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This book is described as paranormal fantasy medieval romance and dark fairy tale - so much goodness in one package! Read an excerpt from Jennifer Ivy Walker's The Wild Rose and the Sea Raven. Be sure to follow the tour for more. And best of luck in the great giveaway at the end!
This one is for fans of paranormal romance. Check out this excerpt from They Had Eyes of Silver, A Wulfin Novel by SE Davis and then let her know what you think in the comments! Be sure to follow the tour for more and enter the great giveaway!
Double your holiday reading pleasure by getting two novellas in one book! Grab your copy of Finding a Christmas Miracle by Jan Selbourne and Anne Krist! Check out excerpts from both stories below.
HMAS Sydney, known by the troops as the ‘Vung Tau Ferry’ was now out of Australian waters and steaming steadily north towards its destination. The sea had been rough for the last two days but today was calm and the four hundred and fifty men housed in the sailors’ mess decks were moving around again. Nick propped the pillow under his head and tried to focus on his book, but the words ran into each other. Closing the covers, his mind drifted back, once again, to the letter he’d got from Trevor two weeks before boarding the ship.
I’m sorry I didn’t write earlier Nick, but I was embarrassed and angry. Not at you, at my father and brother. Your mother was good to us, and we took her for granted. I didn’t see it when I was a kid, but I know now dad only wanted someone to look after him and Kevin and me, and I’m sorry about that. You know I hated that farm, hated the dirt, hated the isolation. A few weeks ago, Dad bought two hundred acres between Inverell and Glen Innes, saying he can afford to be a hobby farmer. Kevin bought land somewhere near Armidale. Now I can join the theatre group and dad can’t stop me. I’m sorry about what happened, sorry you and Elizabeth and Karen were left out. I want you to have some of my share. Best wishes, Trevor.
A cheque for $5000 was enclosed.
Nick closed his eyes. Poor bloody Trevor. Nervous of his father, scorned as a pansy by Kevin. In tears when their chickens and dogs died, cried from nightmares. He’d returned the cheque with a curt, ‘stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.’ Now he regretted not writing a more friendly letter wishing Trevor well. And Liz, he’d told her not to see him off. He didn’t want her bawling all over his shirt, but she’d insisted. “You’re my brother, you big ape, I’ll worry myself sick over you.” They’d both ended up crying on each other shoulders. He heard the bunk next to his creak.
“You awake, Nick?”
Nick opened his eyes. “I am now.”
Sam was one of the hundreds of national servicemen on board. Twenty years old and hadn’t travelled more than twenty miles from his home at Maitland until he was called up. Ginger hair and freckles and shy.
Nick sat up. “What’s up?”
“Nothing, we were playing cards then a few of them started talking about what’s ahead.” He stared at the floor.
“Let me guess. Full of bravado, kill a few commies, clean up the country and go home wearing a chest full of medals.”
The ginger head drooped. “It’s all right for you, Nick. You’re ground crew, looking after the tanks and heavy vehicles.”
“I also drive the tanks and heavy vehicles, Sam, and I’m telling you those big mouths are as shit-scared as you and I are.” He lay back on his bunk. “No different to the blokes in 1914. My grandfather was among the first twenty thousand to sign up to fight for King and Country. They were paid six bob a day and after training, set sail for a war on the other side of the world. Most of them believed they’d teach the Germans a lesson and be home for Christmas. A lot of them worried it would be all over before they got there. After three years in Belgium and France he came home minus a leg and bitter. He’d tell his kids there was no God while he walked them to church every Sunday. Here we are mate, after two world wars and a war in Korea. Don’t listen to them, look after yourself.”
Sam nodded and grinned at Nick. “You got a girl waiting at home?”
Nick grinned back at him. “Yeah, dozens of ‘em. What about you?”
“Meg. Her parents own the shoe shop in Maitland,” Sam dug into the locker behind his bunk. “Here.”
Nick looked at the photo of a pretty girl with a riot of curly hair. “Nice, real nice.”
“I’ll get a cold drink. Want one?”
Nick shook his head. “No, I’m fine thanks.” He waited until Sam walked away and closed his eyes again. A girl waiting at home. Long black hair, a figure that made men go weak at the knees. And sex? Oh, Christ, she’d taught him a thing or two. But Lena wouldn’t wait a week for any man.
Susan Swensen flew into the small three-bedroom house she shared with Carol Buley and Mildred Hammersmith. “I won!” she shouted. “I won, I won, I won!!
Carol stepped out of her bedroom and into the hallway, brushing her hair and already In her blue flannel pajamas. “Won what?”
Susan dropped an envelope on the scarred coffee table and threw off her wool cape, tossing it onto the used couch dressed up in a winter slipcover. A Christmas tree displayed prominently over the center cushion. Brightly wrapped gifts beneath a midnight-blue sky scattered with stars filled out the rest of the space. This was the second year the women had used it to hide the worn arms and cushions of the sofa, and it saddened Susan somewhat that it would be the last. The three would graduate from nursing school in June and go their separate ways.
She reached to remove the pins that secured her white cap to her blonde curls and then slid the bobby pins onto the edge of the cap before placing it carefully on the table. Then she picked up the envelope and removed the letter she’d read three times already.
