Thursday, July 31, 2014

Addicted to Writing Presents: Highland Miracle by Christine Young

Author: Christine Young

Genre: Romance/Fantasy/Paranormal
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 2

HURTLED THROUGH TIME, Sean Michael Sterling, landed in the midst of a May Day celebration he didn’t understand, assuming the role of Laird Sterling.
ILLIGITAMATE CHILD OF NOBILITY, Reagan Douglas searches for a way out of her half brother’s house.


New York City 1895

"I dinnae ken what this contraption could be. I must be aff my heid," he said reverting back to the old language his great grandfather had spoken from time to time.  Sean Michael Sterling walked around the tall red object he'd just come across in Central Park. His heart thundered with the realization this was an anomaly and for some reason...
"Is this a fire hydrant?" he murmured totally intrigued. Cautiously stepping closer, he rested a hand on the object of his fascination. The hackles on the back of his neck stood on end. The thing was smooth and touching it sent shivers up his spine. If this was a hydrant, it sure could hold a ton of water.
For some reason... his mind shifted and he thought time machine—Jules Verne—his favorite book.
He leaned in and smelled, nothing, just the scent of metal. He didn't recognize the odor. When he stepped back, he caught a hint of Daphne floating on the air. A slight breeze sifted through the meadow, filling his senses with new cut grass, wet dog, and something he couldn't quite identify.
Thoughts of pixie dust came to mind.
I am off my head.
A small dog ran around his heels, yipping and barking. "Crazy dog." Sean leaned down and rubbed the dog's ears. “You look like a bandit. Wonder where you came from? Go on, now. Where's your owner?"
The dog sat down, wagging his tale and stared at him. It seemed the animal was telling him he wasn't going anywhere.  "Now, Bandit, you need to go find your owner. I'm not one to be taking you home with me. Don't think my landlord would appreciate a dog in the building."
Strangely he was the only one in the park, or at least this corner of it. The sound of carriages could be heard in the distance. He suddenly felt isolated and completely alone. The damn thing compelled him to know more, seeming to reach out to him and beckon. An eerie keening started in the back of his mind and grew. The impulse to explore overwhelmed him. Even as he looked at the machine, his mind cautioned him to stay away, but his curiosity sprouted to an uncanny level.
A little voice in the back of his head urged him forward. Damn, but he needed to go home. His stomach growled complaining of hours without food. His eyes burned from the fire he'd just been on and his body cried out for sleep. Rubbing his sooty hair, he muttered to himself.
But thoughts of what was inside this monster contraption intrigued him more than the demands of his body.
Walking around the monstrosity, he kept his hand on the metal all the while looking for an opening.  What shocked him and what was more surprising was the fact that little Bandit found the opening for him.
Bandit sat down in front of what appeared to be a door and stared at him again. It seemed to Sean that Bandit dared him to see what was inside. Well, he'd never been a man who could resist a straight on challenge.
He inhaled a long and very deep breath. Closing his eyes he counted to ten. Even though the day was cool, sweat beaded on his forehead. He walked into fires, lifted burning timber, and he'd never really been afraid a day in his life.
This contrivance terrified him.
Nerves snapping, Sean pushed on the door. It slid sideways, revealing a dark abyss. He stepped back. Fear raced through him, caution cried out to him but he ignored all warnings.
Curiosity propelled him forward.
Bandit ran inside. "No," Sean cried out. "Dinnae....
Silence chilled him to the bone and a cold sweat broke out on his body. Birds chirped in nearby trees.
All seemed right with the world—except for this machine.
"Come here." He crouched down and called to Bandit. Bandit didn't budge. Instead the dog cocked his head to one side and seemed to be saying. You come here.
Sean wavered then stood his ground. Bandit seemed to like it in the machine.
And yet...
An extraordinary golden dust swirled around him, warming him like a golden rain.

Other titles by Christine:

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Addicted to Writing Presents: Highland Magic by Christine Young

Highland Magic
Christine Young
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 3


4.0 out of 5 stars
February 24, 2013

I have enjoyed this series. Strong alpha highlanders....what more could a girl want. The heroin is strong but sometimes just doesn't think....but that makes for the drama. Off to the third book.


