Title: Finding His Redemption Author: Melanie A. Smith Genre: Contemporary Rock Star Romance
From award-winning and international best-selling author Melanie A. Smith comes a standalone steamy contemporary romance about a rock star, a former fan, and the real meaning of redemption.
Kristoffer “West” Westberg is just out of rehab and ready to reclaim his rock-god status. But when his return to fame is threatened by a former fan turned rock magazine writer — and huge critic of him and his band — West is forced to reckon with the reality that he’ll need to prove himself before earning his redemption.
Max Marshall is feisty, a little too honest for her own good, and so not here to babysit a fallen rock star. And nobody has fallen farther in her mind that Kristoffer Westberg. So when she’s forced to catalog his so-called “apology tour,” she has little hope that it’ll be anything but a headache dealing with the entitled, washed-up rock star she used to worship before she knew better.
If West hopes to have a snowball’s chance in hell of changing Max’s — and his fans’ — minds, he’s got some serious groveling to do. Will he manage to fake it till he makes it, or will he be exposed as the lost cause everyone is convinced he is? And will he learn the real meaning of redemption in time to win Max’s trust and her heart?
A few days later, I find myself back in the conference room discussing the apology tour project with Alexsis while we wait for West and the production company guy to show.
“So, like, what’s your deal with West?” Alexsis asks, veering abruptly off the topic of who will research what.
“We don’t have a deal,” I reply defensively.
She tilts an eyebrow. “You so have a deal.”
I shrug. “I was just a fan of the band for a long time, and then he broke them up. Kinda pissed me off and I don’t pay attention to them anymore. End of story.”
“Cute. But I meant now, not then.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the sexual tension I could practically smell across the office both times he was here.”
I wrinkle my nose in disgust. “Then sexual tension must smell a lot like hostility because there’s a lot of that going in both directions,” I reply firmly.
“Oh please,” Alexsis scoffs. “It’s schoolyard basics. Boys only tease you when they like you.”
I look her straight in the eye. “That’s bullshit. Boys tease you to get a reaction out of you so they can fulfill their own need to feel in control. West is angry because I’m a female who doesn’t want to jump his bones. So he teases me to feel like he has some control over me. Same reason he wants me to do this whole ‘apology tour’ crap.”
“Well, that’s an interesting theory,” comes a voice from the door.
I look up to find West smirking at us.
For a moment, I’m tempted to be embarrassed. But you know what? Fuck that.
Melanie A. Smith is an award-winning and international best-selling author of steamy contemporary romance fiction. A voracious reader and lifelong writer, Melanie’s writing began at a young age with short stories and poetry. After college and a career as an aircraft engineer, she shifted to domestic engineering and property management and eventually found a balance where she was able to return to writing fiction. Melanie is also a Mensan and enjoys spending time with her family, cooking, and driving with the windows down and the stereo cranked up loud.
Marco Blanchi has always been the muscle. He’s the enforcer of the Blanchi family. A role he revels in the brutality of.
Ivy Hope is just trying to get by. On a good day, her family barely has enough to eat, and now that her brother is ill, they don’t even have that. That’s how Ivy finds herself begging to dance at Red’s, a high-end club in Manhattan. Ivy thinks dancing is her chance to finally get her family out of debt, but before she can take the stage, she finds herself in the wrong place at the worst time and becomes the only witness to a murder that could put Marco Blanchi in prison for good.
Now, Marco must figure out a way to keep Ivy from talking, and she must keep herself alive long enough to figure out what her silence is worth to this mafia prince.
Mafia Prince is the second book in the Crowned Criminals series. While it is not necessary to read, Mafia Princess first, situations and characters will be referenced in this story. Please note that this is a dark romance not suitable for those under eighteen.
Kennedy Slope has always had a wandering mind. She’s written a million romances in her head, but “The Duke’s Contract,” is the first one she’s decided to share with the world. In her past lives, she has been a teacher, a waitress, and for a brief moment, she sold copiers. Currently, she resides in Virginia with her husband where she enjoys drinking too much coffee and binge-watching HGTV.
Carter Roy, the man that attracts all the ladies, but never gets them. He’s sexy and charming, but hasn’t found the woman that can keep his attention.
