Friday, September 15, 2017

Book Blast & #Giveaway for Dark Genius by H. Peter Alesso

Welcome to my stop on the Book Blast, presented by Goddess Fish Promotions, for Dark Genius by H. Peter Alesso. Please leave a comment or question for Peter to let him know you stopped by. You may enter the tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.  You may visit all of the stops on the tour by clicking on the banner above.  The more stops you visit, the better your odds of winning. Good Luck!

Dark Genius
By H. Peter Alesso

Publisher: Video Software Laboratory
Release Date: December 9, 2017
Genre: Fiction
Length: 236 Pages
ASIN: B075HVG2Z9

Pre-Order Link: Amazon



About the book:

To the insatiably curious—science is the greatest adventure. So, when scientists at CERN announced the discovery of the ‘God’ particle in 2012, all the world wondered, “How did they find it?”

A decade later, despite his past academic failures and egregious family circumstance, Andrew Lawrence embarked on a journey of discovery, competing against rival scientists to be the first to solve the greatest unsolved mystery of the universe—dark matter—and win the ultimate prize; the Nobel. 

Emma Franklin, a PhD candidate at Harvard, developed software for detecting particle reactions using a quantum computer. To the amazement and excitement of the scientific community, her work revealed two possible bumps in the energy curve that were not predicted by any established theory.

At MIT, Lawrence created a model that predicted the scattering processes of a dark matter supersymmetry particle. Though his early work was disparaged, he improved his theory and found that it predicted the data Emma had discovered. Their professional collaboration deepened into a personal relationship, but when critical data was stolen, Emma found evidence that incriminated Lawrence. Though she withheld the impeaching material from the authorities, she felt she could no longer trust him.


Despite their troubled partnership, and notwithstanding the complexities of nature, Lawrence and Emma persevered against the egos, jealousy, and envy of rivals, on their exhilarating quest to find the ‘Holy Grail’ of physics. 


Excerpt  



I thought all was lost—now I have a second chance.

With a profound sense of relief, Andrew Lawrence slide his tablet into his shoulder holster and walked briskly along the Boston sidewalk. His past academic failures and egregious family circumstances were behind him. He was ready for a fresh start.

Tall, slender, and dark-haired, he listened to the clicking and clacking of shuffling shoes on the pavement as students jostled alongside him. The hint of autumn from the cool morning air brought a frenzy of activity to the sprawling campuses of both MIT and Harvard which nurtured a flourishing rivalry among their ambitious students. He could feel the undercurrent of tension for the start of the fall term.

By the time he crossed Longfellow Bridge, his adrenaline was pumping. He noticed several eight-man sculls already rowing down the Charles River, their school colors plainly visible. Squinting his eyes against the glare, he could make out the MIT and Harvard boats vying for the lead, stroke by stroke.

Striding across the rambling campus, his lips concealed a secret smile as he contemplated a revolutionary solution to a problem he had been daydreaming about. When he swung around a corner, he ran smack-dab into a young woman. Her armload of books, papers, and assorted technology flew into the air and scattered across the walkway.

“Sor . . . sorry.”

“You should be,” the woman said, her face screwed into a tight scowl. “Your head was in the clouds.”

Lawrence opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she pointed down and said, “See what you’ve done?”

She stooped and frantically tried to corral her absconding belongings.

“Let me help,” said Lawrence, grasping some loose papers about to blow away.

Spying her tablet on the grass, she exclaimed, “Oh no! All my work.”

Carefully, she picked up the device and turned it on, tapping her fingers impatiently until the screen lit up. She heaved a sigh and looked Lawrence directly in the eyes. “You’re lucky. Sooo . . . lucky.”

Lawrence mumbled another apology and helped her pick up the last few books.

As she struggled to reorganize her treasures, Lawrence brushed a strand of hair away from his eyes and for the first time cast an appraising glance at the young woman.

She was attractive.

It wasn’t that she was a striking beauty—though her smooth white skin, olive green eyes, and classic profile complemented the hazelnut hair that cascaded over her shoulders. Nor was her carriage especially eye-catching, though she displayed an appealing youthful vitality. No, what seemed most appealing was her confident determined poise, as if she possessed a special hidden talent.

“You really should use a backpack.”

“The lining ripped,” she retorted.

Seeing the logos on her tablet’s screen, Lawrence asked, “Harvard? Math?”

“I can tell by your tone that you’re MIT,” she said, her eyes flashing.

