The Witches of Vegas are back, and their lives will never be the same again.
A year has passed since The Witches of Vegas saved the city from the evil Wiccan vampire, Valeria. Since then, the show has hit an all-time high. So has the romance between teen witch Isis Rivera and teenage magician, Zack Galloway.
Things couldn’t be any better for them until Isis develops seizures that cause her power to spiral out of control. Fires and earthquakes are just the beginning of the chaos caused by the misfired witchcraft. Unable to find a cure, Isis’ family journeys to New Salem, a fabled village of witches which may or may not even exist. Meanwhile, Zack ends up face to face with the only being who may have a cure…Valeria. But does he dare pay her price?
“I’d like a mimosa.” Isis glanced over at Zack’s tilted head. “I’ve always wanted to try one.”
The bartender snorted. “I’m going to need to see I.D. for that.”
Isis had learned a lot about her connection to the planet’s energy and how to manipulate it. Her mom and Sacha trained her on moving objects while her dad taught her how to create illusions. Dad also knew how to use his connection to force hypnotic suggestions into people’s minds. Although he hadn’t yet taught that skill to Isis, she had seen him do it more than a few times. It basically ran on the same principle as all the other reality-manipulating powers of a witch. Time to put it to the test.
Isis reached into her pocketbook and pulled out her hotel room keycard. She looked the bartender directly in the eyes. “I am showing you my I.D. and it says I am old enough to drink an alcoholic beverage.” She focused her thoughts on the bartender’s mind. “You see my picture and my age at twenty-one. Now that you have seen my age, you can place a mimosa on the counter for me to try.”
The bartender laughed. “That was cute. Two club sodas coming up.” She reached under the counter and placed two bottles in front of Isis and Zack. “That’ll be eight bucks. You can leave it on the counter.” She then moved onto another group of customers.
“Well, damn.” Isis shook her head. “That didn’t work out at all. I guess hypnosis just isn’t my thing.”
Isis held out her open palm, pointed at the club sodas. One bottle glided across the countertop to her hand like a piece of metal being pulled to a magnet. At least that ability was still working.
“Or maybe your heart just wasn’t into committing a crime.” Zack reached for his bottle and picked it up off the counter.
“I’m sure you’re right.” Isis took a swig of the soda while staring off at the dance floor. “Still, I wonder why her blood tastes like syrup.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Zack’s face whipped her way. His eyes squinted.
“What?”
“Did you just say something about tasting the bartender’s blood?”
“Did I say that?” Isis honestly couldn’t remember those words coming out of her mouth, yet they sounded so familiar.
Zack stood from his bar stool and clenched her wrist. “Isis, are you all right?”
Isis stared at the strobe light above the dance floor. Somehow, it seemed brighter, or darker. Or… something. She could hear Zack shouting her name. It echoed as if they were on opposite ends of a tunnel. A striking pain crossed her chest. Everything around her blurred, just like when she’d teleport herself to a new location. But she was sure that wasn’t what was happening. She inhaled but couldn’t catch her breath. “Zack, I think I’m not…okay…” Did she say that out loud or did she think it? Isis couldn’t be sure.
Her attention turned back to the bar from the sound of one or both bottles exploding. Her forearm stung from a piece of glass piercing her skin. Zack called out her name. Then everything went dark.
Mark Rosendorf ‘s writing is based on the personalities and experiences he has come across throughout his life, coupled with his own wild “if only I could do that” imagination. He is the author of the young adult series, The Witches of Vegas. He is also credited with The Rasner Effect series, a suspense/thriller trilogy published between 2009 and 2012.
Born November, 25th, 1974, and raised in Queens New York, Mark holds a Master’s Degree from Long Island University’s Human Development and Leadership program. He is a licensed Guidance Counselor for the New York City Department of Education’s special education district. He began his counseling career in September, 2001. Prior to that, he worked in the hotel industry.
Mark has also moonlighted as a professional magician. Today, he teaches magic and Illusion to his students in order to teach teamwork while developing their confidence.
Having accomplished his goals of becoming an author, Mark decided on an early retirement from writing. Then, one night, at two a.m., a new and unique story shot into Mark’s brain like a lightning bolt, screaming for him to write it. Mark found himself spending several nights taking notes on the characters and their stories. That is how The Witches of Vegas series was born.
The Witches of Vegas placed second in the young adult category of The International Digital Awards. It was also named one of Shelf Unbound’s Notable Indy and received a five star rating from the prestigious InD’Tale Magazine.
