Sunday, June 24, 2018

#RomanceSunday #StealingFire #Sci/fiRomance



Stealing Fire by Angela Castle
Excerpt Heat Level: 2
Book Heat Level: 5


BLURB:

     Adalardo, King of Kell, has found his queen in Penny, an abused housewife from Earth. Adalardo must challenge Penny’s husband in order to claim her as his queen.
     The soul demon, who is angered over the betrayal of Tuthal, seeks revenge, targeting not only Tuthal but all those around him.
     When the demon strikes a blow right into the heart of both men, they must join forces in hope of defeating the evil that has taken their women.


Tamara's feet dangled above the precipice. No matter how she tried to calm her racing pulse and rapid breathing, she felt the panic rising.

How had four weeks with the most gorgeous magical man she had ever met, turn into this? Tuthal, sorcerer of Kell had shown her the wonders of his alien land, brought her pleasures that left her weak, sated, and never wanting to leave his side. He had stolen her heart in a matter of days, yet she sensed there was a hell of a lot more to her magical sorcerer than he chose to reveal.

Tuthal's tower, and the place he called home, remarkably resembled a lighthouse. It was positioned by a bay inlet along the eastern side of the Kell coastline. Tamara was curled up on a soft couch by a blazing crystal fire. She glanced up at him as Tuthal had come down the steps from the upper room.

"It is time, my Tamara."

"Time for what?" She gave him a seductive smile; there was always time for some hot sweaty sex with her hunky alien sorcerer.

"There is someone I wish you to meet."

"Okay, cool." She jumped up, trustingly putting her hand into his. Tamara had seen the glint of his sword as the robes he wore parted slightly then he turned and waved his staff to open a red glowing portal; portals being a source of magical transport between worlds, and only Sorcerers like Tuthal were able to open them.

"Remember when the time comes, my beauty, I need you to scream for me." Before she could question what on earth he had meant, Tuthal had tugged her though the red swirling portal.

Tuthal did not allow her time to think or react. He gripped her wrists, lifted her off her feet, and shackled her wrists either side of her head between two poles.

"Tuthal, what the hell are you doing?" She was trying to stay calm, hoping this was some kind of kinky game he wanted to play. Tuthal's expression was passive, giving nothing away behind his miss-matched eyes.

"I need you to be my sacrifice to the soul demon, Tamara; you are the one I have needed for a very long time. Trust me Tamara, all will be well." She watched as he had opened another portal and stepped through, leaving her alone in the darkness of what could only be described as hell.

"Stay calm, it'll be alright, stay calm, stay calm." Tamara repeated like a mantra trying to believe the words she spoke. The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxyalways had the best advice in situations like these; 'Don't panic.' But that was easier said than done.



Stealing Fire has everything you could ever want in a fantasy romance! I absolutely LOVED it!
Regina
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More 5 Cups



Saturday, June 23, 2018

#Sci/fiFantasySaturday #DragonsAmongUs



Dragons Among Us
C. L. Kraemer
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 


BLURB:

In a world full of anomalies such as the platypus and self reproducing Komodo dragon, is the human race willing to accept that dragons may be real?
Sapien Draconi-human-dragon shape shifters-all over the world face this dilemma every day. The question has become life and death as their species is plagued with unexpected and unwanted shifting in the most unlikely of places.
The Ancient Ones-full-blooded dragons-can offer advice, but few seem to put forward workable solutions to the problem.
The fate of the shape shifters hangs in the balance, and an answer must be found before the Homo Sapiens find, dissect, and hunt Sapien Draconi to extinction.

EXCERPT: Dragons Among Us

Aleda crawled from her sleeping bag and, individually, stretched her muscles. She’d always enjoyed camping. It was the only time she slept well. Something about the unpolluted air, the nights sounds of nature and knowing there were no other people about produced a sleeping potion no doctor could recreate. She dressed warmly against the morning chill and meandered to the stream to get water for coffee and cooking. Not having done much the day before, her ravenous hunger puzzled her.

“Must be the good mountain air.” She made coffee, scrambled eggs, and toasted bread with a slender wire camp toaster, which she held over the fire. As she sat in her chair enjoying the taste of food and quiet of the surrounding woods, hair on the back of her neck began to stand on end and her skin tingled. She shook off the feeling and poured another cup of coffee. The sensation of eyes observing her movements overpowered her senses and her amulet began humming, the sound increasing in volume with each passing minute.

“Enough!” Aleda tossed her plastic plate to the table with a clatter, stomped to her tent and retrieved a heavy coat. “I’ll nip this foolishness in the bud, right now!”

She hesitated as she started to storm from the camp. Camera.Quickly returning to her tent, she stomped away from her personal sanctuary, Nikon in hand, stomach complaining. Half a dozen paces from the camp, after wreaking a rushing flurry of birds into flight, Aleda realized, if she was to find out what was inducing her amulet to hum and her hair to stand on end, she would need to slow her pace—think before she stumbled into trouble. She proceeded into the stand of trees serving as the backdrop for her camp. Sauntering to nearest the evergreen, she placed her hand on the bark and felt a buzzing sensation tickle her palm. Aleda stumbled backward, dumbfounded by the commotion stirring within her. Logic and reason said she shouldn’t be sensing anythingby touching the tree.

“This whole trip is turning out to be totally illogical.”

