Friday, November 21, 2014

Spotlight on Destiny by Celia Breslin




Destiny
Tranquilli Bloodline Series
Book 2
Celia Breslin

Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance

Publisher: Champagne Books
Date of Publication: November 3, 2014

ISBN: 978-1-77155-164-9
ASIN: B00O6A77FG

Number of pages: 234
Word Count: 74K

Cover Artist: Ellie Smith

Book Description:

In HAVEN, San Francisco nightclub owner Carina Tranquilli survives a vicious attack by her vampire family’s longtime archenemies. Several weeks later, as she struggles with PTSD and survivor’s guilt, supervillain Dixon resurfaces and kidnaps two of her best friends. To save them, Carina must comply with the evil bastard’s unusual demands. The kicker? She must tell no one what she is up to.

Meanwhile, she has a new dance club to open for the preternatural community, a fated soul mate acting secretive and distant, and a sexy, new, undead friend who’d love to take Alexander’s place in her heart and bed.

Blackmailed, betrayed, tempted…sometimes destiny has a wicked sense of humor.

Available at ARe  Amazon  BN  Champagne Books


Excerpt

My attacker pinned me face-first to the trunk, grinding an erection into my backside. Panic and pain pierced my gut. Oh, hell no. I struggled to free myself, my power eager to fry the bastard. But a familiar wintery power slid under my skin and doused my fire as if it were a weak matchstick.
Warm breath teased my earlobe. “Hello, pet.”
I froze. Fuck me. Dixon.
He nipped my ear lobe with wicked sharp fangs. “Miss me?”
“No.” The cut stung. Blood trickled, warm and wet, down my neck.
“No? I’m hurt.” Jolts of icy power secured me to the tree trunk while Dixon’s skeletal hands roamed over my body.
“Back off, you undead wanker,” I snapped, refusing to surrender to my fears.
He chuckled. “I do so love it when you speak my language, my little kitten.”
The world spun when he flipped me around and lassoed me tighter to the trunk with his power, his lean, tall body caging mine. Head lowered, gaunt face too close, his silver eyes shone like moonlight. Mesmerizing, seductive moonlight.
Shit. He was trying to compel me. Very few vampires could do that, and they had to be old. Unfortunately, Dixon was as old as Stonehenge. Maybe older.
I lowered my gaze to his thin, blue-black lips. They curled up in a creepy smile under my inspection, crinkling the lightning bolt tattoo streaking across one hollow cheek. He circled one long fang with the tip of his tongue. “Come now, pet. No more words for your favorite admirer?”
Anger almost had me hurling insults at the bastard but I clenched my teeth. You’re bat shit crazy, and I’m going to kill you if I can get my hands free.
He slipped a bony finger under my chin and tilted it upward, trapping my gaze again. I met his challenge for two whole seconds before pain closed my eyes. He’d likely dislocated my shoulder with his aerial stunt, and so far my vampire quick healing genes had failed to fix it.
“Oh dear, is my favorite toy broken?” He poked my shoulder hard, chuckling when I cried out.
“Bastard.” Moisture beaded on my forehead, and nausea knotted my stomach. I should puke on the smug jerk. That would teach him.
“Here my pet, let me help.”
“Don’t touch—”
Pain clogged my throat as he reset my shoulder with surprising medical precision.
He slid his hand over my repaired shoulder and down to the curve of my waist. “There, all better now.” His hand inched lower and squeezed my ass.
“Back off, perv.”
“Hm. Still spicy I see. Very good.”
He leaned into me until his erection pressed against my belly. Inside my power paced like a caged tiger, roaring and swiping at the metaphorical bars Dixon had placed around her. God, how I wanted to grab his head and fry him, starting with his too-perfect, spiky platinum hair, then his tattooed face and on down until he was nothing but an ash statue standing in his studded leather boots.
My anger surged. I bucked against his hold, hating his gaunt body plastered to mine, his cigarettes and leather scent searing my nostrils, just…hating him.
He trapped my arms above my head and rubbed his cheek against my forehead. “Yes, move like that kitten. Right there.” He lapped at my bleeding ear. “Don’t stop now, my lush little pet.”
Bile burned my throat, making a bid for freedom. “Screw you.”
“Oh, yes. Quite soon in fact.”
Panic ripped my gut. “Never.”

“Forever,” he shot back.

