Saturday, June 04, 2016

SCI/FI FANTASY SATURDAY: Aldrec was an elf who was mystery to all but himself. Keeping others at arm’s length, he lived each day staving off madness from his impossibly long and somewhat reclusive life. Elven Roses by Brandon Hill



Author: Brandon Hill
Email: khyron20@gmail.com

Genre: science fiction/fantasy
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1


BLURB:

            Aldrec was an elf who was mystery to all but himself.  Keeping others at arm’s length, he lived each day staving off madness from his impossibly long and somewhat reclusive life.  Mericlou was an Alerian model: an obsolete brand of android from a bygone era, lost in the monotony of the daily grind and her eccentric ‘family.’  Their friendship, born of  serendipity, healed their lonely souls.  Later, love entwined their lonely hearts…and nearly rekindled a shameful war.


EXCERPT

Nalsa district, across the river, Number 4 Windhill Apartments.
The elf repeated the address to himself as he pushed his way through the crowds. In human cities it was unusual for a something as petty as purse-snatching to be the subject of intense gossip amongst the marketplace goers, but elven cities like Lusea were known for their tranquility and near-nonexistent crime. The owner of the flower shop, an elf maiden who knew him, had given him the android's address from her records after his promise to deliver the flowers she had dropped, and he had magically stored them for safekeeping. Her home was not far away. Yet he hoped that he could find her first and offer his help.
He was in luck, it seemed, as he became aware of her crying above the ambient noise of the thinning crowds as he reached the marketplace edge. Her electronic voice was very distinctive, and her cries were both plaintive and miserable.
The elf pressed on through the final throngs of shoppers and followed the sound at last to a lone figure sitting on the steps of a shop just beyond the pillars of the marketplace atrium. Her face was buried in her hands.
He came to her side and gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Slowly, she lifted her head.
"By the Divine…!" the elf gasped, eyes widening at the sight of her.
She was beautiful!
Though her amber-colored doe eyes were bloodshot and red, her tear-streaked face was, like all androids, devoid of any physical blemish. If it could be said to be an imperfection, there was only a tiny mole set below and to the right of her deep-bronze-red lips. A black leather choker was clasped around her neck, from which hung a gold-encrusted amethyst. Androids were a common sight, and female types, even more so, but it was as if, at the sight of this particular android, he had never truly noticed them before. For a second, he simply stared, his voice caught in his throat at her beauty that, for lack of a better word, could only be described as perfect.
The elf fumbled with his hip satchel for a handkerchief, which he offered to the android. The android hiccupped another couple of suppressed sobs as she stared curiously at him then at his gift. With only the faintest of smiles, she accepted it. The pale, near-alabaster tone of her skin made her fingers seem as delicate as a china doll's.
"I saw what happened," the elf said, finally finding his tongue. He knelt beside the android as she used the handkerchief to dab at her eyes. "Are you okay?"
The android shook her head, and a couple more tears streamed down her stained cheeks.
"No…I…I think I'm really, really far from okay," she croaked. "That little punk… My entire life was in that purse! My ether link, my makeup, my ID cards…"
Her last few words became garbled as she grimaced and broke again into a torrent of cries and wails. She buried her face in the handkerchief, and before long, had soaked it through with her tears.
"It's…the perfect end…to a perfect day!" She came up for air, only to cover her face again and resume her crying fit.
Alarmed, yet hesitant, the elf placed his arm around her shoulder, and to his surprise, she readily accepted him. The android leaned into his breast, and coughed out a few more ragged sobs, too exhausted to cry anymore.
"Th-thank you," she quavered, having composed herself and looking more than a little embarrassed at having emptied her sorrow into the bosom of a complete stranger. "I'm not usually like this, really. It's just that…well, today's just gone all to hell, if you know what I mean?" She followed her statement with a loud, wet sniffle.
"Oh, I can guess," the elf said, recalling, in spite of himself, his mood before seeing her chase after that purse-snatcher. He gave her a reassuring smile. "Besides, I've had something of a bad day myself."
"Have you ever had your purse stolen?" The android asked, as though nothing could have possibly been worse than what had happened to her.
At this, the elf stifled a potentially regrettable laugh. "No, but then again, how many men, human or otherwise, do you see with a purse?"
The android let out a slight guffaw, and smiled.
"Aha, so you can laugh!" the elf said. "I was beginning to wonder if your sense of humor had been taken as well. But seriously, if I did have a purse—heaven forbid—I know that it isn't exactly the best thing to wear in the city, even in Lusea. It's too easy to steal: bands snap; there's nothing to hold on to. I've seen it before."
"I guess I learned it the hard way, huh?" the android said grimly. She bent over, cradling her forehead in her hands. "Boy, was I stupid, or what?"
"Look, don't talk like that." The elf shook his head resolutely. "You're not stupid. You just made a mistake, is all. Besides, that kid was the one to blame. He was the one who stole your purse. Hey, that reminds me…"
He removed his hip satchel from his belt and unzipped it. "Here," he said, "you can have this."
"Oh, no!" the android said, pushing it away the moment he presented it. "I couldn't possibly-"
"No, I insist," the elf said, pushing it back her way. "Besides, it's full of stuff that I don't really need. Go ahead. Take a look inside."
She wiped the stray tears from her face and eyed him suspiciously, but the elf's reassuring smile was mysteriously disarming. She reached inside.