Aleda narrowed her eyes and concentrated on the skin of the tree. She began to see small creatures scurrying up and down the grooved surface of the bark, the scene recalling the Marquam Bridge merging into I-5 at rush hour. She pulled deeply of the air surrounding her and discovered she could taste ponderosa, yellow pine and western larch trees tinged by intermittent bursts of avalanche lily, trillium and huckleberry. Another deep breath captured faint blackberry and raspberry sensations. Standing very still and concentrating with an intensity she’d never utilized, Aleda began to recognize the buzz of life around her. In her ears, insect sounds whispered from every direction, her skin reverberated with the movement of air caused by birds flying and bees busy with spring activities. When the scene before her began to waver and tiny flashes of white light popped in her vision, Aleda realized she’d quit breathing. She pulled air into her lungs and crumbled to the soft pine needle and moss covered forest floor.

"All in all I was very impressed with this author’s imagination and the ability to bring the story to life for me within the pages of her book.  It held my attention and kept me wondering what was next throughout the pages."  Courtney Rene for Rogue's Angles  

Buy now at: http://www.roguephoenixpress.com/

Friday, June 22, 2018

#Friday'sFeaturedTitle #Christel'sSunrise #HistoricalRomance



Author: Christine Young
Genre: Historical Romance
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 4



Christel's Sunrise by Christine Young
Publisher: Rogue Phoenix Press
Genre: Historical
Length: Full Length (174 pgs)
Heat Level: Spicy
Rated: 4 Stars
Reviewed by Dandelion

I loved the rapport between the two main characters. Although at times they both struggled to find the right words to explain their feelings for each other, somehow they managed. They both loved the other and so over time it became easier. Both were also very independent and that caused a little friction between them. However, Ryder would typically just shake his head and go with the flow. There were a huge number of sex scenes, and I think this story would have stood alone quite well without so many (there were times they did nothing to forward the plot, but seemed added just to have a sex scene), but they didn’t detract from the plot either.

There were so many other fascinating and fun characters in the story: her sister, her cousins, their husbands, her aunt, the Duchess. Reading about all the things they attempted and succeeded in doing was really fun. They were not the typical regency “tonnish” people of the days. This made this story much more fun.

And of course, although there was a lot of fighting, terror, murder and mayhem, the story has a very satisfying ending.





Life is carefree for Ryder MacLaren who loves to see what is on the other side of the sunrise. Laird of Clan MacLaren, he is wealthy, handsome and happily unencumbered...until stunning Christel McClellan enters his life. When he hears her story, he believes the child she thought dead has been sold to a wealthy buyer.


Ryder strained to see the apparition Christel pointed toward but he saw nothing. "No, but I think I hear her."
"Yes, she is crying, not weeping as usual. Do you know anything about her story?" Christel turned to him, hope shining in her soft blue eyes.
"I've heard her lover died. But that was a long time ago."
"How?"
Ryder pulled her back into his embrace, not ever wanting her to leave. He would hold fast to her for as long as she would allow him. "At war... I don't recall which one. The clans seem to have always been at war with someone, especially the English."
He felt the nod of her head against his chest. "Does anyone know the legend? I would seek them out."
Her breathing was slow and she seemed relaxed. But Ryder feared for her. If she started asking questions, would this ghost come to harm her? He didn't know anything about apparitions. But he also knew he would have to give her a chance to discover the truth. "Only if you let me go with you. I would be honored. There is a woman, older than time. She wanders the castle grounds. Most see her in the late evening and early morning."
"Old as time, no older?"
A shimmering silver light hung over the castle and floated above the turrets. Ryder pointed toward the light. "Is that her?"
"She's a bit reclusive." Christel turned in Ryder's arms. "Yes, that's her."
"One might say that about her." His hands rested at the small of Christel's back. He wanted to kiss her but didn't want to frighten her again. Maybe a lazy gentle kiss would be accepted. The thought made him grin.
He traced her neck with the tip of his finger, hoping she would find his attentions acceptable then bent close to her. "I want to kiss you. Will you let me?" She shivered in his arms but turned her face up to him.
"Yes." She breathed softly. Her words gentle yet hesitant.
Her reticence bothered him. What had happened in her past? His thoughts shot to Lord Rathen and her hasty departure from London. Every part of him tightened with disgust. He would discover the truth and make the despicable rake pay for any injustice committed against Christel.
Watching her eyes for signs of fear, Ryder lowered his mouth to hers. He touched her gently, molded his lips against her, thrilled to hear the sigh of pleasure emanate from her. He ran one hand up her back, pulling her closer, reveling in the feel of her softness against his hard planes. Her breasts pushed against him. The need to feel every inch of her pulsed through him but he didn't dare.
He moved back and once again looking into her eyes. She lowered her lashes then returned his gaze.
"Don't think, little one, just feel and know that I would never hurt you. I want more but I won't rush you."
She touched his cheek with one slender fingertip. "Kiss me again."







Thursday, June 21, 2018

Dakota's Bride #HistoricalRomance



Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level:


BLURB:

When Emma St. John received her brother's letter imploring her to escape her stepfather's vengeful scheme and to trust Dakota Barringer with her life, she was willing to chance it. But the handsome, brooding riverboat owner Emma found in Natchez a danger of another kind. For Emma soon found herself surrendering to an unrelenting desire.

Raised by the Sioux when his parents were killed, Dakota had been betrayed once before by a white woman. He wasn't about to trust another, especially one claiming that her stepfather, a powerful U.S. senator, had framed her as a murderess. But he couldn't let Emma's intoxicating effect on him. Now Dakota would risk his very life to protect the innocent beauty who had seduced him with her tender love.


