Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Review Tour & #Giveaway for No Holly for Christmas by Julie N. Ford

Welcome to my stop on the Review Tour, presented by Goddess Fish Promotions, for No Holly for Christmas by Julie N. Ford. Please leave a comment or question for Julie to let her know you stopped by.  You may enter her tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.  You may follow all of the stops on the tour by clicking on the banner above.  The more stops you visit, the better your odds of winning. My review will post later today.  Good Luck!

No Holly for Christmas
By Julie N. Ford
A Magic City Duo, Book 2

Publisher: Ford Group Publishing
Release Date: November13, 2016
Genre: Women’s Fiction/Romantic Suspense
Length: 483 Pages
ISBN: 978-1537637167
ASIN: B01MRJVAVW

BUY LINK:  AMAZON


About the book:

After being jilted not once, but twice by the only woman he’s ever truly loved, Brian McAlister has all but given up on relationships. Then, on special assignment for the DA's office, he steps into the middle of a politically sensitive murder case where he crosses paths with a beautiful ex-socialite-turned-social-worker, Holly Cavanaugh Winter.

Widowed, practically penniless, and reduced to shopping at Walmart, Holly is dreading the approaching holiday season. However, her angst isn't due to her husband's untimely death the previous December 25th, but to a secret that could reveal itself unless she can find a way to avoid the coming Christmas. To make matters worse, she unwittingly stumbles into the throes of Brian’s case and the manhunt for a killer who now has his sights set on her.


His case unraveling, Brian finds himself tasked with keeping Holly and her two daughters safe while bringing an assassin and the powerful man who hired him to justice.


EXCERPT

Some things were inevitable. Sitting in his hybrid sedan outside the Jefferson County courthouse, Brian closed his sleep-deprived eyes. Images of his frail father took advantage of his limited vision to once again flood his brain.

Declan McAlister had never looked so weak as when he lay in his hospital bed, sensors monitoring every heartbeat, oxygen hissing through the tube taped to his gaunt face and hovering just beneath his nostrils.

“I really need you to do this for me, son.” Declan had used his stern voice. “You’re the only one I can trust to help me see it through.”

From the head of the bed, his mother, Georgian, had pleaded with her eyes for Brian to accept. Imploring him to do this one favor for his father, for her. Brian could disappoint his father, he’d been doing so quite proficiently his entire life, but disappointing his mother was a behavior he’d never grown accustomed to.

If only what his father wanted didn’t go against every ounce of moral integrity Brian had left. Working for the district attorney’s office, even on a temporary basis, was not a job Brian had ever aspired to. In the DA’s office, guilt or innocence was relative to whether or not the case could be won. The guilty went free for lack of resources to investigate, while the innocent spent years in jail, victims of ignorance, poverty, and public and prosecutorial apathy. Putting folks in jail whether they were guilty or not just so the rest of society could enjoy a false sense of security was nothing short of criminal, in Brian’s mind. No, he’d never wanted to be a part of that world—his father’s world.

 AUTHOR Bio and Links:

A graduate from San Diego State University with a BA in Political Science, Julie N. Ford also earned a Masters in Social Work from the University of Alabama, which has only made her better able to recognize the unhealthy, codependent relationship she has with writing. 

Professionally, she has worked in teaching and as a marriage and family counselor. She is the author of six women’s fiction novels, including Count Down to Love, a 2011 Whitney Award finalist. After twenty-five years of residing below the Mason-Dixon line, she now calls the chaparral of Southern Utah her home, where she lives with her husband, the one daughter who has yet to flee the nest, and the cutest Scottish fold cat you’ve ever seen.

Website/Blog: http://julienford.com




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Book Tour & #Giveaway for the Annalisa Storm Chronicles by May Freighter


Welcome to my stop on the Book Tour, presented by Silver Dagger Book Tours, for the Annalisa Storm Chronicles by May Freighter.  Please leave a comment or question for May to let her know you stopped by.  You may enter her tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.  Good Luck

Case: 0
by May Freighter
Annalise Storm Chronicles, Book 1
Genre: Dystopian Mystery, Romantic Suspense




It’s the year 2330. At the end of the twenty-second century, the human race has divided into two distinct groups—purebloods and the ‘modded’. Those who are unfortunate enough to be genetically modified are now nothing but servants for their pureblooded masters.