Friday, June 03, 2016

FRIDAY'S FEATURED TITLE: Widow Barbara Langley, sporting a refreshed look, and her best friend, go to Tampa, Florida as she had promised. Along the way she encounters an old flame and new temptation. If Only by C. L. Kraemer



Title: If Only
Author: Christie L. Kraemer
clkraemer1@gmail.com
ISBN: 978-1-62420-209-4

Genre: Contemporary Romance
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level:


TAGLINE

Widow Barbara Langley, sporting a refreshed look, and her best friend, go to Tampa, Florida as she had promised. Along the way she encounters an old flame and new temptation.

BLURB

Widow Barbara Langley, and best friend, Rachel, journey to Tampa, Florida. Barbara left broken-hearted years earlier and returns with her newly surgicized body to mend her grieving spirit. Can she juggle an old love who reappears and the younger man who desires her or will she choose to return to the Northwest still single?


EXCERPT

"You are the one my cards have foretold to me." She nodded at Rachel who stood behind Barbara, her mouth gaping.
"I beg your pardon?" Barbara moved back stepping on Rachel's toe.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry."
The blonde women stopped before Barbara, tossing a fearful look in Rachel's direction, before reaching out and gently lifting Barbara's hand to her, palm up, and peered at the opened extremity. She took a bejeweled, ruby-tipped finger and traced the lifeline. Her dark brown eyes peered deeply into Barbara's.
"You have recently suffered a great personal loss."
Rachel harrumphed behind Barbara.
Ignoring Rachel, she continued, "You have come home seeking a glimpse of the past to answer questions of old. You will have to make a decision between two—brothers?—which will change your living arrangements as well as your life..."
Before she could continue, Rachel grabbed Barbara's elbow and propelled her toward the front door, muttering under her breath, "Any fool can see the white circle where your wedding ring used to be and, of course, you're seeking something. You came into this bloody shop. What a fraud."
The blonde turned and softly called to the retreating backs of the two friends, "By the way, Dylan says you are headed in the right direction, and he wants to thank you. Now he can rest."
Barbara's planted her feet to the floor. She whirled and, grasping her throat, whispered, "Dylan?"
The blonde approached warily, glancing at the furious face of Rachel looking over the head of her friend.
"Yes. He said you"—she pointed at Rachel—"would not believe me, but he was finding it difficult to get a message through to you. Barbara, he wanted very much for you to know the quest you have taken is the first step to setting him free. He knew he was your second choice."
Barbara gasped, tears welling in her eyes, "He never said a thing."
"He has told me to thank you for all the years of love you gave to him, and says he wants you to find your first love who also searches for answers."
Rachel growled behind Barbara, "Let's get the hell out of this place." She turned Barbara around and shoved her out the door. Glancing back, she spotted the blonde peeking from the door as they escaped to the car.
"Barbara, you're not going to believe that garbage, are you?" Furrows creased Rachel's brow.
"Well, normally, I would've laughed in her face as we walked out, but she did mention Dylan by name. I mean, how could she know the name of, of... well, you know." Barbara had stopped on the sidewalk and was looking up at her friend.
Pulling Barbara close to the building, she tenderly grasped her friend's hand in hers.
"Winkie..."
Barbara's eyes widened.
"Yeah, I know about your pet name. He told me once when I'd just read him the riot act about his drinking and how it would end your marriage if he didn't get himself together. I hate to dump ice water on your hope but... we were talking about Dylan in there, remember?"
Rachel watched her friend's shoulders droop and the hope flicker and die from her eyes.
"Yeah, I'd forgotten about that. Well, I guess mysterious messages from those who have passed over and voodoo are the tools of their trade. I'm just feeling a little guilty, I guess. I've actually felt happier here than the last two years in Oregon. Hearing his name like that brought back all the pain."
Rachel winced. "Girlfriend, we came here so you could release some of that pain and take a breather from being 'Dylan's poor widow,' remember?" She gathered her friend under her arm, and they moved toward the parking lot.
Barbara slowed her gait and turned to look up at her friend. "I know she has a very good act going, but I never told Dylan he was my second choice. Did you?"
Rachel shook her head and with her hand crossed her heart.
"Kind of makes you wonder, doesn't it?"
Rachel picked up the pace until they stood at the doors of the convertible.
"No. The woman is good at what she does—selling the occult. Everyone who goes into her shop is looking for something, or they wouldn't stop. The white spot and indentation on your finger, where your ring used to be, indicates you were in a long relationship, which has recently ended. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but, when you think no one is watching, you look incredibly sad. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out you might be looking for a new love. That part about two brothers, though; that was taking it just a little too far. You gotta give her this—she's a great actress."


Thursday, June 02, 2016

Jacob has vowed to discover the reason Etta has betrayed him, sold him out to his enemy and left him for dead. Forever His by Christine Young



Forever His by Christine Young
Excerpt Heat Level:
Book Heat Level:

August 30, 1895
Near Buffalo Creek,
South Dakota

Buy at Amazon

REVIEW:

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


BLURB:

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 has vowed to discover the reason Etta has betrayed him, sold him out to his enemy and left him for dead.

Isolated in their cabin, they discover their love for each other and learn to trust. But the trust is shattered when Jacob learns she is married to his sworn enemy; the man who left him in the desert to die.

EXCERPT:

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



Wednesday, June 01, 2016

Raised by the Sioux when his parents were killed, Dakota had been betrayed once before by a white woman. Dakota's Bride by Christine Young FREE ON KINDLE UNLIMITED or $0.99



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.

EXCERPT:

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 Stevens had 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 Bride took 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