Moonless and frigid, the December night sent chills down Emma's spine. Yet she didn't stop at the lighted inn nearby, nor did she break stride when she stumbled over a rut in the muddy road. Instead, she pulled her skirts higher. A carriage raced by, hell-bent in the same direction, spitting mud as it flew past

A frantic look over her shoulder did nothing to relieve the fear. He was closing on her, forcing her from her hiding place. She stopped for a moment while she quickly shook the mud off her cape, then she turned to the little girl.

"You all right, Clare?" Emma asked.

The little girl nodded but didn't say anything, her face screwed tight with concentration, her breaths ragged and hard.

The big Mississippi paddle wheeler, due to leave in ten minutes, let out two loud, booming whistles. To Emma's frayed nerves, the sound was heart-stopping.

The wind from the docks smelled of fish and tar. When it shifted, she could make out the aroma of fresh baked scones coming from the inn. Emma gripped the tiny hand she held in her own a little tighter, and prayed that Clare could keep up the pace.

"It's only a wee bit farther. We can make it," Emma told the little girl, her sister. Half sister, she reminded herself.

Clare's father was not her own. His demonically hand­some face leering at her while he calmly explained what he meant for Emma to do in the bordello was something she'd never forget.

Clare was a tiny and very fragile seven-year old. She had loving green eyes and a long, slender nose coupled with delicate cheekbones. Emma knew that someday Clare would grow into a classic beauty.

One long blond lock of hair slipped loose from Clare's cap. The little girl pushed it away with her free hand, wrinkling her nose disgustedly.

Frost coated the road, and each hurried step caused the almost frozen mud to crunch beneath their feet. A horse and rider passed them, the man tipping his hat as he and his mount thundered by. Church bells rang out, the sound hollow and thin. It was almost six o'clock. She had five minutes to reach the boat.

A gust of wind caught her broadside and whisked the hood of her cape off the top of her head. She grabbed the soft fur and pulled the fabric back where it belonged. Distracted by the wind and her haste to reach the boat, Emma caught the toe of her shoe on a rock and balanced precariously for an instant.

She swore softly under her breath.

Had only one month passed?

No, three weeks ago her mother had died and two weeks ago she had learned the awful truth. Lawrence Stevenshad slowly poisoned her mother. He had given her a small dose of arsenic each day until finally her mother took to her bed. Several days later Emma had held her mother's hand while she breathed her last.

Emma would never have known about the murder if she hadn't overheard Stevens speaking in harsh whispers with a friend of his. There were other things said and promised, things Emma had not wanted to acknowledge.

Disbelief and denial had caused her to waste precious time. Seven days had come and gone since she'd had her last horrible encounter with her stepfather. It was an encounter that had left her with no doubts that everything she'd heard was the god-awful truth. Stevens had meant to sell her to a whorehouse. Still, she'd had a difficult time believing the extent of Lawrence Stevens's depravity. But when he'd installed her in Madame leBon's bordello, she realized too late that her life was in grave jeopardy.

And Clare, sweet, sweet Clare, had understood all she'd told her and perhaps more. With the eyes of a child, Clare had somehow sensed the evil that surrounded her father long before anyone else did.

Five long days and nights they'd spent on the run. Clare had not complained. No matter how exhausted or hungry she was, the little girl had pressed on, understanding the imminent danger that faced Emma. Clare had somehow known that Emma had to get as far away from Lawrence as possible.



This incredible romance is one I positively fell in love with and is good enough to read again and again.
I can’t remember the last time I was so engrossed in a book: Dakota’s Bridetook over my weekend, and even now, am wishing to go peruse it one more time…

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

#CatchingMeara #ParanormalRomance



Author: Christine Young
Genre: Erotic Romance
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 5



BLURB:
Meara Thorton was a feisty, world-class computer hacker—cornered by the FBI and shockingly given the chance to be their newly acquired technical analyst. Brilliant and intuitive, yet aching with the loss of everyone she has cared about, her restless heart led her to discover a love she fought and a world she didn't know could possibly exist.

Jace McKenna was an enigma, a loner, impossibly handsome, sincere and committed. The Apache shapeshifter blood running through his veins burned hotter than the blistering Sierra Madre sun. Jace knew the moment he caught Meara's scent she was his for eternity. 

Review:


"Catching Meara is a superbly written mystery that draws readers in and makes them a part of the team. The characters are vivid and provide a perfect canvas for the life of a unique team that catches some truly nasty villains. Ms. Young provides a perfect blend of paranormal, mystery and romance providing the reader an entertaining adventure."
Rating: 4 cups out of 5





Three more cops followed behind. No, they were government agents. The logo printed in white across their chest announced their profession.

Bright lights swept the room in a slow steady arc, searching for her. Finally resting on her face, she shielded her eyes. Smoke from the crucified computers filled the cubicle, making the agents choke. Sweat from fear beaded on her forehead, and her heart lurched to her throat. She closed her hands over her heart as if she could slow the furious beating.

"Hewitt, check this out. There might be more than this one. Barrister go search through the other rooms."

"Right, McKenna."

"My name is Jace McKenna," the man said as he approached cautiously, kicking debris from under foot until he stood above her. "Put your hands in the air." 

His voice held so much authority and sounded so calm. For a moment she thought he meant to reassure then she remembered she was his prisoner. Well, she would be as soon as she complied with his demands. 

