Wednesday, August 8, 2018

{Release Blitz + Giveaway} The Geek and The Goddess - By Allie Everhart

 
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The Geek and the Goddess - By Allie Everhart
Release Date:
August 7th 2018
Genres: Romance, Young Adult


People always say they wish they could predict the future. But not me. I already know my future. I’m going to lose my sight. I don’t know exactly when, but it’s going to happen. And it’s the reason I’ll never fall in love. 
At least that’s what I thought. Until one day a guy walks into my chem class and changes all that. 
I thought for sure he’d avoid me after he saw how people at school treat me. The teasing. The nicknames. Just being seen with me is enough to ruin his reputation, yet this guy still wanted to date me. And he wouldn’t take no for an answer. 
That’s how it began. How it ended is not at all what I expected. Ours is an unlikely love story.





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EXCERPT


A guy appears at the door. He looks back at it, like he’s double-checking the room number, then says something to a girl up front. She nods and he closes the door.
Everyone looks up and stares at him. He’s tall and thin, wearing jeans and a button-up white shirt with a blue blazer over it. And he has on a tie that’s blue and green plaid.
Who dresses like that for class? A blazer and a tie? Maybe he transferred here from a prep school.
“Greetings, earthlings,” he says in a deep voice. He smiles and a few people chuckle.
“Wesley,” Mr. Henderson says. “Welcome.”
“Thank you,” he says in a cheery tone, not seeming to care that people are staring at him.
“We have a seat for you back here,” Henderson says.
He sees me and smiles. “Guess it’s my lucky day.”
Lucky day? What is he talking about?
Everyone watches as he makes his way to the back. As he approaches my table, I notice he’s carrying a briefcase. Like one of those hard covered briefcases men used to carry to work. He sets it down and opens the metal hinges. The briefcase pops open and inside is his laptop, a notebook, and some pens. He takes out the laptop, then closes the briefcase.
“Everyone, this is Wesley Deckle,” Mr. Henderson says. “He moved here last summer from Sacramento, California. Please welcome him to Wisconsin by introducing yourselves after class.” He walks over to his desk. “I want phones put away and books out. We’ll begin shortly.”
Wesley holds out his hand to me and smiles. “Hi. I’m Wesley. And you are?”
“Luna,” I say as I get a better look at his face. He’s kind of cute. His eyes are a swirly mix of blue that reminds me of those pictures of Earth taken from space. He has dark brown hair that’s a little long with curly waves that make it look messy but in a good way. And he has good skin. Not a single zit, which is rare for people our age.
“Luna,” he repeats, and I wait for him to follow that with whatever rude comment he’s going to make about my unusual name. But instead he says, “That’s the coolest name ever.”
I stare at him, skeptical of his words. It’s quite possible he’s being sarcastic. He looks like someone who uses sarcasm.
“Are you being serious?” I ask.
“Luna. Roman goddess of the moon,” he says, smiling. “You were named after a goddess. That’s cool, don’t you think?”
“Not really.” I look away from him. “I’ve never liked my name.”
“Why don’t you like it?”
“Let’s start by reviewing the syllabus,” Mr. Henderson says.
I open my laptop, not answering Wesley’s question. Because answering it means telling him the history of my name and how it’s been used to tease me, ridicule me, make me an outcast. There’s no need to explain all that. He’ll find that out soon enough.

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About the Author

Allie Everhart writes romance and romantic suspense and is the author of the popular Jade Series, Kensington Series, Wheeler Brothers, and several standalone titles. She’s also a freelance health writer and has worked on several New York Times bestselling books. Allie's always been a romantic, as evidenced by her early years as a wedding singer, her obsession with dating shows, and the fact that she still watches reruns of The Love Boat. When she’s not writing, she’s outside running, which is when she gets her best book ideas.


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Wednesday, July 18, 2018

{Book Blitz + Giveaway} The Gathering - By Bernadette Giaomazza

 

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The Gathering - By Bernadette Giacomazzo
(The Uprising, #1)
Publication Date: March 31st 2018
Genres: Adult, Dystopian


The Uprising Series tells the story of three freedom fighters and their friends in high — and low — places that come together to overthrow a vainglorious Emperor and his militaristic Cabal to restore the city, and the way of life, they once knew and loved. 
In The Gathering, Jamie Ryan has defected from the Cabal and has joined his former brothers-in-arms — Basile Perrinault and Kanoa Shinomura — to form a collective known as The Uprising. When an explosion leads to him crossing paths with Evanora Cunningham — a product of Jamie’s past — he discovers that The Uprising is bigger, and more important, than he thought.


