AND NIGHT DESCENDS
Book 3 of the Small Gods Series AUTHOR: Bruce Blake
To raise the Small Gods, a Small God must die, When stars go out, the end is nigh. One must die to raise them all, Should Small Gods rise, man will fall, One can stop them, on darken’d wing, The firstborn child of the rightful king.
WHEN SHADOWS FALL…THE DARKNESS COMES…AND NIGHT DESCENDS
The moment Teryk and Danya, the royal siblings, spoke the words inscribed on the long-forgotten scroll, they foolishly set in motion events destined to bring about the prophecy’s predictions. Teryk is the firstborn, but why do the words only make sense to his sister?
As they each launch themselves recklessly into a heroic mission to save mankind, it seems inevitable that key elements in this game of the gods would be drawn to one another and collide with frightful and yet-unfathomable consequences.
With a Small God already captured and being dragged to his death by a colossal, bloodthirsty golem, is it too late to turn back fate? Can any of them find a way to resist their destinies?
Intrigue in the court, an impenetrable veil between two worlds, escape, sacrifice, retribution and magic pull the strings of these puppets of destiny on a massive, creation-spanning chessboard hidden in shadow, veiled in darkness, lost in the night.
Prologue
Long ago, blood and anger colored his dreams red every night until the night she came to him.
In his sleep, steel glinted through the haze of crimson, pain flashed. A coppery scent stirred him in his bed, rank bile soured his tongue, and Trenan woke with sweat on his brow and agony tearing through him from an arm no longer there. Every time he awakened, he reached out with a phantom hand, expecting—hoping—for fingers to brush the rough wool blanket or touch his face. But they found nothing because they remained attached to an arm rotting in the bottom of a ditch with the rest of the dead.
“At least the rest of you isn’t down there,” Erral had said with a chuckle one day as he sat beside his bunk, struggling to articulate his appreciation.
Trenan thought lying in the ditch with the dead might be better than losing the arm meant to wield his sword.
What good is a soldier with no hand to hold his weapon?
The one-armed swordsman stared up at the dark ceiling, the muscles in his jaw clenched hard against the throb in his shoulder and the knot clogging his throat. Since the days of his childhood, his life had been based on what that arm could do with a sword. It performed feats others couldn’t, moved in ways and with speed beyond the abilities of but a few men. It took lives, saved lives, helped to put down a rebellion.
But no more. Off it came, a sacrifice to save the king from a blow meant to separate his royal head from his regal body. A more than fair trade in the kingdom’s mind, but a bitter mouthful to a master swordsman left with the wrong arm.
Trenan closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose, filling his lungs to capacity and using the air to squash regret from his chest. Sacrificing himself for the king was expected of him and an honor. But it wasn’t he who’d been sacrificed but his arm, with the rest of him left behind to cope without it.
I’d rather have died.
And they knew it; it was the reason his chambers were devoid of sharp weapons.
“Trenan?”
The whispered word didn’t startle him, but he was surprised by the timbre of the voice speaking it. The doctor assigned to his bedside like a hairy-chested wet nurse would return soon to touch his forehead to gauge his temperature, or give him more of the acrid herbs to hide a pain that would never leave, but the man charged with caring for him didn’t speak with a woman’s voice.
Trenan dragged his lids open, cocked his head. The woman perched on the chair set beside his bunk was the last person he’d have expected to find.
Her hair, which he’d only ever seen her wear up, hung loose past her shoulders in waves the color of honey tinted with a few drops of blood. Her eyes sparkled with the dim light of the taper flickering in the far corner of the swordsman’s chamber, worry plain in their set. Concern tilted the corners of the full lips of her exquisite mouth.
“My queen.”
Trenan scrambled to push himself up on his elbows, forgot he had but one, and tumbled onto his side on the mattress, jarring his wound. He gritted his teeth and pressed his lips together to keep from crying out, but when he found the queen’s hand upon him, he forgot the pain.
