Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Welcome @KevinBohacz @pumpupyourbook #RomFantasy

Welcome Kevin Bohacz:

Has writing been something you always did, or was it a discovered talent that came to you at a later point?
I always loved books. However, writing was an unquenchable thirst that came out of nowhere. It was like turning a corner and finding yourself face-to-face with love at first sight. I honestly cannot explain how or why I began writing. In my early 30’s I was living in Venice Beach California and had just started a new company, which would become my primary source of income until my first bestseller many years later. I had all these ideas and emotions clamoring to get out of me. One night after reading Interview with a Vampire and feeling the wild emotions Ann Rice conjured in that piece of literature, I just decided I needed to write. After that night I wrote constantly. I was as obsessed as if my novels were unrequited lovers. I wrote in the early morning before business hours, at lunch, and in the evening after dinner. More than one girlfriend from those years felt that writing was my mistress and one relationship actually broke up as a result. My wife Mazelle, who I married in 1995, did not feel this way. She supported and nurtured me on so many levels. She was my lover, my muse, my manager, my editor, my #1 fan, and my best friend.

Do you remember how it felt when you were offered that first contract? What emotions stand out in your memory?
It was 1993 and the offer was totally unexpected. My agent had been shopping my first novel, Dream Dancers for years and had run out of steam. I had an amazingly large and colourful collection of rejections slips, but I was not about to give up and was working on a novel that would later radically morph and a billion years later become the bestseller that made me a fulltime writer. My emotions when that first deal came in were off the chart! It was everything from relief that I was not insane to the surreal of a long sought dream becoming real. To say I was bouncing off the walls would have been an understatement. If my then girlfriend had been present I might have impulsively proposed to her. I was high on life for days and maybe weeks afterwards.

Is this a first book, part of a series, or the latest in a long line of many?
Immortality and Ghost of the Gods are my 2nd and 3rd novels. These two books together form a single story.

What is the oddest thing that’s happened to you since you chose to become a professional writer? Will it ever make it into a book, or is that a secret?
The last 5 years have been filled with strange inexplicable synchronicities. My wife, Mazelle and I noticed these events and found them impossible to explain in any scientific way. I’m a scientist and for much of my life I’ve approached mysteries guided by scientific methods of investigation. If I could not perceive something with my five senses then extraordinary evidence was required. I’ve always been spiritual but not the least religious and find those two realms are often in bitter conflict with each other. My spiritual side is guided by intuition. When I was younger, I was a seeker weaned on the philosophies of Gurdjieff and Ouspensky with a solid helping of Castaneda’s dream-work, but as a scientist I always remained optimistically agnostic about things spiritual such as near death experiences or the soul. This all changed for me, everything in the universe change for me when Mazelle, my life, my best friend of 17 years died in my arms with us looking into each other’s eyes. They say life wrenching crisis can transform us or break us. First I was broken by grief and emotionally dismembered then I was transformed and reassembled but not completely.

In the time that followed after Mazelle’s body had died, when I was alone and drowning in grief, I could hear my wife whispering to me, “Write my love… Write.” So I wrote. I wrote so hard that my arms grew sore. I wrote so hard that I gave myself tendonitis but the pain in my arms did not slow me. My writing saved me from grief that was dark enough to crush the life from anyone. I completed Ghost of the Gods in a short period of time while also simultaneously working on two new novels.

Something else came out of this dark time of transformation. At some point in the middle of it, I looked back over our lives together focusing on the odd pattern of events. Two years before Mazelle was diagnosed she began telling me that the world was spinning out of control and we were not going to live to an old age. She did not tell me this with any kind of fear but more a matter of fact kind of observation. I told her that was not going to happen. Science was going to help us live for a very long time. Yet I too was plague with what I considered “irrational” fears. When at rest stops on our frequent road trips to Laguna Beach, if Mazelle went inside to get some coffee or whatever, I would suddenly be gripped by gut wrenching illogical fears that she was not coming out, that she had vanished from the face of the Earth never to be seen again.
One night while we were in a Walgreens drugstore, her 15 year old very expensive custom solitaire engagement ring literally exploded off her finger. The gold band shattered in two places and parts of the ring went flying across the store in all directions. In wordless panic we scrambled to recover the diamonds and shards of gold. By the next day we were at the jeweler getting the ring remade and adding a few more diamonds. The jeweler was baffled and could not explain the simultaneous fractures or how the pieces could have been literally launched from her finger flying in different directions for dozens of feet. Once the ring was back and better than new, we were soon joking about the entire event. I would tease her that she secretly broke the ring so that she could get an upgrade. Two years later to the day and almost the exact hour that the ring exploded is when she died in my arms. I now have a list of over a hundred big “coincidences” which occurred in the three years leading up to her leaving this world. In our last ten months together, after Mazelle had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer these inexplicable synchronicities grew in intensity and frequency. Mazelle and I discussed them and noted their otherworldly nature. What were these events? The scientist inside my left brain has given up trying to explain them while my right brain simply calls them premonitions.

