Date Published: February 23, 2015


My name is Thea Bell and I was murdered.

I always assumed that death was the end. So when my life was cruelly taken away from me, I never thought I would get a second chance to say what I needed to.

But then I was given a choice, a choice that allowed me to see the people I had left behind, and I knew I had to take it.

I wanted to say a proper goodbye. I needed justice for what happened to me.

But even in death, things rarely go to plan.

I never expected to meet him. I didn't anticipate falling in love. I hadn't considered the repercussions of coming back. I never realized I would put another person in danger.

I didn't know my actions were going to haunt us forever.

My name is Detective Aiden Mercer, and I think I have gone insane.

I am seeing the murder victim of my current case alive and in the flesh, and that issimply not possible.


I can see her, hear her, touch her. She’s real to me, however I know this cannot be real. Right?

But try telling my heart that, because as I grow closer to catching Thea’s killer, I also fall deeper into trouble.

Because love is rarely anything but trouble and I know this love will haunt me forever




Jessica Frances

Jessica Frances was born and raised in South Australia, quite possibly born with a book in her hand already. An avid reader her whole life, a pen finally appeared in her hand and she began her journey writing her own stories. The voices in her head have not slowed down and hopefully they never will.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jessica-Frances-Author/156139237914619

TSU: https://www.tsu.co/Jessica_Frances

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23700570-haunted-love

Google+  https://plus.google.com/112213573349483335294/posts?gclid=CjwKEAjwuYOeBRCy3pLljpjDkDcSJAAhA4mtHFLNe_tl4FvDYFQraaFl3fLT56348CpHOGWQyGlDdxoC15fw_wcB


Buy Links


Amazon: 
http://www.amazon.com/Haunted-Love-Jessica-Frances-ebook/dp/B00SGMFV30/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1421825587&sr=1-1&keywords=haunted+love+jessica+frances&pebp=1421825615705&peasin=B00SGMFV30 
 
Smashwords: Smashwords – Haunted Love – a book by Jessica Frances


B&N http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/haunted-love-jessica-frances/1121100872?ean=2940046525410


iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/au/book/haunted-love/id961007874?mt=11


Kobo: http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/haunted-love-1

Bite Me
Robyn Bachar

Genre: Erotic paranormal romance

Publisher: Samhain Publishing

Date of Publication: March 17, 2015

ISBN: 978-1-61922-457-5
ASIN:

Number of pages: 211
Word Count: 80k

Cover Artist: Kanaxa

Book Description:

Consumed by the need to feed…

After an out-of-control spell triggers the zombie apocalypse, Lizzy Addams is left in the ruins of Chicago with only the slightly unhinged commentary—and endless erotic appetites—of her inner demon for company. Her blood supply dwindling, she is forced to find survivors to feed from, or die trying.

Officer Angela Kinney was on duty when hungry corpses overwhelmed the city. The survivors look to her for leadership, but nothing prepared her for a beautiful monster who offers safety in exchange for blood.

Sean MacMillan never expected to see Lizzy again after she rejected his attempts to lure her back to the vampire fold. But with his flock threatened by the horde and his murderous vampire brother, Lizzy is the only one he can trust to keep them safe.

The veil of secrecy shrouding the supernatural world torn apart, humanity’s only hope is to forge an alliance with vampires, werewolves, and things that go bump in the night. Though accepting their aid could be a devil’s bargain that puts humans at the bottom of the food chain.

Warning: Contains vampire orgies, angsty demon sex, a frisky lesbian werewolf, light kink, and enough sex toys to start a store.

Available at Amazon   BN   iTunes  Kobo  Samhain Publishing
About the Author:

Robyn Bachar enjoys writing stories with soul mates, swords, spaceships, vampires, and gratuitous violence against the kitchen sink. Her paranormal romance Bad Witch series, historical paranormal romance series Bad Witch: The Emily Chronicles, and spicy space opera romance trilogy Cy’ren Rising are available from Samhain Publishing. 

Her books have finaled in PRISM Contest for Published Authors, the Passionate Plume Contest, and twice in the EPIC eBook Awards. 

As a gamer, Robyn has spent many hours rolling dice, playing rock-paper-scissors, and slaying creatures in mmorpgs.

Website    Newsletter    Twitter     Blog

Facebook    Google+    Goodreads    LibraryThing

Shelfari   Amazon

Tour giveaway 

$25 Amazon gift card

Excerpt One

I opened my mouth to ask for a volunteer, and noticed just a fraction too late that a priest’s collar peeked out from under Manuel’s overcoat and that he was eyeing me in an unfriendly manner. He spat at me in Latin and pulled a cross that exploded with blinding light. The image seared into my retinas as holy fire hit me full blast.