About the Author:

Celia lives in California with her husband, daughter, and two feisty cats. She writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance, and has a particular fondness for vampires, werewolves, and the Fae. When not writing, you’ll find her exercising, reading a good book or indulging her addiction to Joss Whedon’s TV shows and movies.






Kindle Free Book Blitz: Feast of Fates by Christian A. Brown


Feast of Fates
Four Feasts Till Darkness
Book One
Christian A. Brown

Genre: Fantasy Romance

Date of Publication: September 9, 2014

ISBN: 978-1495907586
Number of pages: 540

Word Count: 212K

Cover Artist: Brian Garabrant

Book Description:

"Love is what binds us in brotherhood, blinds us from hate, and makes us soar with desire.”

Morigan lives a quiet life as the handmaiden to a fatherly old sorcerer named Thackery. But when she crosses paths with Caenith, a not wholly mortal man, her world changes forever. Their meeting sparks long buried magical powers deep within Morigan. As she attempts to understand her newfound abilities, unbidden visions begin to plague her--visions that show a devastating madness descending on one of the Immortal Kings who rules the land.

With Morigan growing more powerful each day, the leaders of the realm soon realize that this young woman could hold the key to their destruction. Suddenly, Morigan finds herself beset by enemies, and she must master her mysterious gifts if she is to survive.

Available at Amazon and Createspace


Feast of Fates, Excerpt #2 (533 Words)

Morigan took the bracelet.
            “I accept your offering.” The Wolf’s face lit and she thought that he would leap at her. “Yet first, I have a request.”
            “Anything, my Fawn.”
            “I would like to see…what you are. The second body that shares your soul. Show me your fangs and claws,” she commanded.
            Perhaps it was the steadiness of her voice, how she ordered him to bare himself as if he belonged to her, that made the Wolf’s heart roar to comply. He did not shed his skin but for the whitest moons of the year, and even then, so far from the city and never in front of another. In a sense, he was as much a virgin as she. With an unaccustomed shyness, he found himself undressing before the Fawn, confused for a speck as to who was the hunter. The flare of her nostrils, the intensity of her stare that ate at him for once.
            I have chosen well for a mate. She is as much a Wolf as I, he thought, kicking off his boots and then shimmying his pants down to join the rest of his clothing. No bashful maiden was Morigan, and she did not look away from his nakedness, but appreciated what she saw: every rough, hairy, huge bit of him.
            He howled and fell to all fours. Bones shifted and snapped, rearranging under his skin like skeletal gears. From his head, chest and loins, the soft black hair thickened and spread over his twisting flesh. His heaving became guttural and sloppy, and when he tossed his head up in a throe of agony or pleasure, his beard had coated his face, and she noticed nothing but white daggers of teeth. Wondrously Morigan witnessed the transformation, watched him swell with twice the muscle he had possessed as a man, saw his hands and feet shag over with fur and split the soil with black claws. Another howl and a final gristle-crunching shudder (his hindquarters snapping into place, she thought) signified the end of the change.
            Her dreams did not do Caenith justice. Here was a beast twice the size of a mare with jaws that could swallow her to the waist. Here was a monster that had stalked and ruled the Untamed. A lord of fang and claw. The birds and weaker animals vanished, knowing a deadly might was near. Around her, the Wolf paced; making the ground tremble with power; ravishing her with his cold gray gaze; huffing and blasting her with his forceful breaths. While the scent of his musk was choking, it was undeniably Caenith’s, if rawer and unwashed.
            Morigan was not afraid, and was flushed with heat and shaking as she slipped the bracelet on and knelt. She did not flinch as the Wolf lay behind and about her like a great snuffling rug and placed his boulder of a head in her lap. No, she stroked his long ears and his wrinkled snout. A maiden and her Wolf. Soon the birds returned, sensing this peace and chirping in praise of it. And neither Morigan nor the Wolf could recall a time—if ever there was one—where they had felt so complete.


About the Author:

Christian A. Brown has written creatively since the age of six. After spending most of his career in the health and fitness industry, Brown quit his job to care for his mother when she was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma in 2010.

Having dabbled with the novel that would eventually become Feast of Fates for over a decade, Brown was finally able to finish the project. His mother, who was able to read a beginning version of the novel before she passed away, has since imbued the story with deeper sentiments of loss, love, and meaning. He is proud to now share the finished product with the world.