So it was with this cauldron of grief bubbling up in my heart, inexplicable mysteries dizzying my mind, and with my lost wife whispering, “Write my love… Write…” that I wrote the hope filled sequel to Immortality, titled Ghost of the Gods.

Will this odd sequence of synchronicities and premonitions make their way into a novel? How can they not? I think we all write from our soul and so this will have to come out onto the pages of one of my books… and that book is titled The Bridge. While The Bridge is fiction it will contain many events and lessons drawn from the last years of our life and the three subsequent years of my life when I was transformed by a horrifying emotional fire.

Do you have your next book underway, or other titles in the planning stages?
I have two books underway. One is titled Dream Signs and it should be on sale before the end of this year. Dream Signs while not a sequel is a continuation of the themes and cosmology begun in my first novel, Dream Dancers, which was about the unexpected power of lucid dreams. The second novel I am working on is The Bridge. As I mentioned, this novel unlike all the other novels I have written, will draw on some events from my life. It will be a highly emotional ride and also unlike all my prior novels it is written in first person past tense instead of third person intimate.

Do you have a favourite genre and why? Is it one you write in, read in, or both?
I love hard science fiction and I love thrillers but more than anything I love the type of hard science fiction that is theoretically possible and set in present day, which is pretty close to the definition of one kind of techno-thriller. This is the brand of techno-thriller that I love to read and the genre that I write in. I often get compared to Michael Crichton since he is arguably the inventor of this type of techno-thriller. I actually bend the techno-thriller genre a bit to my own liking. Thrillers typically are supposed to be action and suspense first and foremost but I take the time to do enough character development to create fully realized three dimensional people. My characters are not perfect. They are flawed like all real people. For me the stories are all about the characters. If the characters are not 100% real and true to whomever they may be then the story stumbles. If a reader has strong emotions for the characters whether it is hate or love then the story soars.
The other thing I enjoy about my slightly bent genre is that I make everything scientifically possible. Making everything possible leads to greater levels of suspension of disbelief in the reader. I feel this makes the stories more compelling. When I am reading a story nothing can cause me to stumble quicker then reading something portrayed as fact that I know is not possible. Whether it’s something simple like a real street described incorrectly or a technical device that is highly unlikely, it all equals the collapse of my suspension of disbelief. The same is true for the characters. I stumble reading a story if a smart character does something slightly foolish just to move the plot along or vice versa. So the bottom line is that I write the kinds of stories that I love to read and my slightly bent techno-thriller genre allows me to do this.

What, to you, is the most exciting part of the writing process? Does it change from book to book or remain the same?
All my novels develop following the same basic ritual. What endlessly fascinates or excites me is where the story itself comes from. The short comes from my muse. When I am writing it really does not feel like I am creating the material. It feels like I am watching daydreams which come from somewhere other than me and I am merely typing as fast as I can to capture the daydream that is unfolding before my eyes. For all four novels I have written, I first created thousands of pages of meticulously detailed background material. Once I feel the characters have become like friends to me, I sit down and start writing. Invariably in a short time the characters stage a revolt and the story takes on a life of its own veering off in directions I never planned. In the end I typically use about 1% of the meticulously detailed background material. Thousands of years ago the Greeks and Romans thought that all creative people were merely channels for muses. I truly cannot figure out where my stories come from. Out of a process of elimination I have decided they come from some Jungian collective awareness that we might as well call a muse!

If you could co-author a book with anyone, who would you choose and why? What kind of book do you think would come from the collaboration?
It would definitely be Michael Crichton. The reason is that I consider Michael Crichton to be the father of the genre I write in. His early work and style resonates with me. The result of the collaboration would be interesting. Crichton’s books demonize technology. The source of the conflict in many of his books is the evil of technology run amok. Crichton and I differ greatly in our worldview and politics. Unlike Crichton I feel it is people run amok, and not technology, that is the problem. So any story we create would be a story of opposites colliding and hopefully we would not kill each other in the collaboration.

Where can readers find you on the web?
I can be found lurking somewhere near my FaceBook author’s page. So if you want to strike up a conversation, find out what I am up to, or when the next book is coming out, go over to FaceBook and like my author’s page.

I am Kevin Bohacz the bestselling novelist of Immortality and a lucid dreamer… Welcome to my dreams. I am also a writer for national computer magazines, founder and president of two high technology corporations, a scientist and engineer for over 35 years, and the inventor of an advanced electric car system – the ESE Engine System (circa 1978). I was also a short order cook for I-Hop, flipped burgers at McDonalds, and delivered Chicken Delight. All of those careers and more are behind me now that I am a full time storyteller, a catcher of dreams. Thank you for reading my stories and making this all possible.