Jace appeared dark, dangerous, handsome and tall, she noted at first. Very tall, which was hard to miss, since she was skinny and short. His eyes were an amber color with a hint of green. He towered over her. Beneath the deceiving bulkiness of his bulletproof vest, she observed next, his shoulders were very broad, and though his hips were lean, his thighs, tightly hugged by his jeans, were muscled and powerful.

His hair was blacker than the midnight sky, nearly indigo with its sheen, his amber eyes were cast into a rugged face that appeared naturally tanned. He was probably somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties. He seemed fierce, alive with a striking tension and a volatile energy that seemed to exude from him.

Shaking, sweat dripping down her face, Meara slowly raised her trembling arms. "D-don't shoot--me, please" She heard the pathetic whimper in her voice as she blinked the stinging sweat from her eyes where it melded with her mascara. Her heart pounded so hard against her chest she was sure it would burst through her ribs.

"Stand up, slowly." He swept the flashlight as well as the gun up and down the length of her body, which had been curled into a tight fetal position.

Rising to her feet, she leaned against the wall behind her, trying to keep her hands up and not fall flat on her face. She wiggled her butt against the wall and inched her way to a standing position. Her life flashed in front of her in a series of leaps and bounds until she saw the faces of her parents. 

"Do as he says," they whispered. "Everything will turn out fine. You'll see. We love you." Then, just as they appeared, they vanished.

Their faces faded into the smoke and flashing lights. Her eyes open wide, she gazed at her enemy--her jailor. The man who was here to arrest her. Mind games, or was it mind think that her parents used to play with her, teaching her to communicate through thoughts instead of words. She focused on his brain, sending out feelers, trying to read his thoughts and trying to tell him she was no threat.

The next moment he was beside her, grasping one of her arms, and in one swift move he had turned her, both hands were behind her back and handcuffed. Her breath stopped for a moment. The movement had been so sudden she was thrown against the wall. Her face flattened on the smooth surface. Yet she was glad for that because the impact brought her back to the reality of this moment. Her mind cleared for a brief second. For courage she inhaled a swift deep breath.


Manic Reader Review 
Rating:  4 1/2 stars out of 5
Reviewer: Alberta 
Review: 

Meara is a loner, content to spend time with her computers, without the bother of having too many people around her. When she turns from hacker to government computer specialist, she meets Jace, who knows she is his mate, but all he has to do is tell her he is a panther shape shifter and that she is destined to be his.

There is a lot of dodging bad guys, dodging another shape shifter, and trying to keep secrets from each other. In the end, Catching Meara is pretty entertaining, and I liked both characters, despite Meara’s dysfunctional personality.





Tuesday, June 19, 2018

#TellTaleTuesday #Strange #Mystery #Suspense



Title: Strange
Author: G. L. Didaleusky
ISBN: 978-1-62420-364-0
Genre: Mystery/Suspense
Excerpt Heat Level: 
Book Heat Level: 1

Buy at: Amazon, Barnes and Noble


TAGLINE

A doctor’s frightening dreams, deathbed children waking up cured, and an archeologist’s deciphering Mayan ancient hieroglyphs seems to be intertwined with a twelve-year-old hospitalized patient.  

BLURB: Strange

Frightening dreams night after night are afflicting the chief of pediatrics, Adam Stafford, at Ocala Regional Medical Center. Will there be a conclusion of his dreams or will he succumb to a death spiral before he can awake? At ORMC, Adam attempts to understand why deathbed children on the pediatric floor at ORMC awakened cured without any medical explanation? In a near-by town, an archeologist, Lisa Douglas, is searching for the meaning of ancient hieroglyphs on various Mayan relics recently discovered in a cave along Mexico’s Yucatan peninsula. There seems to be a possibility that all these scenarios are intertwined with a twelve-year-old male patient, Arius Turner, at Ocala Regional Medical Center.  