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EXCERPT


Jamie
I saw Emperor – looking like a hot air balloon, sounding as ridiculous as ever – blathering on about his personal Reichstag fire, and laying the blame of the explosion squarely at the feet of myself and my brothers-in-arms.
“…and it’s these traitors of the state – the threat to the security of my Empire of the United States of America – the defectors of the Cabal who go by Jamie Ryanand Basile Perrinault and, my greatest betrayal, Supreme Allied Commander Kanoa Shinomura…” he hollered into the microphone, which seemed to reverberate throughout the city.
At the sound of Kanoa’s name, the Cabal members below the balcony slammed the butts of their guns on the floor in rhythm. I knew that rhythm all too well – it was meant to be a war cry for those of us in the rank-and-file of the Cabal – but, to the untrained ear, it sounded like a machine gun going off…which was exactly the point.
But I couldn’t help but sneer at the accusation that the blast that nearly killed Evanora and Tommy was somehow our fault. He’d spent decades trying to catch us and failing miserably, yet in the same breath, believed we were inept enough to set off a blast that took no lives and could be cleaned up during a balmy New York evening. And he managed to sell this ridiculous belief to the crowd, no less.
“Let’s make something clear, asshole,” I muttered, “if it had been me and the boys that lit your shit up, you wouldn’t be standing here today.”
Despite the absurdity of the accusation – and despite the obvious absurdity of the accusation – the victims of psi just grunted along, agreeing with everything and anything that came out of Emperor’s mouth, in part because they didn’t know any better (they were psi victims, after all), and in part because any disagreement with what Emperor had to say was met with a fierce, painful punishment.
“His Word, Before All and Above All,” I muttered. “With liberty and justice for no one, so kiss my peasant Old New York ass and take a breath mint afterward, unless you like that funky aftertaste…”
My voice trailed off as my eyes focused on a strange woman on the balcony.
At first, I couldn’t discern who she was – she looked like someone I’d seen before, yet someone I’d never seen before.
Her hair was a garish white-blonde, stringy and lifeless, and pinned tightly behind her head with a set of black ceramic chopsticks. Her makeup was almost cartoonish – cat-like black eyeliner and matte black lipstick sat atop a ghostly white foundation. Even her outfit was a hideously hilarious cultural appropriation – a black silk kimono paired with a set of black stiletto heels. I’d seen Old New York 42nd Street prostitutes, with terrible heroin problems, sell the “Asian coquette” look better than what I’d seen before me now.
“Who the actual…” I began, hesitantly, unable to process who I was seeing before me.
And then it hit me, all at once, who she was.
For the first time in a long time, I was literally speechless.
When I could finally find my voice again, it barely came out in a whisper. “Rosie,” I squeaked.
I walked into the Ludlow Street apartment I shared with Angelique and was instantly greeted with the smell of a meat dish that, I would later learn, was calledcarne asada.
“Angelique!” I called out over the loud sizzling of steak as I kicked off my black Frye boots and set my matching acoustic guitar down. “Where are you, my love?”
“In here!” she called, out of sight, from the kitchen, where more clanging and banging sounds echoed over her voice.
I began walking through the apartment, shedding layers as I went along until I reached the kitchen wearing nothing but my black leather pants and a mischievous smile. I was hoping to have a little appetizer of crème d’Angelique before dinner, but when I reached the kitchen, I realized – much to my chagrin – that we weren’t alone.
Angelique, her hair tied back into a messy ponytail, was wearing a tight, white, see-through shorts jumper and a matching white apron. She was standing next to an unfamiliar-looking woman with a matching messy ponytail, but whose thick chocolate brown hair stood in sharp contrast to Angelique’s thin flaxen locks. The rest of her, too, was in stark contrast to Angelique, but not in a bad way – she was olive-skinned, in contrast to Angelique’s pale white skin; she was curvy, in contrast to Angelique’s ectomorphic figure; she was fiery, in contrast to Angelique’s ethereal nature.
They were standing side by side, working on something that smelled simply delicious. Angelique was mixing flour, sugar, and garlic powder, and her friend was adding melted butter and salted water to the resultant powder, then kneading it until it formed a dough.
“Am I interrupting something?” I asked as I walked behind Angelique, wrapped my arms around her waist, and kissed her neck, breathing in her scent of lilacs as I did so.
She smiled, then took her index finger and bopped the tip of my nose with the flour mixture. “Hey handsome,” she said, beatifically. “We’re making something special for you for dinner. We’ve got carne asada in the pan over there – we’ve got some arroz con gandules in the rice cooker – and we’re making…wait, girl, what’s this called?”
Arepas,” her friend said, smiling as she continued to knead the dough between her hands, her silver thumb ring glistening in the light of the dusk as she did so.
“Right, arepas,” Angelique repeated. “Ramira here is teaching me all her magic ways – she says this is the exact dinner I need to make if I want my man to marry me.” She giggled, then elbowed Ramira, who giggled along with Angelique.
