Bound By Passion: Big Cocks and Broomsticks Giveaway Hop @DenyseBrid...: Welcome to the hottest and coolest Halloween Hop around. In keeping with the theme, I decided to showcase a reader favourite among my va...
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Friday, October 25, 2013
TRS Spookapalooza is underway! #RomFantasy @DenyseBridger
As you may already know, the annual Spookapalooza is underway at The Romance Studio. I've participated in this event every year since it began, and it's a total blast. Apart from a lot of promotional exposure for books, it's a fabulous and fun way to chat with readers, run impromptu contests, and discover all kinds of great new reads. So, if you have some time on your hands drop in and see what's happening because it's a busy and happening party!
Drop by, it's gonna be a blast again this year!
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Weak at the Knees @jo_kessel #RomFantasy
About the Author:
Jo Kessel is a journalist in the
UK, working for the BBC and reporting and presenting for ITV on
holiday, consumer and current affairs programs. She writes for several national
newspapers including the Daily Mail, the Telegraph, the Guardian and the Express
and was the anonymous author of the Independent’s hit column: Diary of a Primary
School Mum.
When Jo was ten years old she wrote
a short story about losing a loved one. Her mother and big sister were so moved
by the tale that it made them cry. Having reduced them to tears she vowed that
the next time she wrote a story it would make them smile instead. Happily she
succeeded and with this success grew an addiction for wanting to reach out and
touch people with words.
P.S Jo’s pretty certain one of her
daughters has inherited this gene.
Other books by Jo Kessel include
Lover in Law.
Her latest book is the new adult
contemporary romance novel, Weak at the Knees
Visit her website at www.jokessel.com
Connect & Socialize
with Jo!
About the Book:
Genre: New Adult
Contemporary Romance
Author: Jo Kessel
Publisher:
CreateSpace
Pages: 292
Language: English
ISBN-10:
1490397604
ISBN-13: 978-1490397603
“We got so busy living
life that we forgot to live our dreams.”
Danni Lewis has been
playing it safe for twenty-six years, but her sheltered existence is making her
feel old ahead of time. When a sudden death plunges her into a spiral of grief,
she throws caution to the wind and runs away to France in search of a new
beginning.
The moment ski
instructor Olivier du Pape enters her shattered world she falls hard, in more
ways than one.
Their mutual desire is
as powerful and seductive as the mountains around them. His dark gypsy looks and
piercing blue eyes are irresistible.
Only
she must resist, because he has a wife - and she’d made a pact
to never get involved with a married man.
But how do you choose
between keeping your word and being true to your soul?
Weak at the Knees is
Jo’s debut novel in the new adult, contemporary romance genre – a story of love
and loss set between London and the heart of the
French Alps.
First Chapter:
I don’t like being English. I never have. It’s always felt like such an
un-sexy nationality. Let’s face it, if any foreigner were asked to conjure up a
vision of the typical male Brit, most likely they’d be thinking of someone
slightly overweight, over-boozed and over sunburned. Most other Europeans fare
better. The Italians are all considered hot-blooded Romeos whilst the
Scandinavians are a blonde bunch of Adonis’s. As for the French, granted they
have a reputation for being curt and unfaithful, but deep down the rest of the
world respects their infidelity, crediting the lot with being expert lovers even
though most of them probably aren’t. The most flattering of British descriptions
is that of an English Rose, but that wouldn’t fit someone like me. Far from
being a sinewy blonde with a porcelain complexion, I’m more a pint-sized
pre-Raphaelite – short, with waist-length brown curly hair and far too many
curves. Not that being an English rose is a particularly flattering description
anyway. Yes, it might be a beauteous flower, but it’s also got prickly stems
which snare. No, in my opinion, whichever way you look at it, on a global,
sexual scale, being English isn’t often an asset.
Hugo’s English. He’s as stiff upper lip Hooray Henry as they come. He’s tall and good-looking in that pretty, public schoolboy, foppish kind of way and he’s a charmer to boot. Think Hugh Grant and you’re not far off the mark - although if it was a toss up between Hugh (particularly the Four Weddings Hugh) and Hugo, there’d be no competition. It would be Grant all the way. I’ve always had a bit of a crush on him. Ironically, many women from all over the world would probably jump at the chance to jump on my Hugo because he’s English. Not because he’s the typical Brit though, but because he’s got the Hugh Grant factor and foreign females fall for that kind of thing. It’s the look, the manners and the self-deprecation. For me, however, nothing beats your language being spoken by somebody who’s not from your country. It’s undeniably sexy. It’s why I like foreigners.