I’d rescued a damn priest. What a fucking way to die.

My inner demon shrieked, and I hissed like a pissed-off alley cat and bolted. I slammed against the roof ’s edge and toppled over it like a drunk after the bars close, then crashed through the plastic top of a Dumpster in the alley. For a moment I was relieved to be out of the burning, but it was quickly followed by the sudden onset of the what-the-fuck pain of my landing.

The world had ended before garbage day, so I was up to my ass in trash bags that stank like rancid vomit. Mobs descended on my Dumpster in a sea of arms outstretched to grab and devour me. Like sharks in a feeding frenzy, they were programmed to bite first and ask questions later. My pink Chucks had no traction as I tried to climb atop the Dumpster, and I slipped and struggled. Ugh. Death by fashion. I should’ve gone for the Doc Martens.

Mobs weren’t good at ladders, but they could handle climbing short distances, and two toppled over the edge and into the garbage. I tried to kick myself into flight, but my magic fizzled and refused to cooperate. No fuel, no magic. One of the trash zombies’ rotted teeth sank through my jeans and into my leg, and I screamed at the top of my lungs.

I ripped my leg away, losing a chunk of flesh and muscle in the process, and with a rush of pure terror I vaulted out of the garbage and into the alley. When I hit the ground my wounded leg buckled and I collapsed. The dead closed over me like an ocean wave and clawed at my cashmere coat with frostbitten fingers until I wriggled out of it and broke free. I booked it as best I could, ducking and weaving through the crowd.

Despite my fear, I had enough sense left to run down the alley away from the spot the humans had been. I emerged into the street opposite, found it likewise occupied by mobs, and cursed as I headed into the next alley. A metal fire escape clung to the side of the building to my right, and I leapt, pulled the ladder down and hustled up it as my wounded leg fought me the whole way. When I reached the roof I sighed with relief and lay flat, staring up at the full moon as hunger raged through me like a slavering, rabid dog.

I needed to feed, and the only living humans in Chicago were traveling with a priest with a grudge. I wouldn’t make it home without blood—hell, I wouldn’t make it off this rooftop. In a few hours the sun would rise and I’d be Lizzy Addams flambé.

It sucked to be a vampire at the end of the world.



Excerpt Two

We emerged from the coffin to find a note taped to the inside of my closet door, with the instructions, “Sean, read this first.”

No good would come of that. Irritated, I handed him the note and opened the door. I emerged into an empty, silent bedroom. Blinking in confusion, I paused after a few steps. No flock, no werewolves and no one seated at my computer. The door was shut and locked, and my stomach dropped as I was blasted by an icy wave of fear.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, whirling on Sean.

He stood in the doorway to the closet, lean and so tall he nearly scraped the doorframe. Sean studied me silently, his face a placid mask, and then he slowly unbuttoned the jacket he’d just donned and set it aside.

“Sean…” My voice dropped in warning as he began unbuttoning his shirt. I growled for added effect, but he continued, stripping the shirt and then the undershirt beneath until he was bare-chested. He didn’t seem interested or aroused—Sean looked like a man being led to the gallows. I growled again, but instead of a threat it was a sound of interest voice by my stirring demon. She was captivated by the landscape of pale skin across his toned abs, wondering what his skin would feel like beneath our fingertips.

“Lean and strong, like our Athena. Wouldn’t they make a striking pair in our bed?”

“Elizabeth, come here,” Sean ordered.

I was halfway to him before I realized what had happened—anger at falling so easily into the reflex warred with my demon’s desire to obey. With a snarl I froze, planting my feet in a fighting stance just out of arm’s reach.

“What the fuck is going on?” I snapped.

Title: Remember Della

Author Name: Cynthia Mock Burroughs

 

Author Bio:
 

I was born and raised in the South and to this day reside in South Carolina with my dashing husband, crotchety cat and nimble Jack Russell. My first novel,Remember Della, definitely reflects that Southern upbringing; and like Katherine, my main protagonist, I am also a child of the fifties.

 

I have enjoyed reading my entire life and relish childhood memories of long, languid summers spent in lawn chairs beneath shady old trees—my best friend and I devouring one library book after another. I hope to be proof of the old adage that everyone has at least one good book in them—but suppose that remains to be seen. You, the reader, will be the judge of that.