Title: A Lair So Sinful Author: Zoey Ellis Genre: Fantasy Romance
From a dark, magic-ravaged world comes an enthralling new fantasy romance series. Five brothers, last of an ancient Alpha bloodline, each bound by fire and blood to their majestic dragons.
Captive in a dragon lord’s lair. No memory. Stripped bare.
I’mya awakens to find herself the property of Nyro—a rare and powerful Alpha bonded to a monstrous dragon. Like the other women in the lair, her only purpose is to satiate his every fantasy, but the beautiful omega is hiding a dark secret—even from herself.
From the first explosive encounter with Nyro, her incredible power is unleashed.
His carnal desires feed the fire of her magic.
Nyro’s captivation with her turns to possession, and I’mya becomes more than a plaything for him.
But as shards of her memories puzzle back together, her mind finally unveils the compelling truth.
A purpose much more sinister than pleasure.
Passion. Obsession. Betrayal. I’mya must fulfill her quest, regardless of the cost. Nyro has conquered her body, but if he discovers the truth behind her presence in his lair… it is her life he will take.
I’mya inched her head up to see if the dragon had gone, but instead a figure loomed over her, blocking her view.
It spoke, and a deep, rich voice vibrated through the entire area, penetrating her body and sending a rush along her limbs, but its words were not clear.
I’mya lifted her head, blinking at it.
A man loomed over her. He had wide, muscled shoulders, toned arms and a broad chest with a torso that tapered down to a slimmer waist; his legs just as thick as his arms. In truth, he was a perfectly formed man—except he was enormous.
Dark, tousled hair fell to the top of his ears, and a low-cut dark beard spread over the lower half of his chiseled face. Long lashes framed the dark fury of his eyes, directed at her as he stepped forward.
I’mya panicked, but she couldn’t move. She was too weak to do anything. Thankfully the dragon was no longer attacking, but she heard the sound of its wings beating beyond the opening of the cavern. She wasn’t exactly out of harm’s way, especially when she didn’t know this man’s intentions. This mountain lair, or whatever the grey-cloaked woman called it, was a dangerous place to be.
She had to get out.
The giant man lunged forward, and I’mya squeaked as his hand closed around her neck. He yanked her upward until she was on her feet, then he leaned in, his dark eyes peering at her face, and her naked body. “’et khadon yo ma si kon’aya” The words boomed out of him and vibrated against her chest, even though I’mya was certain he wasn’t shouting. She tried to shake her head, eager to explain she was here by mistake, but it was impossible to swallow let alone speak.
“ko’lat ‘et numakh tmo’ shaf bok ma si tumezni?”
Surely he wasn’t expecting her to respond? Not with his fist so tightly wrapped around her neck? I’mya exhaled in annoyance, her nostrils flaring.
The man’s head tilted, a brow inching down to a frown as he studied her again. I’mya hoped she didn’t look like a trespasser, or even worse, a criminal. This might be the only time that being naked might work in her favor, though it wasn’t as though she looked good. This place was too hot. Sweat slicked her skin and her hair had to be a ragged mess. Hopefully she looked so out of place that this giant would discard her so she could get as far away from the Forbidden Mountain as possible. “Kev,” he murmured, dragging his eyes down at her body again, lingering in places they shouldn’t. His eyes darkened. “si zmusho da dvan. ‘Et lat tan itzutz de da tzo kon’aya.”
I’mya had no idea what he was saying, but the bass of his tone and the look in his eyes ignited a tingle in the pit of her stomach and the most delicate shiver skipped up her spine. The man’s scent was equally provocative. Rich, decadent tones of charred darkness emanated from him, as though he had bathed in the flame and smoke of a thousand midnights. It was potent and intoxicating, and affected her just as powerfully as his voice. Within moments, her nipples hardened, and the tingle in her stomach developed into an ache between her legs. An even darker look entered the man’s gaze as his nostrils flared.
Zoey Ellis writes dark, magical, fantasy romances about tortured, possessive, alpha anti-heroes and the sassy heroines who belong to them (even if they don’t want to!). Filled with passionate, carnal steam, Zoey’s stories feature couples that go through tough journeys and make mistakes but ultimately have to grow for each other to survive the dark worlds they inhabit.
Described as ‘deliciously dark’ and ‘unputdownable’, Zoey’s thrilling, fantastical romances come complete with roller-coaster twists and turns, unique worlds, and happy endings.
