I’m running an Amazon Sweepstakes for The Summoning. To enter all you have to do is follow me on Twitter. Here’s the link and good luck!
I’m running an Amazon Sweepstakes for The Summoning. To enter all you have to do is follow me on Twitter. Here’s the link and good luck!
Yesterday, I navigated the Amazon process for indie-publishing. I didn’t encounter any troubles at all, thank goodness, in publishing The Summoning in Kindle format. Soon, I plan to publish it in paperback.
Here’s the blurb and the dynamic cover created by the talented Debbie Taylor:
Heather Morique is a witch. The problem is she doesn’t know it. One month after losing her infant son, her husband Jahill and his mistress perish in an accident. He was a refugee from an obscure branch of the Arawak Indians, and soon after his death, mysterious whispers lure her to his homeland. She soon finds herself in a web of secrets, lies and illusions.
Jahill’s obscure branch of the Arawaks worship two gods: Eyrael, a spirit from another dimension, is their God of Wind and Sea. His brother Sofiel is the God of Fire and Earth. The powerful new Shaman has pitted brother against brother, and these two powerful spirits—one light, one dark—battle to remain the tribe’s ruling deity.
When Heather unwittingly summons Eyrael, these two unlikely soul mates face a dangerous fate. More frightening than the buried secrets, Heather and Eyrael discover the chemistry between them almost irresistible.
For those in line to purchase (LOL), here’s the Amazon link.
The book is only $2.99 but Prime members can read for free!
The Summons is about a witch who doesn’t know she has such powers and the spirit she summons from another dimension.
Heather is a romance writer. Eryael is the elemental god of the wind and sea. The book is set in Jamaica. I think I will submit it to The Wild Rose Press, hoping they will contract it as they did Love for Sale. Now, however, my editor has another of my books (the only romance I’ve ever written in which the hero is human) called Gambler’s Choice, a novel about the horsey set.
His name vibrated through his entire being. The intensity of the call shocked him. A sudden, unreasonable fear chilled him despite the warmth of the surrounding air. As he collected himself to respond, again another being’s panic seized him. Impossible but he was falling!
He was shrinking, compressing. It was a pleasant feeling, not painful, not frightening but interesting—a hugging together of his nebulous self. Disorientation should have alerted him that he was growing small enough to pass through, but it had been so long he’d forgotten.
This side of the curtain, time had no meaning. He remembered nothing of the other dimension—except that it existed in some vague, prickly memory.
Sofiel was with him, riding high on the crystal winds. His dark brother shot him a puzzled frown. He, too, felt the pull of the Summons. Faraway chants echoed, distant drums beating a seductive rhythm. A scream pierced him. Vague recollections of this tearing apart surfaced. The Summons was not for Sofiel. It was for Eyrael alone. Darkness blinded him, and he imploded.
Eyrael’s next awareness was the caress of a warm liquid caressing and supporting him as the air had done moments ago. Not only the water, but he was changing shape, forming, drawing tighter together. He tried to expand, met solid resistance. He found himself inside a grid work of bone and flesh. A flash of light sizzled from the sky to the sea, thunder booming in its wake. Every detail of his previous visits to this place manifested at once. Strange the way that happened. It was always the same. One minute, he recalled nothing; the next, he knew everything. Memories waltzed before his eyes, beckoning him deeper into the mortal fold, the place where the People lived.
Their drums resonated in his blood, chants welding him to their realm. They had named him God of Wind and Sea, but commanded him to their will.
He concentrated on the shape of the People, flexing his arms, stretching his legs. Both too long, he had to adjust. The beach seemed far away, those gathered around the ceremonial fire stick figures. He blew out a breath, and the wind howled. He rethought his height. Finally, he achieved the Eyrael they expected to answer their Summons.
The sea played with his shoulders and his hair. Eryael smiled his Pleasure.
A scream gurgled in the waves ahead. A head split the churning ocean. One of the People. I must rescue. He shook the mane of hair back from his face and considered that, perhaps, he had too much hair. The tiny being reappeared frantically battling itself, spouting water from its mouth. Its cries stabbed him like splinters of darkness, and the pain, as much as any sense of duty, tugged him toward the drowning creature.
“Eyrael!” His name split the night sky, reverberating off the pinpoint stars.