I couldn’t help but giggle, as well, as I unentwined myself from Angelique and walked over to Ramira to properly introduce myself. “I’m going to be stuffed fordays with all this delicious food, so it’s only right that we become friends,” I began, extending my hand. “Hi there. I’m James Randall Ryan IV, I somehow lucked out enough to convince this lovely lady Angelique to be my girlfriend, and it’s a pleasure to meet you. You can call me Jamie.”
Ramira smiled, then shook my hand with two of her fingers, taking care not to smear the wet dough across my palm. “Well, my name is Ramira Diaz, Angelique is my best friend, and it’s a pleasure to meet you too. You can call me Rosie, though. Everyone else does.”
I sat under a wilting star magnolia tree and stared, intently, through the open window of a room that had to be Rosie’s dressing room. She peeled her black silk kimono off and turned her back to the frameless window, exposing her prominent ribs and shoulder blades as she did so. The sight of her suddenly-bare, emaciated frame shocked me, especially given how pronounced her curves were in our younger years, and tears welled up in my eyes yet again.
In the decades since Angelique and my son had died, I could count the number of times I’d cried on one hand. In the past 72 hours, though – as I realized that my best friend’s kid, and my best friend’s girlfriend, were alive and well, and that the Uprising was bigger than I’d ever imagined – the tears came quickly and flowed easily, and I couldn’t decide if this was a sign of strength or weakness on my part.
Rosie slipped a shimmering white camisole over her emaciated frame, which she then tucked into a pair of white linen slacks. I couldn’t get over how thin she’d gotten, then wondered if this was by her own design, or if she was under orders from that evil husband of hers. No way would Jordan be cool with this, I thought to myself. On his fucking grave would this go on. On his fucking grave. And wouldn’t you know it – here we are, on his fucking grave.
I saw Rosie leave the room and begin to head down a flight of stairs, and I took that as an opportunity to get her alone, away from the rabid Cabal and out of sight of the vainglorious Emperor. She’d taken a few steps away from her building, and into Emperor’s Park, before passing by the wilting star magnolia tree that I was hiding behind. It was only when I saw the back of her slicked back, perfect ponytail – what a difference from the one she was wearing when we first met, I thought – that I saw the opportunity to get her alone and began walking behind her.
“You’ve come a long way from making arepas on Ludlow Street,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder when I finally caught up with her.
She spun around, her face scrunched up in fear, and for a split second, I thought she was going to hit me. But just as quickly, she relaxed as her eyes registered who owned the disembodied voice. “Jamie,” she whispered tearfully. “You’re here. You’re alive. I didn’t realize…”
“How the hell did you not?” I asked, furrowing my eyebrows and side-eyeing her. “Your damned husband has been hunting me for decades.”
“I knew that,” she said, taking ragged breaths. “But just the fact that he was never able to take you alive led me to believe that you were…you know…” Her voice trailed off.
I wasn’t convinced, and I continued to stare at her intently as I scratched my left cheek, which was now beginning to show the first signs of salt-and-pepper beard stubble. “First of all, why the hell are you talking like you’re Queen Elizabeth? Second, let me just state it for the record: you give your asshole husbandway too much credit if you think he can take me down.”
Rosie bit her lower lip, then shifted her eyes down. I put my hand under her chin and tipped her face up, forcing her eyes to meet mine as I tried, desperately, to search for a sign of the Rosie I once knew. “Rosie,” I whispered intently. “It’s me. You don’t have to hide from me.”
Her face was a blank slate. “My name is Rose. Rose Cunningham,” she said with flat affect.
“Oh, bullshit,” I whispered, even more intently. “Whatever happened to ‘call me Rosie, everyone else does’? What happened to that woman who was makingarepas in the kitchen with my Angelique?”
That got her attention, and her deep brown eyes flashed with fire as she balled up her fists and began swinging at me. “You shit! You bastard! You did it! You almost killed my baby!”
I ducked, bobbed and weaved, avoiding each blow as I carefully tried to talk her down from the ledge. “Rosie! What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t do that shit! I swear!”
She continued to swing at me. “Yes! Yes, you did!” she squealed tearfully, repeating the same “yes, yes” with each swing, her voice getting louder each time.
“Do you want to knock it off before the fuckin’ Cabal finds us, Rosie? The fuck is wrong with you? Jesus Christ!” I was shouting despite myself and began scanning the landscape frantically for Cabal soldiers that would have undoubtedly heard us, all while bobbing and weaving like a prizefighter to avoid getting punched in the face.
She swung even harder and squealed even louder. “You tried to kill my baby! Just like you killed yours!”
That line finally got me to react, and I had to steady my breathing to stop from clocking her in the mouth. Even in the throes of the worst of my Faustian behavior, I never hit a woman, and neither did any of my bandmates – the thought of violence against a woman, let alone a woman we’d loved, didn’t even cross our drug-addled minds.
Instead, I grabbed her wrists and forced them down to her sides, holding them in place at hip level as she struggled, trying to hit me, until she finally began whimpering in defeat.