Throughout the Highlands she is known as Keely, the witch woman. She is a great healer-a woman whose dreams come true. Ian MacPherson is a man who puts honor, loyalty and duty above everything. Their lives are entwined when Ian is sent by the Scottish King to bring Keely to trial for witchcraft. He is attacked and left for dead, but Keely rescues him. When he wakes, he discovers he has no memory. As he remembers his lost past, Ian finds that his need to protect the woman who has saved his life eclipses his duty to his king and country., He is a man torn between honor and duty to his country and the woman he loves.


Scotland, Summer 1513:

For a moment the man's gaze met hers, bored into her heart, questioned. Blood curdling war cries rode the wings of death through the timeless night. Claymores clashed. Dark eyes the color of midnight flashed a challenge. The holy man's opponents hesitated then lunged once more.

Moonbeams reflected light from the gold chain he wore around his neck. Brown robes fell from massive shoulders. Three more enemies appeared from the trees. The priest fell to the ground, wounded by the broadside of his enemy's weapon. Motionless, he lay on her flower-strewn meadow, blood staining the grass and wildflowers, marring the colorful, summer landscape.

Keely Gray woke, heart pounding a rapid staccato. She pressed against her throbbing temples with sweat-slick palms, hoping to ease the horrific pain that always accompanied the dreams. Death--the scent of blood, fear and treachery still hung heavy in the darkened hut. The prickling sensation radiating from her spine to encompass her body was too familiar.

She listened and heard nothing.

A dark void impaled her. The usual night sounds stilled. She heard no hoot of owl, no chirp of crickets, no croak of frogs, nor could she hear the mournful sighing of the wind through the branches of the old oak trees.

Silence emptied her heart as well as her soul, leaving only an ever-present loneliness.

Keely wanted nothing more than to cuddle into her bed and pull the covers over her head. Despite the unspeakable agony deep in the pit of her stomach, she rose from her pallet. Her limbs trembling, she slipped a shapeless tunic over her head and soft-soled shoes onto her feet. As she swept past the front door, she grabbed her woolen cloak.

Light from a full moon illuminated the path. She could see, but she could also be seen, the moonlight both a curse and a blessing. Approaching the meadow she'd watched in her dreams, she slowed her pace and waited. Her fingers wound tightly around the amber pendant she always wore, her only keepsake from her mother.

The sounds and scents hovering on the wind would tell her if danger still lurked. Caution guided her. A vigilance she'd learned long ago held her motionless.

 A familiar dragging sound reassured her she wasn't alone. "Whipple?" she whispered.

A self-appointed guardian angel appeared as if from nowhere then nodded, though there was a wary cast to his faded blue eyes. "Aye, lass, I'm here. I heard ye leave your hut. I would not leave ye alone to face whatever dangerous mission awaited."

Keely waited for Whipple to close the distance between them before she spoke. "I would argue with you about your appearance here at this great hour, but I ken it would do no good. You should not be here. Your heart--"

Whipple spat. "My heart is fine."

She determinedly stepped forward, approaching the meadow of her dream, knowing she wouldn't like what she found.

"Have it your way, then." Given a choice, Keely wouldn't have come to this meadow. But she had to know the truth--had she seen the future or something happening at that very moment?

Whipple didn't reply. On his clubfoot, he followed her, his trailing leg sliding behind him with a soft swish. The hard thud of his crooked oak cane followed at a slightly skewed interval.

Together they crested the hill. Below her, she saw her dream. A priest lay on the ground, his head twisted at an odd angle. For a moment her heart stopped. She bit down on her lower lip while she studied the man.