His latest books are Immortality and Ghost of the Gods.
Visit Kevin’s website at or follow him on Twitter at

Dorothy Thompson

Owner & Founding Mother at PUMP UP YOUR BOOK 
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Saturday, April 26, 2014

A new Suspense Best-seller! #RomFantasy

The first thing you’ll notice if you get a copy of my new release, DEFECTOR, is an author note. It reads: DEFECTOR is set in the 90’s, when the biggest enemy the US faced was a potential nuclear war with the Soviet Union. This particular story is about the machinations of vying factions to gain the loyalty and support of a US weapons designer, using any means possible.

For those who don’t know, I used to write thrillers and suspense stories that won minor awards. Occasionally there was a romantic element, but for the most part, these stories were focused on political tensions, and just straight out espionage gone wrong in some cases. And, most of these stories took place in the late 80s and early 90s, when the political situation was ripe for intrigues that would affect entire nations.

A few months ago, Midnight Frost Books, a new company in Western Canada, held a pitch session for their non-romance line. It got me thinking about those old stories, and how much fun they were to write. So, I pulled one out and had a look. The first one out of the folder was Defector, so I submitted the pitch, and they liked it. Enough to contract it once they’d read it. Edits went smooth, the cover is bloody wonderful, and to my great shock, 12 hours after it was released this week, it made the OmniLit/ARe best-seller shelf. As I write this, it is currently sitting at #25 overall in that category–and I am sitting here in absolute shock. But yes, I am also thrilled and smiling.

My editor on this project asked if there were more stories with the irritable and hard-assed Andrew Dahle, and yes, there are at least two others. Plus a slew of unconnected stories of this style. I may have to drag them out and revise them, I’m thinking. The whole departure from the steamy romances has been like a breath of fresh air for me, and I quite enjoyed this whole adventure into the writing past. In this book/short novella, there is one female–and she dies on page one or two, if memory serves...

So, if you’d like to, please leave me a comment with your thoughts on things, and whether or not you’d like to see more non-romance titles from my catalogue. Thanks for stopping by!! Here’s a look at Defector and where you can find your copy.

Suspense/Thriller (non-romance)


Andrew Dahle is a career spook, with no messy emotional ties to complicate his life. He’s worked with the best, and despite himself, he’s about to discover that he’s got friends he really didn’t know he wanted.

A straight-forward operation to grab a defector before he can leave the country with a top secret project goes wildly awry, and forces Andrew to choose between saving the life of a colleague’s son or nailing his target. To his great surprise, he saves the young man’s life, and wakes up in a hospital.

Grateful, Richard MacAvoy, a retired agent with his own elite contacts and players, steps in when Dahle is injured saving his son. Desperate to complete his mission, Andrew reluctantly accepts the help MacAvoy offers, and in the process just might learn that alone isn’t always the best way to work, and friends might be worth the vulnerability he’s always shunned.


“What have you managed to pull out of your files regarding Yasmine Akhtar’s recent activities?”

Control leaned back in his chair with a vaguely amused smile then beckoned Richard into his office. MacAvoy gave Miriam a broad smile and closed the door as he went inside.

“Michael’s not very happy about you involving yourself in the Firm’s business,” Control admonished, the smile still solidly in place.

Richard gave the reproach mock consideration, then shrugged expansively.

“Yes, I don’t suppose he’s overly eager for word to leak that he’s lost the ‘Phantom’ project.”

“Richard.” This time the disapproval was genuine.

“All right, Control. Tell me what your computers have turned up about Miss Akhtar.”

“She’s currently with the Bulgarian Secret Police,” Control told him, a genuine note of mild curiosity and surprise in the words.

Richard’s eyebrows rose, his expression echoing Control’s tone. “She’s from the Middle East, and after the last squabbles her family was involved in, she was left with only her father.”

“And where is he located nowadays?”

Control laughed with ironic humor. “You haven’t forgotten much, have you, Richard?  He’s back in Libya.”

“Do you think the ‘Phantom’ might have been destined for Quaddafi’s arsenal?”

Control shrugged, his entire manner non-committal.

“There’s just no way of knowing until Hunter is located. I’m sure the Bulgarians have a vested interest in this now that one of their better agents has been eliminated. They probably have Dahle targeted already.”

MacAvoy felt a distinct jolt as he realized the truth in Control’s words. His expression must have registered his emotion as Control’s entire posture became alert and wary.

“Get someone over to the hospital,” Richard directed as he headed for the door.

“Richard!” Control’s shout fell into empty air, and he rose, grabbed his jacket and headed after MacAvoy.

* * *

Andrew felt the shadows releasing him, the sensation an abrupt, disturbing awareness that he knew he shouldn’t be experiencing. He trusted the instinctive alertness, though, and waited for the sound to give him a clear indication of where the danger was coming from. It only took a few minutes to locate the source, and Dahle’s eyes flew open just as the needle was being inserted into the I.V. tube that ran into his arm.

Andrew pulled the intravenous out as he forced his body into motion that it clearly objected to. The man hovering over his bed jumped back, his surprise giving Dahle his only chance to make a useful move.