Hugo is what you’d call a catch. My mother definitely thinks so. I’m sure she’s secretly hoping we’ll end up together. Son-in-law material doesn’t come any better. She could show him off and brag away till the cows came home. “My Danni’s Hugo” she’d boast to all her friends, with an air of smug superiority, “He’s a Barrister. He’s ever so clever.”
Indeed he is. Apparently you need to be fluent in Ancient Greek and Latin to get a first in Classics at Oxford like Hugo. Now, that might seem a useless skill to the less educated of us – after all there are no more ancient Greeks or Romans with whom to converse – but you’ve still got to be bloody brilliant to master it. You try making head or tail of a page of Homer’s Iliad! You’d soon understand why they coined the phrase ‘It’s all Greek to me’.
We met when I was fifteen. He was a couple of years older. “Danni Lewis” he’d remarked, at the end of our first proper conversation at some run-of-the mill teen party we’d gone to. “I think you’re great. You’re so original. You’re so enigmatic.”
“Well, thanks very much,” I’d replied. “You’re pretty nice too.” What I’d really wanted to ask was ‘what the hell does ‘enigmatic’ mean?’ I didn’t dare though because I didn’t want to come across as intellectually inferior. He’d clearly assumed that I was as clever as he was, which meant knowing a word like enigmatic even at the age of fifteen. These days I work hard at not making assumptions, although most of the time I fail dismally. I suspect we all do.
Anyway, as soon as I got back home I’d fired up my computer and checked the meaning of the word ‘enigmatic’ on an on-line dictionary. ‘Deliberately mysterious’ or ‘puzzling’ were the definitions I got. I’d liked that. It conjured up a vision of someone beautiful but unobtainable, a woman over whom you could obsess but not possess; a woman about whom one could never assume.
It took us ages to get together. We indulged in hours of what we called phone sex. In truth there was nothing remotely sexual about it. A typical late night, tucked up in bed conversation would go as follows:
HUGO: “Watch you doin?”
ME: “Mmmmmm, I’m just lying here, thinking about you lying there. Where are you, watch YOU doin?”
HUGO: “I’m just lying here on my bed, thinking about you lying there.”
ME: “U ON your bed or IN your bed?”
HUGO: “I’m on it.”
ME: “Well, why don’t you get in it?”
HUGO: “Why?”
And so the scintillating dialogue would continue – although you’d have thought that a bloke who was destined to get a first from Oxford might be able to make slightly more dynamic conversation. I think the reason it took me six months to secure a date was because I kept being too enigmatic. The deliberately mysterious and puzzling me was quite clearly sending out the wrong signals. Hugo assumed I wasn’t interested.
Eventually one day, we were both sitting on my box room bed at my parents’ house in Hendon, north London, playing this stupid truth yes or no game when he came clean and I came clean and it was all very sweet and a date was put in the diary.
Hugo’s English. He’s as stiff upper lip Hooray Henry as they come. He’s tall and good-looking in that pretty, public schoolboy, foppish kind of way and he’s a charmer to boot. Think Hugh Grant and you’re not far off the mark - although if it was a toss up between Hugh (particularly the Four Weddings Hugh) and Hugo, there’d be no competition. It would be Grant all the way. I’ve always had a bit of a crush on him. Ironically, many women from all over the world would probably jump at the chance to jump on my Hugo because he’s English. Not because he’s the typical Brit though, but because he’s got the Hugh Grant factor and foreign females fall for that kind of thing. It’s the look, the manners and the self-deprecation. For me, however, nothing beats your language being spoken by somebody who’s not from your country. It’s undeniably sexy. It’s why I like foreigners.
Hugo is what you’d call a catch. My mother definitely thinks so. I’m sure she’s secretly hoping we’ll end up together. Son-in-law material doesn’t come any better. She could show him off and brag away till the cows came home. “My Danni’s Hugo” she’d boast to all her friends, with an air of smug superiority, “He’s a Barrister. He’s ever so clever.”
Indeed he is. Apparently you need to be fluent in Ancient Greek and Latin to get a first in Classics at Oxford like Hugo. Now, that might seem a useless skill to the less educated of us – after all there are no more ancient Greeks or Romans with whom to converse – but you’ve still got to be bloody brilliant to master it. You try making head or tail of a page of Homer’s Iliad! You’d soon understand why they coined the phrase ‘It’s all Greek to me’.
We met when I was fifteen. He was a couple of years older. “Danni Lewis” he’d remarked, at the end of our first proper conversation at some run-of-the mill teen party we’d gone to. “I think you’re great. You’re so original. You’re so enigmatic.”
“Well, thanks very much,” I’d replied. “You’re pretty nice too.” What I’d really wanted to ask was ‘what the hell does ‘enigmatic’ mean?’ I didn’t dare though because I didn’t want to come across as intellectually inferior. He’d clearly assumed that I was as clever as he was, which meant knowing a word like enigmatic even at the age of fifteen. These days I work hard at not making assumptions, although most of the time I fail dismally. I suspect we all do.