Abby I just moved to this town six months ago, but I’m already loving it! Granted, I get lost a lot and I tend to stick out like a sore thumb. And then there’s the deputy-sheriff. He’s hot, but fighting this attraction every step of the way. I just have to find a way to make him see me through my six cats, crazy outfits, and my propensity to get into car accidents.
“Who is she?” Jack asked, bringing me out of my inner-musings.
“Who?”
“The woman you’re going all googly-eyed over.”
I waved him off. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not googly-eyed over anyone.”
“Right, you just got this far off look in your eyes that I only see when you’re dating someone new.”
“Well, then you’re wrong, because I’m not dating anyone.”
“You don’t have to be to appear that way. So, it’s someone you’ve met, but you’re not with,” he nodded to himself as he started walking around the room. “And it can’t be someone you’ve already dated, so that knocks out half the town.”
I rolled my eyes at him. He placed his hand against his chin, scratching at his jaw as he thought.
“And it can’t be someone from out of town, at least, not that far out of town, because you hardly ever leave town.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“You were just at the hospital. It’s possible you met someone there.”
I held my breath, wondering if he would guess who it was.
“But you’re not the type to fall for a damsel in distress. You’ve always liked women that could watch after themselves. Like Anna,” he grinned.
He would definitely never guess Abby then. She was the opposite of Anna in every way.
“So, it’s got to be someone new to the area, someone that you’re interested in, but since you haven’t actually asked her out, there has to be something holding you back.”
He stopped his pacing, snapping his fingers at me. “That new chick.” He snapped his fingers as he tried to come up with a name. “Abigail. Yes, that woman you hugged in the middle of the street. That’s who it is, isn’t it?”
Crap, I was so screwed. “Why would you think it’s her?”
“Oh, come on! You were hugging a woman!”
“Yeah, because she was upset.”
“And you don’t like to comfort women. That’s not your MO at all.”
“Exactly,” I said, hoping he would disprove his own theory.
“And that’s what it is about her. She’s good looking, and despite the fact that you don’t like weak women, you like her.”
“She’s not weak,” I argued, giving myself away. I closed my eyes, shaking my head as he laughed.
“Holy shit. So, what is it about her?”
“Nothing. There’s absolutely nothing about her. It’s not her.”
“It’s gotta be the whole damsel thing. The question is, what makes her different?”
“I just said it’s not her.”
“Right, which means it is.”
He rushed over to his computer and started typing.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking her background.”
“Why?” I asked, rushing over to his side.
“Because I want to know more about her.” He pulled up her name in the system, laughing at what he found. I sighed, rubbing at my eyes. “So, not only is she a damsel in distress, but she’s a very chaotic damsel, and that’s what you like about her.”
“I never said I liked her!”
“I should have known it. The moment I saw the footage of you holding her in the street, I should have known you were going to fall for her. Of course, I’m surprised it took this long. But now that I think about it, whenever we go out—”
“The people always shout,” I interrupted, hoping to throw him off, but he kept going.
“—you’re always looking around, like you’re watching for someone.”
“Bullshit. You’re seeing what you want to see.”
“No, I’m finally paying attention. So, tell me about her.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I argued. “I don’t know anything about her.”
“You must know something,” he laughed, “otherwise you wouldn’t be so wrapped up in her.”
I walked away from him, sitting down at my desk with a huff. “I’m not wrapped up in anyone. I don’t like her. I don’t know her, and I definitely am not the man for her.”
“So you do know something about her. Because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t know if you were the right man for her or not,” he said, jabbing a finger in my direction.
“Fine, you want to know about her? She’s some kind of hippie. She has a living room filled with fluffy pillows, no furniture, and weird tea.”
He nodded, grinning at me the whole time. “Did you drink the tea?” “Fuck off,” I said, storming out of the station, his laughter floating behind me.
I’m a stay at home mom that loves to read. Some of my favorite titles are Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and Horatio Hornblower. I started writing when I was trying to come up with suggestions on ways I could help bring in some extra money. I came up with the idea that I could donate plasma because you could earn an extra $500/month. My husband responded with, “No. Find something else. Write a blog. Write a book.” I didn’t think I had anything to share on blog that a thousand other mothers hadn’t already thought of. I decided to take his challenge seriously and sat down to write my first book, Jack. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed writing. From there, the stories continued to flow and I haven’t been able to stop. I hope my readers enjoy my books as much as I enjoy writing them. Between reading, writing, and taking care of three small kids, my days are quite full.