Andrew threw himself off the bed and into the man next to it, taking them both down to the floor with a solid thud. He recovered quickly and landed a jarring blow to the man’s jaw. In the few seconds it took for the attacker to shake himself free of the pain, Dahle located the gun inside the other man’s coat. He pulled it free of the holster and pressed the barrel snugly between the man’s terrified eyes.

“Who sent you?” he demanded, the words little more than a rasp. He could feel the pulses of pain building with each breath, and he knew he’d probably torn apart whatever stitching the doctors had done earlier.

Dahle saw the refusal to answer before his assailant tried to offer him a response. He shifted his hold on the gun, then brought it down against the side of the man’s head, the action little more than a blur of smooth, practiced motion.

Andrew staggered to his feet and glanced around the room, suddenly expecting menace from every angle. He went to the locker and yanked his bloodstained clothes from the hangers. He dressed quickly, the gun within easy reach as he kept one eye on the door, then he slipped into position and waited. Instinct and experience told him there’d be more than one man sent for this kind of job. This one would have needed a lookout to warn him of possible interruptions by hospital staff.

He didn’t have to wait long for confirmation of his assessment. The door inched inward and Andrew banged the heavy metal panel back on the intruder, causing him to stumble. With a swiftness that stirred to life all the pain that he’d been fighting, Andrew reached for the wobbling figure and hauled him into the room. As the door swung shut on virtually silent hinges, Dahle slammed his captive against the wall and glared into the dazed features of the startled man.

He recovered a little more quickly than his partner and before Andrew could prevent it, he was struck soundly in the stomach. Gasping, Dahle almost passed out completely when the man’s fist came down hard on his injured shoulder, and he lost his grip on the gun he had been holding. He wheeled back and barely managed to dodge another punch aimed at his vulnerable shoulder. He spun on his heel, used the momentum, and landed a surprisingly solid kick to the second attacker’s midsection. He went down on his knees in front of Andrew and Dahle grabbed a handful of hair, then yanked back with all his strength. He heard the distinct crack of bones, then released the man to fall into a lifeless heap at his feet.

Glancing around him, Andrew knew the room would be crawling with people before too much longer. He needed to get out of the hospital, and quickly. Picking up the weapon he’d dropped minutes earlier, he ducked his head around the door. When he saw no one coming in the direction of his room, he slipped into the corridor and headed for the elevator.

He didn’t get to the end of the hall before he heard the sounds of commotion behind him. The bodies in his room must have been discovered a little more quickly than he was anticipating. He looked automatically toward the elevator and realized he wasn’t going to reach it, or the stairs, without being spotted. His entire body was alive with pain and he could feel the knots in his stomach twisting tighter as he fought down the agony-induced nausea. He stumbled into a wall as another wash of dizziness blurred his vision and threw off his balance. With an effort of sheer determination, Andrew reached for the door knob and almost fell into the room...

Friday, April 25, 2014

Flashback: Hunters' Game #RomFantasy

Vampire, erotic

Kobo  |  Smashwords  |  iTunes

In modern Toronto, two vampires stalk the night, their hunting a game that is seductive and deadly. In a darkly compelling Goth Club, they find the prey they seek for their pleasures, and the night runs crimson with blood and unquenchable thirsts....

Currently 50% off at ARe All Romance eBooks


Mortal heartbeats pulsed in Demetri’s head, an undercurrent to the steady throb of music reverberating through the noisy club. A smile curved his mouth, though none who might have witnessed the expression could ever have understood the source of his macabre humor. Toying with the glass in his hand, his long, tapered fingers stroked the smooth surface, tormenting him with memories of her skin. Clia’s flawless beauty never failed to sharpen his hungers to near pain. His fangs ached, punching through his gums while the remembered taste of her taunted him.

Young people drifted through the room, locked in their own worlds. Youth, wild and insolent, full of deluded certainty that they were immortal and untouchable. They played at death and immortality, but the truth would terrify them. The reality he’d show at least one of them tonight would teach a lesson they’d take to the grave–the price of truth in his world.

He tapped the glass, an unconscious mirror of the pounding music. Cliantha was taking her time joining him, and he wanted her. His muscles tensed, his cock and his fangs ravenous for her, and anger stirred. She was toying with him, and he loved and hated it. He’d lured her from hate to devotion over time. Stavros had chosen a perfect mate in her. Demetri was fascinated by the duality of her nature, sometimes pliant, other times exhibiting a stubborn fury that astonished him. He’d uncovered some of her secrets, but sensed there was much more to know. The only time he could glimpse her mind was when he had her writhing in passion, and from those precious seconds of abandoned lust, he’d pulled hints of betrayal.

A soft, breathless whisper brushed over his senses, and he looked down at the mortal standing next to him. The girl was no more than twenty, and she wore the pale make-up that created a death-masque look that so many of the club’s youth seemed to strive for. Desire sparkled in her hazel eyes. He caught her wrist as she reached out to touch him. Amused with her bold recklessness, he lifted the slender limb he’d captured and stroked the throb of life beneath the translucent surface of her skin. She watched, enraptured, when he bent over her wrist. Her body trembled, and she hissed a gasp of pain and pleasure as his razor-edged fangs pierced her vein and he drank.