November 17 Fang-tastic Books

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November 18 Sapphyria's Book Reviews

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November 19 Books, Books The Magical Fruit

November 19 3 Partners in Shopping, Nana, Mommy, & Sissy, Too!   http://3partnersinshopping.blogspot.com

November 20 Deal Sharing Aunt

November 21 Lisa’s World of Books

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November 21 Emma Weylin




Guest Blog: Casual Curses and Meticulous Magic by Lee Roland






The Creatures
Fantasy, from the first fairy tales to current popular paranormal, has given roles to various creatures.  Those creatures, not exactly human, but often endowed with human traits, usually have specific personalities and a capacity for good and evil.  The nature of the creatures depends on the world building requirements of the author.  

In Casual Curses & Meticulous Magic, Melian Devlin and Titus Moran, our protagonists, are aided in their quest by a few unusual sidekicks.  Melian knows them all quite well, but Titus needs an introduction. 

Sara Jane
“Who’s Sara Jane?” Titus asked.
“A Circean vine. The one you saw covering the fire escape outside. Belongs to Dr. Codrescu, retired botanist on the third floor.”
“An exotic invasive?”
“A what?” She frowned.
“A plant from some other place that moves in and takes over the native species. Happens often in South Florida. Plants and reptiles from Central and South America are taking over.”
“Oh, yeah. Exotic. That’s Sara Jane. And invasive, especially when she’s got flowers. Which is, unfortunately, most of the time.” She turned and headed up the wide polished wood staircase.

And later, up close and personal…

Near the open window sat a clay pot the size of a fifty-gallon oil drum. Complex symbols etched in blood red scored the sides.  Long green plant fronds reached from pot to the ceiling and cupped like hands at the end. Others fronds hung low to the floor, and even stretched out the window as if yearning for freedom.  The plant swayed like something in a horror movie coming to life. A dozen white flowers, each the size of a saucer, suddenly opened and stared like pearly mooneyes.
“I see Sara Jane’s a bit frisky today.” Mel nodded at the enormous plant.
Codrescu scratched his bush of hair. “Well, yes. My fault really. I didn’t realize Miracle Mature expanded their line of fertilizer to different strengths. Don’t see too well these days, you know. Bought the high octane.” His shook his head. “Overdosed her, I’m afraid. She’ll calm soon.”

Mr. & Mrs. Chou
Titus meets the Chou family.
“This is Mr. Chou’s apartment. He needs space and rents two combined smaller apartments. He’s a nice guy—most of the time.” Mel knocked gently on the door.
“Most of the time?” Moran asked the obvious question.
“He has marital problems.” Mel twisted her mouth as if Chou’s problems left a bad taste.
A small Asian man dressed in a red Mandarin robe answered. He was one of those who appeared calm, adult and ageless, no matter what the situation. He stood in the doorway framed by the pitch-black apartment behind him. Mel introduced them.
Chou bowed. “I am honored.” He spoke without a trace of an accent. A heavy thump came from the darkened apartment, as if someone dropped a chair. A soft hiss followed.
“You and the missus getting back together, Chou?”
“Yes.” Chou glanced briefly over his shoulder. “My lovely wife has chosen to overlook my more egregious faults.” A tiny Asian woman, barely five feet, stepped up beside him. Her ivory skin glowed and dark hair fell over her shoulder like a midnight waterfall.

Again, up close and personal.

Titus hesitated. Mel was too eager and it made him uneasy, but he didn’t want to be rude to Mr. Chou. He stepped into the room.
Heavy fabric curtains blocked all the windows. It should have been dark and gloomy, but semi-transparent mandalas woven into each panel curtain allowed brilliant morning light to filter as soft golden beams. The light softened to a mellow glow and cast intricate oriental patterns across the expansive apartment that was really two apartments combined. An apartment with no interior walls, no furniture—and a sixty-foot dragon stretched across the floor, her legs folded under her like a dog lying at rest.

Rigatoni the Italian Donkey
Melian’s personal friend—sometimes.
A clamor came in the distance, like a cross between a foghorn and an out of tune trumpet. The steady pop, pop, pop, of hooves followed as a gray and black donkey charged around the stack of washing machines. Mel held out her arms as if to embrace the four-legged noise maker. “Riggs, baby, how are—”
Mel didn’t have time to dodge as the donkey charged straight into her, hit her with its head and tossed her in the air like a bull tossing a matador in a ring. She landed on her butt and the donkey continued its high decibel honk as she rolled to her feet and dusted off her jeans.
“Now you stop that.” She shook her finger at the donkey.
“Are you okay?” Titus fought to keep from laughing.
“What’s his name?” Titus asked.
“Riggs. Rigatoni, actually. He’s Italian—I think.”
Titus laughed. “You have an Italian donkey for a pet?”
She muttered something.
“What?”
“I said he’s my familiar.”
“Familiar with what?” He couldn’t resist that one.
Mel threw up her hands. “Familiar. As in a witches’ familiar, usually a nice obedient black cat. Remember? You asked about one last night.”