Title: Glory Bishop Author: Deborah L. King Genre: Women’s Fiction
“Deborah King has written a compelling, thought-provoking novel that engages readers and made me wish the story would never end.” -Chicago Writer’s Association Windy City Reviews
Glory Bishop lives her life in pieces. At work and with her friends, she reads novels, speaks her mind, and enjoys slow dances and stolen kisses with her boyfriend, JT. But at home, Glory follows strict rules and second-guesses every step. Though she dreams of going to college and living like a normal teenage girl, her abusive mother has other ideas.
When JT leaves to join the navy, Glory is left alone and heartsick. The preacher’s son, Malcolm Porter, begins to shower her with lavish gifts, and her mother pushes Glory to accept his advances. Glory is torn between waiting for true love with JT or giving in to the overzealous Malcolm.
When a stranger attacks Glory on the street, Malcolm steps in to rescue her, and her interest in him deepens. But the closer she gets to him, the more controlling he becomes. Glory must eventually decide wh
Dusk was Glory’s second-favorite time of day, and in late October, it came early. At five o’clock, she watched and waited for the first visible stars, those bright enough to shine through all the lights of Seventy-Fifth Street. Thanks to the time change, it would be dark soon. As the bus passed the brightly lit convenience store, Glory pulled the buzzer then got off two stops early. Her only Halloween indulgence would be an Affy Tapple taffy apple, a treat her daddy had taught her to love.
In a couple of days, the unseasonably warm weather would have the streets full of costumed kids celebrating the devil’s holiday, begging for candy. Glory had only trick-or-treated once when she was five and her father had been home for Halloween. She’d been terrified of demons, but he’d assured her that no devil could get through him, and she’d ended the night with an overflowing bag of candy. The day her dad went back on the road, her mother threw out all the candy Glory had left and whipped the demons of gluttony out of her for crying.
The few offices near her building were closing, and evening traffic was picking up. She would have just enough time to drop off her backpack and maybe change her blouse before Malcolm picked her up at six. He was, no doubt, parked nearby, waiting for her. The thought made her smile and pick up her pace. With her sweater tied around her waist and her backpack over one shoulder, Glory enjoyed her treat and watched the stars come out on her walk home.
The entry to her building was almost in sight when she tripped. She tried to regain her balance when she hit the wall and felt her backpack slip from her shoulder. No! With her face and shoulder scraping the wall and a calloused hand covering her mouth, Glory felt herself being pulled into darkness.
Please, no! Struggling to escape, she realized she was in the gangway half a block from her building, a place she’d played hide-and-seek as a child. Oh, God! No! Clawing at the hand pulling her over debris and deeper into the shadows, she sank her fingernails into gritty skin. The monster growled and loosened his grip. Glory managed to scream before the hand closed around her throat, slamming her head against the brick wall, cutting off her air, silencing her scream. She thought she heard someone call her name, but all sound was drowned out by the sudden screeching of tires and the crunch of cars colliding on the street.
Deborah King has been a writer and storyteller her whole life. She published her first short story when she was seven years old. When she’s not writing, Deborah enjoys cartoons, cooking, photography, and Star Trek. Born and raised in Chicago, Deborah has managed to achieve all of her childhood dreams and still lives in the area with her husband and two youngest children. According to her daughter, she has “literally aced her life!”
Or, as we say in Scotland, I dinna understand ye eedjits
And I definitely dinna understand the crazy mother-in-law of my cousin Declan. Who in their right mind names a wee dog Chuffy?
I’m stuck in New York after ma agent makes a bloody mess of an otherwise good endorsement contract for a sports towel company, and this crazy American holiday–Thanksgiving–is in two days.
The invitation to spend it in Mendon, Massachusetts, with the Jacoby family is about as appealing as rotten haggis. As far as I can tell, Thanksgiving is about stuffing yerself silly, watching pathetic American “football,” while fighting with relatives ye only see once a year.
If I wanted that last one, I’d head back to Scotland, where we dinna need a holiday to be salty to each other.
Ma firm answer is nae.
Until I remember Amy is part of the family.
Suddenly, I’m available.
Eager, even. Perhaps she’ll pull ma wishbone. I hear that’s part of the Turkey Day festivities, aye?