Demetri indulged his thirst, but only enough to whet his appetite, not sate it. The girl leaned into him, her eyes dazed. He licked at the wounds on her wrist, and smiled when the soft stroke of his tongue triggered an explosive climax. She twitched violently, her low moan swallowed by his brief kiss.

“Would you like to dance?”

He ignored her question and released her, turned his attention to the dance floor.

“Go!” When she refused to accept the dismissal, he permitted himself the luxury of inciting fear. He turned to look at her again, and his vision altered, grew sharp and gilded by flames. She gasped at the force of his stare. This time, there was no pleasure in her sharp intake of air.

“Fuck you!” She stood her ground for a few heartbeats, hands on her hips.

“Not interested.” He laughed, and his mental slap made her cry out in pain.

Seconds later, he was alone again.

But she was getting closer...

Publisher  |  Amazon  |  ARe Romance  |  Barnes & Noble  |  Kobo  |  Smashwords  |  iTunes

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

NEW RELEASE and ARe Celebrates Earth Day with a SALE! #RomFantasy

SO... book lovers!! Today everything is HALF PRICE at ARe Romance, so if you're missing one of my titles, or looking for a new one to try - today's a great day to jump in - the rebate will be credited to you, and then you can buy MORE awesome books from some of the best authors in the business!!

Check things out HERE

(This means you can get several of my books for as low as 49 cents)

Genre: Mystery/thriller

Andrew Dahle is a career spook, with no messy emotional ties to complicate his life. He’s worked with the best, and despite himself, he’s about to discover that he’s got friends he really didn’t know he wanted.

A straight-forward operation to grab a defector before he can leave the country with a top secret project goes wildly awry, and forces Andrew to choose between saving the life of a colleague’s son or nailing his target. To his great surprise, he saves the young man’s life, and wakes up in a hospital.

Grateful, Richard MacAvoy, a retired agent with his own elite contacts and players, steps in when Dahle is injured saving his son. Desperate to complete his mission, Andrew reluctantly accepts the help MacAvoy offers, and in the process just might learn that alone isn’t always the best way to work, and friends might be worth the vulnerability he’s always shunned.

An ARe best-seller already, and you can now get it hot off the NEW release press at a half price discount: HERE

Also available at AMAZON and direct from the PUBLISHER


“All right, you know exactly what I expect to happen here,” Andrew stated calmly. At the brief nods he received, he began to turn away, until Brad Matthews posed a question Dahle had hoped to avoid.

“What if something alerts him and we have to abort or risk casualties?”

Dahle took a deep breath and silently cursed Michael again. The Director knew better than to saddle Andrew with a partner, yet he’d done it another time—after a long and loud discussion. This young agent was about the worst of the lot, though.

“My mission here,” he began with forced patience, “is to see that Hunter does not escape with the Phantom plans. That is our only reason for being here, and I fully expect to have him in custody. If anybody interferes, consider it secondary to getting this idiot. Is that understood?” He eyed each of the three men he’d been given to complete the maneuver quietly and quickly.

Not one of them dared risk further questions as they met the ice blue of Dahle’s stare. They nodded their understanding, and two of the men slipped away without so much as a mutter.

“Where do you want me positioned?” Matthews asked.

Andrew resisted the cryptic suggestion that sprang to mind.

“Once Phillips and Weyburn have gotten into position on the roof, I want you inside. I’ll coordinate from here.”

“Think we’ll be able to get him outside?” Brad wondered, nerves making him talk more than he knew he should have been—especially to this man, he noted mentally.

“He thinks he’s safe in the Museum. He’s met his contact here before. Once he comes into the street, it will simply be a matter of handing over the project plans or dying where he stands. Those two are about the best marksmen we’ve got,” Dahle told him, again with that patient, condescending tone which infuriated the younger agent. A beep in the earphone he wore told Andrew his snipers were in place.

“Get inside, Matthews,” he ordered. “And, for Christ’s sake, don’t get anywhere near him, just follow him out!”          

As he watched Matthews go into the huge Metropolitan Museum of Art, he stilled the hand that wanted to rub at his temple. He knew the gesture was becoming a nervous habit, and it irritated him. He pulled out his sunglasses and glanced at the rooftop opposite the Met. He knew exactly where the two men were supposed to be positioned, and he spotted them simply for that reason. He raised the radio he held and spoke into it. “Stand by, he should be coming out anytime now.”

Satisfied that things would go according to plan, Dahle got into his car to wait until Brad got Hunter into the open for him.

* * *

 Almost fifteen minutes had passed since Dahle had sent his partner inside the huge museum, and there was still no sign of Hunter emerging from the building. Nor any word from Matthews, he added furiously. He was beginning to have serious doubts about the smoothness of this operation. It should have been simple and straightforward, but each minute that passed made him feel less and less certain about that assertion.