He hated the mortal engaged in a hopeless skirmish with the water. Eyrael was irritated that its despair had somehow torn the curtain between the worlds and brought him over merely to sustain its brief flicker of life.
Silence. She no longer cried. Facedown, the waves washed a slender body toward the shore. A thrill shivered over his entire body. A woman, giver of the utmost Pleasure.
On the beach, dark shapes formed a half-circle around a soaring beacon fire. As one, they dropped to their knees and bent from the waist, their foreheads on the sand. A lone figure remained standing. The multi-colored feathers in the Shaman’s headdress danced in the wind of Eryael’s passage. Taino, young and virile, wise man, witch doctor, a powerful magic user. The Indian sorcerer pinned Eyrael with eyes cold and hard as onyx.
Ah, the woman is a sacrifice but not to me.
Eyrael was well aware this Shaman revered Sofiel. Taino thought to command Eyrael’s dark brother. A generation of the People had grown to manhood while the silence lasted between the spirits and the tribe. The witch doctor had summoned Sofiel, yet Eyrael had been pulled across. How could this be?
Still, he was in the land of the People. Perhaps, there was Pleasure to be had. At the very least, he could enjoy sight in the mortal sense. Sight brought with it emotion. Ah, emotion! Fierce and passionate. Sex with emotion was bliss. Heat throbbed low in his body. An image of a woman writhing beneath him intensified desire. The vision made his shaft grow hard.
The drowning woman bobbed on a wave. “Eyrael,” she prayed. “I see you now. I’m coming.”
An invisible cord drew him closer to the sacrifice.
Eyrael. The woman, not the Shaman, had Summoned him. Indeed, she must be a powerful witch. He would rescue the sacrifice and foil the Shaman’s plans. Delighted, he laughed, the sound startling him. He had forgotten how mirth rumbled from human throats, but laughter like sight was Pleasure.
He lifted on the waves, flowing to the witch. She was still, appeared lifeless but he sensed her essence had not yet departed. He scooped her from the ocean into his arms. Her head drooped over the crook of his elbow, her long, rough gown molding to an exquisite body. Golden hair clung to a pale but beautiful face. Eyrael bent and kissed her mouth. At the touch of flesh on flesh, Pleasure stirred. He opened his mouth over hers, tracing her lower lip with his tongue. Fierce emotions and that wonder passion sizzled through him. She sputtered, coughing. He must revive the woman, carry her to the beach and take her hard and fast, the Shaman and his flock watching him, not Sofiel, enjoy the sacrifice.
He drew back, willing the pretty witch to live. Her eyelids flickered. She choked, another hard cough wracking her fragile body. Large eyes of a beautiful blue fluttered open, widened, and a lightning-like thrill zinged through Eyrael. Blue eyes were his favorite. Maybe he’d have blue eyes this visit. Spellbound, he bent to kiss her. The woman screamed, struggling in his embrace. Her sharp cry hurt his ears.
His arms tightened, cradling her to his chest. She was soft, her flesh yielding, and the feel of her breast against him exciting. “Do not struggle. You are too weak.”
What did he look like to this creature? Hair the color of sea foam flowed over his shoulders. His eyes were the color of rainbows in glass. The People never feared him, but this golden-haired witch trembled in terror when she should be grateful. If he didn’t yearn to discover how she’d Summoned him, he’d allow his ocean claim her. The drums throbbed, low and angry. The Shaman’s resentment and frustration blew bitter on the wind. Dark emotions haunted the moonlit beach where the People paid homage to the wrong god. Soon, Taino would understand he could not command a spirit.
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Hadena will be awarding a $25 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn commenter during the tour.
I love the title and cover for this novel and would like to introduce the author, Hadena James:
What is your greatest temptation:
In men: Green eyes, a man could be the worst person in the world and if he had green eyes, I’d still fawn over him a little.
In food: Mexican, I have never had a time when I wasn’t in the mood for Mexican food. When that day comes, I will know there is something terrible wrong with me.
In clothes: T-Shirts… I hate having to dress up for any reason. And I am dorky enough that if I do have to dress up, but let’s say, I’m going to have a coat on the entire time, I’ll wear a T-Shirt under the coat with a skirt or dress pants.