Spot and Misery
Later, Titus makes his own special friends.
Two black dogs sat on their haunches on either side of the doors. Dogs—like Mastiffs on steroids. The thick muscled creatures had grown to the size of Shetland ponies. Their coats absorbed the light, pulling it in into a greater, deeper darkness.
“Damned show off,” Mel muttered.
“What are they?” Titus moved closer.
“Rejects. Hell hound rejects. Old Dengler messes in some nasty shit” She stepped away from Titus.
“Hell hounds?” Titus found himself surprised, but not stunned, not after the dragon.
“Not hell hounds. Rejects,” Mel repeated. “It’s different. See, no witch in his or her right mind would want a true hell hound hanging around. They are primo nasty bastards. Uncontrollable. Rejects are the next best thing.”
“Who rejected them? Where did they come from?”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to know.”
The hounds stood watching them. Titus tried not to make eye contact. He failed. Their eyes had a sick olive-green glow like gangrene festering in a wound. The identical monsters stood and their backs came to his waist. No overt hostility, at least not yet. Titus had left his gun locked in the trunk.
“I’ve met them before.” Mel pointed. “I even named them. No one else would. The one on the right is Spot. That one on the left is Misery.”
Oddly enough, Spot was solid color and Misery had a small patch of white on his chest.  Yep, Mel named them.
Casual Curses and Meticulous Magic
The Gramarye Series
Book I
Lee Roland

Genre: Urban Fantasy/Paranormal Romance

Publisher: Highland Press                 
Date of Publication:  September 24, 2014

ISBN: 978-0-9916439-2-9
ASIN:  B00NOZCUB0.

Number of pages: 292
Word Count:  92,000

Cover Artist:  Iris Hunter

Book Description:

What happens when a dysfunctional witch and a tough PI work together to save an aging apartment house filled with ghosts, dragons and one oversexed house plant?
Spirits, spells and mayhem…Magic rises in the Gramarye

Melian Devlin is a witch who often resorts to exotic and slightly illegal methods of acquiring money to maintain the 300-year-old Gramarye, the stone apartment house that’s her heart and home. Her life is a series of skirmishes that occasionally end with her behind bars. 

Titus Moran is a no-nonsense PI who makes big bucks busting insurance fraud schemes.  So how did he wind up in a tortuous battle to keep Melian out of jail?  Did the delightful young witch with her gray eyes and magic at her fingertips enchant him—or does the Gramarye hold greater mysteries.  

Titus will enter a new exciting world when he joins Melian in her quest to save the Gramarye.  Melian will fumble along in her usual impulsive way, leaving a trail of disasters behind her.   If they’re lucky, they might survive.


Available at Amazon   BN  Smashwords   Books A Million

Chapter 1

Melian Devlin considered her arrest late Friday evening an ill omen, a portent of dire thingsto come. At the very least, it would ruin her weekend. Her bad luck had continued after her arrest when she’d found herself standing before Judge Franklin P.O. Merkle. Merkle’s exact words were, “You again?”

He’d set her bail at an obscene five thousand dollars.

Psychic readings weren’t illegal in the City of Ashburn, Florida, but selling magic potions  skirted the legal line of medicine, hence her arrest. And then there was the sticky issue of not having a business license—again. Minor infractions. So why did Merkle have such a burr up his ass? Maybe because he was working late on Friday? The malicious cop with an aversion to psychics hadn’t helped either.
Standing behind bars at ten o’clock that night, listening to her Great Uncle Will royally chew her butt, confirmed Mel’s dismal assessment of the situation.
“Psychic?” Will’s deep voice rumbled the word. His tired eyes watched her from a weather worn face. “Mel, honey, you ain’t no psychic. You’re a witch. You’re supposed to use magic.”
He shook his head. “I understand why you can’t get a regular job, but can’t you find something irregular you’re good at? Or at least something legal?” He glanced over his shoulder and pitched his voice lower. “You should’ve marked a cop soon as he walked in the door, then spelled him out of making an arrest. You’re allowed basic self-defense. I taught you that.”
Mel winced at Uncle Will’s words. He had taught her. She was simply incredibly incompetent at casting spells and making potions, and utterly terrified of making a mistake. What if she hurt someone? Pretending to be a psychic and selling a few harmless herbal elixirs was easier—and safer.
They’d put her in a simple holding cell inside the precinct station after she’d seen the judge. The arrangement gave detainees a chance to post bail before they moved them to the main jail downtown, something Mel had hoped to avoid. Prospects didn’t look good.