What I canna admit, though, is how she pulls ma heartstrings, too.
Which shouldna feel better than the wishbone, but it does.
And here comes Amy’s mother with another holiday tradition, this one a bit early.
A sprig o’ mistletoe, dangling right above Amy’s bonnie head.
He’s been in his birthday suit on sports magazine covers. Done endorsements for regional breweries and energy bars. I know from Declan that he’s close to making it big.
He’s already big.
My eyes dart to his feet.
How big is he?
Heat fills me at the thought, a combination of self-loathing and desire. Which is nothing new for me when it comes to Hamish McCormick.
Why did he have to be here? Now? Of all times, when Mom has a broken leg, Declan’s brother Terry is filling in for her as yoga instructor, and we’re already in disarray? I’m finally finishing my MBA, working another co-op at a venture capital firm. My last one was disrupted by scandal after the high-profile associate gunning for partner turned out to be married to a massive conman. I think I might have gotten my new co-op just for my potential gossip supply.
But my life is smoothing out now. It took me eight years to earn my bachelor’s, but with Declan’s help, the MBA has been full time, which is so much easier. I’ve told him straight out I don’t want any favors, and I refuse to work for Grind It Fresh! Or Anterdec. No nepotism.
Though I’ll certainly network and accept help making connections.
I’m on the cusp of a new life, moving into adulthood at last. I finished a major project yesterday, excited for the Thanksgiving break. I was at the gym, fresh off submitting my group work to our professor, when Dad called about the –
Well. You know.
And now Mom and Dad broke her leg and half their bedroom, my sisters and I have to manage Thanksgiving dinner from scratch, and I can’t stop ogling Hamish’s backside.
That’s too much input.
“Let go of troubling thoughts,” Terry says in soothing, deep dulcet tones as we do triangle pose, our breathing syncing with slow movement. Hamish’s arms stretch out and down. He has muscles on top of muscles, with fine ginger hair all over his arms, darkening as it tapers to his wrists. When we all go into a partial squat, his hamstrings pop like cello strings under his skin, each tiny muscle and tendon in stark relief across a body I could watch forever.
Too bad he has the emotional maturity of a hedgehog.
And that might be giving him too much credit.
“Fine form,” Hamish whispers to Shannon, who blinks fast.
“Thanks. I’ve been doing yoga on my lunch breaks. Even fifteen minutes makes a difference.”
“Aye. People think it’s about doing long workouts but smaller amounts of time really do add up.”
Insane–they’re driving me insane. How can they just idly chat like that while every inch of my skin is on fire? Every breath turns into a proto-orgasm as I watch him stealthily.
Or maybe not stealthily enough. He turns around, catches me watching, and winks.
I hate this. I hate reacting to him like this. I hate that he knows he’s doing this to me, and he revels in it. I hate that he’s so smarmy and overconfident and…
Tantalizing.
I’m going to assume that when all the blood in my body rushes to the surface of my skin and between my legs, it means my IQ drops a bit; lack of oxygen to the brain is the only explanation I have for finding him so attractive. This is a purely physiological response, driven entirely by evolution.
This is not my fault.
He’s big and strong, and his physicality signals virility and protection. Biology is an amazing science, its processes optimized to drive us to reproduce.
My blushing, my throbbing, the zings running across my arms and legs–it’s just electrical impulses, a response shaped over hundreds of thousands of years to produce the right outcome: hot, sweaty, reproductive activity to repopulate the earth.
It’s really just that simple.
I don’t emotionally desire this guy. Not one little bit. My heart isn’t attracted to Hamish McCormick.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.
Selah’s biggest dilemma was trying to decide what to study in college. That is, until she stumbled across a clue to the grandparents she’d never met and hopped on a plane to Mexico where she would discover an entire hidden world of magic and monsters. Her best friend was a bruja, the Chupacabra was more than a myth, and she’d inadvertently caught the attention of the terrifying Blood King with beautiful golden eyes. What started as a two-week vacation quickly devolved into an adventure she might never return from.
Día de los Muertos had almost arrived and the monsters were on the hunt.
“G’night,” Noa yawned finally before claiming the remaining bedroom next door.
I moved to shut my own door when Rafael prowled past, likely heading towards his own room at the end of the hall. At least I guessed it was his as it was the only door kept firmly shut. Seeming to sense my gaze, he pivoted and met me at the doorway. Leaning against the frame with his arms crossed he stared deep into my eyes almost as if searching for answers in there though he must not find them because a frown quickly tugged at his mouth.
