Tuesday, February 16, 2016

Blog Tour Giveaway: In Place of Never by Julie Anne Lindsey



Get ready to be distracted by Julie Anne Lindsey  and Mercy's story In Place of Never. Take a look at the awesome cover, learn all about the author, read an excerpt and take part in the giveaway!

Enjoy!

In Place of Never
by 
Julie Anne Lindsey
Release Date: February 2nd 2016
Lyrical Press

Summary from Goodreads:


Can the truth set her free?… 

A part of Mercy died the summer her sister tragically drowned. Now Mercy has a chance to discover if Faith’s death was an accident—or murder.  Her first step is to confront the lead suspects: a band of traveling gypsies—the last people who saw her sister alive. But Mercy finds an unexpected ally in Cross, the soulful musician in their ranks. He’s a kindred spirit, someone who sees into her heart for the first time in, well, forever. Yet stirring up the past puts Mercy in danger…

Suddenly someone is shadowing Mercy’s every move, making her even more determined to uncover the facts. With Cross by her side, she is ready to face it all, even if that means opening up to him, knowing he may one day leave her. What she discovers is a truth that rocks the foundation of her small river town—and a love worth risking everything for….

Buy Links:

About the Author
Julie Anne Lindsey is a multi-genre author who writes the stories that keep her up at night. She’s a self-proclaimed nerd with a penchant for words and proclivity for fun. Mother of three, wife to a sane person and Ring Master at the Lindsey Circus, most days you'll find her online, amped up on caffeine and wielding a book. Julie started writing to make people smile. Someday she plans to change the world.
Julie is a member of the International Thriller Writers (ITW), Sisters in Crime (SinC) and the Canton Writer’s Guild.

Author Links:
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 Chapter 1

The Sideshow

Faith is dead.

The words had formed my first thought every day for three years. Strangely, on the anniversary of her death, my mind was blank.

My bedroom door stood open, courtesy of my little sister, Prudence, no doubt. This was her way of nudging me into motion. Muted shades of gray light filtered through rain-washed windows, barely enough to illuminate dust motes floating overhead. Time to face the worst day of the year.

Sounds and scents of breakfast climbed two flights of stairs and settled into my thoughts with an eerie echo. I pulled clothes from the pile and brushed my teeth and hair. These were the things I’d only begun to appreciate before everything changed.

Far too soon, my toes curled over the top step outside my room. I pulled in a deep breath and braced my palms against cool stairwell walls, dragging my fingertips over the grooves and planes in the wood paneling as I inched downstairs.

From the quiet hallway outside our kitchen, life looked surreal, like the setting for a play with actors in motion but no audience or script. Dad’s clothes were as neat as a pin, and his hair fell in the same schoolboy style he’d outgrown thirty years ago. The morning paper lay open in front of him, beside a full cup of coffee that had lost its steam. Pru stood at the stove shoveling eggs from a pan onto a plate. She, too, appeared ready for the day, if I ignored the tremor in her hand and the strain in her brow. She nearly dropped the plate when she turned from the stove.

“Mercy.” She pressed a hand to her heart and stumbled to the table with the eggs. “Why are you just standing there?”

Dad turned blank eyes on me, unspeaking.

I moved to the counter and filled Mom’s favorite travel mug with coffee, ignoring the palpable tension. In sixty seconds, I’d be out the door with my free, portable caffeine.

Pru untied the apron from her waist and folded it on the counter. She stared at me. “Aren’t you eating?”
I sealed the mug. “No.” I needed to be anywhere but here.

Dad tensed. The paper crumbled around his tightened grip, but he wouldn’t get involved, especially not today. Today we’d pretend we were still a family. Three months from now, we’d do it again.

Pru bit her trembling lip. “Mercy.” The word was barely audible, even in the quietest house on Earth.

Something tore inside me, and I wavered, slowly sipping coffee until the bitter taste Mom had loved turned my stomach.

Dad pressed the paper against our ancient Formica tabletop and lifted cold coffee to his lips.

I settled onto a chair and tapped my nails over tiny flecks of gold and silver embedded in the table’s white surface. He and Mom had received the kitchen set as a wedding present from her parents. A grooved metal wrap curled around the table’s perimeter. My sisters and I had done homework at that table. Birthday cakes and Thanksgiving dinners were served there. When our family was whole, we’d played cards and board games together every Friday night. Family night. Lately, we were a family of ghosts, figurative and literal.