Too many people around, he observed for at least the tenth time in that many minutes. Not that he had any humanitarian reason for the concern. Mostly it just annoyed him that the presence of too many people complicated his chances of a successful capture of this traitor Michael wanted back. If bystanders died, it was hardly of any importance to Andrew—as long as Hunter wasn’t on the casualty list until after he’d recovered the Phantom Project plans.

Damn!  There should have been a signal by now.

The sound of a gunshot echoing through the museum was not the signal Dahle was waiting for, and he felt rage swell instantly. Panicked screams followed the shot, and he got out of the car, gun in hand, then started toward the main entrance. He’d gotten no further than a few steps in that direction when he was stopped short by the two figures coming out the doors.

Disbelief and anger fought for release as he stared at Hunter and his hostage. Blue eyes met blue, and Andrew almost winced at the relief he read in the expressive features of Danny MacAvoy. The damn kid really thought Dahle would save him from his bad luck!  What truly infuriated Andrew was the unwilling realization that the young man was right. Despite his orders to the contrary, he was going to be the one breaking his own game plan rules. The unflinching faith in Danny’s eyes wouldn’t allow him anything else.

“Let him go, and you can get away, Hunter,” Andrew said flatly.

“He’s coming with me, Andrew,” Dylan said around an icy smile. “Do you think I don’t know how well planned this must have been?  I know Michael’s confidence in you, and I also know it’s justified. You wouldn’t risk my escape. Where’s your back-up?  It can’t be that fool who fired inside. You wouldn’t tolerate that kind of stupidity.”

Tell Michael that! Dahle’s anger was reaching murderous levels.

“You won’t get past the steps with a hostage,” Dahle assured the designer. “Unless I give the order to allow it. I won’t do that until you release the boy.”

“You sure as hell won’t do it then!”

Andrew actually smiled at the unmistakable fear he heard in the other man’s voice. He knew they’d reached a veritable stand-off, and the choice now was to let Hunter escape to save MacAvoy’s son or to risk the kid getting in the way when one of his people took out the weapons designer they were after. Somehow, despite his earlier statement about their abilities, he wasn’t truly convinced either sharpshooter had the skill to avoid a possible injury to the young man Hunter was using as a shield. Which meant the decision was his call.

Dahle allowed himself another look at Danny, wondering briefly why he was even remotely concerned. He was the one who had stated categorically that the operation came first, so why was he hesitating?  The answer was one he really didn’t want to acknowledge; Danny MacAvoy reminded him too clearly of things he’d lost so long ago that he was often sure he’d never possessed them. His last encounter with this young man had reopened old wounds he’d long thought healed. The protectiveness he instilled in the people around him was contagious, as well. Andrew had come face to face with Angelo Johnson on that count, more than once. Now he found himself examining the very things that must have swayed so many others; he knew the innocence and the courage, the unyielding faith that was written so clearly in the boy’s face.

Damn you to hell, MacAvoy!

“Go!” he snapped at Hunter. His only concession to Danny’s questioning glance was a barely perceptible nod, but the kid returned the gesture, with a small smile that set Dahle’s teeth on edge.

“Instruct your people not to shoot, Andrew.” As he gave the demand, Hunter was inching toward his car, parked a few yards away from Dahle’s Silver BMW. His hold on Danny hadn’t loosened at all.

Andrew raised the radio to his mouth and issued the order. “Let him get into his car, cancel previous orders.”

He took a step toward the two men, noticing almost absently that the street had cleared of people around the front of the museum. Danny saw the movement; it registered clearly in his eyes. The kid’s going to make a move, Andrew realized, anger reigniting in the time it took for the thought to form. Without consciously thinking about it, Dahle made a desperate grab for Danny at the same instant the young man jerked away from Hunter. The opposing momentum caused them to literally collide with each other and they both went down.

Andrew recovered instantly and pushed the kid’s face down on the sidewalk as he climbed to balance on one knee, his gun drawn. He took aim.

Several shots split the unnatural quiet of the afternoon. Dahle heard them through a haze of disbelief as pain tore into his shoulder and spun him backward. He hit the pavement next to Danny and watched in confusion as a body tumbled down the museum steps.

“How bad is it?” Danny asked, his concern evident in his lack of awareness to what was going on around him.

“Bad enough, kid,” Andrew snapped. He ignored the stabbing pulse of pain that fanned outward from his right shoulder, and he hauled himself back to his feet, with Danny’s unwelcome help.

“What the hell happened?” he shouted, when one of the two snipers came running toward him.

“He got away, but we took out the back-up,” Jason Phillips said, his voice breathless from the frantic dash he’d made from across the street. “She’s the one who got you,” he added, indicating the body sprawled across several steps.

Danny’s eyes widened, and he took an unconscious step backward when Andrew brushed past him to go have a look at the woman.