Living in this time, you know your place, and you do not cross the line. So, when a violent death occurs in the Bronze District, Annalise is ordered to take this as her trial run at Divinity PD to prove that she can do the job as a member of the Human Possession Department.


To defy her father’s wish to marry her off, and keep her Chief happy, she is determined to solve this murder by any means necessary—even if it means going to districts she has only read about in textbooks and fighting her forbidden feelings for her servant.


With internal battles, dirty politics, and sinister secrets, just how exactly will Annalise solve her Case: 0? And more importantly, will she live to see her next one?



Prologue


CCTV March Street CAM, Bronze District, 22:47, March 10, 2330.

The queue outside of the Landon’s bar was nothing new. Chatter filled the air as people conversed about their day. A well-built bouncer stopped a man in his mid-thirties from entering and scanned him with his genetic scanner. Satisfied with the scan’s results, he gave a curt nod and let the man through.

A young brunette bypassed the people who waited in line. Her purposeful stride separated her from the rest as she sashayed her hips. Gasps and quiet murmurs spilt from the bystanders. Ignoring them, she drew closer to the door.

The bouncer glowered at her. “Get out of here beauty. No. Freaks. Allowed.”

Her top lip curled into a sneer, and she spat the words out. “Beauty? Scan me, idiot.”

He pointed the scanner at her chest. The result was displayed on screen in neon-blue text ‘PUREBLOOD, No modifications detected.’ Grumbling under his breath, he stepped away from the door, permitting her entry. The woman flicked her hair over her shoulder and sauntered inside.


CCTV Landon’s CAM 1, 22:52, March 10, 2330.

The patrons eyed her with suspicion. Whispers and exclamations of disgust filled the air as she walked past the tables to the bar in desperate need of a drink. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and she sat on the hovering stool and waited.

The bartender edged closer. “What would you like?”

“Something strong.” She sighed, and her shoulders slumped.

She was a pureblood who resembled an alabaster. Purebloods were rarely beautiful, and she was that rarity. She wanted to claw at her face when she saw it in the mirror. Every person in Silver looked at her as if she was a servant or worse—a worker.

“Just look at her! Someone in her family must have fucked their servant at some point.”

“I bet she went to the Black District to get something done,” someone else added.
Since the Modded Wars, when purebloods won a fifteen-year-long battle for their lives against the genetically modified humans, things had changed. The purebloods gave them a choice: live in servitude or perish. The modded were then labelled and divided into four distinct genetic groups: beast, flare, alabaster and basilisk—each with special traits to benefit the purebloods.

Something hard hit the back of the brunette’s head, and her hand shot to the affected area. Blood tinged her fingers.

“I don’t know how you’ve fooled the scanner, but you’re not welcome here, alabaster!” a woman said, rising from her stool.

Anger bubbled within the brunette. She was sick and tired of being treated as a modded freak, like one of them. Why couldn’t these people believe what the scanner told them and just leave her be? Scanners couldn’t be fooled. They were fine-tuned by the best technicians in the Divinity Police Department.

Her agitation became ire and her body tingled with an unfamiliar sensation as if something climbed in, pushing her out of her shell. She bent over, clinging to her burning chest. The whispers in the bar morphed into shouts of outrage. More people hurled curses at her, but she no longer cared. She reached for the counter. Her hand slipped, and she tumbled off the stool. Her knees hit the ground hard and her conscience faded—all control gone… She faced the patrons as her eyes rolled back into her head. Within seconds, she launched forwards. Her hands landed in a woman’s mop of bleached blonde hair, and she yanked chunks of it out. A deafening scream filled the bar. Eyes of the onlookers bulged, watching the events unfold.

“The alabaster is possessed!” a man in the back shouted.

A few patrons rushed towards her. Others shrieked and ran for the exits or remained seated—too shocked to move. Strong, masculine hands grasped the brunette’s waist, tearing her off the bleeding blonde. With a wild expression, she kicked and bit anything close enough. A loud wail of frustration escaped her. She turned and plunged her nails into the man’s eyes, bursting the whites in their sockets. His face contorted with agony. Clear liquid ran down her fingers as he blindly aimed for her neck. The crowd of men surrounded her. A moment later, their bodies swallowed her small frame whole.

RECORDING DELETED

Case: 1
Annalise Storm Chronicles, Book 2
!




It’s official, Devlin is Annalise’s new partner. He’s charming, caring—a perfect gentleman who caters to her every need. That is until he starts to mix work with pleasure to convince her to marry him as per agreement with her father.