“Now you listen to me, Ramira Diaz, and you listen well,” I began, angrily. “You may have forgotten everything you were and are, but I sure as fuck haven’t forgotten a goddamn thing, and let me rest assure you, I never fuckin’ will.”
Her lower lip was trembling, her eyes were watering, and it became evident that she was on the verge of tears. Still, I continued. “So, let me get a few things out of the way now, so we’re not confused. Number one: that blast? It wasn’t me. It wasn’t anyone tied to me. It wasn’t anyone whose name I can even spell. Because let me assure you, again, that if it were me, or anyone tied to me, we’d have burned down the entire fuckin’ city, even if it meant killing ourselves in the process, and wouldn’t have left a survivor anywhere on this God-forsaken island.
“Number two: you know goddamn well I didn’t kill Angelique or our baby. Now I wear their death on my heart every. Fucking. Day. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in twenty fucking years, from the day they were killed, because I can’t get their murders out of my mind. There are times I wish I was dead, just so that I don’t have to live with the guilt of their murders, but no, here I am, and ain’t that a fuckin’ bitch from Hell. I’d give all the money in the world to have my Angelique back. I’d trade my life for Jordan’s any day of the week. And my son – my only legacy – never had a chance at life, and you think that’s all fair?
“Number three – and this is the most important part, Rosie, goddamnit, you’d better fuckin’ listen to this if you listen to nothing else: remember that promise I made to you in the hospital room? All those years ago? Because I fuckin’ do. And that’s why when Evanora and Tommy came down the Bowery after the blast, and I realized who she was, I made sure she was safe and clean and warm…”
Rosie looked shocked. “Wait. She came to you?”
I searched her face, trying to see if I could register where her loyalties lie before I continued to answer the question. For some reason, however, I couldn’t make it out. I even tried to read Rosie’s mind using a gentle form of psi, but I still couldn’t read her mind at all. It was like trying to probe a brick wall. So, to protect Evanora – and the rest of us – I chose to cover my tracks. “Yeah,” I said airily, “she mentioned something about listening to Uprising Radio.”
The name of Uprising Radio registered some type of recognition with Rosie, and her eyes lit up slightly. “My baby has heard Uprising Radio?”
“I don’t know for sure,” I continued, still adopting an airy affect, “but I’m pretty sure that’s what she said.” Using my Cabal training, I put a mental wall between my thoughts and Rosie, mostly because I didn’t know how much training she’d had in the psi arts, and I wasn’t sure if she, too, could read my mind. And if, God forbid, her loyalties lied with that pathetic excuse of her husband, I could at least protect, if not myself, then the whole Uprising movement.
I made sure the wall was firmly in place before I continued. “I think I’ve heard Uprising Radio a few times, but I don’t know much about it, who does it, or anything of the sort.”
“Yeah,” Rosie said, hesitantly, behind a mental brick wall of her own, “I have no idea, either.”
We were calmer, now – our breath was steady, our thoughts were collected, and Rosie’s fists were limp. I finally felt confident that she wasn’t going to try to hit me again, so I loosened my grip on her wrists.
But I suddenly found myself unable to let her go, so I slid my hands from her wrists to her hands and grabbed her fingers lightly. I was overcome with emotion.
“What is it, Jamie?” Her voice was cracking.
I exhaled loudly, then drew in a ragged breath. “Do you think about him, Rosie? Do you think about Jordan at all?”
She closed her eyes and allowed the tears to fall as she exhaled shakily. “Every day of my life,” she said softly. “There’s not a day that goes by that Jordan doesn’t cross my mind. Every time I look at Evanora – every time I hear her laugh – he comes to my mind. Sometimes, she gives me this look – you remember, Jamie? You remember when Jordan would hear something that was just too stupid for words, and he would get this look on his face, like, ‘were you dropped on your head as a child?’” – and to this, I gave a half-smile and a nod – “and now, she gets that look. And that one eyebrow” – she took her finger and drew on her left eyebrow – “it would just go up like…like…”
She dropped her hand as her voice trailed off, her eyes filling with tears.
I nodded my head, closed my eyes, and sighed. “Fuckin’ guy,” I said, opening my eyes and looking at Rosie. “So. You didn’t see me, right?”
Rosie smiled and winked at me. “Ivan Sapphire? Please. Get over yourself, rock star.” She squeezed my hands one last time for good measure. “I’m going to leave now. I’m not going to look back because I don’t want to see where you’re going. This way, if someone with bad intentions against you asks me if I know where you are, I can answer honestly when I say I don’t know. But just because I don’t look back, doesn’t mean I want to see you go. I need you to understand that, Jamie Ryan. I don’t need you to over-analyze things that don’t need over-analyzing. I need you to let me go, Jamie Ryan, and I need you to know that I love you, and I thank you, from the bottom of my heart.”
She finally let go of my hands, gave me a slight nod, then turned and walked back to her home. I watched her, silently, keeping the promise I made so long ago to Jordan Barker and didn’t leave what was once known as Central Park until I saw, for sure, that she was safe inside.