The sparse cell had a single bench bolted to the floor and air filled with the odor of acrid, nose-searing bleach. Her cellmates, two tough prostitutes, sat on the bench staring straight at the wall. Imperfect witch she might be, but she could still deal with the bullying they tried when she first came in.
“Will, please,” Mel begged. “Go talk to Milo for me. Give him an IOU. I’ll get the money some way.” Milo the Bail Bondsman, her father’s second cousin, usually handled her bail. Milo hadn’t returned any of her numerous calls.
“Yeah. Sure.” Will laughed, but it didn’t sound funny. “Gettin’ money some way is what landed you here. I can hear Milo now. Cousin Melian? She told my Granny Panopoulos to put all her money on a horse named Show-Too in the third race and—”
“I told her thirty dollars to show on the number three horse, not… Oh, hell.” She wrapped her hands around the bars to steady herself.
Granny Panopoulos had cried to Mel about not being able to pay her mortgage and buy food in the same month. She figured Granny could lose thirty dollars and learn an excellent lesson about the futility of gambling. How was Mel to know the woman had fifty thousand dollars tucked in her mattress and a persistent bookie looking over her shoulder? Oh, right, she was supposed to be a psychic.
“Okay, girl, here’s the deal.” Will shoved his hands in his pockets like he always did when he had to deliver bad news. “I’ll get you out on Monday—” “Monday?”
“Yep. I’m not going to call Milo on a Friday evening or ruin his weekend. And I don’t trust anyone else.” Will’s head bobbed. His sorrowful expression tore at her. His eyes remained bright and his mind-dagger sharp, but time had worn his aging body. He loved her, and she shouldn’t have troubled him.
“Ya’ know Mel...” He sighed. “Honey, you’re twenty-seven years old. Couple of days and nights in jail won’t hurt. ‘Bout time you learned a lesson. Past time, in fact. While you’re there, think about having to stay longer, what might happen then.” He turned and shuffled out of the room.
Mel leaned her forehead against the cold hard bars. What a stinking mess. She wasn’t a true psychic, but the power, the magic she lived by, occasionally gave her glimpses into the situations surrounding people. A haphazard thing she couldn’t control, but between it and the potions, she made a little money—as long as some cop with an attitude didn’t arrest her.

Mel had paid little attention when the nervous young man with dark, curly hair entered her low-rent storefront room four hours ago. He had a sweet, shy smile and almost pretty face. Not a hint of a cop in him. He paid her forty dollars for a reading and asked her if he would ever find true love. His precise words. “True love.” That alone should have tipped her off. She felt sorry for him and tried to sell him a magic potion. Only a twenty-dollar mixture of Vitamin B and Ginseng, but with the power of suggestion, it might be enough to adjust his outlook on life. He was far too good-natured and attractive to be alone. Then his partner had charged in and gleefully busted her. It didn’t take much to make some cops happy.

About the Author:

Lee Roland is a full time writer who lives in North Central Florida. She loves the peaceful rural area where she shares a home with three small dogs who think they are pit bulls and an evil cat with sharp claws.
Lee writes stories of urban fantasy and paranormal romance where strong men and women battle the wickedness hiding under the surface of the modern world.  Her characters are passionate in life and love and are formidable enemies to the malevolent criminals in their worlds.

Her first series, the Earth Witches, was published beginning in 2011 by NAL.  Her website, www.leeroland.com offers samples of the Earth Witches books and information on their world. There are short stories and news of any upcoming books and events.





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Thursday, November 20, 2014

Release Day Blitz The Prophets’ Guild by Kristen Reed






The Prophets’ Guild
The Alazne Series
Book Two
Kristen Reed

Genre: Fantasy

Date of Publication: November 20, 2014

ISBN: 978-1482007213
ASIN: B00MX1CD36

Number of pages: 198
Word Count: 56,800
Cover Artist: Kristen Reed

Book Description:

"The year after molten sand becomes silver glass the following will come to pass: The fire shall give its life’s blood to water, and the wind will rise to claim Hesta’s daughter.”