With her servant, Mavel, gone from her side, the cracks in the wall she created around her begin to come undone. To take her mind off the torment her heart is going through, she takes on another possession case in her old school, Montgomery Institute. But, what starts off as a simple case full of bad memories twists into a web of deception and lies involving everyone she cares about.






May Freighter is an internationally bestselling author from Dublin, Ireland. She writes Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Romance, and Sci-Fi mysteries that will keep you entertained, mystified, and hopefully craving more. Her only pets are cacti. They're the only things that survived. It may be too dangerous to entrust her with an animal while she's engrossed in writing.

On sunny, rainy, and overcast days, she spends her time with her fictional friends, putting them through dangerous adventures while wishing them the best of luck. Her hobbies are photography, drawing, and plotting different ways of a characters' demise.





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



Book Tour & #Giveaway for Necromance by Armand Rosamilia


Welcome to my stop on the Book Tour, presented by Silver Dagger Book Tours, for Necromance by Armand Rosamilia.  Please leave a comment or question for Armand to let him know you stopped by.  You may enter his tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.  Good Luck!

Necromance
by Armand Rosamilia
Genre: Supernatural Horror




My name is Cheri Rose Thorne.

I spend my life hunting Vamps and Fiends and killing them, but my main goal has always been to destroy my evil father while keeping my sisters at bay.

Sex, drugs and rock and roll keep me going. Oh, and killing things.

This supernatural horror thriller will keep you turning the pages. I promise.



Necromance:
Bad Omen
by Armand Rosamilia

I knew why I’d been drawn here the moment I saw him across the dance floor, his eyes trying to keep pace with the sweaty women surrounding him. I hoped he wouldn’t know who or what I was until it was too late.

My name is Cheri Rose Thorne, and that is my real name. Long story short: my father is a necromancer and my mother was a stripper. Combine the magic and the body and you get moi.

I’d only been in Florida for twelve hours before I sensed him. They can’t help it or even know they’re doing it. Unfortunately, I can’t stop myself from getting what I call ‘The Itch’; it starts behind my ears and runs up into my head and down my spine, as if I had stepped in a field of poison ivy, and the closer they are the more intense it becomes. 
The good thing is I always know I’m close because it suddenly stops and calm washes over me and then it’s just a matter of time to figure out who it is and how close I am.

This guy would have been easy to spot, even if I didn’t have senses; he was dressed like he was an extra in Scarface, with slicked-back hair and sun-kissed skin. His eyes were the real giveaway, the color of the ocean a hundred feet from the club and darting furiously around him for his next victim. He was tall and built and, despite his tired wardrobe of beige suit with matching Capezio shoes and white tie, he was good-looking.

Yeah, he was hot and he knew it. Most of the time these guys are average at best, but they use their powers to deceive women into thinking they are amazing. This one wasn’t using anything but his natural charm on the dance floor and that made him dangerous. Who knew what trick he had up his sleeve? It didn’t matter to me. Good-looking or not, I had to take care of him.

The fact that this one was hot was just a perk of the job, because, before it was all over, I’d probably sleep with him. I knew it and he was about to know it.

I took my time getting near him, preferring to lazily circle around him, ignoring the men who offered to buy me drinks or wanted to chit-chat while staring at my nice and natural boobs. I knew I was dressed to kill and that sometimes becomes a distraction. I remember this one time in Baltimore… well, that’s a story for another time.

I moved from the bar to his left to the one directly behind him, casually watching him the entire time out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t know how long he’d been here and if he’d chosen someone yet. I didn’t want to turn around, after ordering a Jaeger-Bomb, and find out he’d left in a hurry.

“Hi, can I buy you a drink,” some random jerk asks me, blocking my view.

I looked him over quickly and then pushed him to my left. “I’m a lesbian.”

“Cool.” That seemed to get him even more excited.

I looked him in the eye. At six foot, I’m a tall drink of water and this guy was at least three inches shorter than me. I looked down into his eyes, I should say. “I’m not interested. Please go away.”

“One drink won’t hurt,” he smiled hopefully.

“Last chance to get lost,” I sneered. I don’t like to be mean and don’t like to draw attention to myself, but that’s exactly what I’d done. I moved away from him but it was already too late. My mark had seen me and was staring as I went to the bar and ordered that Jaeger-Bomb.

“My name is Michael.”

I looked to my side to see that the jerk trying to buy me a drink was still there. Just my luck, I can’t shake this idiot. “What part of get lost are you not getting?”