EXCERPT: Strange

Arius Turner lay supine on a long rectangular table outside the opening of the MRI’s cylindrical chamber. His arms pressed up against the side of his small, medium-build body. Two Velcro straps laid horizontal across his legs and mid torso; his head was wedged snugly between a foam head support. He laid motionless on the table. The twelve-year-old patient hadn’t said a word of dissatisfaction or showed any frightening emotions when the MRI technician secured him to the table.
Alan Stark, the MRI technician, stood to the left of Arius. The technician, a stout, middle-aged man about six-foot tall, wore a long, blue lab coat. He peered up to his right at a computerized panel of multicolored lights and digital numbers. A moment later, he turned his head downward and to the left toward Arius. “We will be starting the machine soon. Like I said earlier, there will be a loud and rapid tapping noise coming from the machine. So, don’t be afraid. You won’t feel any discomfort or pain.” He paused. “Would you like ear plugs to block the noise? Or maybe you’d like to wear some head phones and listen to music during the procedure?”
“I’m not scared or worried,” Arius answered confidently. “I know no harm will be done to me. Unless I have a heart pacemaker or some other type of electronic device implanted within me. And, no thank you regarding the ear plugs or headphones.”
Alan frowned with a puzzled expression. “You must’ve had this procedure done before?”
“No. I’ve never had an MRI,” he answered with a hint of insolence in his voice. “Besides, I try to read about anything that may harm my body and mind.”
“Well excu-u-u-se me,” Alan blurted out jokingly. “I didn’t know I was speaking with The Shell Answer Man. Of course, you’re too young to know what I meant by that?”
“You would be surprised to what I know, Mr. Technician Man,” he answered with a grin. “He was a fictitious character on a TV commercial many years ago, who would answer questions regarding automobiles and gasoline products.”
“I guess there aren’t too many things I can get by you?”
Arius frowned with puzzlement. “I wasn’t trying to intimidate you. I was reciprocating your statement.”
Alan smiled. He turned around and directed his attention across the room toward a glass partition in the wall. Behind the partition sat a middle-aged, oriental woman in front of several monitors. He gave the woman the “thumbs-up” sign. She reciprocated with the same gesture.
Returning his attention toward the MRI’s panel to his right, he reached out and placed the tip of his index finger on a green button on the MRI panel. He looked down toward Arius. “Here we go, young man,” he said with a monotonous, programmed tone of voice. “The table will slide into the cylinder and stop. The scanning will occur several seconds afterward. It’s very important you don’t move during the entire procedure.”
Alan pushed a green button. The MRI’s rectangular table slowly moved into its coffin-like cylinder. A few moments later he pushed a red button. The table stopped. “The procedure will start...now,” said the technician.
A high shrilling noise shrieked from the MRI machine. The noise then stopped. All the previous lit buttons on the panel went out, as if someone or something had pulled the plug, disconnecting all functions of the MRI machine.
Alan Stark jumped backwards a couple of feet during the MRI’s piercing screech. It appeared all the blood had drained from his face, leaving him with a pale, ghost-white appearance. His eyes appeared like small white saucers as his mouth gapped wide open. He finally shouted, “What the hell happened?”
Alan turned toward the woman at the control monitors. She shook her head back and forth while shrugging her shoulders. He peered down toward Arius. The twelve-year-old patient laid still, motionlessinside the cylindrical chamber. He couldn’t understand why this young boy wasn’t moving or crying out?“Are you all right, little man? Are you still with us?”
No verbal response. Not even the slightest twitch, from the twelve-year-old patient’s body. A few seconds passed, “I’m fine.” Arius’s voice was calm.
A deep sigh of relief came from Alan. “I’m glad you’re all right. You had me worried for a moment.”
“I assume something went wrong with the MRI machine?” Arius said matter-of-factly.
“It lost all power without warning,” he answered. “I’ve never seen this happen before.”
“Since there isn’t any power to the MRI table,” said Arius, “I assume you’ll have to manually move the table?”
“Yeah. You’re right.” He seemed surprised by Arius’s intuitiveness. “Hang in there. I’ll have you out in a few moments.”
When he was about to engage the manual lever to the table, the door leading out to the hospital corridor burst open. He spun around. Coming through the doorway was the transporter, Caleb, who’d brought Arius down from his room, and behind him were a few other hospital employees. All of them expressed concern on their faces.
“Whatin heaven’s name was that horrible noise coming from this room?” Caleb asked anxiously. “The shrilling noise sounded like you and your patient were being attacked by a million bats.”
“The sound you heard came from the MRI machine,” Alan answered, “and I don’t have the foggiest idea what happened. It just crashed.” He turned back around and started to move the table out from underneath the MRI’s cylindrical opening. In less than a minute, the sliding table was out from underneath the cylinder.
Arius looked up at the technician. “Thank you. You’ve been very kind.”
Alan smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re all right.”
Caleb, who was now standing a few paces from the end of the table, asked: “Are you going to restart the MRI?”
“I don’t know how long it’ll take to fix it,” answered the technician as he shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Since you’re here, you can take our young patient back to his room.”
Alan reached down and removed the Velcro straps from around Arius’s legs and torso. He next spread the head support allowing his young patient the freedom to sit up. To his surprise, he noticed Arius didn’t have a single bead of sweat across his forehead. Most children would’ve been yelling “bloody murder,” or they would’ve been crying hysterically until they were pulled out from under the MRI machine.But not this patient, he was composed and unaffected throughout this frightening ordeal.
Caleb returned with a wheelchair. “Hop aboard mate. Your ship is sinking.”
Arius frowned. A moment later a smile appeared. He now apparently understood what the transporter had meant by his statement. He slid off the MRI table and sat in the wheelchair.
The transporter said goodbye to the MRI technician, turned the wheelchair around and headed out of the MRI room. On their way back to the pediatric floor,neither of them said anything of significance nor anything about what could’ve happened to the MRI machine.Caleb dropped Arius off in his room and left.



KEYWORDS
Mystery, Suspense, Mayan Hieroglyphs, Strange Dreams, Mysterious Caves, Miracles.



SOCIAL LIINKS
Website URL: www.gregdidaleusky.com

Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/G.-L.-Didaleusky/e/B003P6MDN8/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Monday, June 18, 2018

#MysteryMonday #Lakota/PinkertonBoxedSet #HistoricalRomance



Author: Christine Young
ISBN: 978-1-62420-231-5

Genre: Historical Romance
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 4
Kindle Unlimited $0.00

BLURB

Dakota's Bride

When Emma St. John received her brother's letter imploring her to escape her stepfather's vengeful scheme and to trust Dakota Barringer with her life, she was willing to chance it. But the handsome, brooding riverboat owner Emma found in Natchez was a danger of another kind. For Emma soon found herself surrendering to an unrelenting desire.

My Angel

When her father decided to send her to a finishing school back East, Angela Chamberlain refused to be confined to stuffy drawing rooms. He'd come to America looking for excitement, but Devil Blackmoor got more than he bargained for when he encountered a beautiful rebel who answered his kisses with a wild innocence that touched his very soul.