When a member of The Prophets’ Guild is driven mad by his own divine vision, he travels to Hesta to deliver his final prophecy to the recently-crowned Fire Queen, Alazne, and that act changes the course of her life and the landscape of Faerie forever.


Available at Amazon
Excerpt:

After meeting with my Lords’ Council over breakfast and consuming a light dinner, I sat in the throne room as I regularly did and listened to the plights of my people. For the rest of the afternoon, I handed out advice and presented solutions as needed to the men and women who came before me. When I revived the old Hestian tradition of opening the great hall to my subjects, I expected to resolve quarrels of great magnitude involving large quantities of money and property, but I quickly learned that some of my people were so obstinate that they were unable to solve even the smallest disputes locally. In the space of two and a half grueling hours, I laid three conflicts centered on betrothals to rest and resolved six disagreements that involved livestock and property. Once those men and women filed out of the great hall, my herald addressed the last remaining fey in attendance.
“Kneel before the throne and state your concerns to the queen,” he directed.
An elderly Hestian man with closely cropped, gray-peppered carmine hair stepped forward and knelt before my throne as he had been commanded. He made the sign of the star to honor the four gods and their fey children, touched his head to the ground, and placed his outstretched arms flat on the pulsating floor tiles. While the first motion was customary amongst my people, the more submissive gesticulation piqued my interest since most male subjects simply bowed or kneeled in my presence based on their rank and our familiarity. However, as much as I wanted to indulge my curiosity about the man’s unusual supplication, he spoke before I could address it.
“The year after molten sand becomes silver glass the following will come to pass: The fire shall give its life’s blood to water, and the wind will rise to claim Hesta’s daughter.”
I furrowed my brow and opened my mouth to respond, but before I could ask the meaning of the man’s strange proclamation, he abruptly rose into a kneeling position and pulled a dagger from his satchel. My ladies in waiting screamed and flames formed in my hands as two knights stepped forward to subdue him, but they did not move swiftly enough. The man plunged the gleaming blade into his abdomen and fell face-forward onto the floor, which burned more brightly as his blood left his body and spilled onto the endlessly rippling surface. The knights quickly rolled the suicidal man onto his back and checked for a heartbeat.
“He is dead, your majesty,” one of the knights announced, obviously shaken by the sudden suicide.
“Please find out who he is,” I ordered, closing my hands to snuff out the flames. “Then report your findings to me and notify his family that he is dead.”
“Yes, your majesty,” they acknowledged.
As the knights lifted the man’s body and began to carry him out of the room, something caught my eye.
“Wait!”
The armor-clad men halted and I strode over to them, careful not to step in the blood that soiled my usually immaculate floor. Once I reached the trio, I pulled the dead man’s knife from its fleshy sheath. As I suspected, a vaguely familiar animal had been etched onto the hilt of the blade. A trio of tiny sapphires served as the scintillating eyes of the blue phoenix while its shining silver beak was open as if it had been mid-shriek when the artisan carved its likeness into the weapon.
“Thank you. Now, you may go.”
Once the knights resumed their gruesome task, I turned to face my ladies and made eye contact with Sera, whose naturally bronzed features were nearly as pale as the ivory lace on her dress.
“Sera, please find Esti and Amaia and ask them to meet me in my library.”
“Yes, your majesty,” she acknowledged with a curtsy before leaving the throne room, struggling to keep her gaze from resting on the trail of fresh blood beside her as she fled.
While the man who had died moments before clearly had no desire to end my life, my intuition still told me that a considerable threat was nigh… and that the two women’s guidance would be invaluable if I wanted to protect myself and my subjects from the imminent danger that had just begun to reveal itself.


About the Author:

Kristen Reed is an artist, musician, filmmaker, and writer from Dallas, Texas. Her first book from The Alazne Series, The Kings' Council, was published in 2012, and the two subsequent books, The Prophets' Guild and The Valley of Eternity, will be released in 2014 and 2015 respectively.

Kristen also served as the screenwriter, executive producer, and co-director for the feature-length film, The Dahl Dynasty, a modern re-imagining of William Shakespeare's Hamlet. She is a graduate of the University of Texas at Dallas.



www.twitter.com/kristenreedtx



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