was pulling him back and with each step he took, he could feel the thorns prick his skin, snag his clothes, like Grimm itself was assaulting him. Touching the thorns was unavoidable. His skin was on fire after the first few steps, and tiny pools of blood formed all over his body. Gretel was bleeding, too. But not Ceara, since her cloak shielded her from the thickets.

Gretel shoved her elbow into his ribcage. “It’s rude not to introduce yourself.”

“It’s rude to call someone else rude,” Hansel retorted. To his relief, he saw the light of the moon streaking through the overgrowth ahead. The three of them shimmied their way through the final layer of hanging briar and back into the woods. Hansel sucked in a breath of air. It tasted clean, crisp and cold, instead of stagnant and sour. Leaving the thickets was like taking a plunge into the river on the hottest day in summer. His muscles loosened and he strapped his bow on his back. They weren’t home, but they were safe.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until they could see The Path. When they passed a tall tree, Ceara stopped and placed her palm on its trunk, admiring it. And when they reached a particularly tall tree, she stopped.

“Have you ever wondered why the trees shed their leaves in the winter?” she asked. “I don’t know about you two, but when it starts to get cold, I put more clothes on. I certainly don’t get naked and stand in the middle of the forest.” Her thought was interrupted by the sound of hooves in the distance.
Hansel squinted, looking off into the distance. Before he saw anything, Ceara tackled him to the ground. He mumbled an angry demand for explanation, but Ceara shushed him, pointing.

Five horses raced across the worn trail that cut through the wood. The horsemen were spots of light in the gray-brown haze of early winter. They wore gold and white—the colors of the Eastern region, Rapunzel’s territory. When they passed in front of him, he noted their tunics were dirty and their swords drawn. After they disappeared behind a wall of pale trees, he stood and brushed himself off.

“Why did you do that?” he asked.

Ceara shook the leaves from her cloak. “They’re tracking The Wolf.”

“So?” Hansel asked.

“You don’t want them to spot you anywhere near him,” Ceara replied. “All three regions are out for his head.”

“We’re friends of Rapunzel,” Hansel said. “She knows we hunt here. No harm would come to any of us.”

Ceara’s eyes widened emphatically. She closed her cloak over her bodice, her wicker basket producing the illusion of pregnancy. “It doesn’t matter.”

Gretel stepped between them, taking charge of the conversation. “Why are all three regions after him?”

“They think he’s the one who’s committed all the murders,” Ceara said. She leaned in close, even though there wasn’t another soul in sight.

“Murders?” Gretel asked.

“You haven’t heard?”

The word murder made Hansel cringe. He felt cold and vulnerable with it floating in the air around him. “We need to keep going. It will be dark soon.”
The girls followed him, but they hunched over like housewives in the market square, gossiping among themselves.

“What murders?” Gretel repeated.

“There’ve been murders all across Grimm for weeks. Close to twenty of them, at least!”

“I have no words.” Gretel shook her head. “There’s never been anything like this in Grimm. Not since…”

“Gothel,” Ceara finished her sentence. “I know.”


About the Author:

After graduating with a BA in Creative Writing from the University of South Florida in 2017, Weston Sullivan moved to New York City to live and write in the heart of the industry. In late 2016, he began working as an intern in the submissions department of BookFish Books. His short story, “On the Hillside”, won the Anspaugh Award for Fiction in February of 2017, and his novel, JUST OFF THE PATH, is due for release in early September. 

He likes to believe that he is in charge of his own destiny, but at the end of the day, he knows that he was born to serve his two beloved cats.

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The King’s Own by W. Marshall – Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. W. Marshall will be awarding a $50 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The King’s Own are as feared as they are ruthless, doing all of those hard, and sometimes terrible, things necessary to ensure the safety of the realm. Owing allegiance to the King alone, they are his spies, his assassins, and his advisors. They exist to walk in the shadows, to enforce the King’s will, to change the course of entire wars, and to root out dissenters. They live without family, in service to the crown, unknown and unsung.