“Are you all right?”
He looked into the eyes of the young woman who’d seen the seasons turn eighteen times since her birth and once since she’d become wife to the king. The knot of despair that had choked him dissipated, the pain in his shoulder faded. He nodded.
“Yes, my queen.”
“Ishla,” she said and brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. “You poor man.”
She settled back on the edge of the chair, removing her touch from his face, but the feel of it remained with him. He struggled himself up to sitting, the wool blanket falling from his bare chest as he stretched to see past the wife of his friend. Behind her, the chamber lay empty.
“Where is Gollard?” He looked to her face, found her still gazing at him, so diverted his eyes. “Where is the doctor?”
“Do you need him?”
She stood, took a half-step toward the door and stopped, awaiting his reply. He’d have answered at once but, when she stood, he saw she’d chosen not to wear one of the elaborate dresses he’d seen her wear every other time he’d been in her presence. Instead, she wore white bed clothes with sleeve cuffs that clung to her wrists and a hem that brushed her ankles.
“N...no. I’m fine, just wondering where he’d gone.”
Ishla clasped her hands in front of her, lowered her chin to regard her intertwined fingers.
“I had him called away.”
Trenan stared at the young woman. Now her eyes weren’t upon him, he let his gaze linger, saw that the taper burning behind her cast her outline in the fine cloth. Trenan swallowed hard.
“Called away? For what?”
She raised her head, making him slip his gaze back to her face, then gestured toward the side of the bed.
“May I?”
Trenan looked from her to the bed and back, uncertain what she meant, at first. He cleared his throat and nodded.
“Of course, my quee...Ishla.”
She alighted on the edge of the mattress close enough Trenan felt her warmth. Her perfume filled his nose—not a cologne she’d put on, but the smell of her hair, the scent of her skin. Apprehension stirred in the swordsman’s chest, excitement, confusion.
Why is she here?
“I’ve come to thank you for saving the king, Trenan.”
It might have surprised him that she read his thoughts, but what else might he have been thinking? Trenan shifted away, trying to quell his excited discomfort.
“There’s no need. The king has conveyed his appreciation with the best surgeons the kingdom can offer and his promise to take care of me as long as I need.”
The words were Erral’s, but this marked the first time Trenan had spoken them aloud. They tasted of vinegar on his tongue, but the queen’s sweetness was enough to overpower the bitter morsel.
Ishla wiggled nearer, closing the distance he’d created, her lithe body making little impression on the mattress. His eyes strayed from hers, fell to her curves beneath the bed clothes before returning to find a smile beginning on her lips.
“That is Erral’s way of thanking you, not mine. And I suspect his method may be more hurtful than fulfilling.”
She lifted a hand and touched her palm to his cheek. Trenan nearly jerked away out of sense of duty to king and kingdom but didn’t for fear of offending the queen. And because he liked the way her warm flesh felt against his.
Ishla moved closer and leaned in, leaving a hand's-breadth between the tips of their noses. Her breath touched his lips, her gaze found its way inside him.
“It is my thanks I bring tonight.”
“And Gollard?”
“Won’t be back until morning.”
“Who else knows you had him called away?”
She shook her head. “A queen can be discreet.”
Trenan licked his lips, resisted the urge to close the space between them. A plethora of furtive smiles returned to his memory. From the first time he’d seen his friend’s wife—the queen of the kingdom—they’d been there, finding their way to her lips whenever their eyes met. As much as he wanted them to be for him, about him, he’d convinced himself her nature and her youth brought them forth, convinced himself the tingle-inspiring smiles and gentle blushes weren’t meant for him.
Now he didn’t know if he should be elated he’d been wrong, or fearful.
His gaze slipped form her eyes to her mouth. He imagined his lips pressing against hers, their tongues finding each other, until the king’s angry visage intruded on his thoughts.
“Erral—”
“Is your friend,” she finished for him. “And my husband, but he isn’t here. There is you and me, and no one else knows I’m here.”
Her hand left his face, fell to rest on his upper chest. The tight thrill swirling beneath his ribs expanded, flowing into his stomach, lower, stirring other things. Ishla held his gaze but moved no more, staring into his eyes with her lips parted, her head tilted.
This is wrong.
Trenan’s mind continued to resist even as he leaned forward and their mouths came together.
***
Ishla ran the tip of her finger along the swordsman’s breast bone, tracing a line through the cooling perspiration. The ache in Trenan’s shoulder he’d forgotten as the queen expressed her appreciation crept back as though someone pressed the tip of a stick into his wound.
The queen peered at him and he held her gaze. Though neither spoke, words swam through his mind—things to say, plans never to be executed, the vision of an impossible life. He thought he saw the same shining in her eyes, hidden behind a mix of nurturing care and sadness.
After a moment, the breathtaking young woman climbed off him, her weight lifting from his hips as another palpable one settled into his chest.
“I must go before I am missed,” she said, one corner of her mouth lifting in a lopsided smile.
She bent and retrieved her nightgown from the floor. Trenan watched as she shook it out, revelling in the way her muscles moved beneath her porcelain skin, the tremor shaking her breasts. She stretched her arms toward the ceiling and slipped her hands into the sleeves, let the nightshirt fall around her like the curtain falling at the end of a masterful play.
A performance Trenan never wanted to end.
The gown fell into place and she smoothed the front with her palms. The swordsman reached out, a jolt of pain shooting along the right side of his chest, and grasped her wrist, coaxed her back toward the bed.
“When will I see you again?”
She looked at him, the smile still on her face, but he watched the sliver of sadness in her eyes overtake it. The queen said nothing in response; she didn’t need to. He’d already known the answer before his lips spoke the words—this was a dangerous game they shouldn’t play again.
Dangerous, but worth the risk.
Ishla leaned over and put her lips to his, the passion and longing of their earlier kisses usurped by regret, mourning. The touch lingered, and he thought to grab her, pull her to him, but the moment passed and she moved away. Trenan released his hold on her wrist and watched her stride across the room to the chamber door.
She let herself out without a backward glance.
***
“I’ve seen the seasons pass nearly fifteen times,” Dansil mumbled under his breath as he stalked through the castle halls. “I’ll be a man soon enough; bitch can’t tell me what to do.”
His cheek still stung in precisely the shape of his mother’s hand, but her punishments didn’t hurt like they did in his youth. Then, they’d caused him more than physical pain; it was as though she’d struck his soul.
But if something gets beaten enough times, it toughens.
He came to a corner and slowed his pace, peeked around before continuing. Getting caught wandering the halls wouldn’t get him killed, but none of the king’s men would be impressed should they discover him. Even with the red haze of anger at his mother hanging around him, he knew better than to be careless—he’d crept these halls enough times.
Dansil followed the hall and went up the next staircase, avoiding the routes the guards followed when patrolling in the evening. At the top of the stairs, he paused a second time, checking both ways along the corridor. Thick carpet in a shade of deep red covered the floor in both directions; portraits of people he neither recognized nor cared to recognize lined the walls.
On a whim, he took a right and maintained a slow but steady pace, the muscles in his thighs tight and ready to hie him away should one of the many doors lining the hall open and a visiting noble step out. He figured none would this late at night, but better ready than caught.
The end of the hall intersected another; here he stopped again and found himself rewarded for his care. Halfway along the corridor, a door opened. A woman clothed in white bedclothes emerged, the wall sconces behind her illuminating the outline of her body through the cloth.
Dansil sucked a sharp breath at the sight and his hand darted to his groin. The woman stood for a short time, hand on the door’s handle, her head hung. Her long hair caressed her arms and shoulders, the light highlighted the shape of her breasts, the curve at the small of her back. After a moment, she raised her head, glanced along the hall away from where Dansil peered around the corner, then swivelled her head toward him. The young man faded back from the corner before she saw him, a silent curse on his lips.
He waited, breath held, resisting the urge to peep around the corner again. If he did, and she was walking away, the wall sconce’s light might shine between her legs, outlining the most secret of places. But if she headed toward him, he’d be discovered.
The whisper of footsteps padding on the rug interrupted his thought.
She’s coming this way.
No time to hurry back the way he’d come; if he tried, she’d see him, even if she didn’t turn his direction. Lips squeezed hard together, he pressed himself against the wall and hoped she’d continue straight along the corridor.
A moment later, she passed by and Dansil saw her face. His eyes widened and his grip on his half-swollen man thing released.
The queen!
As she hurried down the corridor, Dansil stepped out from his hiding spot to watch her go, forgetting the possibility she might glance back and see him. She didn’t and, instead of admiring the swing of her hips, the shape of her body hidden beneath the bedclothes, the young man wondered why she’d be out alone at this time of night. When she disappeared around the far corner, he peered back toward the door she’d exited.
The curiosity was too much for Dansil. He crept along the corridor in the direction from which the queen had come, his hand extended and fingertips dragging along the rough stone wall. Every door appeared the same as the others, but he’d noted the one from which she’d emerged: the third on the left. A moment later, he stood in front of the plain wood slab, staring at the handle. After a quick survey of the empty hall, he leaned close, pressed his ear to the door, but heard no sounds within.
Excited saliva filled his mouth. He swallowed hard, raised his hand and rapped his knuckles against the wood.
The knock garnered no immediate response so Dansil assumed the chamber empty until a man’s voice spoke a single word.
“Ishla?”
The curiosity burning in his brain tingled into his chest and along his limbs. The hand he still held raised after knocking fell to the door handle, gripped it. He didn’t recognize the voice or know who might reside within, but was aware he shouldn’t enter any room in the castle without invitation. He also knew no invitation would come if he waited for one, and he’d never discover who the door concealed.
Dansil set his jaw and pushed the door open.
A musky odor filled the air in the room, one he recognized from the occasions when his mother came home with a man and sent him off to his chambers. The furnishings were sparse and a man lay upon a bed to the left, one shoulder wrapped with a pink-tinged bandage where his arm was missing. The tender expression on his face went stony when he spied the lad.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“Beg your pardon, m’lord swordsman. Wrong chamber.”
Dansil backed out of the room and closed the door behind him, a wicked grin creeping onto his lips as he went. The door clicked shut; he hurried away along the hall lest the man rise and come after him.
Trenan and the queen. The king’s friend and his wife. Together.
He rounded the corner and hastened to the staircase, the path of his future falling into view.
Sometimes, one unexpected turn of events can change a boy’s life.
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A hundred hundred seasons have turned since the Goddess banished the Small Gods to the sky, leaving the land to mankind alone.
For Prince Teryk, life behind the castle walls is boring and uneventful until he stumbles upon an arcane scroll in a long-forgotten chamber. The parchment speaks of Small Gods, the fall of man, and the kingdom's savior—the firstborn child of the rightful king. It's his opportunity to prove himself to his father, the king, and assure his place in history. All he needs to do is find the man from across the sea—a man who can't possibly exist—and save mankind.
But ancient magic has been put in motion by a mysterious cult determined to see the Small Gods reborn. Powerful forces clash, uncaring for the lives of mortals in their struggle to prevent the return of the banished ones, or aid in their rebirth.
Named in a prophecy or not, what chance does a cocky prince who barely understands the task laid before him stand in a battle with the gods?
A disgraced Goddess Mother wanders blind and alone, praying for her agony to end. When a helpful apostle finds her, could it truly be salvation, or does worse torment lie ahead?
A sister struggles to understand a prophecy that may not be meant for her while her brother fights for his life. If the firstborn child of the rightful king dies, will it spell the end for everyone?
Darkness and shadow creep across the land in the form of a fierce clay golem animated by its sculptor's blood. It seeks a mythical creature whose sacrifice portends the return of ancient evil banished from the world long ago. With its return will come the fall of man.
As the game unfolds, the Small Gods watch from the sky, waiting for their time to come and their chance to rise again. They wait for the fall of shadows, the coming of the darkness.
They wait for night to descend.
Bruce Blake lives on Vancouver Island in British Columbia, Canada. When pressing issues like shovelling snow and building igloos don't take up his spare time, Bruce can be found taking the dog sled to the nearest coffee shop to work on his short stories and novels.
Actually, Victoria, B.C. is only a couple hours north of Seattle, Wash., where more rain is seen than snow. Since snow isn't really a pressing issue, Bruce spends more time trying to remember to leave the "u" out of words like "colour" and "neighbour" than he does shovelling (and watch out for those pesky double l's). The father of two, Bruce is also the trophy husband of a burlesque diva.
Bruce's first short story, "Another Man's Shoes" was published in the Winter 2008 edition of Cemetery Moon. Another short, "Yardwork," was made into a podcast in Oct., 2011 by Pseudopod. Bruce's first Icarus Fell novel, "On Unfaithful Wings", was published in Dec., 2011 while the follow up, "All Who Wander Are Lost", came out in July, 2012. The third in the series, "Secrets of the Hanged Man", came out in July, 2013. The first part of his Khirro's Journey epic fantasy trilogy, "Blood of the King", was released Sept., 2012, book 2, "Spirit of the King," in Dec., 2012, and book 3, "Heart of the King," in Feb., 2013.
The two books in the Small Gods series, "When Shadows Fall" and "The Darkness Comes", were released in 2013, after which Bruce took a year out to concentrate on his family and career. Book three in the Small Gods series is Bruce Blake's current project.
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REEVE IS HERE!
Meet Reeve & Emily in First Touch by Laurelin Paige! This highly anticipated release is NOW LIVE!
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Blurb
When Emily Wayborn goes home to visit her mom while on hiatus from her hit TV show, she receives a voicemail from her former best friend, Amber. Though the two were once notorious party girls, they haven't spoken in years. Although the message might sound benign to anyone else, Amber uses a safe word that Emily recognizes, a word they always used to get out of sticky situations during their wild days. And what's more chilling than the voicemail: it turns out that Amber has gone missing. Determined to track down her friend, Emily follows a chain of clues that lead her to the enigmatic billionaire Reeve Sallis, a hotelier known for his shady dealings and play boy reputation. Now, in order to find Amber, Emily must seduce Reeve to learn his secrets and discover the whereabouts of her friend. But as she finds herself more entangled with him, she finds she's drawn to Reeve for more than just his connection to Amber, despite her growing fear that he may be the enemy. When she's forced to choose where her loyalty lies, how will she decide between saving Amber and saving her heart?
Excerpt
“Tell me something,” he said, overtly switching gears. “What’s with you and Chris Blakely?” He’d been watching me at the Expo, then. Before he’d come outside after me. His question about Chris was spoken casually, but it was purposeful. A more naïve woman might have missed it, but I was too experienced with men like him. He wanted me to know that I was in his sightline. That this was what it meant to be part of his life. That he would monitor me, if he felt like it; he’d rule me. And he expected me to submit. I couldn’t decide if that freaked me out or thrilled me. So I played coy. “He’s an actor. We’ve worked together on occasion. I guess we’re friends.” I walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cupboard. Chewing my lip, I filled it with filtered water from the sink and debated full disclosure regarding Chris…It was a long shot, but since I hoped to contact Chris for more information about Missy at some point, I decided the less I said the better. I drank some of my water then set the glass down and leaned across the counter to watch Reeve. His fingers trailed across the spines. I couldn’t see the exact books, so I tried to think what was there. My Katherine Hepburn autobiography. My copy of Rebecca. He stopped and pulled one from the shelf then flipped through it lazily. This one I recognized from the cover. PostSecret: Extraordinary Confessions from Ordinary Lives, one of my coffee table books. I collected them and had so many that most lived on my bookshelf rather than on my coffee table. This particular book was a printing of blog posts that shared secrets anonymously. Parts of it read like my diary, and I’d marked several pages with Post-it notes so I could easily come back to them. Reading it had always felt comforting. Seeing it in Reeve’s hands, though, wasn’t comforting. He flipped through the pages, stopping on the ones I’d tagged. Chuckling at some. Growing somber at others. At one, he lifted his head toward me and nodded slightly as if confirming what he’d just thought, what he’d just read. I ran through several confessions I knew by heart, trying to imagine which it had been-- “Again and again. Used.” “I’m more scared of court than I was when he almost killed me.” “I would do absolutely anything in the whole world if I thought it would make her happy.” Whichever ones he was reading, any of them—all of them—were private. Too private for him to know spoke to me. Yet, I didn’t stop him. I let him sink one layer deeper under my skin. It was bad enough that he was in my apartment—in an apartment that I paid for myself. His presence reminded me of a time when everything I owned had been given to me by men. The things I had now, though small in number and worth, were all mine. Trying to distract myself from the anxiety Reeve’s invasion caused, I asked, “Why do you want to know about Chris anyway? Do you want me to fix you up? He’s got a fiancé, you know.” Reeve shot me a glare. “Cute.” He put the book back on my shelf and moved toward me. When he reached the counter, he said, “Chris doesn’t look at you like he has a fiancé.” Ah. I’d forgotten Reeve was a jealous man. Or I’d underestimated the depth of his envy. Strangely, it was a fairly common trait of the kind of men I’d involved myself with in the past, the kind of men who had everything. I knew how to pander to them, knew what to say to put their insecurities to rest. No one could ever be man enough to compare with you, I’d say. It might have been what Reeve was looking for in regards to Chris. But I couldn’t bring myself to give it to him. “A lot of men don’t look at me like they have a fiancé.” Reeve leaned across the opposite side of the counter so we were face-to-face. “I don’t like that.” Jealousy was generally boring, yet, on Reeve, it was fascinating. And, I suspected, dangerous. “You don’t? What are you going to do about it? Lock me up and never let me out in public?” “I have some nice secluded resorts I think you’d like. My island properties are so beautiful you’ll forget you’re in a prison.” He flashed his dimple. It was subtle, only noticeable when he smiled in a certain way, the way he was smiling now. And his eyes…I’d thought they were blue, but now I saw green flecks. They caught in the light. They caught me in them, made me feel warm. Made me feel trapped. I stood up straight, distancing myself without moving away. “Look at you. Acting as if you have some claim to me. I think I already blew you off the other night.” “Look at you, acting as if I’m a person that you blow off. I think I already warned you about me.” He was teasing as I’d been. But he wasn’t all at the same time. My heart skipped a beat. “Another threat?” “If you want it to be.” He looked at me like he had earlier—that intent way that saw through me, into me. Saw all my dark parts. In a way, he was showing me his darkness as well. My lip quivered, but I wasn’t scared. Well, not scared enough. “I do.” His eyes sparked, and with that simple phrase, we entered into an agreement. He would have me. He would fuck me. He would bring me into his world. And in return I’d let him break me.
Last Kiss (Book Two) A First and Last Novel
Releases June 14th, 2016 Pre-order NOW! Amazon US: http://amzn.to/1O1imHh Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/1mqjjlX iBooks: http://apple.co/1O1iFSD Nook: http://bit.ly/1kAkMnR Kobo: http://bit.ly/1kAkRIm About the Author:
Laurelin Paige is the NY Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Fixed Trilogy. She's a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there's kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her husband doesn't seem to complain, however. When she isn't reading or writing sexy stories, she's probably singing, watching Game of Thrones and the Walking Dead, or dreaming of Michael Fassbender. She's also a proud member of Mensa International though she doesn't do anything with the organization except use it as material for her bio.