Anyway, as soon as I got back home I’d fired up my computer and checked the meaning of the word ‘enigmatic’ on an on-line dictionary. ‘Deliberately mysterious’ or ‘puzzling’ were the definitions I got. I’d liked that. It conjured up a vision of someone beautiful but unobtainable, a woman over whom you could obsess but not possess; a woman about whom one could never assume.
It took us ages to get together. We indulged in hours of what we called phone sex. In truth there was nothing remotely sexual about it. A typical late night, tucked up in bed conversation would go as follows:
HUGO: “Watch you doin?”
ME: “Mmmmmm, I’m just lying here, thinking about you lying there. Where are you, watch YOU doin?”
HUGO: “I’m just lying here on my bed, thinking about you lying there.”
ME: “U ON your bed or IN your bed?”
HUGO: “I’m on it.”
ME: “Well, why don’t you get in it?”
HUGO: “Why?”
And so the scintillating dialogue would continue – although you’d have thought that a bloke who was destined to get a first from Oxford might be able to make slightly more dynamic conversation. I think the reason it took me six months to secure a date was because I kept being too enigmatic. The deliberately mysterious and puzzling me was quite clearly sending out the wrong signals. Hugo assumed I wasn’t interested.
Eventually one day, we were both sitting on my box room bed at my parents’ house in Hendon, north London, playing this stupid truth yes or no game when he came clean and I came clean and it was all very sweet and a date was put in the diary.
---------------------------------------------------------------
I was ten years old and having lunch with my grandmother. I think I’d just
dared to ask (even though she was eighty-two) if she was still having sex with
my grandfather. She never answered the question, but decided it was time to
offer some useful advice. She must have got this from a Mills and Boon novel,
because she sure as hell didn’t get it from her marriage. She was a Polish
immigrant and married the first man she’d met on British soil. She spent the
rest of her life trying to make the best of it. The conversation was remarkably
one-sided and as usual, she kept getting her V’s and W’s mixed up. It’s a common
Eastern-European linguistic affliction apparently. Anyway, the mentor-like chat
went a bit like this.
“Danni darling.”
“Yes grandma?”
“Now I vant to tell you something and I vant you to try to remember it ven you get older.”
“Ok Grandma”.
“If a man ewwer makes you wery dizzy ven you kiss him, make sure you newwer let him go. You vant to make sure you marry him.”
“Why? Does Grandpa make you wery dizzy?”
“Eat your lunch Danni”.
I was on the brink of repeating my original ‘are you and grandpa still having sex’ question, but thought against it, gagging myself with a forkful of lamb and mushy peas. With hindsight, I wish I hadn’t held back. I mean, do most octogenarians still have sex? If so, what are the chances of cardiac arrest mid-orgasm?
“Danni darling.”
“Yes grandma?”
“Now I vant to tell you something and I vant you to try to remember it ven you get older.”
“Ok Grandma”.
“If a man ewwer makes you wery dizzy ven you kiss him, make sure you newwer let him go. You vant to make sure you marry him.”
“Why? Does Grandpa make you wery dizzy?”
“Eat your lunch Danni”.
I was on the brink of repeating my original ‘are you and grandpa still having sex’ question, but thought against it, gagging myself with a forkful of lamb and mushy peas. With hindsight, I wish I hadn’t held back. I mean, do most octogenarians still have sex? If so, what are the chances of cardiac arrest mid-orgasm?
-------------------------------------------
Anyway, Hugo didn’t make me wery dizzy when he kissed me, but it was still
very nice and he did make me happy. Phone sex progressed to pillow talk and we
had a really good, solid relationship. He knew me inside out and always had an
uncanny knack of knowing exactly what I was thinking, which often got me in a
lot of trouble.
I loved his company. He made me laugh and he stimulated me intellectually. I mean, how many other seventeen-year olds do you know who are nicknamed Ariadne? That’s what he’s always called me. It took a while for me to pluck up the courage to ask who Ariadne actually was. It turned out she was this Princess from Greek mythology who fell in love with a bloke called Theseus who was due to be offered as a sacrificial victim to the Minotaur, a half-man, half-bull monster. But in order to save her loved one from his horrible fate she’d stuffed a ball of thread into his pocket as he was led into this prison of a labyrinth, meant to be impossible to escape from. But thanks to her (and the thread) he did escape and was never sacrificed and they lived happily ever after.