 

Drawing and painting have always been passions of mine, but I had never tried my hand at writing until my mother passed away several years ago. During my grieving process I found that painting was not keeping my mind as busy as I would have liked. Painting allowed me too much time to think. So in an attempt to ease my sadness, I decided to try a new creative outlet. The result was a 24,000 word children's chapter book (as yet unpublished) and a newfound love—writing! In fact, I am in love with the entire writing process, especially the part where I get to tell really tall tales—and get away with it . . .


Author Links - The link for any or all of the following...


Website http://www.cynthiamockburroughs.com/ | Blog | Facebookhttps://www.facebook.com/authorcynthiamockburroughs?ref=notif&notif_t=page_user_activity | Twitter @cmburroughs | Pinterest http://www.pinterest.com/cmburroughs/ | Linkedin https://www.linkedin.com/pub/cynthia-burroughs/7b/a80/107| Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/23826688-cynthia-mock-burroughs| Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Remember-Della-Cynthia-Mock-Burroughs/dp/1500199346/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1420753436&sr=1-1&keywords=remember+della

 
Giveaway - details for your giveaway for readers that follow your tour, be specific. You may pick offer prize of more than one.

(eg:Ebooks, paperbacks, Swag or gift cards)


I am certainly open to giveaways and would be willing to offer Signed Paperbacks, Ebooks and/or Gift Cards to readers. (I have ordered bookmarks, which should arrive around the 22nd of this month.) I would like to know how this process works.


Hosting Incentive: If offering an incentive (giveaway) for those that host your tour such as a gift card or free ecopy/paperback.

I will offer free ecopies/paperbacks, bookmarks and possibly gift cards.

(I would like to discuss the gift cards with you.)

Pit Crew: Will you be offering a donation to our Street Team that will be helping promote your tour?

(Ebook or signed copies are normal)

Yes, I will be glad to offer an Ebook and a signed paperback.

Book Genre: Paranormal Mystery
 

Publisher: Self published

Release Date: Remember Della is available at this time at the buy links below.

Buy Link(s):

http://www.amazon.com/Remember-Della-Cynthia-Mock-Burroughs/dp/1500199346/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1420753436&sr=1-1&keywords=remember+della

https://www.createspace.com/4685682

Book Description:


Kat, a “slightly" psychic sixteen-year-old, begins having disturbingly persistent dreams. Dreams of a yellow scarf - with a seeming life of its own - which taunts her and haunts her every dream. Dreams about Della, a fellow classmate, who to this point has remained all but invisible to any and every one at school. Kat eventually comes to the realization that until she unravels the mystery surrounding that “dagblasted” creepy yellow scarf and this girl she hardly knows, she'll not have another night’s rest. What Kat soon discovers is that she is the only person in Della’s life (including the girl’s mother and stepfather) who recognizes - or will admit - Della has simply vanished, gone “splitsville"!  And Kat is helpless as her life becomes indelibly intertwined with Della’s – so much so, that she will carry the emotional scars for years to come.

Kat is surrounded by an extremely colorful cast of characters. You will meet: long-time friend and recent love interest, Em; Kat’s precocious eight-year-old brother, Gordy; her feisty octogenarian neighbor, Mrs. Harper and a chain smoking waitress named Clovis. All who, for various reasons,  join Kat’s desperate quest to help a girl she hardly knows and to find answers to questions that, with any luck, will bring her the peace she seeks – the biggest question on her mind being, “Why me?”

“Remember Della” - which is predominately set in the South during the mid-fifties - is chock full of facts, trivia and slang from that era. While an entertaining read, I believe this book addresses bullying - both physical and emotional - in a fresh and unique way during a time before such issues were “labeled” as unacceptable or problematic.

Excerpt One (300-500 or so Words):


I sat at the kitchen table while Momma contemplated what to do

with the ground beef thawing out on the counter. She settled on

goulash and was checking the pantry to see if she had all the ingredients

when it occurred to her she hadn’t heard a peep out of Gordy.

The quietude must have alerted her to his absence.

She turned to me, “Where’s Gordy—up in his room?”

I shook my head no. “He’s not home yet.”

She checked her watch and asked, “Did you hear his bus come

by?”

“No’m. It’s probably running late.”

“Gordy should be home by now, Katherine.” She gave me a doubtful

look and asked, “You’re sure his bus hasn’t come by?”

The look of concern on her face was fleeting, and we both cringed

as Gordy heralded his arrival by slamming the front door so hard the

house shook. Momma yelled at the top of her lungs, “Gordy!” When

he came barreling through the doorway she asked, “How many times

have I told you not to slam the door like that? You’ve already taken a

minimum of ten years off my life!”