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GIVEAWAY
$50 Amazon Gift Card Swag Pack Title: Getting Lucky Anthology Authors: J.L. Beck, RD Berg, L.B. Dunbar, Rebecca Elise, Ashley Hampton, Kelly Moran, K. Renee, Mayra Statham, & Shantel Tessier Release Date: March 15, 2016 Publisher/Cover Designer: Underdog Photography & Publishing, LLC All proceeds donated to NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness)
Worth the Chase by J.L. Beck
Unlucky in Love by RD Berg
Chance Encounter by LB Dunbar
Lucky Stud by Rebecca Elise
Love at Lucky Stables by Ashley Hampton
Lucky Me by Kelly Moran
Right Kind of Wrong by K. Renee
Lucky for You by Mayra Statham
Wish Me Luck by Shantel Tessier
Worth the Chase by J.L. Beck
Gia King and Chase Winchester come together in an explosive romance with one chance encounter at love. College, romance, and two families who were hell bent on being enemies. Can love between these two really transpire or will everyone else have the last say?
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Unlucky in Love by RD Berg
Two days ago Chloe James considered herself the luckiest woman alive, as she excitedly did the final preparations for her dream wedding. How did she end up in the back of an ambulance in her wedding dress with the brazen paramedic, Braden Dean, on her wedding night? Chloe soon discovers her luck well has run dry, and she just might have become Unlucky In Love.
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Liars and cheats, that's what Americans were to me, Chance Fitzgerald. My first impression was a bit skewed then of Keli Donagel. She was breathtakingly beautiful, until I heard that damn accent. Nothing good ever came from the Americans I encountered, most of all those who possessed something I want returned. What a corker that Fate is, though? She had other plans for me.
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When Kurt Davis let Briony Jensen move in as a favor to his cousin, it was only supposed to be temporary. He never expected to fall for her, but he is determined to make her his.
Just when he thinks he is getting close, Briony drops a bomb on him, forcing him to make a a difficult decision. Does he let her go or beg her to stay?
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Mystery surrounds Lucky Stables. Many, like Emily Lane's parents, fell in love there. After tragedy struck, Emily ran far away,believing the stables were cursed. In Emily's absence, Shane Patterson has stepped in to help Emily's aging father. When Emily returns home, will Shane help her believe in love and luck
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Declan O'Leary's family is cursed. For the past one-hundred years, bad things happen if they fall in love. So Declan lives his life onewoman at a time. Until he meets Lily Durand and he finds himself wishing for a forever that can never be. Yet their fate encounter and one week of sexual, intimate bliss just might be enough to turn his luck around.
Right Kind of Wrong by K. Renee
Dannicka Grady has no idea she's in trouble. When her sister Sage sends in a friend to protect her, the sparks fly. Sawyer "Saw" O'Brien is a dirty talking biker, and Dannicka never expected to be drawn to a man like him, especially since their worlds are so different. Can Sawyer protect her and win her heart at the same time?
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Ready for a fresh start, single mom Keira Jennings has discovered a slice of in heaven in the mountain town of Whispering Springs,California. Police chief Rex Malone is smitten at first sight for the charming new resident of his hometown. After a routine stop sparks fly. Has Keira's luck changed for the better? Or is Rex just like every man she's ever met?
Wish Me Luck by Shantel Tessier
I've always considered myself a lucky man. Women and money both come easily. That is until I meet Ashlyn. What was supposed to be fun and simple turns hard and complicated. I'm Ryder O'Kane, and I have fallen for a woman who made one night more memorable than any woman before her. It's funny how luck runs out when you need it the most.