What is your greatest weakness (example: buying shoes)? My Kindle. I resisted moving into the digital book age for a long time because I knew that it would become a problem. Then my husband bought me a Kindle Fire for Valentine’s Day. It allows me to read and download instant videos from Amazon. It never leaves my side…
If you could have any kind of car, what would it be? A Hummer, the original. I know it isn’t environmentally friendly or even “cool” now days, but I am an accident magnet. I was once parked at a stop light and had a guy merge into me. My SUV was fine, his had to be towed away. At the time, I was driving an Isuzu Rodeo, and that isn’t the first or the last time odd things like that have happened to me while driving. So something large and well-built is a good idea for me.
Your dream home – mountains or ocean? A forest with a pond. I love to sit by the water and read, but I also love wandering around in the woods.
Do you ever suffer from writer’s block? If so, how do you overcome it? When I suffer from writer’s block it’s usually because I know what I’m about to write is going to be gruesome (I also write a thriller series) and I need to wrap my mind around all the details. Normally, I talk through these problems with a specific group of people. On more than one occasion, this has gotten me funny looks because the conversation has happened in public.
What are you currently working on?
I just published the 4th book in my thriller series and am diving into the first book of a new fantasy series, which I’m hoping to release in August. However, the fantasy series is still very hush-hush.
Are you nervous about friends reading your book?
Nope, I have copies of each completed novel printed and bound to give to my friends and family before it even goes to the editor. This ensures that I know where most of the confusing parts are and can fix them immediately.
Where are you from?
I was born and raised in Columbia, Missouri. What I’ve discovered over the years is that I love to travel, but regardless of where I go, Columbia is my home, so I continue to live there.
If you could hop on a plane now, where would you go?
Berlin, Germany. I went several years ago with my best friend and loved it. We spent nine days wandering around the city. The map seems to be permanently etched into my brain and I would go back in a heartbeat.
Have you ever been abducted by aliens? 🙂
No, if I was, I would feel sorry for the abductors. I’m a very curious person, constantly trying to learn new things. I would have at least a bazillion questions to ask. And there’s a good chance I’d write a story about it.
Thank you, Hadena. Nice to know something about the author. Now, let’s talk about Dark Cotillion and see it’s intriguing cover.
Brenna Strachan is half-Demon, half-Witch and it’s the eve of her 30th birthday. This means that she will stop aging and come into all her Demon powers. But there are forces at work hoping to keep her from Maturing. They must kill her in the short time that she is mortal. If they fail, she will take her place among the most powerful beings on Earth. What will it cost her to survive?
While most Demons were red, green or blue, I was purple. Not a deep, rich purple or even a dark, shimmery purple, but a soft, pastel purple, lilac to be exact.
This was where half-breeds had problems. Demons were denser than humans were. Everything was slightly larger in a Demon and more compact. The bone density of a Demon was nearly three times that of a Human. When Demons said they were big boned, they meant it. On top of that, most Demons had an impressive rack of horns. Not like deer horns, but like elephant tusks that could weigh nearly a thousand pounds all by themselves. My father kept his ground down using to make them manageable.
My pitiful horns might weigh 9 ounces. That means, I have a height complex and horn envy.
I’ve been writing for over two decades and before that, I was creating my own bedtime stories to tell myself. I penned my first short story at the ripe old age of 8. It was a fable about how the raccoon got its eye-mask and was roughly three pages of handwritten, 8 year old scrawl. My mother still has it and occasionally, I still dig it out and admire it.
When I got my first computer, I took all my handwritten stories and typed them in. Afterwards, I tossed the originals. In my early twenties, I had a bit of a writer’s meltdown and deleted everything. So, with the exception of the story about the raccoon, I actually have none of my writings from before I was 23. Which is sad, because I had a half dozen other novels and well over two hundred short stories. It has all been offered up to the computer and writing gods as a sacrifice and show of humility or some such nonsense that makes me feel less like an idiot about it.
I have been offered contracts with publishing houses in the past and always turned them down. Now that I have experimented with being an Indie Author, I really like it and I’m really glad I turned them down. However, if you had asked me this in the early years of 2000, I would have told you that I was an idiot (and it was a huge contributing factor to my deleting all my work).