Hugo said he hoped an imaginary trail of string would always lead him to me, which is why he’d called me Ariadne. I think he was secretly hoping that I’d embrace this story with a bit more enthusiasm by calling him Theseus. But I couldn’t. It all felt a bit too un-cool. I preferred calling him Achilles, which really pissed him off because it didn’t demonstrate the same level of love and commitment. He hated the thought that he might be my Achilles heel. “Lighten up”, I’d said. “Don’t take everything so bloody literally.”
I’ve got to hand it to him though. He’s the only person who’s ever got me into a bath under the auspices of scientific experimentation. One day he’d told me to bring my bikini with when I went round. I’d hoped that meant we were going to his parents’ posh health club, and was frankly a bit miffed when I got there and he said we were staying put. “Why did I bring my bikini then?” I’d protested. “My fault” he apologised. “You probably don’t need it. But we are doing something with water.”
He led me into his parents’ bathroom. The tub had been filled to the brim. Curiously there were a whole load of plastic measuring jugs strewn across the floor. He explained that he’d been learning all about this Greek mathematician, Archimedes, the first person to work out that the volume of an object placed in a fluid was equal to the volume of the amount of fluid displaced by that object when submerged.
For some bizarre reason, Hugo wanted to work out my body mass Archimedes style. He’d drilled a small hole just above the water line. The plan was that when I got in the bath, my body mass would trickle out the hole and Hugo would be waiting to collect it in the measuring jugs.
“I don’t give a toss what my body mass is Hugo. I don’t even understand what you’re going on about.”
“Don’t be such a killjoy Danni. It’ll take five minutes.”
So off I went to put on my swimsuit and came back to stand hovering by the bath.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” I was no scientist, but felt pretty certain all would not go according to plan.
“Of course it will” snapped Hugo.
I stepped gingerly into the tub. A little bit of water trickled into a jug Hugo was holding up to the hole. “OK, you can sit down now Danni. Don’t worry, you don’t have to do it so slowly, it’s all under control.” So I plonked myself down and Hugo looked on in horror as the volume of my body mass cascaded over the edge of the bath onto his parents’ cream shag pile, bypassing his too small hole entirely.
“Achilles, I think you should stick to the Arts,” I laughed.
“Oh shut up Ariadne. You never wanted it to work in the first place!”
See, told you he always knew exactly what I was thinking. Anyway, never one to miss out on a golden opportunity, and seeing as I was already in the bath, he told me to shove up and let some of the water out. He took off his clothes and sloshed himself beside me. Secretly I think the whole thing had been about getting me half-naked in the bath with him. Christ knows why he hadn’t just suggested that in the first place.
I loved his company. He made me laugh and he stimulated me intellectually. I mean, how many other seventeen-year olds do you know who are nicknamed Ariadne? That’s what he’s always called me. It took a while for me to pluck up the courage to ask who Ariadne actually was. It turned out she was this Princess from Greek mythology who fell in love with a bloke called Theseus who was due to be offered as a sacrificial victim to the Minotaur, a half-man, half-bull monster. But in order to save her loved one from his horrible fate she’d stuffed a ball of thread into his pocket as he was led into this prison of a labyrinth, meant to be impossible to escape from. But thanks to her (and the thread) he did escape and was never sacrificed and they lived happily ever after.
Hugo said he hoped an imaginary trail of string would always lead him to me, which is why he’d called me Ariadne. I think he was secretly hoping that I’d embrace this story with a bit more enthusiasm by calling him Theseus. But I couldn’t. It all felt a bit too un-cool. I preferred calling him Achilles, which really pissed him off because it didn’t demonstrate the same level of love and commitment. He hated the thought that he might be my Achilles heel. “Lighten up”, I’d said. “Don’t take everything so bloody literally.”
I’ve got to hand it to him though. He’s the only person who’s ever got me into a bath under the auspices of scientific experimentation. One day he’d told me to bring my bikini with when I went round. I’d hoped that meant we were going to his parents’ posh health club, and was frankly a bit miffed when I got there and he said we were staying put. “Why did I bring my bikini then?” I’d protested. “My fault” he apologised. “You probably don’t need it. But we are doing something with water.”
He led me into his parents’ bathroom. The tub had been filled to the brim. Curiously there were a whole load of plastic measuring jugs strewn across the floor. He explained that he’d been learning all about this Greek mathematician, Archimedes, the first person to work out that the volume of an object placed in a fluid was equal to the volume of the amount of fluid displaced by that object when submerged.
For some bizarre reason, Hugo wanted to work out my body mass Archimedes style. He’d drilled a small hole just above the water line. The plan was that when I got in the bath, my body mass would trickle out the hole and Hugo would be waiting to collect it in the measuring jugs.
“I don’t give a toss what my body mass is Hugo. I don’t even understand what you’re going on about.”
“Don’t be such a killjoy Danni. It’ll take five minutes.”
So off I went to put on my swimsuit and came back to stand hovering by the bath.