Lawrence grinned, “Physics.” As an afterthought, he asked, “What are you doing on this campus?”

“Well, Mr. Physics, that’s none of your concern.”

Something in the way she said it, caused him to laugh.

They faced each other in a stand-off for a long moment—saying nothing.

Then the young woman heaved a sigh, gathered her possessions to her chest, and brushed past him.

Lawrence watched her figure disappear into the crowd.

Damn. I didn’t get her name.

As he turned to leave, something shiny on the ground caught his eye. It was a flash drive.

Picking it up, he spun around and called, “Wait!”

But she was gone.

He looked at the memory stick, thinking . . .

I’ll have to crack her password, if I’m going to see her again.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:

As a scientist and author specializing in technology innovation, H. Peter Alesso has over twenty years research experience at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory (LLNL). As Engineering Group Leader at LLNL he led a team of scientists and engineers in innovative applications across a wide range of supercomputers, workstations, and networks. He graduated from the United States Naval Academy with a B.S. and served in the U.S. Navy on nuclear submarines before completing an M.S. and an advanced Engineering Degree at M.I.T. He has published several software titles and numerous scientific journal and conference articles, and he is the author/co-author of ten books.






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Book Tour & #Giveaway for His High-Stakes Bride by Martha Hix


Welcome to my stop on the Book Tour, presented by Silver Dagger Book Tours, for His High-Stakes Bride by Martha Hix.  Please leave a comment or question for Martha to let her know you stopped by.  You may enter her tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecopter form below. Good Luck!

HIS HIGH-STAKES BRIDE
by Martha Hix
Texan Brides, Book 3
Lyrical Press
Genre: Historical Romance
Pub Date: 8/29/2017






Win, lose—or fall in love . . .

After losing her mama and all she has, vagabond Patience “Patty” Sweet dreams of reuniting with her father in the New Mexico territory. So she teams up with a no-good gambler whose winnings enable her to get her closer to her destination. Patty hates hanging around saloons and poker parlors, pulling dishonest deeds. But when a game of five-card draw goes wrong in Lubbock, Texas, Patty gets offered up as collateral—to a handsome stranger who’s about to turn the tables . . .

Lawyer Grant Kincaid has no intention of claiming his prize—a nearly nineteen-year-old petite beauty with sweet eyes—who has a hold on him he can’t deny. But as he tries to help Patty untangle herself from her shady partner, he discovers she’s not as innocent as she seems. For starters, she’s already stolen his hardened heart . . .



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Chapter 1

Lubbock, Texas, 1910 
Under a full moon

It is a sad day in a woman’s life when she comes to grips with weakness of character. Today might have been that way for Patience Eileen Sweet, but she couldn’t dwell on something like that. Not this day, which had turned into a warm autumn night in 1910. Not when she intended to escape the mess of her own making. Her papa would have told her, “Patty Cake, proceed with caution.” He always claimed full moons bring babies, lunatics, and any number of disasters, particularly mine cave-ins.

Tonight would bring change; that she knew beforehand. This night unfolded for Patty in a saloon. By the midnight hour the floozies had served their last drinks and were nowhere to be seen, most of the customers having cleared out. The bartender did nothing to cover his yawns. Cigar smoke still curled toward the tin ceiling. Gaming chips still pinged. Three gamblers refused to give in or give up.

Still and all, it would be over soon.

Looking up from her mending, she meant to steal a glance at her “stepbrother,” but she locked gazes with one of the gamblers instead, and not for the first time this evening. The three were close enough that she could get a good look—he was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. As he had the other times, he nodded once. There was a puzzled, curious look to his fine features, certainly not the nasty-old-pervert leer that Dorinda had warned her to look out for.

She did like this man’s black-haired, blue-eyed looks. He wore the garb of  a West  Texan—a yoked shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons  and denim britches that hugged him just right. His boots were the same kind that cowboys wore, only this ’poke’s weren’t scuffed or worn out. His clothes looked too clean, his hair and chin too smooth for a man of the land. He looked rich.

Patty moved her line of sight to her partner-in-crime, Chet Merkel. It was his turn to deal, and she could tell he was losing at five-card stud. They couldn’t afford for him to lose, not even for one evening, yet she prayed for his bad luck.

She knew what his next move would be. He’d barter her virginity. For the third time.
Twice before to two different men in two different towns.