“Get inside and find out what the hell’s happened to Matthews,” Andrew directed. “If he’s not dead already, he’s going to wish he was before I’m through with him.”

“Shouldn’t we call the medics?”

Andrew didn’t respond. He got a clear look at the face of the woman who’d shot him, just before the darkness swallowed him and took away the shudders of agony that wracked his body.

 DEFECTOR will be on tour with Shades of Rose Media May 5th! 

Welcome author/artist Dawné Dominique #RomFantasy

Has writing been something you always did, or was it a discovered talent that came to you at a later point?
When I was a child, I used to write poems and stories, and then drew pictures to match. When I got older, I must have a started over twenty novels in my lifetime, but never seemed to finish them. In the late 1990's, early 2000, when the stress of my job was getting too much, I joined a writing site. It took a year, but I finally finished an epic fantasy novel. My first complete novel. From there I was hooked. 

Do you remember how it felt when you were offered that first contract? What emotions stand out in your memory? 
Oh yes, I remember. Elated. Frightened. Unworthy. Shocked. *chuckles* It was a plethora of emotions. I was asked to write for an erotic western anthology. I didn't know a damn thing about cowboys, let alone erotica. But it was a challenge...and I thrive on challenges. That's what makes life exciting. 

Is this a first book, part of a series, or the latest in a long line of many? 
Eden's Hell is the first book to a five novel series called The First series. Crimson Cries is the fourth novel and my latest release. 

What is the oddest thing that’s happened to you since you chose to become a professional writer? Will it ever make it into a book, or is that a secret? 
Well, to me it's odd, but my friends tend to look differently at me, especially after reading my novels. The majority of them have said they had trouble getting through the erotic sections because they kept picturing me in those scenes. Heaven help me! 

Do you have your next book underway, or are there other titles in the planning stages? 
Surrender: Sins of the Father is the final novel to The First series. I'm halfway through the writing process now and hope to have it finished before the end of 2014. I'll be sad to end it. As I've been writing the series since early 2000, all the characters have become close friends to me. Fourteen years is a long time. 

I will be releasing a fantasy novel called The Tears of San'Ferath in a couple of months. It was a novel I wrote many years ago. 

Do you have a favourite genre and why? Is it one you write in, read in, or both? 
I started out as primarily a fantasy novelist. Then I evolved into erotica and paranormal. Fantasy and paranormal are very similar because both genres use magic. I love world building and unique character developments. By far, paranormal is my favorite genre to write—and read. 

What, to you, is the most exciting part of the writing process? Does it change from book to book or remain the same? 
That would be writing the ending of a novel. It's the most stressful, nerve-wracking, sad, and joyful process for me. 

If you could co-author a book with anyone, who would you choose and why? What kind of book do you think would come from the collaboration? 
Hands down...Anne Rice. I fell in love with her writing in the early 1980's. Of course, it would be a paranormal, perhaps with a few ghosts thrown in for good measure. Maybe you put in a good word for me with her? *chuckles* 

Where can readers find you on the web?
You can find me at:
Or my cover artist website at
I'm also on Facebook at

1. Tell us a little about yourself. 

Thank you so much for having me here today, Tricia. Hi, everyone. My name is Dawné Dominique, and I'm an author of erotic paranormal romance and fantasy. I'm also a cover artist and a paralegal is my "other" life. 

2. When did you begin writing? 

Although I wrote tons of stories when I was a child, it wasn't until the late 1990's and early 2000 that I began seriously writing. At that time my job had gotten so stressful that I needed to find an outlet to keep me sane when I came home at night. So I joined a writing site in an effort to get lost in my writing and alleviate the stress. I was hooked. I'd written stories and poems from as far back as I can remember, but I never had the gumption or drive to finish a novel. My writing site gave me the structure and encouragement I needed to finally finish something. It turned out to be an epic fantasy novel at approximately 200k, which I titled Dark Prisoner. Because of its size, I cut the novel into two. The second half is called The Ebbing of Tides. One day I'm going to dust that baby off and get it ready for the world, but it being my first novel attempt, the work (edits) I know that's involved is what's been keeping it on the shelf. : ) 

3. Describe your writing process. Do you plot or write by the seat of your pants? When and where do you write? 

Funny you should ask. I write by the seat of my pants. Every night when I go to bed, the novel I'm currently working on will run through my head like a movie. Unfortunately, I don't sleep a lot. But I attended a writing seminar recently wherein the guest author suggested something that I'm going to try. I have a "ghost" novel that's been brewing in my brain for a couple of years now. It's based on actual events that have happened here in Winnipeg. Of course, I was in the shower when the idea first struck me. For that novel, I'm going to try index cards. Each card will represent a chapter. On those cards will be key points/events that will need to be included in each chapter. 