“How did you and your friend meet?” he asked curiously.
My fingers fiddled nervously with the doorknob as a fond smile lit up my face. “School. We’ve gone to the same school since I can remember and she was always in my classes, sitting with me at lunch, wanting to be my friend. Noa is pretty direct. When she decides something, she makes it happen.”
“I can see that,” he nodded tersely.
Wanting to smooth things over, I thanked him. “I’m really very sorry about the mix up, but thank you for letting us stay. We really don’t mind finding a hotel tomorrow,” I assured him. “This is your home and we don’t want to intrude.”
Something I said, though I couldn’t guess what, caused his lips to twitch. “You are free to stay. I do not mind.” I arched an eyebrow and he released an amused huff. “Much,” he amended.
“Well, thank you,” I offered again. “You are very kind and generous to offer.”
“Not many would use those words to describe me,” he shook his head, his voice low enough that I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear him.
“Then they don’t know you,” I answered anyway. It was an impulsive response because I didn’t know him beyond his name and yet it felt right. Or maybe I was just a people pleaser like Noa teased me of being.
Even if offered in ignorance, my words made him pause. “Call me Rafi,” he smiled. Then with a shove off the door frame, he resumed prowling towards his room.
Leaning out into the hall, I called softly so as not to disturb Noa, “Goodnight, Rafi.” He sent me a final glance. “Buenas noches, Selah.”
Talis Jones is a Mexican-English author of magic and mischief. Graduated Summa Cum Laude with a degree in Theatre she has explored both stage and film, now finding herself drawn towards the literary world as a new venue for storytelling.
Dog mom, Broadway enthusiast, and life-long bibliophile, Talis currently resides in North Carolina.
Title: At Last Author: Krista Harper Genre: Contemporary Romance
wo years ago, Tyler Reid left the California Coastline in search of a new start. One that didn’t include Genevieve Lawson and the disastrous ending to their life together. Stubborn and alone, Reid is determined to move forward but remains haunted by his past and the events that occurred before he left the sleepy beach community.
Reluctantly, Reid finds himself in therapy, forced to deal with his past to embrace his future. But, as he begins to heal, the memories of his upbringing start to unravel, forcing him to question all he’s known about his relationship with Genevieve and those around him.
Determined to make things right, Reid returns to California attempting to make peace with his past and provide both him and Genevieve closure. Only when he arrives, their encounter takes a turn neither expected, nearly derailing his progress and their plans.
Can the two put aside the past for a chance at a possible future?
What You Can Expect From, At Last: ~ Wounded Hero Determined to Heal ~ Torn Heroine Afraid of Being Hurt Again ~ Redemption Story ~ Two-Hour Short Read with All the Feels ~ Guaranteed Happily Ever After
“Tyler Reid,” I said, extending my hand. “Most people call me Reid.”
“Yes, Reid.” He smiled, returning my grip. “Hello, I’m Dr. Rodsen.”
Dr. Rodsen was a small man who looked as though he’d spent most of his time indoors with a good book. He was maybe in his late 50’s and wore navy khakis with a button-down shirt; his wire-rimmed glasses perched on top of his head. Our hands dropped, and I quickly placed mine into the front pockets of my blue jeans, looking around the room.
“Please,” said Dr. Rodsen, gesturing to the sofa. “Have a seat wherever you’re comfortable.”
“Thank you,” I replied, choosing a seat the furthest away from the good doctor.
“So, Reid, before we dive in here. I just wanted to say thank you for coming in and meeting with me today. As you know, this isn’t a full session, but instead more of a ‘meet and greet’ if you will, to make sure you feel comfortable.” He smiled. “Also, I wanted you to know that your files arrived from Dr. Garrison for my review, per your request, and I must say, it’s somewhat unorthodox for me to receive such extensive files from another therapist.”
“Well, Dr. Rodsen.” I leaned in. “I wanted to start at the present instead of drudging back through my entire childhood and adolescence again. I’ve had a great life. I’ve lived it. I’ve talked about it. I want to move on.”
“I see,” he said, removing the glasses from atop his head and putting them on. He picked up a pad of paper and pen from the small table in between us and began scanning the pages. “Well, after reviewing your file, I did have a few questions that I found pertinent. And I’d like to begin with those, if I may?”