He actually laughed at that. “I get it. You’re a tough chick who dresses provocatively and gets off on shooting guys down. I’m cool with that. I’m guessing your mother never hugged you?”

“What?” I had to ask. This jerk was asking for a beating.

“Women fall into two categories for me, those that hate their mother and take great pride in shooting guys down, and those that hate their father and take great pride in finding jerks to sabotage any relationship they have. I’m thinking you’re the former?”

“I’m thinking you’re a douche-bag.” I grabbed his junk and squeezed, smiling as his eyes bulged and he strained to get away from me. “Last warning and I am not kidding.”

“All you had to say was no thank you,” he managed in a whisper.

I released his paltry manhood and grinned. “No, thank you.”

He tried not to rub himself or cry, which I respected, as he walked quickly away toward the bathrooms.

I turned and, sure enough, my target was gone. The group of women dancing around him had dispersed and a new group was shaking it to a lame techno beat.

Two minutes later and I was outside and scanning the streets. In the movies, this would be the cue for his car to peel out in front of me and speed down the block; instead there was a line of people waiting to get in and another crowd across the street at a strip club.

I didn’t think he’d had that much of a head start on me so I walked across the street, past the line of drooling men so I could see if he'd been lame enough to try to get in like a commoner. When I was satisfied he wasn't waiting around at the back and hadn’t cut the line, I went right up to the bouncer at the door.

“There’s a line,” he said with a smirk on his face. He was taller than I was – even with my five-inch heeled boots – and had to be pushing a solid two hundred fifty pounds. 

Shaved head, big brown eyes, he looked to be Hispanic. He was damn hot.

“That line,” I asked and grinned. “That line isn’t for me.”

“Oh, then you’re a dancer. The strippers use the back entrance in the alley.”

I laughed. He was clearly amused and having fun with me now. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Look no further,” he said and put his hands up. “I’ve been standing right here all along.”

“Maybe later.”

“Just a maybe,” he asked and winked.

"Did you just let some dude cut the line and go inside," I asked. I described who I was looking for, trying to act like I was interested in this good-looking guy without sounding like I was stalking him.

"Yeah, maybe," the bouncer said and grinned.

“How about you let me in then when I’m done finding who I’m looking for I give you a definitely?”

“I don’t believe a word of that, but I’m a sucker for a pretty lady.” He moved out of the way. When the two dummies in line started to protest, he shot them a menacing look. 

“I’m Dwayne, by the way.”

“Cheri.” I blew him a kiss and went inside.



Armand Rosamilia is a New Jersey boy currently living in sunny Florida, where he writes when he's not sleeping. He's happily married to a woman who helps his career and is supportive, which is all he ever wanted in life...


He's written over 150 stories that are currently available, including horror, zombies, contemporary fiction, thrillers and more. His goal is to write a good story and not worry about genre labels.

He not only runs two successful podcasts...

Arm Cast: Dead Sexy Horror Podcast - interviewing fellow authors as well as filmmakers, musicians, etc.

The Mando Method Podcast with co-host Chuck Buda - talking about writing and publishing

But he owns the network they're on, too! Project Entertainment Network


He also loves to talk in third person... because he's really that cool.







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



Release Tour & #Giveaway for Mr. Taken by Danica Winters

Welcome to my stop on the Release Tour, presented by Book Partners in Crime Promotions, for Mr. Taken by Danica Winters.  Please leave a comment or question for Danica to let her know you stopped by.  You may enter her tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.  Good Luck!


Mr. Taken
by Danica Winters
Series: Mystery Christmas, #3
Genre: Romantic Suspense
Paperback Release Date: October 17, 2017
Digital Release Date: November 1, 2017



In Mystery, Montana, a white-hot hunk fights fire with passion… 

Though he's ridiculously handsome and notoriously funny, it's Colter Fitzgerald's firefighting skills that are most needed by Whitney Barstow—at first. She's been traumatized by fire and terrified that the arsonist sabotaging Dunrovin Ranch is a madman from her past. She's also fearful that harm will come to any man she loves, so denies her attraction to Colter. Then why is she jealous of another woman's hands all over him?

On the eve of the ranch's Christmas festival, Colter wants no one but Whitney, body, soul and darkest secrets. But there's still an arsonist to stop…before what makes the season bright is Dunrovin in flames.