Tonight it was Scarlet Garter Jenny’s Saloon. The “winner” would  be a short, dark sheriff wearing a big, thick wedding ring. Or else the winner might be that curious fellow—the smooth-shaven pretty boy that the drunkards, gamblers, and preening waitresses called “counselor” and “mouthpiece,” with “Grant” or “Kincaid” thrown in from time to time. Well, the painted ladies usually said “Sugar.”

Neither of these men looked as gullible as the previous winners of her so-called prize.

Anyway, Patty knew how to get out of being the night’s reward. Did she even want to? Just looking at Grant Kincaid had her in a tizzy. One way or another, things would be different tonight. She was cutting all ties to her double-dealing snake of a “stepbrother,” Chet Merkel.

Definitely, she wouldn’t be rendezvousing with Chet later.

* * * *

Grant Kincaid spent many nights at the poker table. As a bachelor uninterested in ice-cream socials or musical recitals performed by the boring flowers of Lubbock society, he lacked choices beyond reading and visiting friends or relatives. Not that he had any local relatives, beyond the Kincaids of the High Hopes farm and ranch and their relatives, the Craigs. He hailed from the shoals of the Tennessee River in northwest Alabama. Besides, he enjoyed playing cards. After the last hand of an evening, he sometimes got lucky with one of the tarts, two if he was really lucky. He liked ’em ripe, filled out, and hotter than a thin-skinned jalapeño pepper under the broiling Texas sun.

Tonight, he’d been leery of the tinhorn already at the Garter when Grant arrived for Thursday night poker. The odd-looking fellow, who’d shown up with an adolescent sister in tow, wanted to join the game between Grant and the general store proprietor, a local rancher, noted baker Mrs. Jewel Craig, and Sheriff Wes Alington, who played whenever his mother went visiting in San Angelo.

The last seat was occupied by a cotton-gin salesman from Dallas. Since the High Hopes Ranch showed that cotton could be successfully grown in West Texas, cotton had become a popular way to make money in the previous decade.

Tonight, the table cleared early with the less-than-dapper newcomer— he introduced himself as Chet Merkel—taking several hands. Jewel the baker bowed out first. Next went the general store man and the rancher. The cotton-gin representative took his leave after his third bad hand. That left Alington, Grant, and the tinhorn.

Luck started going Grant’s way, then the sheriff’s.

Always cool and quiet at the table, the compactly built lawman wore black and a shiny silver star, but never a sign of his wealth. His history with card playing didn’t reach far back. After he’d married a Valkyrie from the Hill Country, he’d taken up gaming. His mother had and would object to just about anything that might have “enjoyment” tacked to it, but the missus advised Alington just to do what he wanted, as long as he was smart enough to hide it from Mother Dear and it didn’t involve cavorting with other women. That was laughable. The sheriff had eyes only for his Lisa-Ann. Grant hoped when he found a wife that he could love her even half as much as Alington idolized the blonde from The Divide.

“Do you plan to answer my bet, Mr. Merkel?” Wes Alington pointed to the five green chips he’d slid to the center of the baize-covered table.

A bead of sweat popped on Merkel’s temple. Carelessly flicking cigar ashes on the floor, he cast a glance at his sister who sat primly in a straight chair in the corner, mending a garment that looked to be a shirt.

Grant eyed the girl, as he had several times. This dimple-cheeked young lady had long titian-hued hair held up in a big white bow. Dressed in the childish style of a sailor, she wore leggings that covered her slender calves, and her hems were short, befitting a little girl. He would bet every last chip in front of him that she wasn’t a day over sixteen.

She was too young to be candy to the senses. Most men of his age wanted to marry girls of sixteen or seventeen—often even younger, to pluck a cherry from the tree—but this man preferred women to girls, and he wasn’t angling for a wife.

That’s what he liked to tell himself. In truth, he yearned to find the ideal lady to fill the emptiness of his heart and home.

“See your bet, Sheriff, and raise you a hundred.” The girl’s brother tossed the required chips atop Alington’s last bet.

One hundred? A ridiculous bet for a friendly game. It was time to end this nonsense. Given his excellent hand, Grant figured the only call for Merkel was “quits.” He said, “Raise you two hundred.”

It turned out that Alington had bluffed with two jacks. He folded, saying, “Too rich for me. And it’s past my Lisa-Ann’s tuck-in time. Don’t want to miss that.”

He took his leave; then Merkel covered the bet.