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About the Author



With an impressive list of credentials earned over the course of two decades, Bernadette R. Giacomazzo is a multi-hyphenate in the truest sense of the word: an editor, writer, photographer, publicist, and digital marketing specialist who has demonstrated an uncanny ability to thrive in each industry with equal aplomb. Her work has been featured in Teen Vogue, People, Us Weekly, The Los Angeles Times, The New York Post, and many, many more. She served as the news editor of Go! NYC Magazine for nearly a decade, the executive editor of LatinTRENDS Magazine for five years, the eye candy editor of XXL Magazine for two years, and the editor-at-large at iOne/Zona de Sabor for two years. As a publicist, she has worked with the likes of Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson and his G-Unit record label, rapper Kool G. Rap, and various photographers, artists, and models. As a digital marketing specialist, Bernadette is Google Adwords certified, has an advanced knowledge of SEO, PPC, link-building, and other digital marketing techniques, and has worked for a variety of clients in the legal, medical, and real estate industries. 
Based in New York City, Bernadette is the co-author of Swimming with Sharks: A Real World, How-To Guide to Success (and Failure) in the Business of Music (for the 21st Century), and the author of the forthcoming dystopian fiction series, The Uprising. She also contributed a story to the upcoming Beyonce Knowles tribute anthology, The King Bey Bible, which will be available in bookstores nationwide in the summer of 2018. 

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Monday, July 16, 2018

{Book Blitz + Giveaway} Reign to Ruin - By Zoey Ellis

 

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Reign to Ruin - By Zoey Ellis
(Myth of Omega #4)
Publication Date: July 19th 2018
Genres: Adult, Dark Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance


He will ruin her – until she knows nothing but him 
The Alpha King. 
Corruption and sadism plague every corner of his kingdom. He remains in the center of it all; a handsome, charming, master manipulator.
Furious at the knowledge that rare Omegas hide in his castle, King Malloron uses magic and deception to draw one out. 
Striking a deal with her that he knows he will not honor, they begin an exchange of wits that intrigues him much more than it should.  
He forces her into the depravities of his dark world, determined to destroy her and use her for his own ends, only to find that he may not be the only one with the power to ruin. 
The Omega Diplomat. 
Trained to deal with the devious and treacherous people of the kingdom, Amara never anticipated tackling the biggest deceiver of them all. 
Desperate for his secrets, she has to be willing to be corrupted, dominated and shattered to get to the truth, but is soon horrified to learn that King Malloron’s reign goes deeper than just his kingdom; he rules her instincts too. 
Reign to Ruin is the first book in this couple’s story, but the fourth installment of the Myth of Omega series. This is a dark, erotic, Omegaverse romance. Cliff-hanger included. For fans of charmingly cruel Alpha anti-heroes, sassy Omega heroines, epic fantasy worlds and captive romances. Discover a magical kind of dark… 
Reign To Ruin is an explicit reading experience from sexual scenes to violence and language. Includes disturbing situations and romance of a dark nature. For readers aged 18 and over.


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EXCERPT

As she hovered in the center of the room, next to a solid wooden table, she heard the doors shut and lock behind her, and her heart began to pound. A room like this was not where she expected the king to take her.
The swish of his cloak came close behind her and she was rotated in the air until she faced him.
Amara had only ever seen the king from a distance. And even then, she tried not to let her eyes wander to him whenever he was nearby. None of the other real servants looked at him directly, and she had always copied their behavior and posture as much as possible to try to blend in. But now that she had the chance to scrutinize him up-close, it was like finally putting a face to the horrible mental depiction she had of the king for so long.
Unfortunately, he was extremely good-looking. It was said that most of the Visant family were, but she’d never seen him close enough to realize just how good-looking he was. His chiseled features and refined appearance suited the room they were in, yet didn’t seem to match his threatening appearance in the corridor, but she knew better than to take anything at face value with him.
His eyes were a deep brown, as was his hair, and both complemented his tan brown skin, but the other defining thing about him was his size. The man was enormous, even in the spacious room they were in. Perhaps because he was always well-dressed and surround by men of a similar size, he had never seemed quite so big from a distance.
While she examined him, the Alpha stared at her with interest, his eyes taking in everything about her. He then stepped back and began his assessment over her body, rotating her with the magic that held her to look over all areas of her, front and back. Anger trickled into Amara as he surveyed her. It was obvious he was sizing her up for his slave service, which infuriated her. If he thought she was going to allow herself to be the first Omega in over a century to be prostituted out to his dukes, lords, and noblemen, he had no idea who he was dealing with. There was plenty she had already seen in this room that could be used to enact the suicide protocol, and as soon as she had the change she would be following procedure. He was welcome to give her corpse to those depraved bastards—they would probably still use it anyway.
When he turned her back to face him, he observed for a long moment, an amusement growing among the curiosity in his eyes.
“Your anger is intriguing,” he murmured, lifting a hand to her face. A rough finger trailed from the corner of her eye down her cheek. “I have to wonder what you could possibly be angry about since you are the one conducting illegal activities in my castle.”
Amara held her eyes on him, even more annoyed she could not escape his touch. It sent a shiver down her, sparking a fear of strange men touching her while she was incapable of escaping.
“Admit it,” he said, tilting his head to watch her. “Admit your true purpose here. There is no point in continuing with this denial when I have you so tightly in my grasp.” His hand lowered down her neck to her chest. “I will not allow you any freedoms or any pleasures unless you are completely honest with me.”


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About the Author




Zoey Ellis writes dark-edged, speculative romances bursting with passionate, carnal steam. She loves tortured, possessive, alpha heroes and is obsessed with exploring love in its raw form and how that can manifest in different circumstances and settings. 
Her goal is to build a catalogue of thrilling, sexy, fantastical romances that come complete with roller-coaster experiences, unique worlds, and happy endings. Currently she writing M/F Omegaverse series Myth of Omega. 
Zoey is a Londoner, a bookaholic and a proud collector of OTT possessive book boyfriends she won't share. 
Snoop around her online home: www.zoeyellis.com 

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Saturday, July 14, 2018

{Book Blitz + Giveaway} Of Ashes & Sin - By Ariana Hawkes & K.N. Knight

 
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Of Ashes & Sin - By Ariana Hawkes & K. N. Knight
(Fire Trails, #1)
Publication Date: July 13th 2018
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance


A world without fire. Three sizzling shifters. One flame-haired hustler. An elemental bond that could bring light back to the world, or be the end of them…  
The last Phoenix has perished in a huge blaze of flames, extinguishing fire from the earth. Ranger Mason is a nineteen-year-old shifter whose spirit animal has not yet been fixed. An orphan, hustler and part-time exorcist, she scrapes a living in a dangerous, burned-out world, with no idea of the unique power she holds. That is, until a sexy tiger, bear and eagle shifter trio bursts into her life, convinced she’s the key to recreating fire. 
What none of them realizes is that she’s no fire elemental, but something even more rare and special…something that will create the strongest possible bond between them, but also threaten to destroy her. Ranger is the only one capable of uniting a dragon with the three water, earth and air elementals, but as the love bond between the four of them ignites, the guys are unwilling to risk her safety—even if it means restoring balance to the world. 
But Rael, Zain and Oran are not the only ones who have discovered Ranger’s gifts, and suddenly the decision is taken out of their hands. Will she be able to create peace between her three mates, who have vowed to do anything to protect her, and a dragon intent on keeping her in his cave as his personal, flame-haired treasure?

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EXCERPT


The guys went into the pool again after breakfast, their bronzed bodies glistening in the sunlight, but I kept my clothes on and took a walk around the perimeter of the area instead. I was edgy in a way I couldn’t explain. Yes, I was restless, but it wasn’t just that.
I looked over at the three of them. Oran was swimming, his muscular back and tight buns showing on the surface of the water, while Zain and Rael were stretched out naked, two perfect specimens of manhood. I laughed hollowly. This would be any woman’s ultimate fantasy. Am I crazy not to just relax and enjoy it while I can? But something kept tugging at the edges of my mind. Zain called to me and tried to get me to join them, but I waved at him and kept walking, completing one circuit after another.
“Ranger! Are you okay? You’re making me dizzy with all that pacing,” Rael called as I passed close by him.
I came to a stop. “What if—what if something goes wrong?” I said. To my dismay, I was close to tears.
“Come and sit down,” Zain said.
With a sigh, I went over to a rock that was close to all of them and sat down on it, cross-legged. “What if this big plan ends in disaster and ruins everything?”
“Ranger, listen to me,” Zain continued. “We’ll never let anything bad happen to you. Each of us would fight to the death before we’d let anyone or anything hurt you. You’ve got to understand that.”
“I’m sure we could fight one off. But what if there are lots of them?” My mind spiraled out of control as it tended to when I was anxious. What if someone was injured or killed? The thought of losing any one of them was like a punch in the guts. They were my mates. Mine. And then I started to breathe fast. I knew what the problem was, but I’d been trying not to admit it to myself: I was falling for the guys, all three of them. I had been since the beginning, and it scared the hell out of me. Accepting they were my mates, that we’d all look out for each other, and they’d all have sex with me was one thing. But realizing I had feelings for them was another. It made me vulnerable, and I didn’t like that one bit.
“Ranger? What is it?” The unaccustomed softness in Oran’s voice jolted me back to the present, and I realized he’d been calling my name for a while.
“I like you,” I blurted out. “I mean, I more than like you. I’m falling for you, all three of you.” And then I covered my face with both hands because I was so embarrassed.
Slowly, gently, my hands were tugged away from my face, and I opened my eyes to see all three of them had gathered in front of me and were looking at me intently.

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About the Author

About K.N. Knight 
K. N. Knight has been writing fantasy novels for the last twenty years and collecting katana swords for even longer than that. She has 35 bestselling novels under her belt and more than twice that number of swords. Now writing under her real name for the first time, she’s turned to reverse harem, because who wouldn’t. She’s known as Cayenne or even Cayenne Pepper in some circles and she lives with her husband and three boys in Seattle. When she’s not causing or fixing trouble, she enjoys shower sonatas, velvet cupcakes and drawing anime portraits. Sign up for updates at http://eepurl.com/dz63d1.
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorknknight
Email: kn@knknight.com

About Ariana Hawkes 
USA Today bestselling author Ariana Hawkes writes spicy romantic stories with lovable characters, plenty of suspense, and a whole lot of laughs. She told her first story at the age of four, and has been writing ever since, for both work and pleasure. A horse-lover, an ex-financial writer, a former competitive runner, and a Minoan civilization aficionado, she graduated in English and Latin Literature from Oxford University and nowadays lives in Massachusetts with her man and two huskies. 
Facebook: www.facebook.com/arianahawkes
Twitter: http://twitter.com/arianahawkes
Email: ariana@arianahawkes.com
Newsletter: http://eepurl.com/c-lAEf

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