Book 1: Ms. Calculation

Book 2: Mr. Serious

Book 4: Ms. Demeanor
Available November 21 - Pre-Order Now!


Danica Winters is a Nielsen BookScan and an Amazon bestselling author who has won multiple awards for writing books that grip readers with their ability to drive emotion through suspense and occasionally a touch of magic. Most recently, Danica was the winner of the Paranormal Romance Guild’s Paranormal Romantic Suspense Book of the Year Award and Chanticleer Media’s Paranormal Book of the Year for her novel Montana Mustangs.

When she’s not working, she can be found in the wilds of Montana testing her patience while she tries to understand the allure of various crafts (quilting, pottery, and painting are not her thing).  She always believes the cup is neither half full nor half empty, but it better be filled with wine.

Danica Winters is represented by Jill Marsal of the Marsal Lyon Literary Agency, LLC.







Blog Tour & #Giveaway for Hunter's Moon by Tess Grant

Welcome to my stop on the Blog Tour, presented by YA Bound Book Tours, for Hunter’s Moon by Tess Grant.  Please leave a comment or question for Tess to let her know you stopped by.  You may enter her tour wide giveaway by filling out the Rafflecopter form below.  You may also follow all of the stops on the tour by clicking on the banner above. 

 Hunter's Moon
The Full Moon Trilogy, Book 1
Genre: YA Paranormal
Release Date: January 17th 2017
Books We Love Ltd.



About the book:

Kitty Irish has heard all the rumors swirling around Daniel Phinney. Most of them involve a gun, a flask, and a temper. One chance encounter with the WWII veteran over a grisly find in the woods pulls the cover off the dark secrets of their small town, and Kitty is drawn into an unlikely partnership.

Armed with an antique rifle and a handful of homemade silver bullets, the two form an efficient team. Unfortunately, their game is werewolf hunting, and disaster is only a bite away.





Excerpt From Hunter’s Moon

The tang of old pennies hung in the air. Kitty was smart enough to know she hadn’t stumbled on some stash of long-buried loot. No self-respecting pirate would be caught dead in the middle of the Michigan woods.
That coppery smell was blood.

Maddie had the scent too. The golden retriever pressed forward, nose scuffling through the mulch. Her fluffy tail hung inactive. A wiggly rear end might divert too much energy from her nose.

Somewhere high above, a cloud ghosted over the sun, and the forest light grew dark green and cool. Kitty moved forward slowly. It would be just perfect to step into the middle of something completely nasty. Her shoes still looked mostly decent after a winter indoors. A big smear of muck across the toes would really round out her look.

Maddie suddenly growled, stopping dead. One paw hung suspended in the air and her body tensed.

“Maddie? What’s the problem?”

The retriever lowered her head to the ground, slowly pacing a circle. Kitty leaned over the spot that had thrown the dog off. Maybe it was a coyote. Maddie hated them.

A paw had indented the soft ground right where the aging dog had spooked. Kitty nodded—positive it was a coyote—and crouched down next to it to get a better look. Maddie circled around her, chest rumbling. Kitty knew a little about prints. Her dad had been pointing them out to her since she could walk. Deer and rabbit marks were everywhere, but this didn’t belong to one of the gentle guys. It had the four toes and pads of a predator, and it was big. Laying her hand over top of it, she could spread her fingers and barely cover it. Deep claw marks dug into the leaf mold ahead of the pads. Cats sheathed their claws when they walked; this was some sort of huge canine.

If this was a coyote, it was mutant. What sort of a thing made a print like that?
Kitty moved forward into the deep shadows under the trees. Something dead was in there. Flies buzzed and whirled under the trees. Maddie stayed where she was, guarding the print.

The carcass lay half-hidden under some ferns at the base of a broad oak. It was a deer, or what was left of one anyway. Its soft tan hide lay torn; its white stomach stained brown with dried blood. Great gashes ran the length of it, shoulder to haunches. Kitty’s stomach churned. This was about killing to kill; not one bite was missing. Sickened, she turned to leave, halting at the sight of the head. She had assumed it was at the end of the neck tucked away unseen under the bracken. 

She was wrong.

Completely detached, it lay under the next tree.

Whatever had done this was no dog. 

About the Author


After nearly ten years as a forensic anthropologist, Tess Grant semi-retired to a farmette in the backwoods of Michigan. She lives at the edge of the Manistee National Forest with her husband, children, and a number of strange critters, none of whom are werewolves.

Author Links:



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