The Locket

The year is 1894. Seeking revenge for crimes against his family, Misha Petrovich follows a path that leads straight to Ariel Cameron's boarding house in Mist Harbor, Oregon. A family heirloom in Ariel's possession leads Misha to believe she is guilty.

The Talisman

Running from a marriage that lasted one night, Dr. Moriah McKeown discovers the land she has settled on is coveted by determined and lawless men. Yet the proud young woman who once vowed never to abandon her home has second thoughts when her adopted children are threatened. Her only recourse is to enlist the aid of a dark, dangerous gun for hire.

Forever His

Struggling to come to terms with the part she played in Jacob St. John’s death, Etta Barringer resigns from Pinkerton Agency and seeks peace and solace in a Rocky Mountain Cabin. Jacob follows her, determined to discover the reason Etta has betrayed him, sold him out to his enemy and left him for dead.

EXCERPTS:


Moonless and frigid, the December night sent chills down Emma's spine. Yet she didn't stop at the lighted inn nearby, nor did she break stride when she stumbled over a rut in the muddy road. Instead, she pulled her skirts higher. A carriage raced by, hell-bent in the same direction, spitting mud as it flew past

A frantic look over her shoulder did nothing to relieve the fear. He was closing on her, forcing her from her hiding place. She stopped for a moment while she quickly shook the mud off her cape, then she turned to the little girl.

"You all right, Clare?" Emma asked.

The little girl nodded but didn't say anything, her face screwed tight with concentration, her breaths ragged and hard.

The big Mississippi paddle wheeler, due to leave in ten minutes, let out two loud, booming whistles. To Emma's frayed nerves, the sound was heart-stopping.

The wind from the docks smelled of fish and tar. When it shifted, she could make out the aroma of fresh baked scones coming from the inn. Emma gripped the tiny hand she held in her own a little tighter, and prayed that Clare could keep up the pace.

"It's only a wee bit farther. We can make it," Emma told the little girl, her sister. Half sister, she reminded herself.

Clare's father was not her own. His demonically hand­some face leering at her while he calmly explained what he meant for Emma to do in the bordello was something she'd never forget.

Clare was a tiny and very fragile seven-year old. She had loving green eyes and a long, slender nose coupled with delicate cheekbones. Emma knew that someday Clare would grow into a classic beauty.

One long blond lock of hair slipped loose from Clare's cap. The little girl pushed it away with her free hand, wrinkling her nose disgustedly.

Frost coated the road, and each hurried step caused the almost frozen mud to crunch beneath their feet. A horse and rider passed them, the man tipping his hat as he and his mount thundered by. Church bells rang out, the sound hollow and thin. It was almost six o'clock. She had five minutes to reach the boat.

A gust of wind caught her broadside and whisked the hood of her cape off the top of her head. She grabbed the soft fur and pulled the fabric back where it belonged. Distracted by the wind and her haste to reach the boat, Emma caught the toe of her shoe on a rock and balanced precariously for an instant.

She swore softly under her breath.

Had only one month passed?

No, three weeks ago her mother had died and two weeks ago she had learned the awful truth. Lawrence Stevenshad slowly poisoned her mother. He had given her a small dose of arsenic each day until finally her mother took to her bed. Several days later Emma had held her mother's hand while she breathed her last.

Emma would never have known about the murder if she hadn't overheard Stevens speaking in harsh whispers with a friend of his. There were other things said and promised, things Emma had not wanted to acknowledge.

Disbelief and denial had caused her to waste precious time. Seven days had come and gone since she'd had her last horrible encounter with her stepfather. It was an encounter that had left her with no doubts that everything she'd heard was the god-awful truth. Stevens had meant to sell her to a whorehouse. Still, she'd had a difficult time believing the extent of Lawrence Stevens's depravity. But when he'd installed her in Madame leBon's bordello, she realized too late that her life was in grave jeopardy.

And Clare, sweet, sweet Clare, had understood all she'd told her and perhaps more. With the eyes of a child, Clare had somehow sensed the evil that surrounded her father long before anyone else did.

Five long days and nights they'd spent on the run. Clare had not complained. No matter how exhausted or hungry she was, the little girl had pressed on, understanding the imminent danger that faced Emma. Clare had somehow known that Emma had to get as far away from Lawrence as possible.



This incredible romance is one I positively fell in love with and is good enough to read again and again.
Cherokee
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More 
4 Cups
I can’t remember the last time I was so engrossed in a book: Dakota’s Bridetook over my weekend, and even now, am wishing to go peruse it one more time…
Rating: 4.5 Books
Reviewed by Snapdragon Long and Short Reviews 
 My Angel

Denver, 1893

A polished azure sky looked down on a day that vacillated between winter and spring--a day unable to make up its mind. Cool breezes lifted Angela Chamberlain's brand-new canary yellow skirt off the moisture-laden sidewalk. A blazing hot sun dried the puddles in the street left over from last night's deluge.

Unlike the day, Angela had no trouble making up her mind. Angela knew what she wanted out of life. She touched one finger to the sapphire earrings adorning her newly pierced ears.

She wanted adventure.

She had a terrible craving to see the world--to climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower, to walk the Great Wall of China. She yearned to fly in a hot-air balloon high above the earth, or ride in a gondola in Venice. She wanted to fall in love with a man who was as brave and smart as her father and as dangerous as Devil Blackmoor.

Angela's wish list had no end.

Instead of adventure and romance, in three short weeks she'd be enrolled in Miss Somebody's finishing school for young ladies, where knowing which fork to use was more important than riding with the wind on her favorite horse, Kangee. A place where changing one's clothes three times or more each day was common practice.