4. Can you tell us about your most recent release? 

Crimson Cries is the fourth novel in my vampire series called The First. It blends biblical facts and fiction to give readers a very logical explanation as to where and how the first vampires and wolves came to be. Eden's Hell, the novel which begins the series, was nominated for an EPIC because of its uniqueness from all the other vampire novels out there. This series is definitely not your ordinary vamp series. : ) 

5. How did you get the idea for the book? 

It was quite by accident, actually. I entered a contest on my writing forum. The prompt was to write a chapter length story about a "unique" vampire,which I did. I won the contest, but every critique I received said "it's too short". Thus, the series began. 

6. Of all your characters, which one is your favorite? Why? 

That would be Daniella Rolfe, who is one of the main characters in the series. She's strong, powerful and beautiful...everything I wish I was. 

7. What was the most challenging aspect of writing your books? 

The research. Every novel in the series had to have extensive research done, whether it was the biblical aspects or merely a road in Scotland. I want believe-ability in everything I write, even though it's fiction. 

8. Which authors have inspired your writing? 

Oh, there's many, but the one most recent was Anne Rice. When I first discovered her in the early 1980's, I hadn't given any thought about vampires being like real people with emotions and conflicts. She introduced me to a world I never wanted to leave. 

9. What projects are you currently working on? 

I'm writing the final chapter of a fantasy novel I wrote many years ago called The Tears of San'Ferath. It's about a land called Allanoria, with Druids (who are good) and Druid Evoluntines (who are evil). When the mage'ic of the lands begins to fade because of the evil taint left by the Druid Evoluntines, all the mage'ical creatures begin dying. When there's only one dragon left, San'Ferath, the last Druid invokes a spell called The Undying Sleep to hopefully preserve some mage'ic for when Allanoria is ready to take it back. Then the Blue Fever sweeps through Allanoria and begins wiping out the humans. The prophesy of "The Cleansing" has begun. Some five hundred years later, a freelance mercenary and dancer hold the key to restoring Allanoria's mage'ic, but it's an evil Druid Evoluntine who wakes San'Ferath. 

10. What advice would you offer to new or aspiring authors? 

Grow thicker skin. We're in a business that scrutinizes our every word (literally). Some people aren't going to like what you write. So sad, too bad. But always try to remember that it's only one person's perception. 

I also have a book trailer for the series, which was created by the very talented Erin Kelly:


Excerpt from Eden's Hell, I: The First: 

“Do you know the story of Adam and Eve?” 

“Who doesn’t? The Garden of Eden. Eve tempting Adam with the apple. The snake. Their fall from grace.” Again, her shoulders rolled in indifference. 

“And Adam’s first wife?” 

Surprise flitted over her face as she looked up at him. “He had another wife?” 

The blood in his body flowed faster as he explained. “God created man, and woman, in his own image, but when Adam came to be there was no Eve, not yet. God placed Adam on Earth to carry out one task: to give names to every living creature he’d created. He was twenty-one by the time he finished, a young man, gratified and lost in the glory of doing God’s work, but there had to be more to his purpose.” 

“Are you some kind of ancient priest?” 

He shook his head and continued. “Adam had watched the animals he’d named, observing the way they mated, loved, and protected each other. He felt jealous and coveted the same for himself. He cried out his loneliness to God, praying night after night until—” 


“No. Lillith.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

Addison leaned forward in his chair, placed his hands together and steepled his fingers. “God created the first woman in the identical fashion as he had with Adam. She was equal in every way, but Lillith was willful and perhaps a little stronger, for God made woman able to endure great pain for procreation.” He paused, gauging her reaction. Like an apt student, she hung on to his every word. “Overjoyed that God had answered his prayers, Adam fell in love with her at first sight, but when he attempted to consummate their union, she refused to submit.” He sneered. “Lillith told Adam she would do what she wanted with whomever she wanted and not because man demanded it.” 

“So, women’s lib has been around longer than I’d figured.” A nervous smile stretched her lips. “What happened to her? Lillith, I mean. And how does Eve fit in all this?” 

He continued cautiously. “God demanded Lillith to do what he created her to do. She refused and left the Garden of Eden, venturing to the Blood Seas and bedding the devil himself to show God her animosity. She spited him, his rules, and Adam.” He swallowed hard before carrying on. “Adam was devastated, of course. Stricken with grief, he sought to end his life, so God created another mate to appease his heartbroken son. He took from Adam a piece of his rib and created Eve.” 

“And the rest is history, so to speak?” 

He rose unsteadily to his feet. Unable to meet her gaze, he stared out at the ocean’s panoramic view. “Yes, the rest is history,” he lied. 

“What happened to Adam and Eve after the apple incident?” 

“Both were banished, and the Garden of Eden returned to God’s kingdom. By the way, it wasn’t an apple. It was a fig.” 

“How do you know all this?” 

He spared a glance over his shoulder. “I’ve been around for a long time, Eva.” Suppressing a sigh, he pushed the memories down, shoving them back into the hidden recesses of his mind, back where he’d always kept them. “You must be hungry. Shall we take some dinner?” 

Dorothy Thompson
Owner & Founding Mother at PUMP UP YOUR BOOK
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