“Raise you five hundred,” Grant challenged, feeling confident with his four-of-a-kind and ready for bed himself. Circuit court would convene this Saturday and he had a pair of cases to review tomorrow.

The stranger sucked his cigar, squinting at his challenger. He was squinty- eyed to begin with. “Look, I’m short on chips. I can cover your bet, but I’ll have to collect the cash from the hotel’s strongbox. Tomorrow morning.”

“That’s not the way we play poker in Lubbock, my friend.” 

“I have…collateral.”

“How is that?”

“That girl—I mean, lady—over there.” The way he spoke, a person would think the room had dozens of females. “That lovely brown-eyed lady. She’s my collateral.”

“No thanks.”

“You don’t like women?”

 “Don’t go there, my friend.”

“I’m asking for a break, sir. I’m trying to bet a good hand. A hand so pat that I’m willing to put up my own sister as my stake.”

“Your sister.” Grant saw absolutely no family resemblance. Of course, this was Texas, where families socialized in barrooms, and even brought their little children along. “Same mother, or same father?”

“Same mo—same father.”

That stumble gave Merkel away as a liar. Grant saw no need to tread that avenue. 

“I don’t know where you’re from, but brothers don’t bring their sisters to places like this, not one on one.”

“I beg your pardon, sir. She’s my sister. My one and only. What was I to do with her? Leave her alone in the hotel tonight?”

Grant took another look. Earlier, he’d seen Jewel Craig buying the girl a glass of milk that went untouched. “Don’t you think she might enjoy a root beer, or at least a cup of water? She’s been sitting there for hours.” While you’ve swilled several beers.

“If Patience wants something, she’ll find a way to get it.”

If a man said something like that in Alabama, a gentleman would jump to the young lady’s rescue to fetch her a refreshment, if he didn’t have a servant to do it. He would certainly want to know what part of the North the uncouth toad hailed from. This wasn’t the Deep South. Grant asked, “Are you going to take my raise or not?”

“What about my problem? I’ve got money. Plenty. Oklahoma money. Forty-sixth state money. That’s where we’re from, Oklahoma. Tulsa. Oil country. I just made a stack on mineral rights.”

“Is that so?” Grant didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the newest state, although his friend the sheriff had mentioned Oklahoma being a place that gushed oil.

Merkel flicked his index finger along the top of his hand of cards, ruffling the five. “I’ve got a hand I believe in. Allow me to stay in the game on the strength of an evening with my sister. Just think. My sweet, untouched sister, right over there, preparing you a tasty breakfast in the morning. Could happen. Or not.”

Grant Kincaid took the measure of Chet Merkel, seeing a beady-eyed fellow of about twenty. He grew a thin, kinked beard to cover a lack of chin. Pomade slicked the brown hair over his dome. His sartorial effects had been tailored to a larger man. Truth to tell, his observer almost felt sorry for the man. He was not an impressive negotiator. All in all, he came across as hard luck.

Grant eyed the girl again. The needlework now in her lap, she stared back, her eyes big and round. She too looked desperate, with scared mixed in. He eyed Merkel again. Did this idiot even realize what he’d suggested? “What are you doing, bringing your sister into a saloon? She’s a child.”

“It’s not against the law. She’s nineteen.”

 “Fifteen. And you’re not her guardian.”

 “Says who? And she’s nineteen.”

“Save it, son. I am not fooled.”

“All right. She’s eighteen. You’re correct. She’s not my sister. She’s a stepsister…after a fashion.”

Grant groaned and rolled his eyes.

Merkel ground out his cigar. “She’s Patience Sweet, sir. In December of ’08, her pa left for a mining job in the Territory of New Mexico. He’s not been heard from since. He’s dead, likely. Her mother believes so. She took up with my pa. They live as man and wife. Somewhere in Oklahoma. Exactly where, I cannot say, because Patience and I do not know.”

Grant noticed she dabbed her eye with a hankie. Poor innocent.

“Her ma abandoned her. Left her with the rent overdue. When I arrived to find my father and to collect an inheritance that should’ve been  mine, what I found was this young woman. The total of my inheritance, you might say, was the suit on my back and the contents of Patience’s larder—a roach on a reduction diet.”

“What kind of family does she hail from, where they abandon their own?” 

What an idiotic question. One look at Merkel answered that, really. These folks scraped by. As a lawyer, Grant had witnessed how badly families could and did treat their own. The mineral-rights money? Dollars to doughnuts, there wasn’t any. 