A young man conscripted to fight in a war far away from home. Blood and loss tempered with hope and a vow. Recruited into the King’s Own, he must learn quickly to do whatever it takes to serve the kingdom so that others can live their lives in relative peace and safety. But just how far will he go to keep his oath, especially when the King is murdered?

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Alright,” Commodus said. “I guess I’ll be the bait. I’ll just stroll right up there and announce myself and hope they don’t riddle me with arrows.” I smirked, pointing off to the left to show Samarra where I wanted her to scout. “You’ll be fine, old timer,” I said, giving him a familiar nod. I turned and slipped off into the thick woods, circling far enough around to avoid detection by the sentries. Samarra had proven to be even more skilled than I was at infiltration like this, moving quietly and quickly, unseen and unheard. Years of practice had made me an expert, but she took to it as naturally as walking. I blended with the shadows, slipping among the trees as easily as a panther, my eyes searching for my targets. There. Not very well-hidden to the trained eye. My hand clamped over the first sentry’s mouth, my dagger slitting his throat. Two more followed, their bows showing me they were indeed there to kill us if things turned sour for the rebels. Quickly then, back to Commodus, before he decided to pull something stupid and become a martyr by attempting to rescue the Princess by himself.

About the Author:W. Marshall was born in Florida, but found his home when he moved to Colorado. He is a lover of movies, books, dogs, science fiction, fantasy, and military history. His debut novel, The King’s Own, is a work of dark fiction that asks hard questions as it examines the life and labors of the protagonist.

In his free time, he enjoys running, reading a wide array of fiction, and writing science fiction and fantasy.

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Dark Genius by H. Peter Alesso – Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

To the insatiably curious—science is the greatest adventure. So, when scientists at CERN announced the discovery of the ‘God’ particle in 2012, all the world wondered, “How did they find it?”

A decade later, despite his past academic failures and egregious family circumstance, Andrew Lawrence embarked on a journey of discovery, competing against rival scientists to be the first to solve the greatest unsolved mystery of the universe—dark matter—and win the ultimate prize; the Nobel.

Emma Franklin, a PhD candidate at Harvard, developed software for detecting particle reactions using a quantum computer. To the amazement and excitement of the scientific community, her work revealed two possible bumps in the energy curve that were not predicted by any established theory.

At MIT, Lawrence created a model that predicted the scattering processes of a dark matter supersymmetry particle. Though his early work was disparaged, he improved his theory and found that it predicted the data Emma had discovered. Their professional collaboration deepened into a personal relationship, but when critical data was stolen, Emma found evidence that incriminated Lawrence. Though she withheld the impeaching material from the authorities, she felt she could no longer trust him.

Despite their troubled partnership, and notwithstanding the complexities of nature, Lawrence and Emma persevered against the egos, jealousy, and envy of rivals, on their exhilarating quest to find the ‘Holy Grail’ of physics

Enjoy an Excerpt

I thought all was lost—now I have a second chance.

With a profound sense of relief, Andrew Lawrence slide his tablet into his shoulder holster and walked briskly along the Boston sidewalk. His past academic failures and egregious family circumstances were behind him. He was ready for a fresh start.

Tall, slender, and dark-haired, he listened to the clicking and clacking of shuffling shoes on the pavement as students jostled alongside him. The hint of autumn from the cool morning air brought a frenzy of activity to the sprawling campuses of both MIT and Harvard which nurtured a flourishing rivalry among their ambitious students. He could feel the undercurrent of tension for the start of the fall term.

By the time he crossed Longfellow Bridge, his adrenaline was pumping. He noticed several eight-man sculls already rowing down the Charles River, their school colors plainly visible. Squinting his eyes against the glare, he could make out the MIT and Harvard boats vying for the lead, stroke by stroke.