Other titles by Christine:

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Addicted to Writing Presents Tell Tale Tuesday: Tiger Mine by Angela Castle

Tiger Mine
Angela Castle
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 5


Licking her wounds after ending a six-year marriage to a serial cheating husband, Julia has run away to her grandfather's house high in the Australian Mountains, hoping to fix the old neglected building up while she contemplates her future, only to discover a huge white Siberian tiger on her door step.
Tiger shifter Mohan has escaped, jumped ship and is in hiding from the hunter who has ripped him from his world and murdered those he loved, when a curvy Aussie woman turns up at the old house he’s managed to shelter in these past weeks. He offers his services as a builder by day, returning to her by night as a tiger. Despite the strong attraction he has trouble fighting, what he discovers in Julia is a new kind of warmth and kindness he is in desperate need of.
Julia knows her gorgeous Russian handyman is harboring dark secrets, but can her heart stand falling in love and losing again?
Can they help each other mend the deeper issues which plague their lives? And bring hope of a new future. Or will Mohan’s past hunt him down and tear the new fragile bond between them?


Desperation was becoming a prevalent emotion in Mohan's life. With each passing moment, he slipped deeper into the unwanted state.

His food supply was limited, and he grew weaker with each passing week. Soon, he would be forced into the situation of journeying back into the human populace. It was dangerous for a creature in his situation.

As long as he remained in animal form, he had a chance of surviving. Yet, with each necessary shift to his human side, he grew weaker. His body ached with a gnawing hunger. Even in the warm climate of this new land, he was cold.

Mohan had been fortunate to find shelter; an old, abandoned farmhouse. It had several rooms and would have once been a comfortable home. Someone had left it to the ravages of time and was in need of much repair.

He would restore it if he had the resources. For now, it was a roof over his head and kept out the chill of the cold mountain nights. Still, even with a full blaze in the solid stone fireplace, it only partially kept the chill from his bones.

He had nothing with which to trade, nothing to barter, and he had limited English. All he would need to do was open his mouth to speak, and they would know he was not of this land. The clothes on his back he had taken from a pile discarded next to a large bin on a seaside street, near where he had come ashore. By day he had walked over many fertile, abundant fields through strange forests. As darkness fell, he had shifted and used the strength of his animal form. He hunted rabbits to help him continue on. As he moved further away from people and higher into the mountains, the safer he began to feel.

Stumbling across the farmhouse had been an answer to an unspoken prayer. He had collapsed in the old building, staying still until his exhaustion had faded.

His sleep was fitful, filled with nightmare images. The smells and screams in his head plagued him. He would never forget the pain and helplessness of everything he'd been forced to endure.

Why did he fight for survival when he had nothing to live for?

Mohan's natural instincts were more often a curse than a blessing. It was only natural to fight to survive.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the mountain trees. Already the air was beginning to cool.

Counting the days, he knew a few months had passed since he'd come to be here. His clothes were tattered and worn thin. He balanced the heavy load of wood he had collected for the fire. When dusk fell, he would hunt rabbits to feed his hunger then settle for the night.

He was still a distance from his cottage. His feet easily found the track back to his shelter. Deep in thought, he had not heard anyone or anything approach. His hearing was less acute while he was in human form.

He froze at the line of trees surrounding the old house. There was a large dark vehicle parked out front and attached to the back was a covered trailer.

Quietly, he lowered himself into a crouch and set down the wood. His eyes trained on the open door of the house. A figure appeared there. The baggy, pale blue, short-sleeved top and jeans did not hide the fact the wearer was a generously curved woman. A cascade of light auburn hair fell about her shoulders, gleaming in the last of the fading sunlight.

He noticed the old tarp he'd been sleeping on was carelessly tossed out and now lay by the end of the porch, along with a heap of old ruined and unusable furniture.

Mohan's jaw clenched in displeasure. What was he going to sleep on now? He waited and continued his observations.

There was no one else as far as he could tell. The woman proceeded to unpack the trailer, carrying box after box into his current home.

It was clear he had just lost his shelter. There would be no fire to warm his side tonight. He would be forced to move on.

Rising to his feet, Mohan curled his fingers so tightly around the slim tree by his side his whole hand throbbed. He welcomed the pain as he battled to bring his anger under control.

Forced. He was so tired of being forced to do things he did not want to do. He needed to regain some control, take back the little comfort he had managed to claim as his. Mohan faded unseen into the thick of the trees. He would wait until dark. He would not give up his new home so easily, and one lone woman would not stand in his way.

 Other titles by Angela Castle: