October 28, 2011
TIME TO HOWL
about NATHAN’S ANGEL. This is a new release for uber creative Melisssa Bradley available at Amber Quill Press – Amber Heat. If you’re reading pleasure includes Gay, Dark Fantasy, Werewolf, or Shapeshifter, then you’re going to love this compelling story.
ISBN 13: 978-1-61124-191-4
Sometimes, the laws of Heaven were meant to be broken…
When his soul mate is stolen from Paradise and reincarnated, Ramiel, angel of death and transformation, defies Celestial Law to find out why. As punishment for his crime, he is banished to Earth in human form without his powers. His only hope lies in recovering the grace he lost in his fall from the Divine Realm…
Nathan, a beta werewolf, knows all too well what it’s like to be vulnerable and at the mercy of unfair people and situations. He is considered weak in the eyes of the alphas of his pack. Ramiel literally falling into his life changes him. Determined to help the sexy angel, he takes charge of the situation and to his surprise, begins to exhibit some rather alpha behavior…
As they search, a white hot, forbidden fire ignites between them, an inferno that sets them ablaze, fusing them body and mind. A passion that makes them question everything they’ve ever known. But when Ramiel’s grace is found, will they have the strength to let each other go?
The angel stiffened and bowed his head. “I do not know what overcame me. I am weakened and in a form I have not taken in millennia. I have no control, I…” He trailed off, exhaling sharply.
Nathan tugged at Ramiel until the angel turned to face him. “No matter what you are, you’re human now and close quarters plus attraction equals lust, desire, whatever you want to call it. Trust me. I’m half human and half animal, if anyone can understand, it’s me. ‘Your reaction was quite understandable.’” A half smile quirked the side of Ramiel’s mouth as Nathan repeated the angel’s own words back to him. Apparently not all humor was lost on the angel, then.
He stared at Nathan through the gold silk of his bangs and Nathan’s chest went tight. Without thought, he reached up to palm Ramiel’s cheeks. The lost look in his eyes hit Nathan deep and he was overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him, to ease the loneliness Ramiel must surely be feeling, exiled from his own kind. He raised up, tilting his head…
Ramiel’s mouth crashed onto his, a hungry, elemental force that caught him by surprise. Pent-up need emanated from Ramiel and Nathan speared his fingers through Ramiel’s hair, dragging the angel deeper into the kiss, letting him know it was all right, that he could take whatever Ramiel had to give.
With a low growl, Ramiel hauled Nathan tight against his big body, his hands grabbing Nathan’s ass. Ramiel’s tongue licked along Nathan’s lips, then plunged deep inside, stroking and twining with Nathan’s.
Ramiel’s taste was a wild kaleidoscope of flavor. Spicy and sweet with a hint of the meaty burger he had just eaten. It teased at the back of Nathan’s mind, a long forgotten treasure rediscovered. Pleasure overrode any more coherent thought like a tsunami and Nathan was swept up in its wake, drowning in sensation. His erection pulsed behind his zipper, a primitive, throbbing heat that tightened his balls.
Nathan wanted nothing more than to be skin to skin with Ramiel, exploring every plane and hollow of him. He needed to be closer, with no barrier between them.
Ramiel groaned, stumbled and the two of them nearly toppled over. Nathan clutched him, balanced on his feet and averted disaster. He locked eyes with Ramiel, their breath coming in rough gasps, and noted the pallor of the angel’s skin beneath the sex flush.
“Come on. I think we need to get you into bed for some serious rest.”
Ramiel stroked a finger along Nathan’s jaw, with a banked fire in the silvery depths of his eyes. Nathan regretted saying a thing.
“I have no desire to sleep. I prefer very much to continue what has begun.”
Learn more about talented Melissa Bradley and her other exciting novels on Melissa’s Imaginarium.
I’ll be back next week. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
October 21, 2011
DO YOU HEAR THE VOICES?
Today we have the awesome award winning author Beth Anderson with us promoting her latest book RAVEN TALKS BACK, the first in the new Raven Morressey series and a dynamite read.
Beth is a dear friend and multi-published in several genres, including romance and mainstream crime fiction. A full time author, she lives in a Chicago, Illinois suburb. Beth has appeared on Chicago’s WGN Morning Show, The ABC Evening News, as well as numerous other radio and cable television shows. She has guest lectured at Purdue University and many libraries and writers’ conferences. She loves music, particularly jazz.
RAVEN TALKS BACK has received outstanding reviews. Here’s one of many:
Five Stars! “Can’t wait for the next in the series of Raven Morressey’s mysteries. Three murders in one little Alaskan village, a family torn apart as bodies are discovered, an 8-year-old fun-loving boy unable to speak from the shock of seeing the first body, a cop mystified by dead bodies turning up, and town people so defensive, keeps this book quite exciting. There are many twists and turns as you wonder who is really guilty. I’ve read several of this author’s books but this one outdoes them all and I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a good mystery” -Bingo0605
RAVEN TALKS BACK
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Raven Morressey lives the good life. Nice home, husband, three healthy children, and it’s finally summertime, when life is again lovely in Valdez, Alaska. All this explodes one morning when builders, digging up her back yard, uncover a recently murdered headless, handless female body covered with scarification—hundreds of colored designs cut into the skin to resemble tattoos. As if this isn’t enough, where the corpse’s head should have been is a large rock with a face painted on that resembles an Alaska Native mask.
Raven’s eight year old son, Timmy, is the first one to see the body and is suddenly unable to walk or respond in any way. On that same day, Raven hears the voice of her long dead Athabascan father coming from Timmy, who is unaware of the ancient hunting chants he sings in his sleep and the words he suddenly speaks in Raven’s native tongue—a language he does not know.
Jack O’Banion, Valdez’s Chief of Police for the past few years, faced with his first murder case in his city, begins his official investigation. Everywhere he goes he finds nothing but deception. The town seems to have closed into itself and nobody will tell him anything that might help him solve this case. Then one murder quickly morphs into two, then three, and the Alaska State Troopers are hot on his back to find the killer now.
Between Raven’s voices and the visions she develops, and Jack, whose career as well as his contented life in Valdez are on the line, they know they have to find the killer and restore some sanity to the town—not to mention their own lives, which are quickly unraveling out of control.
The thought had never entered my mind that I might find myself standing in my back yard shuddering with nausea and disbelief, staring down at a nude female body with no head or hands, and equally horrifying, a painted rock close to where her head would have been. The only other thing missing was blood.
Mark Taylor’s men had graded and leveled our yard the previous week, ready to set the foundation for the attached greenhouse my husband, Red, had been promising for years. Alaska winter days are so short and dark that nothing grows without a heated greenhouse and ultraviolet light. Of all the things I longed for in the wintertime, I missed fresh flowers most.
As was often the case in Valdez, things got done whenever they got done no matter which day it was. I hadn’t known they were coming on Saturday. Mark and his men had simply pulled into the driveway and started working.
My eight-year-old son Timmy stood under the tall pine in the northeast corner of the yard with his thumb in his mouth. I froze when I turned and saw him because he hadn’t done that for three years, ever since he’d started school. I hurried over to him, pulling him close. He shivered when my fingers brushed over his arm and his skin felt cold, although it was quite warm that morning and the fog was already beginning to dissipate over the Sound.
“Timmy, are you hurt?” I forced my voice to stay calm because his black eyes were ringed with white and his lips were a bluish tint.
He pointed toward Jack O’Banion, our chief of police, without making a sound. I frowned, puzzled by his silence. Timmy had never had a problem speaking; he’d been talking nonstop since he was eleven months old. Now he just shook his head and looked back down at the ground.
Alice, my daughter, was still at the door, where we’d brushed past her in our rush to get outside after she’d awakened us from a sound sleep a few minutes before. I beckoned for her to come.