Striding across the rambling campus, his lips concealed a secret smile as he contemplated a revolutionary solution to a problem he had been daydreaming about. When he swung around a corner, he ran smack-dab into a young woman. Her armload of books, papers, and assorted technology flew into the air and scattered across the walkway.

“Sor . . . sorry.”

“You should be,” the woman said, her face screwed into a tight scowl. “Your head was in the clouds.”

Lawrence opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she pointed down and said, “See what you’ve done?”

She stooped and frantically tried to corral her absconding belongings.

“Let me help,” said Lawrence, grasping some loose papers about to blow away.

Spying her tablet on the grass, she exclaimed, “Oh no! All my work.”

Carefully, she picked up the device and turned it on, tapping her fingers impatiently until the screen lit up. She heaved a sigh and looked Lawrence directly in the eyes. “You’re lucky. Sooo . . . lucky.”

Lawrence mumbled another apology and helped her pick up the last few books.

As she struggled to reorganize her treasures, Lawrence brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes and for the first time cast an appraising glance at the young woman.

She was attractive.

It wasn’t that she was a striking beauty—though her smooth white skin, olive green eyes, and classic profile complemented the hazelnut hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Nor was her carriage especially eye-catching, though she displayed an appealing youthful vitality. No, what seemed most appealing was her confident determined poise, as if she possessed a special hidden talent.

“You really should use a backpack.”

“The lining ripped,” she retorted.

Seeing the logos on her tablet’s screen, Lawrence asked, “Harvard? Math?”

“I can tell by your tone that you’re MIT,” she said, her eyes flashing.

Lawrence grinned, “Physics.” As an afterthought, he asked, “What are you doing on this campus?”

“Well, Mr. Physics, that’s none of your concern.”

Something in the way she said it, caused him to laugh.

They faced each other in a stand-off for a long moment—saying nothing.

Then the young woman heaved a sigh, gathered her possessions to her chest, and brushed past him.

Lawrence watched her figure disappear into the crowd.

Damn. I didn’t get her name.

As he turned to leave, something shiny on the ground caught his eye. It was a flash drive.

Picking it up, he spun around and called, “Wait!”

But she was gone.

He looked at the memory stick, thinking . . .

I’ll have to crack her password, if I’m going to see her again.

About the Author: As a scientist and author specializing in technology innovation, H. Peter Alesso has over twenty years research experience at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory (LLNL). As Engineering Group Leader at LLNL he led a team of scientists and engineers in innovative applications across a wide range of supercomputers, workstations, and networks. He graduated from the United States Naval Academy with a B.S. and served in the U.S. Navy on nuclear submarines before completing an M.S. and an advanced Engineering Degree at M.I.T. He has published several software titles and numerous scientific journal and conference articles, and he is the author/co-author of ten books.

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The Hardest Part About Writing Is The Rejection by Leslie D. Soule – Guest Blog and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Leslie D. Soule will be awarding $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The Hardest Part About Writing Is The Rejection
Leslie D. Soule

The hardest part of writing is the rejection, and no one tells you that when you start out, starry-eyed, believing that the hardest part will be getting published. Getting published is a goal that is attainable. But what happens when it doesn’t come right away – when you keep on submitting and submitting, and all you get is a pile of rejection letters? Then the rejection begins to eat away and you give yourself doubts about your writing – is it good enough? Will I ever gain the attention of a publisher?

Then there’s the rejection that comes after you get published – you get bad reviews on something you’ve worked so hard on. And then it creeps again into your psyche and you wonder where you went wrong. It gnaws at every corner of your brain, and keeps you up at night. Not all of us can write like Stephen King or George R. R. Martin. You understand that. Doesn’t everyone else? You wonder why their standards are so high.

But the real lesson here is that of PERSEVERANCE. You write not for the masses, but because you have something to say. And in time, you learn to brush off the rejection and keep on going, because you are not at a dead-end but a bump in a road that leads further on. And those negative reviews won’t matter when you’ve written ten books, years from now. All that matters is that you’re better than you were yesterday – that you can look back on your past writing and have learned from it, and then the reviews just melt into the background – just so much white noise, after the fear of rejection has run out of you. And you keep going. But that’s something that has to be experienced, rather than taught. That’s the hardest part.

With five crystals to destroy, in order to rob the dark lord Malegaunt of his power, Ash Kensington’s path is set. She begins a quest with the talking cat, Greymalkin, and her wyvern, Slick. But when she meets up with the handsome dragon slayer, Draeon, her senses overwhelm her, and she becomes distracted. Will she be able to destroy the crystals in time to challenge Malegaunt?

Enjoy an Excerpt:

Ash wasn’t so sure, and her breath caught in her throat. I feel like this is some dreadful portent. Still, she dusted off her cloak, throwing it over her arm. I’ll have to find a spot for it to dry when we get back to the house. She fixed her chestnut hair up into a ponytail and followed Greymalkin over a carpet of snow, brushing snowflakes away from her pale face as she continued on. Things had been tense lately at the house in the deep woods and, though neither Will nor Terces had said anything directly, Ash recognized the strange signs: the knowing glances they gave each other, Will’s frantic writing sessions, and Terces’s new interest in the fighting arts. Terces had been a jester his whole life, so there was no reason on earth why he’d need to fight anyone. What in the world was going on? Ash knew that they were up to something. Why wouldn’t they tell her what it was? If they were planning something, she wanted to help. The sense of not knowing was killing her. Still, she wasn’t going to bring it up at dinner. Surely Will and Terces would tell her eventually…right?

About the Author: Leslie D. Soule is a fantasy/sci-fi author from Sacramento, CA. She has an M.A. in English from National University, and is currently working on the final book of her fantasy series, The Fallenwood Chronicles.

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Buy Fallenwood at Melange Books or Amazon.

Buy Forgetting Fallenwood at Melange Books or Amazon.

Buy Betrayer at Melange Books or Amazon.


Daughter of Aithne by Karin Rita Gastreich – Spotlight and Giveaway


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Karin will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Betrayed by her own prodigy, Eolyn stands accused of treason. As power-hungry nobles dismantle her life’s work and honor, the desperate queen forges a risky alliance with the ruthless and cunning Mage Corey. Determined to defend her son’s claim to the throne of the Mage King, Eolyn prepares for her last and greatest battle, this time against her own sisters in magic.

Across the Furma River, Taesara of Roenfyn is drawn out of seclusion and into an ever-more vicious game of intrigue and war. Subject to the schemes of a shrewd uncle and the mysterious ambitions of the wizards of Galia, Taesara struggles to assert her own destiny, even as she takes up arms to defend her daughter’s inheritance.

In the climactic finale to The Silver Web trilogy, threads of love, honor, betrayal, and vengeance culminate in a violent conflict between powerful women, opposed to each other yet destined to shatter a thousand-year cycle of war.

“A tale of female oppression, prejudice, and even deadly seduction, EOLYN touches on issues that are deeply relevant to our own society.” -Apex Reviews review of EOLYN, Book One of the Silver Web

“The story’s greatest triumph is Gastreich’s prose, a consistent blend of lyrical verse and dark imageray….Lush, evocative descriptions carry readers through an unforgettable journey.” –Kirkus Reviews review of SWORD OF SHADOWS, Book Two of The Silver Web”

Enjoy an Excerpt

Taesara stiffened as Penamor took her chin in his fingers and subjected her to cold inspection. After a moment, his frown deepened and he shook his head. “Only the Sisters of the Poor could take a woman at the height of her flower and turn her into a dried-up weed.”

Taesara bristled. “There is no place for vanity within these walls.”

“Apparently not. They’ve made you skinny and sallow. Though it is nothing, I’ll wager, that a bit of sun and some proper food cannot remedy. What are these rags they dress you in?”

She stepped away, clenching her jaw. “This is all I need. All anyone needs, to live at peace in this world.”

Penamor snorted. “Indeed.”

“Why are you here?”

“I’ve come to fetch you home.”

“This is my home.”

“This was your temporary refuge. A foul place, but one of your choosing. We were generous enough to let you stay, first your father and then I, as we put the outside world in order. Now it is time for you to return.”

“I am not going back.”

“Oh, but I think you will.” Penamor spoke with an odd tone, at once menacing and full of promise. “War is at hand, and you will be the one to lead it.”

Taesara forced a laugh. “You know I will have no part of it. Eliasara would die at their hands if we so much as—”

“They do not have Eliasara,” he said. “We do.”

Shadows flashed through Taesara’s vision. She stumbled and caught hold of the back of a chair. A chasm opened inside her heart, swallowing the vines and trees with which she had concealed her love and pain during all these years. The bitter anguish of the day she was separated from Eliasara returned full force.

“Where is she? Where is my daughter?”

About the Author: Karin Rita Gastreich writes stories of ordinary women and the extraordinary paths they choose. She lives in Kansas City, Missouri, where she is part of the biology faculty at Avila University. An ecologist by vocation, Karin has wandered forests and wildlands all her life. Her pastimes include camping, hiking, music, and flamenco dance. In addition to THE SILVER WEB trilogy, Karin has published short stories in World Jumping, Zahir, Adventures for the Average Woman, and 69 Flavors of Paranoia. She is a recipient of the Spring 2011 Andrews Forest Writer’s Residency.

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The first book of the series, EOLYN, will be a FREE download on Kindle only on May 1.

Buy the books on Amazon:

EOLYN, Book One of THE SILVER WEB
SWORD OF SHADOWS, Book Two of THE SILVER WEB
DAUGHTER OF AITHNE, Book Three of THE SILVER WEB


Take the Good with the Bad by Frank Cavallo – Guest Blog

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Frank Cavallo who is visiting with us today promoting his latest novel Eye of the Storm, which was released in August 2016. He is currently working on a new novel, The Rites of Azathoth, with Necro Publications, due out next month.

Take the Good from the Bad
One of the things that newer writers tend to do is to emulate authors they admire. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s a great way to learn your craft. But when you’re emulating an author who has spent years honing theirs, who makes it look easy, it can be harder than you realize to succeed at that. For one, you may not know exactly what you’re emulating.

Stephen King’s prose feels like it flows so easily, so if I just let my words flow easily too, it should come out the same, right?

Clive Barker revels in gory details, so I’ll pile on with my own descriptions of rampant blood and guts. It should be just as good, right?

As you can imagine, it really doesn’t work that way. The best writers are very good at using their prose to do all sorts of things—creating mood, setting a scene, fleshing out character depth, dropping in just enough gore at just the right time, etc. They’re so good in fact, that unless you really know what you’re looking for, you probably won’t notice the “brush strokes” on their canvas.

Imitating them without really understanding what they’re doing will probably leave you disappointed. You won’t be as good as them, and it won’t be clear why.

So how do you get better?

Let me suggest a different approach. You should try reading a little bad fiction.

Here’s why. When I was in college I took quite a few film study and screenwriting classes. We watched a lot of movies. I’m not going to lie, that was one of the reasons I took those classes—spend a semester watching movies instead of reading boring old books, sign me up!

But I was taught something there I had never encountered in any other kind of writing program. You learn more about making movies from watching bad films than you do from watching good ones.

Sure, you do have to watch the good ones, the classics. It’s important to know what the best version of any work of art is before you try to create it yourself. But just like with literature, a great film doesn’t show off the things that make it great. It works so well because you don’t notice any of the technique behind the final product.

Unless you’re an insider, if you come away from a movie talking about the work of the lighting director or the editor, it’s probably not because they did their job well. That stuff is supposed to be transparent. If you notice it, it wasn’t done well.

The same goes for fiction. It’s just not always so obvious—at least in good fiction.