Merkel was saying, “Me, I’m headed to Juarez, then on down to Chihuahua City. I’ve got my own mining ideas. It’s a crystal palace, that part of Mexico. Crystals have value in numerous regards and will make me a wealthy man. As soon as Patience got wind of my travel plans, she latched on. She hopes to connect with her father, or news of him, in El Paso.”

“Where’s your problem with that?”

“Not a problem one, sir. How fortunate for you, not knowing what it’s like to be hungry.”

“You don’t know that.”

“True. What I do know is, the Universe favored my mother and me in the form of a dear old gypsy who took us in when my father turned us out. Thus, I owed the universe a favor, so I have looked after Patience Sweet. It ain’t been easy. Somebody latches on; they have to be provided for. That one, she got a toothache. That meant a dentist. She got her womanly, it ruint her dress. I had to buy another. She eats like a horse. You ever fed a horse?”

This tale of desperation had a ring of truth to it, not that cockamamie oil nonsense. 

“How long has she been…‘latched’ to you?”

“Six months.”

Half a year. Hundreds of nights where Merkel begrudged every spent cent. He was now at the point to barter her services. Good God. The villain probably defiled her himself. Grant had to know: “What exactly are you offering, should I win?”

“Whatever you wish between now and breakfast’s end. You meet me back here at, say, ten in the morning. Treat her kindly, sir. Leave no visible scars that will ruin her for the Juarez market.”

Grant looked at the girl. She was listening to the exchange, the poor thing. He turned back to the man who would sell her, as if she were a hunk of meat. “I’m to wager a half thousand gold-backed dollars to spend the night with a scared little girl?”

“That’s the size of it. And you left out ‘virgin.’” 

“What does she have to say about that?”

“She won’t mind. She takes what comes to her.”

That thought further turned Grant’s stomach. He leaned toward Merkel to whisper, “Is she simpleminded?”

“Pretty much. Has been since her baby sister died while in her care and keeping. Broke her spirit.”

Grant wondered if anything good had ever happened to poor little Patience Sweet.

Merkel was saying, “I’ve offered her to you for the night, because I know in my heart that Patience will sleep in her cozy bed at the Antlers Hotel tonight. And I’ll have my thousand dollars when I reach the Rio Grande.”

“What about her father?”

“If he has my asking price, I’ll do the right thing and let him have her. I won’t even ask for the full thousand.”

“Aren’t you the gallant?” Grant sneered. “Tell me something. What makes you think she won’t have something to say about this?”

Merkel rolled his stogie from one side of his mouth to the other. He leaned his chair back, propping himself up to grin. “That’s the beauty of it. Patience can’t speak. She’s a mute. She does as she’s told. Except to stay away from me.”

He’s playing me for a fool. The issue became a case of betting five hundred dollars to save her from white slavery.

Grant hitched a thumb toward the exit door. “Forget  it.  Get  the  hell out of here.”

“Wait just a minute, sir.” Chair legs banged to the floor, sawdust swirling. “If you don’t take my offer, that means you just want to keep all the money I’ve wagered this evening.”

“This is an honest game. You played. You won for a while. You started losing.” When that didn’t seem to sink in, Grant asked, “Do you not know there are laws against selling women’s favors?”

It was then that he caught sight of the girl again. Standing now, the mending at her feet, her fingers were a steeple beneath her chin, begging his help. She mouthed the word “please.” He knew right then and there he had to win the hand.



Martha Hix grew up in Texas and didn’t mind listening to stories about how her ancestors had been in the place for a long, long time. Well, in Texas that just meant more than a hundred years. This weird kid soaked up the stories and became an ardent student of family and general history, which came in handy when she took to writing both fiction and non-fiction. Eventually, her romance novels were translated into many foreign languages, some of them very foreign, like Japanese, Greek, and Turkish. On the home front, she lives in the fabulous Texas Hill Country with her husband and their spoiled four-legged kids. Visit her on the web at marthahix.com.







Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!




Book Tour & #Giveaway for Seeds of Intention by Andrea Thorne


Welcome to my stop on the Book Tour, presented by Silver Dagger Book Tours, for Seeds of Intention by Andrea Thorne.  Please leave a comment or question for Andrea to let her know you stopped by.  You may enter the tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.  Good Luck!

Seeds of Intention
by Andrea Thome
Hesse Creek Series, Book 2
Hesse Creek Media
Genre: Contemporary Romance




Is it more important to have roots, or wings?