“Are you sure this is going to work?” I was no scientist, but felt pretty certain all would not go according to plan.
“Of course it will” snapped Hugo.
I stepped gingerly into the tub. A little bit of water trickled into a jug Hugo was holding up to the hole. “OK, you can sit down now Danni. Don’t worry, you don’t have to do it so slowly, it’s all under control.” So I plonked myself down and Hugo looked on in horror as the volume of my body mass cascaded over the edge of the bath onto his parents’ cream shag pile, bypassing his too small hole entirely.
“Achilles, I think you should stick to the Arts,” I laughed.
“Oh shut up Ariadne. You never wanted it to work in the first place!”
See, told you he always knew exactly what I was thinking. Anyway, never one to miss out on a golden opportunity, and seeing as I was already in the bath, he told me to shove up and let some of the water out. He took off his clothes and sloshed himself beside me. Secretly I think the whole thing had been about getting me half-naked in the bath with him. Christ knows why he hadn’t just suggested that in the first place.
---------------------------
Even by the age of eighteen Hugo and I had spoken loads of times about
marriage. “Do you think we’ll end up together” he’d ask.
I’d pondered and then joked about a possible scenario. “I don’t know. If you ever asked me I’m sure I should say yes, but probably wouldn’t. I reckon I’ll be more intent on screwing up my life. Maybe I’ll come crying to you when I’m mid-thirties and divorced, by which time you’ll probably be blissfully married to somebody else and I’ll have to live with the fact that I had the chance of happiness but turned it down.
I don’t know what it is about Hugo. Many people would dream of having what we have. It’s just sometimes I find myself in the kitchen of our Highgate flat (technically his flat, but we both live in it) sticking lemon sole under the grill when I should be out being wild and reckless.
I’d pondered and then joked about a possible scenario. “I don’t know. If you ever asked me I’m sure I should say yes, but probably wouldn’t. I reckon I’ll be more intent on screwing up my life. Maybe I’ll come crying to you when I’m mid-thirties and divorced, by which time you’ll probably be blissfully married to somebody else and I’ll have to live with the fact that I had the chance of happiness but turned it down.
I don’t know what it is about Hugo. Many people would dream of having what we have. It’s just sometimes I find myself in the kitchen of our Highgate flat (technically his flat, but we both live in it) sticking lemon sole under the grill when I should be out being wild and reckless.
Rafflecopter Code for $100 Amazon Gift Card & Gift Basket
Giveaway:
Pump Up Your Book and Jo
Kessel are giving away a $100 Amazon Gift Card & a French Gift Basket of
French gift basket that includes a whole lot of goodies associated with the
book, including a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, a famous wine from the Rhône
wine region of southeastern France!
Terms & Conditions:
- By entering the giveaway, you are confirming you are at least 18 years old.
- One winner will be chosen via Rafflecopter to receive one $100 Amazon Gift Card and one winner will be chosen to win the gift basket.
- This giveaway begins October 7 and ends January 18.
- Winners will be contacted via email on Monday, January 20, 2014.
- Winner has 48 hours to reply.
Good luck everyone!
ENTER TO WIN!
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Meet Valia's Villain @JocelynDex #RomFantasy
Title: Valia’s Villain
Series: Sempire Seductions,
Book 2
Author: Jocelyn
Dex
Publisher:
Ellora’s Cave
Cover Artist:
Syneca Featherstone
Genre:
Erotic Paranormal Romance
Length: 36,000 words
ISBN: 9781419948275
Valia’s Villain
Blurb
When
Valia approaches the Ferox demon,
hoping for scorching sex and a feed, she doesn’t expect to be handcuffed,
transported to the demon realm, accused of dirty deeds she has no memory of
committing and held captive for three days.
Even though she believes her captor to be crazy, she feels a connection
to him she’s felt with no one else.
When
Rydin senses the Sempire who locked
him up, fed on him and used him as a sex slave many years ago, he knows his
wait for revenge is finally over. Burning with the need to punish her, he
imprisons her in the demon realm, where she is at his mercy, but as much as he
tries to ignore it, a connection sparks between them every time they touch.
Author Bio
Jocelyn was born in Iowa and currently resides in hot-as-hell Texas. She shares her home with her very own 6'4" alpha male and varying numbers of spoiled cats and dogs. Teaching one of her dogs to file his nails is one of her all-time favorite accomplishments.
She thinks dragonflies are awesome, spiders are creepy and it’s rumored that she sleeps with a machete by her bed in case zombies attack in the middle of the night. Jocelyn loves to paint, loves to read, and loves to write sizzling erotic romance about yummy demons that would make your momma blush.