“Of course.” I nodded.
“Now, your records indicate that you were adopted, however reading through your files, there isn’t much mention of this.”
“There isn’t much to mention,” I said, my hands folded on top of my lap.
“Well.” He hesitated. “If I may?”
“Of course.”
“At what age did you become aware of your adoption?”
“I believe I was fifteen at the time.”
“Fifteen? My, that is an awfully long time to wait to tell you. How did your adoptive parents broach the subject?”
I shifted in my seat. “You mean my parents.” I corrected him, my jaw clenched.
“Oh, why yes, Reid.” He looked up from his notepad, his brows furrowed. “Your parents. Does it bother you that I called them your adoptive parents?”
“No.” I lied. “However, they are just my parents. No adjectives are needed.”
“Thank you. That is noted.” He cleared his throat before beginning again. “How did your parents broach the subject of your adoption?”
“Well, in all honesty, it was me who broached the subject Dr. Rodsen. I was a punk teenager and was digging through my father’s study, looking for the key to the liquor cabinet, when I found the documentation.”
“That must have been quite the finding, Reid.”
I nodded.
“And what happened after that?” Dr. Rodsen asked. “You approached your parents?”
“Indirectly, yes.”
“Indirectly?” “
I did eventually also find the key to the liquor cabinet.” I paused a moment at the painful memory. “I opened the file and spread the paperwork, page by page, out on the floor of my Father’s office, then proceeded to drink half a bottle of 30-year-old scotch. My parents found me that night in the office.”
Krista Harper is a contemporary romance and romantic comedy writer.
The first in her family to attend college, she received a practical degree in nursing before pursuing her MFA at the age of 40.
A Chicago native, Krista currently resides in the Colorado mountains with her partner, two kids and four rescues, where she enjoys being nature adjacent.
A haunting in Santa Fe will either reunite Ghost Healers, Inc. or disband the group forever.
When Ellen decides to buy a fixer-upper in an art community in Santa Fe, New Mexico, she’s reassured by the realtor that nothing evil has ever occurred there. What she doesn’t know is that the bridge near the back of the property is notoriously known in the town as Suicide Bridge. As she and her friends try to uncover why so many people have taken their lives there, they are shocked by what they find. Can the reunion of Ghost Healers, Inc. untether the troubling spirits near Ellen’s fixer-upper, or will their discoveries be too much for them this time?
When her name was called, Ellen followed her massage therapist, Kelly, to one of the private rooms in back. Kelly didn’t look much younger than Ellen, but she was in amazingly great shape, and her skin glowed. She wore her brown hair braided, and bangs swept across her pretty, brown eyes. Her summer dress tied around her neck and was backless, exposing three interesting tattoos. One of them read, “STAY HUMANE.”
The room smelled of lavender and was dimly lit with candles. Soothing music played overhead. The massage table was covered with fresh linens.
“You can hang your clothes on the hook behind this door,” Kelly said. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Ellen undressed and hung up her clothes. Then she climbed onto the table on her stomach and covered herself with the top sheet. She put her face in the donut pillow and closed her eyes. She had dozed off when Kelly knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Ellen said, drowsily.
As Kelly started on Ellen’s back, Ellen sighed and sunk more deeply onto the table, relaxing the muscles she didn’t know she’d been clenching. Not wanting to fall asleep and miss the massage altogether, Ellen decided to start up a conversation.
“I just put an offer on a house here in Santa Fe.”
“Congratulations,” Kelly said. “You’ll love it here. I’ve lived here for over thirty years, and I wouldn’t move for anything.”
“Well, I’m not actually moving here,” Ellen explained. “I’m buying it for a studio retreat. I’m an artist. I paint.”
“How nice,” Kelly said. “What kind of art do you make?”
“Mostly portraits and landscapes. Whatever inspires me. I’m not a serious painter. It’s more of a hobby.”
“And in what area are you buying?”
“It’s on Luna Circle, right behind the Frank S. Ortiz Dog Park,” Ellen said. “In the Casa Solano Subdivision.”
“I know the area well. I take my dogs to that park every weekend. Is it the house by Suicide Bridge?”
Ellen stiffened. “What’s Suicide Bridge?”