Let’s take a quick example. Head hopping. That’s editor shorthand for the cardinal sin of switching POV within a scene. Some very good writers can get away with this, but as a general rule you should never do it. It’s one of those things that’s presented in a creative writing class as a rule you’re just supposed to follow.

The reasoning is sound, of course. Switching POV can quickly confuse a reader. It takes them right out of the story. But when you’re the one writing, you can sometimes get so deep into your own material that you can’t see the problem. You know what’s going on, so keeping track of what each character is thinking is easy for you. If you’re lucky enough to even notice, you might be tempted to think “sure, I was told not to do it, but in this case, it makes perfect sense to me, so maybe I can get away with bending the rule.”

The thing that will almost certainly disabuse you of that hopeful delusion is trying to wade through another writer doing it in their work. Believe me, once you’ve spent a few minutes trying to keep up with some serious head hopping, you’ll never do it yourself.

In a case like that, you’ll learn more from reading one chapter of a poorly-written book than you will from reading a hundred good ones.

Now, I know this is not necessarily the easiest thing to do. There isn’t some list of “all-time badly written books that everyone should read” out there. At least not that I know of. If you want to see a bad movie, you can watch “Plan 9 from Outer Space” and in a little over an hour, you can catch about two dozen things no director should ever do. When it comes to books, you’re probably going to have to do a little digging. I’m certainly not going to suggest any here, either.

My advice is to pick a few review sites that you trust, and the next time they give a book a bad write-up, give it a serious look. See what they thought didn’t work in that book and then, instead of just crossing it off your list, do the opposite. Give it a read, see why it’s not working. Try to learn what mistakes the author is making and think about how to fix them.

Take the good from the bad, and make your writing even better.

On a research mission in one of the most remote regions of the world, former Navy SEAL Eric Slade and Dr. Anna Fayne are caught in a mysterious storm. Catapulted through a rift in space-time, they are marooned on a lost world.

Struggling to survive and desperate to find a way home, they must confront the dangers of this savage land—a dark wizard and his army of undead—a warrior queen and her horde of fierce Neanderthals that stands against him—and a legendary treasure with the power to open the gateway between worlds, or to destroy them all: the Eye of the Storm.

About the Author: Horror and dark fantasy author Frank Cavallo’s work has appeared in magazines such as Another Realm, Ray Gun Revival, Every Day Fiction, Lost Souls and the Warhammer e-zine Hammer and Bolter.

His latest novel, Eye of the Storm, was released in August 2016 by Ravenswood Publishing.

“In Eye of the Storm, I try to bring back some of the elements that I like from old time pulp fiction,” says Frank. “It is a throwback to old school adventure stories, combining the pacing and the feel of those classic tales with some newer elements that are not all that common to typical fantasy fiction.”

Frank’s previously published works include The Lucifer Messiah, The Hand of Osiris, and the Gotrek & Felix novella Into the Valley of Death. He is currently working on a new novel, The Rites of Azathoth, with Necro Publications, due out in February 2017.

Frank was born and raised in New Jersey. He graduated from Boston University with a degree in Communications in 1994 and he earned a JD from the Cleveland Marshall College of Law in 2001. He currently resides in Cleveland, Ohio, where he has been a criminal defense attorney for fifteen years.

Readers can connect with Frank on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.

To learn more, go to http://www.frankcavallo.com/

Where Do Ideas Come From? by Sharolyn G. Brown -Gift Blog and Giveaway

NBTM_TheHeavinessOfKnowing_Banner copy

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Sharolyn G. Brown will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Where do ideas come from?
Where do ideas come from? In trying to formulate an answer to this question, I had a hard time. Not because coming up with ideas to write about is hard for me. On the contrary, it’s quite easy. But answering the question of where my ideas come from is like trying to answer the questions “how do you breath?” or “how do you blink?”