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J.L. BECK
RD BERG
RD Berg lives in the great state of Texas with her three boys who drive her to the brink of insanity most days. She loves to read, write and watch her two favorite shows, Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead. When she isn't enthralled with a novel or a gory show, you can find her in the stands loudly cheering on her boys at their basketball and football games. She has three strong beliefs in life; Vanilla cake and Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla ice cream should be a major food group, Halloween should be celebrated every month, and Harry Potter's birthday should be a national holiday.
L.B. DUNBAR
I'd love to say I've written for 10,000 hours, and that makes me a pro. But I can't say that. What I can say is I had a story in my head that wouldn't go away. I thought typing it in my computer would be the end of things, but it only led to another story and another. I love reading, so characters in my head isn't something new. What is new is my creation of them. Hope you enjoy my favorites as much as I do. Happy reading! Facebook Groups: http://www.facebook.com/groups/737318906359166/ http://www.facebook.com/groups/485611674920743/
REBECCA ELISE
Rebecca lives in Southeastern Pennsylvania with her daughter. She has a degree in Communications and Journalism with a focus in Corporate Communications and Public Relations. Three things Rebecca loves are Coldplay, a bowl of half melted ice cream (any flavor!) and a glass of red wine. When she is not writing, Rebecca can be found with her nose in a variety of dirty romance novels, playing with her daughter or hanging out with friends and family. While Rebecca has been writing for years, The Subzero Series is her first published work.
ASHLEY HAMPTON
Ashley Hampton works as a Licensed Psychologist in private practice during the day. When she leaves work, she puts on her writer and photographer hats and enjoys living in the worlds created in her mind. She lives near her hometown of Birmingham, Alabama with her cat, Gemma. Ashley wanted to find a creative way to meld her love for music and psychology with writing, and the Southern Rock Lyrics series was born. With other series planned, Ashley wants to write in the romance, erotica, and psychological thriller genres.
KELLY MORAN
Kelly's been known to say that she gets her ideas from everyone and everything around her and there's always a book playing out in her head. No one who knows her bats an eyelash when she talks to herself. Kelly is a Catherine Award-Winner, Readers Choice Finalist, and earned one of the 10 Best Reads of 2013 by USA TODAY's HEA. She is a proud Romance Writers of America member. Kelly's interests include: sappy movies, MLB, NFL, driving others insane, and sleeping when she can. She is a closet caffeine junkie and chocoholic, but don't tell anyone. She resides in Wisconsin with her husband, three sons, and her black lab. Most of her family lives in the Carolinas, so she spends a lot of time there as well. Join Kelly's Street Team: https://www.facebook.com/groups/moransmoxies/
K. RENEE
K. Renee is from sunny, California. Creative by nature, she decided to put her imagination to paper. K. Renee is an avid reader. During the day she works in an office and at night she writes. These stories have been in her head for years and are finally coming out on paper.
MAYRA STATHAM I have always had an addiction to books. Once upon a time I wrote one, but was easily discouraged. Today is a new day and have decided to put my work out there. My first series is called 6 degrees of separation... basing it on the theory where we are all connected, even if at the moment we might now know it, later down the road we see it. The first book of the series is Crown's Chance at Love. This is Sabrina Miller & Michael Crown's story. A story about second and sometimes even third chances, because everyone deserves love. Join Mayra's Street Team: https://www.facebook.com/groups/950235454992239/
SHANTEL TESSIER Shantel is a Texas born girl who now lives in Tulsa, Oklahoma with her high school sweetheart, who is a wonderful, supportive husband and their three year old little princess. She loves to spend time cuddled up on the couch with a good book. She considers herself extremely lucky to get to be a stay at home wife and mother. Going to concerts and the movies are just a few of her favorite things to do. She hates coffee, but loves wine. She and her husband are both huge football fans, college and NFL. And she has to feed her high heel addiction by shopping for shoes weekly. Although she has a passion to write, her family is most important to her. She loves spending evenings at home with her husband and daughter, along with their cat and dog.
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