Kelly moved her hands down Ellen’s back. “I didn’t mean to make you anxious. Try to relax. I’m sorry I mentioned it. I just thought that the real estate agent would have had to disclose the information.”
“What information?” Ellen asked.
“There’s a bridge between the dog park and a house on Luna Circle that’s been for sale for ages.”
“Is it an old steel bridge across a narrow ravine?”
“Yes.”
Kelly worked her way up Ellen’s back, but it was hard for Ellen to enjoy it, because now she was anxious about the bridge.
Kelly massaged beneath Ellen’s right shoulder blade and said, “Over the years, it’s become known as Suicide Bridge, because, for whatever reason, that’s where a lot of people have gone to take their lives.”
“What do you mean by a lot?”
“It seems like someone does it every year for as long as I’ve lived here. I would guess over fifty people have died there.”
“How sad. I wonder what it is about jumping from that bridge. Why there?” “They don’t jump. They hang themselves.”
After earning her Ph.D. in English and teaching writing and literature for over twenty years, Eva Pohler became a USA Today bestselling author of over thirty novels in multiple genres, including mysteries, thrillers, and young adult paranormal romance based on Greek mythology. Her books have been described as “addictive” and “sure to thrill”–Kirkus Reviews.
Supernaturals around Portland are turning up dead. I’m next … if the vampire I just made a powerful bond with doesn’t kill me first.
Magic is in a short supply for a half-witch like me, which makes things very difficult when I’m bound by a blood promise to avenge my parents.
With no leads left to follow, I make a bargain with a demon for help. Bad decision. The quest the demon sends me on binds me to a vampire named Killian, a half-mad, half-naked monster who hates my guts almost as much as he longs to drink my blood.
Killian swore to kill all witches on sight, but we agree to work together to solve the murders ravaging the city. He despises me, and I can’t stand him… but there’s an unexpected connection between us, something I can’t help but be curious about.
No, I can’t let anything distract me. Not even a hot and enraging vampire who presses all of my freaking buttons. I’m determined to find my parents’ killers, and stop the chaos taking over the supernatural world.
“Why? What happened?” I glanced around. “Did you see something?”
“Just stop the car,” he practically snarled.
After a quick glance to the side mirrors, I pulled over. “What is it?” I asked, worried. Had he seen something?
“I can find my way.” Killian opened the car’s door.
“Wait, what?” I stared at him, confused. “How are you going to find your way?”
“I can feel the box’s pull from here. I’ll be able to find it.”
That didn’t make much sense. “What happened? Why aren’t you going with me?”
He turned to me, his green eyes shining dark in the gloominess of the car. “Because after seeing so much blood, my senses are high and demanding. Because I can see you want to ask more than I’m willing to talk about. And because being in this car with you and your scent is torture right now.”
His gaze fell to my throat.
I swallowed hard.
Without another word, Killian got out of the car, closed the door, and zipped away in the dark of night.
I stood there for a minute, holding on to the wheel, and trying to wrap my head around what had just happened. Hell, I kept forgetting Killian was a vampire. A predator. A practiced killer.
And just now he had craved my blood—again.
I should be glad he had left. But for some reason all I felt was as if I had been abandoned.
While Juliana Haygert dreams of being Wonder Woman, Buffy, or a blood elf shadow priest, she settles for the less exciting–but equally gratifying–life of a wife, mother, and author. She resides in North Carolina and spends her days writing about kick-ass heroines and the heroes who drive them crazy.
That’s what I first came to know about the shady town.
I never thought I’d see myself ending up in that horrific town… but I did.
I was taken, stolen and completely destroyed.
The Shadows were hovering upon me to wreck me, hiding and waiting- until they finally attacked.
Ace West is on a mission to ruin me.
He told me he’ll break me in the most ruthless way.
What he doesn’t know is that you can’t break someone who’s already broken. And you definitely can’t break the girl you love without destroying yourself.
Avery Kane is a dark romance writer . Her passion for reading began at a very young age of fourteen, she found her escape through books. Avery decided to publish her debut book in 2021 and loved the progress so much- she plans to never stop writing. Living in the beautiful country of Australia, her hobbies include horse riding, spending time with her little brother, and lots of junk eating. Follow Avery on all socials to see this incredible journey she’s on and never hesitate to get in contact, Avery loves interacting with everyone!
