Queen of All She Reads: 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.

Goodreads * Amazon

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.

Website * Facebook * FacebookFan Page * Twitter * Amazon * Goodreads