Here’s where
you can find Jocelyn on the web
Here’s where
you can buy Valia’s Villain
Giveaway - Runs from 10/23 to 10/31:
1 Ebook Copy of Araya’s Addiction, Book 1 of the Sempire Seductions Series
1 Swag Pack - Various Stuff
1 $15 Bitch Face Cosmetics Gift Card
Monday, October 21, 2013
A sexy thriller for Halloween! #RomFantasy @DenyseBridger
RECKLESS
ASSIGNATION
Read the Reviews:
Blurb:
A haunted and abandoned hotel on
Halloween is the setting for a very private party between two lovers, one of
them a world-class, sophisticated intelligence operative who’s trying to teach
his young and innocent lady that curiosity can sometimes take you places you’d
be better not to go. Amid elaborate trappings meant to scare and entice, Rick’s
seduction takes some unexpected but wickedly wonderful twists. But, Rick also
has a lesson to learn, when his past collides with his present, and almost
destroys everything he cherishes most.
Reckless Assignation
A Romantica® erotic
romance from Ellora’s Cave
Find it HERE:
Read the Reviews:
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Dracula in the Flesh - an Interview with @TraceyHKitts
An Interview with Dracula
By Tracey H. Kitts
As he walks into the room, I feel my heart
flutter and my breath catches in my throat. For a moment I am unable to speak.
I simply stare at him, taking in his beauty. He is everything I always imagined
he would be. He fills both the room and my senses. As he sits in the chair
facing me, I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves.
“Good evening, Vlad. I’ve waited a long
time to meet you, face to face.”
“Good evening, Tracey.”
My name sounds strange falling from his
lips. His accent gives it an exotic sound.
“Are you ready for our interview?” I ask.
“Please, proceed.”
I clear my throat, unsure of how exactly I
should go about this. Finally, I decide to just go for it.
“What is it like to be immortal?” I ask.
He sighs, as if he carries the weight of
the world. “I once thought it was a curse. To be immortal is to watch all that
you love fade away while you remain, unchanged.” He pauses. “No, that is not
true. You are changed, you only look the same.”
“You mentioned looking the same. Do you
have a reflection?”
His smile is sad. “Until I am reunited with
the other half of my soul, I shall have to take your word for how I look.”
He looks magnificent, but I don’t say that.
“Do you have any vulnerabilities?” I ask.
“Sunlight weakens me, but it does not kill
me. All of my kind can be harmed by silver in particular.” He moves forward in
his chair. “Does it surprise you to know that I can be injured by most any
weapon?”
“Actually, yes. So, you can be killed then?”
“Not easily, but yes. It is possible.”
“How did you become … what you are?”
He looks at the floor and for a moment I
regret my question.
“My love was stolen from me. I became
cursed while trying to bring her back from the dead.”
“I’m sorry. If you had known the
consequences of your actions, would you have made the same choice?”
Once again his smile is bittersweet. “There
was never any other choice,” he says softly.
“There are so many rumors and legends about
you. Do you have any special powers or abilities?”
“I have power over the storm and the beasts
of the field. I can run with the wolves, float on the mists, and soar into the
night sky.”
“That’s amazing. Why do you drink blood?”
“Because I gave every last drop of mine in
a ritual designed to bring my love back to me.”
“You mean Mina? You gave all your blood for
her?”
“Yes. There is nothing I would not give for
her. I seek in death that which was taken from me in life.”
“Have you ever considered walking away and
letting Mina have a normal life?” I ask, wondering if my final question is too
personal.
He runs a hand through his dark hair and
sits back. “I have. I have wondered if I am being selfish, if she would be
better off not knowing. But then I remember what it felt like to hold her and I
cannot accept that this is true. I gave my blood and part of my immortal soul
so that she might live again. I plan to see this through, no matter the cost.”
Before I can apologize (because I’m afraid
I hurt him somehow) a shadow passes over the room. The candles flicker and in
an instant, he is gone.
Book Info:
Jonathan Harker, a young English lawyer, is
traveling to Castle Dracula in order to finalize a real estate transaction. He
has been personally requested by Count Dracula. What Jonathan doesn’t realize
is that Dracula’s interests do not lie with him, but with his beautiful
fiancée, Mina.
As soon as he saw her face, Dracula knew
the ritual was a success. After all these long years, his love has returned to
him. However, many things (such as Van Helsing and Jonathan Harker) stand in
the way of their happiness. Sure, he could kill them all and take what he
wants. However, his greatest desire is not to possess Mina, but to love her and
have her return his love.
Therefore, Dracula’s fate and the fate of
those closest to her lie in Mina’s hands. She has dreamed of him all her life.
But what will she do when she learns her dark prince is real? What will happen
when she knows him, not as a dream, but in the flesh?