Two days ago she'd told her father she didn't want to go.

And two days ago her father had told her she would learn to appreciate the schooling and that she was a very lucky young woman. He'd also promised her a trip to the continent for a graduation present.

A graduation present! She wanted to yell at him, but wisely kept her mouth shut. She wanted to travel now. Today. But more than anything, she didn't want to be confined to the stuffy drawing rooms in the East. Just like her father, she needed freedom. But her father meant to take the choice from her.

To gossip and chatter with rich society women was not her destiny. To know which wine was served with fish would not make her happy. This was his dream for her. Sam Chamberlain needed to look to his own heart and remember the choices he had made twenty-five years ago.

Her destiny was out there somewhere, waiting for her to snap it up and hold the moment close to her heart. She knew what she wanted, and to prove her point, she'd bought a camera and had the machine sent over to the hotel. She meant to photograph all her adventures, every nook and cranny, every monument, every intriguing person.

Across the street and down two blocks, Devil Blackmoor had just taken the saddle off his horse. He brushed the stallion's back, all the while petting the animal's sleek coat and crooning into the horse's ear. Mesmerized, she watched his hands and the gentle way he stroked the horse. 

She wished she had her camera.

Devil Blackmoor commanded her attention. He symbolized everything a father cautioned his daughter to be wary of. Despite the warning, Devil's strong jaw, his powerful shoulders and the confident way he held himself beckoned to every feminine nerve in Angela's body.

Angela clutched her hands to her chest, willing her gaze to shift to something or someone who wouldn't shatter her senses and set her blood boiling. Helpless to control her wayward heart, she kept looking back at Devil. She noticed everything about him, the way he moved, the way his denim jeans clung to his legs and the way they molded to his backside. Devil laughed at something the bouncer from the saloon said, andwhen he smiled, one edge of his mouth tilted crookedly. Ange­la's heart swooned and fluttered, and she thought she might never breathe again.

The Locket

Oregon Coast,1894

Bone-weary from a hard day at sea, Misha trudged up the long mud-rutted road to the boarding house that sat on top a hill less than a mile outside Mist Harbor, Oregon. A thick, cold mist hovered close to the ground wetting everything: the rhododendrons that grew wild, the azaleas that lined the cement walkway to the front porch, and the saw grass that grew easily in the sandy soil. Misha paused a moment to push back a lock of hair that repeatedly fell across his brow and into his eyes.

The land was windswept and salt battered, yet he enjoyed the salt-taste of the air and the swooping sea birds as well as the playful sea animals. He loved the way the trees bent to the power of the wind and found a way to survive despite the brutality of the elements. 

His purpose here was short lived, he reminded himself. He didn’t intend to find himself attached to these parts in any way. 

He smelled of a hard days work. The lingering aroma of sweat and Chinook salmon filled his nostrils. It was not a scent he had any use for, but for the time being the job on the fishing boat gave him a reason for staying in the small coastal town. Right now he couldn’t wait to submerse himself in a hot bath, wash the stench from his body, and ease his stiff, strained muscles. 

The sea had always been one of his favorite places. But fishing?

By God no, he’d just as soon relax and watch the sails billow on a clipper as the majestic ship rounded the horn or stand at the tiller with the wind whistling around him. He’d even rather battle a hurricane off the Bermudas. 

Blending in with the people who lived in this small coastal village had been imperative.

The quest he’d undertaken had led him straight to Miss Ariel Cameron’s boarding house in Mist Harbor, and there the trail stopped. Thinking about Ariel set his nerves on edge. 

Ariel was willow thin, femininely delicate, and hardly capable of the atrocities he’d set out to avenge less than a year ago. Yet the evidence he’d uncovered had sent him here, to her home. The name he’d followed had been her name. The men he’d followed had landed in Mist Harbor more than once, her father one of them. 

He walked up the immaculately kept steps to the house and opened the door to the screened in porch.

"Misha," the captain boomed out a welcome. "Fine weather we’re havin’ now. Just right for the salmon runs."

The rocker squeaked as the captain moved back and forth in the wicker chair.

"Just right," Misha acknowledged and stepped through the next door to the parlor. A blast of heat met him as he nodded his head in polite recognition to the other borders. In a pale blue day dress, Ariel moved with a slight limp through the hallway and disappeared into one of the first floor rooms. Even though she seemed to favor one leg, the sway of her hips enticed all of Misha's senses. 

He didn’t understand the feeling but in a way no other woman had touched him, she beckoned to him. Her amber colored eyes were wide and when she smiled, they glistened and shimmered, reminding him of the bronze mosques in Constantinople when the sun beat upon them. Miss Ariel Cameron was unique--unconventional--and she fascinated him. She was the key to his revenge as well as his salvation.



The Locket is a very exciting tale with a dramatic setting. Overall, this is a very entertaining story.