“Susan Swensen. This is to inform you that your submission to the Home for Christmas contest sponsored by WCHI Radio Chicago has won one of seven prizes. WCHI has confirmed that PFC Thomas J. Stabler will be transferred from Saigon, South Vietnam to Norfolk, Nebraska (via Omaha, Nebraska) on or about December 16, 1970 until December 27, 1970. The Department of Defense is relaying this information to PFC Stabler’s commanding officers and to him. WCHI is happy to be a part of this Christmas homecoming. Thank you for your heartfelt submission. Merry Christmas! John Marbury, President, WCHI Radio.”
Susan looked up at Carol with a smile that felt like it might split her face. “Tom is going to be able to come home for Christmas.”
Welcome to the book blast for Merry Little Wishing Spritz, a delightful holiday paranormal romance by Cherie Colyer. Keep reading for a peek inside the story and my book review! Follow the tour for even more. And best of luck entering the giveaway!
Jack tucked the midnight blue candle under his arm and picked up one of the beaded bracelets.
“The magnetite stones help to ground the wearer,” I said.
“Do you believe in that sort of thing?”
I nodded. A person didn’t have to be a witch to believe gems, stones, and herbs had mystical properties. He rolled the black beads between his fingers. “Magnetite also attracts love, loyalty, and commitment, if I remember correctly.”
“You’re right,” I said, amazed he knew the property of the stone.
He held onto the bracelet and wandered to the suspense sections.
I followed. “If you buy Lakeside Books—” His gaze met mine, one eyebrow hiked. “ ‘If’?” My fingers trailed over the nicked shelves as I walked. “Now that word is out the store is for sale, you might not be the only one interested in purchasing it.”
The corners of his mouth curved into a smug smirk, implying he wasn’t worried. Would he up his offer if I countered? Jack reached for a book.
Frustrated at the whole store situation, I flick my finger, sending several paperbacks flying off the shelf with the one Jack grabbed. Books pelted his chest.
I jumped back, acting shocked by the books jumping off the shelf. I couldn’t exactly tell him I did it. “We must have packed them in too tightly.”
I pressed my lips together to hide my smile and helped pick up the fallen books.
“This is quite popular.” I held one out. “Lots of twists and surprise attacks.”
Jack glanced sideways. “Is that right?”
Welcome to the Name Before the Masses Tour for All Bags to Cleveland, a clever paranormal romantic comedy by C.S. Hale! I'm letting you know what I thought of the book, plus sharing an excerpt. You can also get a sneak peek into the author's life as she talks about balancing life and writing. Lots to enjoy here and then as you follow the tour! Plus there's a great giveaway at the end.
“You owe me.”
Angela glanced up from her computer screen. Dave Ford stood in front of her. The blood drained from her face. “Do I?” She raised her “helpful” smile.
“Yes.” Dave handed over his passport and put the Louis Vuitton garment bag on the scale. “Last time, you sent my bag to Cleveland.”
“The system isn’t perfect,” Angela said, punching Dave’s information into the computer. “Things do happen sometimes.”
“You control the system. I think you owe me a glass of wine for having to find a tailor at six a.m. I had a nine o’clock business meeting and just my jeans and sweatshirt.”
“Hmm. By that reckoning, I think I’d owe the tailor for having to get you a functional suit so quickly at that early hour.”
“I tipped him £100. Least you can do is buy me a glass of wine in return.”
Angela lifted her gaze. Dave—all six feet of him with his fabulous hair— had a hopeful expression on his face.
“I’m not in the habit of buying strange men alcohol.”
Dave stuck his hand out. “Hi. Dave Ford. Business traveler.” Angela laughed. “All I’m asking for is a glass of Malbec. Or maybe pinot noir. Small price to pay in comparison to my having to fight off jet lag via acupuncture.”
“Acupuncture?”
Dave shrugged. “It was early for the tailor. His aim wasn’t quite what it could have been.”
Angela dipped into Dave’s mind. The tailor had stabbed him a couple of times. And Dave was playing with her. He wanted to see what she’d do.
Wings burst from the doppelgänger-Shade’s back, massive and talon-tipped and tensile. They billowed, leathery and black as the forelimbs of a giant bat. Shadows shifted behind them as they spanned, making them appear to fill the width of the room. Patches of skin darkened and pebbled before ripping into tiny, hardened scales that gleamed in the soft glow of the containment tanks lining the walls, and bones elongated, protruding at knuckles, elbows, and clavicle, hulking the creature in both muscles and height until it towered over her. Two thickly ridged, ebony horns cut from its temples, banked in loose ash-brown locks that roiled about its shoulders. A long tail whipped against a tank, shattering glass.
She wanted to scream but couldn’t, numb, frozen like prey before a monster.
Shade’s demonic form speared her with eyes blacker than the depths of Hell, glistening with pure evil. They were the eyes of a creature that would suck out her soul and sanity and laugh at the corpse it left behind. This was what she’d always known in the back of her mind, that Shade was dangerous. That he was a born killer, a full-blooded Devil from the deepest regions of Hell.
No, wait. That wasn't right. Sure, she was scared of Shade’s true form—he was a powerful and nightmarish-looking beast. But she also had flashes of him smiling and protecting her, worried and protecting her, laughing and crying and screaming her name, all while baring those same obsidian wings.
A gun was in her good hand, but she didn’t remember having drawn it. It wavered, trembling where it was outstretched.
Shoot, shoot to kill, a whispered voice not her own pounded in the back of her head, incessant. Shoot him before he turns on you, then shoot yourself.
With a start, she realized she’d aimed her sight at the real Shade’s back. She was a breath away from firing.