WARNING: This book contains graphic
violence, and graphic sex. This is NOT a romance novel, although there is a
romance involved. This is Erotic Horror and might offend some readers.
Monday, October 07, 2013
WRAGE @JosephSpencer00 #RomFantasy
About the Author:
As a boy, Joseph Spencer immersed himself
in the deductive logic of Sherlock Holmes, the heroic crime fighting of Batman
and Spider-Man, and a taste for the tragic with dramas from poets like
Shakespeare and Homer.
Before Joseph took to spinning his own
tales, he pursued a career in print sports journalism, graduating summa cum
laude from Southern Illinois University-Carbondale. He covered such events as
NASCAR’s Subway 500 race in Martinsville, the NBA Draft Camp in Chicago, the Junior College
World Series, and Minor League Baseball’s Midwest League All-Star Game during a
ten-year career throughout the Midwest.
Now, he works as an emergency telecommunications specialist with an Illinois
police department. The combination of years of writing experience with a
background working with law enforcement professionals gave rise to his writing
aspirations.
Joseph was married to Dr. Amy (Waggoner)
Spencer, an accomplished veterinary doctor, on March 14, 2012. He received word his debut novel was accepted by
his publisher, Damnation Books, the next day. Joseph is hard at work on the rest
of the series. Book 2 – Wrage
– was released June 1,
2013. The Spencer family
enjoys reading Charlaine Harris, George R.R. Martin, Mary Janice Davidson, and
most paranormal stories. The Spencers also enjoy quoting movie lines from “The
Princess Bride”, “Rain Man”, “Bridesmaids”, and “Office Space.”
Connect & Socialize
with Joe!
 |
How long have you been writing?
I worked for ten years as a print journalist in large regional daily newspapers in Peoria, Il., Decatur, Il., Burlington, Iowa, and Grand Junction, Colo. I covered such events as NASCAR’s Subway 500 race in Martinsville, Va., the NBA Draft Camp in Chicago, the Junior College World Series, and Minor League Baseball’s Midwest League All-Star Game. I also won an award for outstanding writer of the year by the Colorado Tennis Association.
How long have you been a published author?
My first book, Grim, came out in the fall of 2012, so I’m still relatively new to fiction writing. I’m trying to learn and entertain at the same time. I’ve had some great feedback from reviewers.
What titles do you have available?
I’ve only written the two books in the Sons of Darkness series – Grim and Wrage.
What made you choose the subject of this book?
Wrage explores the Faustian theme of wanting something different for your life. Several characters strike deals they may end up regretting to see their schemes and obsessions realized. This novel also expands its universe of supernatural characters which were inspired in part by mythology and one of my favorite TV shows, Supernatural. Critics of my first novel in The Sons of Darkness series Grim expressed some dissatisfaction that there wasn’t more redemption for the characters involved, and I think they will find this story a little more to their liking.
Do you have any new titles coming soon?
I’m working on the third book of my Sons of Darkness series, Malice. It will follow a bad boy rocker, Malice Madsen, who is loosely patterned after Marilyn Manson. Each son represents one of the seven deadly sins so Malice will represent pride. I’m also working on a side project outside of the series in which a small town girl with big city dreams gets conned into a human trafficking ring. I don’t think people realize how large of a problem this is inside the United States.
What is your favourite genre and why?
Crime fiction is my favorite because I enjoyed stories about Sherlock Holmes as a child and I’ve always found it exciting to try to figure out a crime with the detective since that time.
What, to you, is the most exciting part of the writing process?
I enjoy letting my characters dictate to me how certain scenes play out. I’m more of a pantser than an intricate plotter. I’ve got a definite plan of starting and ending points for scenes, but sometimes the characters take the middle and run with them in a different place than where I originally thought.
If you could co-author a book with anyone, who would you choose and why?
I’d choose James Rollins. I met him in Chicago at a book convention without being a reader of his. I gave his books a chance because he was a great guy and I enjoyed the synopsis on the book jacket. I’m glad I did because he’s become one of my favorite writers. He blends science with action and teaches you so much.
Where can readers find you on the web?
My site is www.josephbspencer.com
I’m also on Twitter at @josephspencer00
Here is a link to me on my publisher’s site:
http://damnationbooks.com/book.php?isbn=9781615729777
Here is my Amazon link:
http://www.amazon.com/Wrage-Joseph-Spencer/dp/161572978X/
Here are links to my video trailers on YouTube:
Grim - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJMdOhL-Qrg
Wrage - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3Z-ECZw3AE
Sometimes the toughest fight lies within yourself.
As more dark secrets come to light, the
battle for souls pushes Prairieville to the brink of war in the living and
supernatural realms.