Maura
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance

The Talisman

Buffalo Creek, 
South Dakota 
1895

Hot, dry air scorched the prairie grass. Sweat slid along his spine. Danger clung to every whisper; seemed to swirl and grow with each passing second. Ivan Civanovich watched the woman below. With deadly purpose, he studied the lady who had hired him--the woman who had bought his gun and perhaps death.
"Reckless courage," Ivan mused. 
"Si Senor, she does have what you call a great courage, but I don’t know about the reckless part. She is always so very careful," Pedro said. 
"I’m a dangerous man, Pedro." 
"This is why she hired you."
"The lady has no business hiring men like me. She’s a woman. She is supposed to nurture lives."
"She needs you to keep the bad men from taking the land away--our home," Pedro said.
Ivan pushed the tip of his hat back from his brows. From his vantage point, he considered the woman while she hung the freshly laundered white sheets on the line. A strange shudder swept through him, his muscles tensing with the sudden feeling he knew this woman, had known her forever. The sensations were too strong, the feelings too acute, and it troubled him because knowing her was impossible.
Her hair, a wild mop of red curls, battled with the stiff, hot wind rising off the prairie. The breeze and her hair flowed in undulating currents between the lines, threatening to tangle themselves in the wire. She bent over at the waist, giving him a perfect view of her backside while she toyed with something on the ground. Seconds later she picked up the object of her curiosity, turned it over in her hands then tossed it aside.
He didn’t like to think about what could happen to her in the next few weeks. She’d advertised for a gun for a hire. She didn’t know what she bargained for, and he’d bet his inheritance she didn’t have any idea what kind of trouble she’d purchased. 
When she looked up the hill, his grin widened. She couldn’t see him, but her shoulders tensed and she sucked air. Her hand touched her forehead, shielding her eyes from the blinding sunlight. She scanned the horizon, turning a complete circle before she stopped.
"Good," he said, "she is cautious." 
"She knows someone is up here," Pedro announced. 
"She’s got more starch in her drawers and the stiffest backbone of any woman I’ve ever seen." Ivan whistled through his teeth, his eyes intent and focused upon the woman.
"Si." Pedro agreed. "She sure enough does but her heart is made of spun gold."
Ivan wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. Beads of sweat dripped down his back. His gaze swept across the barren landscape then followed the line of trees that bordered the creek. He lifted the glasses to his eyes and turned his attention to a spot about a mile north of her ranch. The railroad wanted easement rights. So why wouldn’t she sell to them. "Spun gold, huh." He dropped the binoculars, letting them dangle from their strap around his neck.
"Si, boss."
"I see." Ivan leaned forward, resting his forearm on the saddle horn.
Ivan wasn’t sure he understood. Women had a lot of fine qualities, many of which he didn’t want to live without but a soft, feminine heart shouldn’t be deciding life and death matters. 
Spun gold.No, he’d never met a female with a heart of gold, spun or otherwise. He’d never known a woman who wouldn’t betray a man for a piece of gold. Save one, he amended, and his best friend had married her. Alexi Popov had his trials too. He had kidnapped Angela and spirited her away to his home in the Crimea. In the end though, he gave up his title, his land, and most of his wealth for Angela. He followed her back to America and married her.



This is a wonderful tale, full of action, emotion and a bit mystical at times. Enjoy this one.

Maura
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More 4 Cups

Forever His

The sun beat down. Searing heat waves hit the hard packed earth, blistering, charring everything, even the dry prairie grass. Jacob St. John, his arms stretched overhead and bound to a whipping post, no longer counted the lashes tearing into his back, no longer felt the horrific agony. 

More than a half-dozen men and one woman were gathered in the sage-patched backyard of the run-down shack. So far not one person made a sound as they watched Chavez wield the whip, stripping the flesh off his back.

If Chavez weren't so angry and seeking revenge of his own, he would probably have just had him shot. Revenge was a powerful motive. Chavez wanted Jacob to suffer, to yell before he died. It seemed Etta Barringer did too. So far Chavez was toying with him, taunting and teasing him, cutting an inch here, ripping an inch there, not doing much damage but making mincemeat out of his back.

Jacob hadn't made a sound yet, not even a sharp, indrawn breath. He wasn't about to even though he knew Chavez would get impatient and start slashing. There was no hurry. Chavez had as long as he wanted. No one save Etta knew where he was, no one would come looking for him, at least not until the sun went down. By then Chavez would be done with him, and he would either be dead or buzzard-bait. For the life of him, he couldn't figure why Etta would hand him over to Chavez. She had always been Pinkerton to the core, yet she had betrayed him once before. If he survived this, he meant to have answers. He'd move heaven and earth to search out the lying Etta Barringer and find out exactly what she had against him.

The pain of betrayal at the forefront of his mind, and vows of revenge against the instigator of this kept him going. He focused on the woman's laughter and the scent of lemons that permeated his soul.

He had been taken by surprise. Still, he didn't go down easily. It took all of Chavez's men to get him bound securely to the post in back of the shack. And of those men, not one came away from the encounter without a scratch. Blood from the multitude of small cuts Chavez had inflicted ran in rivulets from his back, pooling on the parched thirsty ground, soaking into the dirt, staining it. 

He stood, his head proudly erect and that seemed to draw anger from Chavez. The grip of his fingers curled around the top of the post, the only sign of Jacob's pain--and fury.

The first real stroke of the whip felt like a red-hot branding iron searing across his back. Jacob didn't flinch, nor would he as long as he could hear her laughter or smell lemons floating languidly on the breeze. He wished he could see her, stare into her beguiling, green eyes until she knew he'd never stop hunting for her. Fury at his own weakness rose, and the anger he felt deep inside simmered, because she'd always attracted him. Ever since she showed up in a small town in Oregon, seduced him then drugged him and left him to sleep off the opium-laced whiskey, she'd fascinated him.

Concentrate on her--on what you're going to do when you find her again . . . 



Christine Young has done it again in this historical romance. The blizzards, betrayal, deceit and a ruthless bandito like Chavez made this a great romance.

Melinda for Night Owl Romance     5 out of 5