Garrett Oliver has just settled into his job as heir apparent to one of the most renowned master gardeners in the country. After a difficult few years, he’s found a home and a renewed purpose at a famed resort in the secluded Smoky Mountains. The stars seem to be aligning for Garrett as he plans a future with his college sweetheart and envisions a simple life with her in the mountains of East Tennessee.

Willow Armstrong, fresh off a painful breakup, is coming home to Knoxville to care for her ailing father. She finds herself in the right place at the right time, landing a dream job alongside Garrett—as his boss. As they are thrown together by their work, an undeniable magnetism grows between them, despite the fact that Garrett is ready to start a future with someone else.

Circumstances persist in drawing them closer, and an unexpected opportunity in Colorado prompts Willow and Garrett to wonder if a life together out west might be beyond anything either of them had dared to imagine.



I'm a former broadcast journalist, having covered both sports and news during my career. (That's how I met my husband; I interviewed him on MLB opening day in 1995, and the rest is history.) I temporarily retired when we had our children, so I could be home with them full-time while they're young. We have a fourteen-year-old daughter, a nine-year-old son, and two cats that we spoil rotten.


This seemed like the perfect time in my life to jump back into doing something I love; writing and telling stories. No one was more surprised than me when I ended up with 65,000 words in my lap last spring! I called it Walland, and it was published in August of 2016. My second book, Seeds of Intention will be published on September 5, 2017, and as we speak, I've started to write a new book, the third in the Hesse Creek Series.


In my spare time, I love photography and travel, preferably at the same time. My novels are inspired by favorite places I've traveled, each of which have left vivid footprints on my imagination. I believe a book can be steamy and sexy, while still keeping it classy. I also love to infuse my characters with great senses of humor.









Follow the tour HERE for exclusive content and a giveaway!



Book Beginnings & Friday 56 - #93


Book Beginnings on Friday is a weekly meme hosted by Gilion at Rose City Reader. Every Friday we share the first sentence (or so) of the book we’re currently reading, along with your initial thoughts about the sentence, impressions of the book, or anything else the opener inspires.


My Book Beginning:  

The Bone Palace (The Necromancer Chronicles, Book 2) by Amanda Downum



Prologue

496 Ab Urbe Condita (1228 Sal Emperaturi) Three Years Ago


Death was no stranger to Erisin. The city named for the saint of death and built on the bones of its founders had known its share of suffering, but the pestilence that struck that summer was enough to horrify even the priests of Erishal. 
My Thoughts:  I haven't started this book yet, it's on my pile for the weekend. Sounds like whatever is going on is going to be bad! .  

What do you think?  Don't forget to leave your book beginning below and to link-up at Rose City Reader.  





**************


Friday 56 is a weekly meme hosted by Freda at Freda’s Voice on every Friday.

To Play along here are the Rules:

*Grab a book, any book.
*Turn to page 56 or 56% in your eReader (If you have to improvise, that's ok.)
*Find any sentence, (or few, just don't spoil it)
*Post it.
*Add your post below. 
*Don’t forget to add your post URL (not your blog url) at Freda’s Voice.  
*It's that simple.

My 56 (Also from The Bone Palace by Amanda Downum
 – about 56% on Kindle):  

A cold draft and movement in the shadows made him glance over his shoulder, already tensing to deal with some new intruder.  All his dark-sharpened eyes found were an open casement and a bird perched on a chair beside it. A raven, huge and glossy.  It mantled, oilslick rainbows, rippling across its wings, but remained on the chair back. 


My Thoughts:  I'm looking forward to finding out who is involved in this scene  Not sure who is talking.


So what do you think? Do the teasers tempt you?  Don’t forget to link up below and at Freda’s Voice.





About The Bone Palace (The Necromancer Chronicles, Book 2) by Amanda Downum

Death is no stranger in the city of Erisín-- but some deaths attract more attention than others.

When a prostitute dies carrying a royal signet, Isyllt Iskaldur, necromancer and agent of the Crown, is called to investigate. Her search leads to desecrated tombs below the palace, and the lightless vaults of the vampiric vrykoloi deep beneath the city. But worse things than vampires are plotting in Erisín...

As a sorcerous plague sweeps the city and demons stalk the streets, Isyllt must decide who she's prepared to betray, before the city built on bones falls into blood and fire.



Don't forget to post your meme's and link up at both host locations.  

Have a great Friday! 
Maria