A surrealistic film seemed to float over the yard as she headed my way. Although she was only twelve, she was constantly swiping her long black hair away from her eyes the way girls did on TV, and lately she had taken to walking in slow motion, her hips moving in a deliberate way that made me nervous. Her voice, shrill with fear before, was now flat and emotionless. “I don’t think he can talk. He saw it first.”
I glanced down at Timmy again. One of the straps on his overalls had come unbuttoned. His black hair hung down over his eyebrows, reminding me as it always did of my father and his father before him when they returned, sweaty and exhausted, from their caribou hunting trips.
His feet were bare, as usual. They were never cold until after termination dust, first snow, appeared on the surrounding mountains early in September, when the temperature would dip below twenty degrees at night. Other than that he went barefoot everywhere, but today his feet were blue and mottled. I tried to pick him up to carry him into the house where I could warm him, but he seemed to have gained twenty pounds overnight. I could not lift him and he could not move.
“Red,” I called, “I need help here. Come carry Timmy into the house for me, will you?”
Red turned to face me. “Why can’t he walk?”
“I think he’s in shock, Red. He’s ice-cold.”
At that, Jack strode over to us and knelt, lifting Timmy’s chin with his finger. “You okay, son?”
I’d never before heard such a compassionate tone of voice coming from Jack. I’d always thought him distant and unreadable, but this time even the look in his eyes had softened somewhat, a real departure from his usual all-business behavior, and for the first time I found myself drawn to him, whereas before there had been nothing to like or not like.
Timmy turned away from him, still silent.
Jack felt Timmy’s forehead then glanced up at me. “He feels clammy. You’re probably right, I’m pretty sure he’s in shock. Mark told me he was watching while they were loosening up the dirt a little more and he saw it first.”
My heart almost stopped. “What did he do?”
“They told me he ran over to the tree where you found him and hid his eyes with his hands. He hasn’t made a sound. Let’s get him inside so you can call Doc Martin. Tell him I said to get on over here, he can check Timmy first and then I’ll need him out here.”
Timmy shuddered. Jack picked him up without effort and slung him over his shoulder. What a picture they made, Jack in his silver-tipped snakeskin boots and cowboy hat, long legs striding across the lawn toward the house, worn leather holster moving as he walked, and my sad, silent little boy lying limp on Jack’s shoulder with his eyes closed.
I followed them into the house but found myself glancing up into the nearby mountains as if someone were crouched, hidden from sight with binoculars trained on us, watching our every move.
Someone had to be watching. I could feel the certainty of it snaking along under my skin. Otherwise, why had the body been left in our yard?
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Learn more about Beth Anderson and her alter ego Hotclue on her website and blog. Beth also has all her lectures posted for those of you interested in writing.
Have a great weekend. See you next week. Until then…
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell
October 16, 2011
Into Every Life a Little Rain Must Fall
But this has turned into a tsunami. I’m talking about Aspen Mountain Press and its problems. As most of you know, AMP has struggled for a long time. Their difficulties include no royalties paid, no statements, website taken down for questionable reasons and the evacuation of key personnel.
My last royalty came in April of this year and no statements since the fall of 2010. There are many other contractual breaches suffered by most of the AMP authors. If you check their websites and blogs, you’ll learn all about their grievances. Mine specifically are books being sold by AMP that are out of contract which equates to pirating. I cannot abide such a practice. Writing is not a hobby for me, I rely on my royalties to pay my bills.
I have ten books with AMP. I reclaimed my rights on them all October 8, 2011, but have yet to receive the official letter or email from the AMP owner Sandra Hicks. And it doesn’t look like it will come any time soon. Before I sent my email to Sandra, I removed all the AMP books from my website and contacted all third party vendors to remove those same books from their sites as they were being sold illegally. All but Fictionwise and Mobipockets were happy to comply.
Today Sandra Hicks posted on the AMP authors loop that we should check the site and if our books were removed we would receive the much needed rights reversal letter. I checked and found no one can buy my books, but the covers are still posted. This means I am still in limbo with ten books that took a great deal of energy to write, perfect and promote and unable to move forward with a professional publisher.
Thank you for reading my little story.
Sweet as Honey…Hotter than Hell