I’m not a scientist. So my answer to those question would be something along the lines of “Well I just suck air in through either my nose or my mouth and blow it out.” Or “I just briefly close my eyes for a micro second and then open them.” And when it comes to ideas, it happens just as automatically for me. But, that’s not the answer anyone reading this is looking for. So I thought about it some more. And I realized that, when coming up with story ideas, what my brain does automatically is it looks at an everyday situation and asks the question, “what if…?”

For me, the “what if” is colored by my genres of choice, science fiction or fantasy. But once I have that “what if” scenario in mind, I then need to see the character or characters dealing with this scenario to make the idea one I keep. For example, the ideas for my novel, The Heaviness of Knowing, came from a conversation I had with a friend. During it, I was discussing a particularly odd dream that I’d had the night before. She responded by saying it was amazing that I could recall my dream in such detail because she never dreamed.

Now, I don’t think she never dreams. It’s more likely that she just doesn’t remember them. But regardless, her comment started me to thinking. Why would one person be able to have total recall of his or her dreams and another person not? As I thought about what this situation could be used for I was suddenly struck with the idea: Maybe there are entities that could use our dreams to their advantage.

Then, I saw Lauren and Roxal. Lauren was the unsuspecting Earth woman who Roxal, the alien, was controlling through Lauren’s dreams. Further, Roxal was being controlled by false gods on her planet. And…. The story just continued from there until eventually, I was able to write it down in what is now The Heaviness of Knowing.

So, for me, ideas come from a combination of a science fiction or fantasy centered “what if” scenario, and the character or characters affected by this scenario. And once I have the character or characters in mind, it’s simply my job to get their stories into a novel.

MediaKit_BookCover_TheHeavinessOfKnowingRoxal has spent her life using her Dream Traveler ability in service to Trebor’s gods, The Keepers. Even after she learns they aren’t all powerful like she was taught, she dutifully continues to manipulate an Earth woman named Lauren to do their bidding. Roxal’s content pretending to be a loyal follower, until her mate’s activities with a rebel faction put both of their lives in jeopardy.

Meanwhile on Earth, Lauren is struggling to find balance at work and at home. To make matters worse, she develops an acute case of insomnia which disrupts her life. While trying to cure her condition, Lauren discovers that not only do aliens exist, but that she’s been in contact with one for most of her life. And that’s just for starters.

Now Lauren’s world is turned upside down. And Roxal has to figure out if she can harness the survival instincts which before told her to hide and use it to now fight for her survival.

Enjoy an Excerpt: In the dark, with their sleeping unit’s covering pulled up to their necks, Roxal placed her hands against Edo’s naked stomach and used them to communicate.

What has happened? Roxal asked in the hand signal language Edo had taught her. Why are the Reps looking for traitors now?

I am not sure, exactly. I thought it too dangerous to meet with my Resistor contacts after the assembly. But… he paused during his response.

But what? she prodded.

Roxal, you have always asked that I not give you details because you did not want to get involved. The questions you are asking will get you involved.

This time Roxal paused before answering Edo because he was right. Even after her moment of defiance and after learning their gods were fake, and that her mission with Lauren was a lie, and that she was actually a slave, Roxal had asked him to not give her any details on the activities of the Resistors. She had thought that by not knowing any of the details about the Resistors, she could keep herself safe by denying membership. However, today had shown her otherwise. The sight of the Helper pleading for her life while declaring her innocence had shown Roxal that there was no such thing as being safe.

She finally admitted to herself, that as a slave to The Keepers and the Reps, her life was forfeit from the moment she was created. Appeasing her gods and the Reps could keep her alive. But if they ever decided that she should die, she now knew there was nothing she could say or do to stop it.

About the Author: MediaKit_AuthorPhoto_TheHeavinessOfKnowingSharolyn G. Brown is a lifelong science fiction and fantasy fan who decided the best way to deal with all of the characters in her head was to give them stories and put them in a book. She lives with her husband in Houston, Texas where she divides her time between working, writing, and spending time with him.

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