Zoey is a Londoner, cat mama, and proud romance and epic fantasy addict. She loves jealous/possessive heroes, sexual tension that jumps off the page, and memorable, magical worlds. She reads most genres of romance and has a special love for the ‘true mates’ trope and dark angst. However, she enjoys all different genres of fiction, usually on the darker side.
When not working on her stories, Zoey is usually gaming, buddying reading with friends or stumbling upon new and ridiculous ways to mess up a date!
Life is bad after the apocalypse . . . the undead just made it worse.
“My dreams pre-pandemic included a high school graduation party before attending college and marrying an attractive future lawyer. Instead, I’m praying for a long, sharp knife and a big gun to survive the undead.” —Jenna
Jenna Martin lives in a world gone insane after a mysterious pandemic kills much of the population. Being alive after an apocalypse is bad, but it is made worse when the multitudes killed by the disease return ravenous for human flesh. Jenna, in serious trouble and pursued by undead, heads to the safest place available, a cemetery.
Ready to give up, she finds the strength to persevere for one more night and meets a group of survivors willing to take her in. The group caravans to Virginia, where they plan to inhabit an isolated inn called High Point, but the undead are always close behind. Packs of zombies, known as Streakers, attack, leaving Jenna and the other survivors battling for their lives and racing toward safety.
Once safely isolated at the inn, the group rebuilds society and Jenna begins a relationship with Caleb. Although he withstood the virus, he has not come out unscathed. He and some others now labeled the New Rave have changed into what many would call zombie kin—vampires. Jenna’s falls hard and fast for Caleb, which causes more problems that she ever expected in the fledgling society. But there are worse things than vampires and zombies searching for her, and they arrive at the inn’s door ready for destruction.
Glass shattered in the next room and footsteps crunched over the broken splinters. What had once been a tall, middle-aged man in a business suit, was now a bloated corpse in rags crusted over with blood and pus. The baked-by-the-sun Streaker wore a wrinkled face with the consistency of an old raisin. His right arm hung limply, dislodged from the socket, but both hands made continual grabbing motions.
Lacking any grace, the creature staggered to the bedroom door and stopped. It sniffed, searching out its next meal. Blood poured from Jenna’s lip, where Tundra had hit her. She wiped it away, then retrieving the piece of wood. Sensing the movement, the Streaker turned its undead eyes on her. Some of its skull had been torn away, exposing the rot. It lumbered and stumbled over the chair in its path, giving Jenna desperate seconds to ready herself. Arm raised, eyes dead and unblinking, it came, dancing with death. It reached out to grab her.
Jenna ducked, then swung low and hard. “I must have gone brain dead. I can’t think of one good zombie joke right now.”
The creature staggered back, but then surged forward. Jenna rammed the edge of the board into its stomach.
“No comeback from the undead. There’s a no brainer.”
It writhed against the constant pressure of the wood. A trail of intestines spurted out, staining the tattered remains of clothing. Jenna gagged at the stench.
“You, my good sir, are too gross for words.”
The undead groaned, plowing forward. Decaying brains leaking from its nostrils and eyes.
“That all you got for me?” She stepped back, hoisting the board, and swung. The head of the creature flew sideways, but it continued forward, emaciated fingers scratching. She drove the Streaker over to the left with a repeated, steady swing. The wood sank into a shallow layer of skin covering the undead’s overripe, bloated belly.
Upon Caleb’s return, he moved to Jenna’s side. She stepped back and leaned against the window. Caleb, hatchet in hand, forced the Streaker into a corner. A noise at the window had her spinning around. A hand shot through the glass and into the room to claw at Jenna’s face. Outside in the darkness, lifeless eyes found her. The undead rammed against the window, spraying glass. Jenna stepped away, and seconds later, a loud crack caused splintered wood and glass to fall to the floor along with pieces of the zombie’s fingers. With a catatonic stare, the Streaker pushed through the opening, tearing its flesh against the jagged edges of the frame.
Jenna flashed back to the cigarettes and matches she saw in the room. Fire was exactly what she needed now. She searched for the matchbook that had laid on the floor, but the room was in disarray thanks to the fight. Something bumped behind her, and panic rose inside her. Dropping to her belly, scanning the floor, her fingers reached under the bed.
Lisa Acerbo is a high school teacher and adjunct faculty at a local community college. She lives in Connecticut with her husband, daughters, two dogs, and horse. When not writing, she mountain bikes, hikes, and fosters dogs.