He never even heard a word she said because he was talking louder

and faster than his customary mile-a-minute. His words practically

ran together as he said, “You shoulda seen it! Sammy Spellman

throwed up all over prissy ol’ Becky Taylor on the bus! We had beets

for lunch an’ Sammy ate a whole bowl of ‘em. I bet that’s what made

him throw up. He says he likes ‘em, but I don’t believe it for a minute.

I think he just eats ‘em to show off. But the really good part is

Sammy’s throw-up was all red—like he was throwing up blood! Then

ol’ Becky started crying an’ everything, and Cindy Walker started

gagging ‘cause throw-up splattered all over her shoes an’ then she

throwed up. It was so cool! They were sitting across the aisle from

me, an’ I got to see it all. And Becky, with her weirdo-self, told Mikey

Olson she was gonna wipe throw up on him ‘cause he laughed

at her. And the bus driver had to stop the bus an’ calm everybody

down. It was Coolsville!

I could see Momma was trying to keep a straight face as she said,

“Gordy that’s enough—there’s nothing cool about someone throwing

beets up all over the place.”

“Well I couldn’t be sure, but from the smell of it I think Sammy

must’ve been sick at both ends. I tell–”

“Gordy!!!” Gordy was treading on very thin ice.

“It’s the truth! It was gross I tell ya. Gross enough to gag a maggot!

Everybody sitting around ‘em looked like they were gonna

puke—’cept me. The bus driver made everybody get off, and

the monitor had to go to somebody’s house to call for another

bus and for Sammy an’ Becky an’ Cindy’s parents to come and

get ‘em.”
“Dear Lord, I hope Sammy’s not contagious.” And in spite of the fact

we weren’t Catholic, Momma crossed herself.

 
Excerpt Two (500-800 or so Words):


I HATED THAT despicable clock. I hated the way those two nerve-jangling,

damnable bells blasted me so urgently from sleep

every morning. I snatched the clock up, shut off the alarm

and slammed the offending thing back onto the nightstand.

Throwing the covers back and my legs over the side of the

bed, I stood unsteadily a moment before aiming my body at

the door leading to the hall. Destination—the bathroom. But as

my fingers touched the doorknob the clock began its shrill intonations

again. Oh dear Lord! That sound, so early in the morning,

was the equivalent of fingernails screeeking down a chalkboard.

Hadn’t I just turned the dad-blamed thing off? Maybe I

jarred the lever into the ‘on’ position when I, perhaps a little too

vigorously, delivered the clock back to its pocked resting place.

I retraced my steps and after turning the alarm off, again,

placed the clock on the nightstand—a little more gently

this time. And for more reasons than one, I moved a wee

bit faster for the bedroom door. I reached it a second time

and stopped cold—the God-forsaken clock was, once again,

clanging for attention! With the strangest mixture of anger,

fear and foreboding I walked back, turned the alarm off a

third time and buried ‘Baby Ben’ not only under the covers,

but both pillows as well. Then I ran back to the door, jerked

it open and took off through it.

Instead of the hall outside my bedroom door, I found myself

out on the street in front of my house—still dressed in baby

doll pajamas and walking toward my bus stop. There wasn’t

time to go home and change. The school bus had arrived

and it sat idling as a half-dozen students climbed on. I waved

and yelled for them to wait, but no one seemed to hear.

Running for the bus wasn’t even an option, for it was suddenly

as if my feet and I were slogging through knee-deep

mud. I could only watch as the door closed and the bus

pulled off without me. Oddly, I felt thoroughly and utterly

bereft—as if all my hopes and dreams had taken off with that

big yellow bus.

As the bus lumbered down the road something yellow flew

out an open window. Even from where I stood I could see it

was a scarf—a yellow scarf—lifting, floating and fluttering in

the early morning breeze.

My legs came unglued and I began running after that scarf

like my life depended upon reaching it before it touched

the ground. I caught up to it, but each time I attempted to

pluck it from the air a breeze would whisk it away, lifting it

just beyond my reach over and over again. I soon began to

tire of the game and was about to abandon the chase when
the wind picked up and blew the scarf toward me instead of

away, pressing it against the lower half of my face. Slowly,

almost as if caressing me, the scarf began to move along my

skin. It slid over my mouth, under my chin, and down my neck.

Snaking round and round my throat, it became longer and

longer, tighter and tighter—and I began struggling for air . . .