Jeff Wrage swears a blood oath to Abaddon,
the supernatural avenger of murder victims, to hunt the crooked cop who
butchered his wife. Jeff wonders whether he can be the executioner Abaddon
requires. Their pact throws the supernatural realm in chaos and threatens to
trigger an apocalyptic fight for control of the afterlife between the Sons of
Darkness and Sons of Light foretold in the Dead Sea Scrolls.
Orlando Marino sees the death of Cyrus
Black as his opportunity to restore the Marino family's stronghold in
Prairieville’s organized crime scene and become a mob kingpin. He unleashes a
plague, turning its victims into mindless followers. Cyrus' heir is busy rooting
out a traitor and is unable to stop the coming turf war in the realm of
man.
The fate of all rests with Homicide
Detective Anna Duke, who steps into the shoes of her mentor while coming to
terms with unrequited love. As she tries to clear the fallen hero's name, she
takes on a case where corpses go missing. Her new partner is reported dead. She
learns the truth about her true identity and uncovers a trail of secrets
questioning her tragic past. She journeys to avert the destruction of all
creation.
Purchase your copy:
AMAZON | DAMNATION BOOKS
Title: Wrage
Author: Joseph Spencer
Publisher:
Damnation Books LLC (June 1, 2013)
Genre: Occult Crime
Thriller
Pages: 214
Language: English
ISBN-10:
161572978X
ISBN-13: 978-1615729784
Sometimes the toughest fight lies within yourself.
As more dark secrets come to light, the battle for souls pushes Prairieville
to the brink of war in the living and supernatural realms.
Jeff Wrage swears a blood oath to Abaddon, the supernatural avenger of murder
victims, to hunt the crooked cop who butchered his wife. Jeff wonders whether he
can be the executioner Abaddon requires. Their pact throws the supernatural
realm in chaos and threatens to trigger an apocalyptic fight for control of the
afterlife between the Sons of Darkness and Sons of Light foretold in the Dead
Sea Scrolls.
Orlando Marino sees the death of Cyrus Black as his opportunity to restore
the Marino family's stronghold in Prairieville’s organized crime scene and
become a mob kingpin. He unleashes a plague, turning its victims into mindless
followers. Cyrus' heir is busy rooting out a traitor and is unable to stop the
coming turf war in the realm of man.
The fate of all rests with Homicide Detective Anna Duke, who steps into the
shoes of her mentor while coming to terms with unrequited love. As she tries to
clear the fallen hero's name, she takes on a case where corpses go missing. Her
new partner is reported dead. She learns the truth about her true identity and
uncovers a trail of secrets questioning her tragic past. She journeys to avert
the destruction of all creation.
Book Excerpt:
“What do I have to do? I didn’t know rules before I did the ritual,” Jeff cowered into a ball, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. It was definitely the weirdest conversation he’d ever had, considering he was talking to himself or whatever was inside of him now.
“My terms are simple,” Abaddon rumbled, once again speaking to Jeff through
his own lips. “You must avenge the lives of the wrongful dead by killing those
who robbed them of their rightful place in the afterlife. After I’ve collected
the souls you’ve punished, I’ll help you avenge your wife. I’ll help you kill
Christopher Sinks.”
Jeff’s eyes searched his suddenly glowing skin looking for answers. “What if
I can’t kill for you? I’ve never hurt anyone. I don’t know how I’d do something
like that.”
The beastly laugh once again rattled his chest so hard his ribs hurt. “Don’t
worry, boy. I’ll show you. Let me see if I can convince you. Hear the plea of
the souls stuck in limbo, waiting for judgment against their murderers.” Jeff’s
hands were forced toward each other. A thunderous clap echoed when they met
together. The wound on his right palm reopened and drops of blood littered the
ground.
Immediately, loud rustling noises surrounded Jeff on all sides. Clumps of
dirt in front of graves everywhere shook and collapsed. Pale, glowing hands
clawed out of their disturbed burial plots. The bony hands reached out toward
the sky, fighting to be free of their earthly bonds. Gradually, heads, torsos
and full bodies climbed out of the overturned soil. Some were only skeletons,
while other corpses growled as they inched closer, sagging, rotting flesh
dripped blood, dirt and worms to the ground with every step. Some were
dismembered. Some were riddled with bullet holes. Others bled from gashes in
their sides, stomachs and necks. All of them had a blinding light poking out of
the cracks and crags of their rotting flesh. They reached out toward him. None
of their mouths moved. Yet, an otherworldly buzz of whispers filled the air. The
uncovered corpses seemed to be chanting.
“We’re the wrongful dead,” they whispered. “We’re robbed of our eternal bed.
Our souls mark the evil deeds. Punish those with bloodthirsty needs. Kill the
ones who took our eternity. Kill them and set us free.”
Book Trailer:
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