When I’m not writing, I play in a steel-tip dart league and enjoy going to dart tournaments. I enjoy renaissance festivals and sanitized pirates who sing sea shanties. My appetite for reading is ferocious and I consume two to three books a week as well as writing my own. Aside from introducing me to darts, my SO has introduced me to camping, which I, surprisingly, enjoy. We can often be found in the summer at Mark Twain Lake in Missouri, where his parents own a campground.
I am a native of Columbia, Missouri, which I will probably call home for the rest of my life, but I love to travel. Day trips, week trips, vacations on other continents, wherever the path takes me is where I want to be and I’m hoping to be able to travel more in the future.
Barnes & Noble Print: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/dark-cotillion-hadena-james/1112797339?ean=9781479212279
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When her neighbors accuse Belladonna of Satanism and making them age years to days, she must find who is behind it or face a modern day witch hunt. Her mysterious enemy knows where to strike to cause the most damage: Belladonna’s only friend is losing his life-force; the garden that feeds her is dying; and her house ghost goes poltergeist. To save her neighbors and friends and prove her innocence, she must travel to the Otherworld where butterflies have razor wings and where her worst fears will come to life.
NO, NO WOULDN’T WANT TO BE THERE! Don’t you love the name Belladonna? Belladonna, or Deadly Nightshade, is poisonous herb. That said, let’s see what happens to the heroine in the teasing excerpt:
The mob on the other side of the wrought iron fence wore no tri-cornered hats or starched bonnets. They didn’t brandish pitchforks or flaming torches. Hell, they didn’t even bring a preacher to drive the Devil out. Still, they had come to flush out a witch and the witch was me.
They were thirty all together, gathered outside my gate under the two California live oaks that shade the sidewalk in midday. I had to squint into the still hot mid-October sun to study their unfamiliar faces. The mob included several dwarves. The youngest dwarf must have been in her forties, a tiny woman that for some reason wore a yellow, red and blue Snow White dress with an appliquéd picture of Snow White on the chest. She didn’t look like a typical dwarf: no classically high forehead and her arms and legs were proportionate. She was holding a fluffy purple teddy bear by a front paw and sucking her thumb.
In the sun my forehead sweated under the straw hat. A mocking bird’s harsh chirrup burst from the oak on the right, piercing as a car horn. I flinched.
I don’t much like or trust people in large groups – doing time in Greenville State Prison for Women had taught me that. In prison the exercise yard is the most dangerous place to be: too many inmates in one area, too many chances to be stabbed with a shiv made
from a sharpened toothbrush handle or from melted and hardened Styrofoam cups.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Larisa Walk, a native Russian, lives in California with her husband and two formerly homeless cats. She writes paranormal fiction that is more often than not populated by characters from the Russian fairy world. Her short fiction appeared in several anthologies and magazines. She has published a historic fantasy novel, A Handful of Earth, and a modern paranormal novel, A Witch Without Magic. See her quirky blog posts here: http://www.larisawalk.com
Larisa will be giving away a $10 Amazon gift card to a randomly selected commenter during the book blitz. I’ll add a bit of swag for my stop today!
Here are the links for the other host sites:
1: Sexy Adventures, Passionate Tales
2: Wicked Readings by Tawania
3: My Odd Little World
4: Worlds of Possibilities
5: Camille Picott, Author
6: Wake Up Your Wild Side
7: Shelley’s Book Case
8: Jodie Pierce’s Ink Slinger’s Blog
9: Farm Girl Books
10: Bunny’s Review
11: It’s All About The Romance
12: Linda Nightingale-Wordsmith
13: Christy McKee Writes for Women in the Sweet Spot of Life
14: Passionate Encounters
15: Sandra’s Blog
16: Paranormal Reads
17: Wickedly Wanton Tales
18: Long and Short Reviews
19: The Cerebral Writer
20: United By Books
21: On the Broomstick
22: Lindsay’s Scribblings
23: Writer Wonderland
24: Author Jinni James
25: Chris Redding Author
26: J.C. Martin, Fighter Writer
27: Author Raine Delight’s Blog
28: Let’s Get BOOKED!
29: Loose the Hounds
30: Christine Young Romance Writer
31: Straight from the Library
32: The Snarkology of a Romance Author
33: It’s Raining Books
34: Racing To Read
35: Book Bling Blog