The legs of Dad’s chair scraped over worn linoleum. He poured his coffee into the sink and freed his jacket from the chair back where he’d sat. He threaded his arms though too-large holes. “I’ll be home late.”

Pru flopped her arms against her sides. “But you didn’t eat.”

He scooped his Bible and keys off the counter and pulled the front door closed behind him.

Pru collapsed into the seat across from me. Bony elbows slid across the tabletop. “Please eat something.”

“No thank you.”

Her frown deepened. “No one eats around here. It isn’t healthy.”

“We don’t sleep or talk either. At least we’re consistent.” A deep cringe pinched my heart. I’d promised myself not to provoke Pru. She was only a kid. The least I could do was use restraint and good manners. “Sorry.”

I stared into her wide blue eyes, wanting to say a million things I couldn’t. “You didn’t need to make breakfast. It’s not your responsibility.” The word lodged in my throat, filling the space until air struggled past.

“Sorry.”

Hurt welled in Pru’s eyes. “Whose responsibility is it then? Yours?” She stood in a burst of energy I couldn’t fathom, rocking her chair onto two legs before it settled with a thump. “I’m fifteen, not five.” Pru whirled through the room, dumping eggs in the trash and shoving dishes into the sink. Defeated by her loved ones before nine AM. It wasn’t fair.

She turned on her heels and glared at me. “You’re leaving in six weeks. Then what?” She bit her bottom lip and scrubbed a plate hard. “You could at least pretend you don’t want to go. Even if it’s a lie.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m going to college like everyone does.”

Her weary eyes drooped at the corners. “Not everyone.”

“Not Faith.” As if I needed the reminder. As if I didn’t think of that every day.

She dried her hands and pursed her lips. “What are you doing today?”

Thunder rocked the house. “I’m going out.”

“Out where? There’s a storm. Besides, my friends are coming over for movies and popcorn. Why don’t you stay? Company could take your mind off…stuff.”

Stuff. Right.

“Me, Prudence, and the color guard?” I flipped a handful of sandy curls off Pru’s shoulder. “I’m not sure that’d be fun for anyone.”

“Please.”

“Can’t. I’m going to go see Mom and Faith. I’ll be home later.” Her doe-eyed expression stopped me short. Since when was Pru so needy? She’d certainly never needed me. Had she? Even if she had, what was I supposed to do about it? “If you want, you can come up to my room when your friends leave. We’ll eat cold pizza and drink warm soda after Dad falls asleep.” My throat constricted further with each word. Faith and I had spent many nights that way when Pru was small and sound asleep in her room next door.

She paled. “Maybe.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe?” That was the best invitation I’d ever offered and she’d turned me down. Something was up. “Why? Do you have plans after Dad falls asleep?”

“Maybe.”

I sucked air. “You can’t go out after curfew.”

She crossed thin arms over her chest. “I said maybe. Anyways, since when do you care? Is this a joke? You think you’re in charge?”

My gut wrenched. Was I? Everyone ahead of me on the chain of command had either died or otherwise checked out. “You can’t stay out all night.”

She clenched her jaw.

I grabbed my bag off the coat tree and secured it cross body before she lashed out. “I can’t do this right now. I’ll be home soon. I won’t interrupt your movie day, but I will look for you tonight.”

Pru scoffed as I edged past her and out the door where Dad had disappeared minutes before.

My muddy Chucks waited on the rack against the railing.

Pru glared at me through the window.

I couldn’t stay. I had to visit Mom and Faith before the storm washed the roads away.

I gathered my hair into a knot as I sloshed through the rain toward the edge of town. Puddles splashed warm water onto my ankles. Raindrops swiveled patterns over my forehead into my eyes, blurring my vision and masking a hot tear of frustration on one cheek. The streets were empty of pedestrians. Cars with wipers on warp speed settled at stoplights or outside shops, collecting women in rain gear and children wielding umbrellas shaped like storybook characters.

Dad’s car sat alone in the church lot. He dreamed of inspiring the town and he prayed fervently for a healing of our broken community. The concept was nice if you weren’t one of his forgotten daughters.
I ducked my head and moved faster, dashing through the lot and across the intersection at Main Street. Soggy, wind-battered flyers waved from light posts on every corner. The annual River Festival returned this month, assuming St. Mary’s didn’t wash off the map before then. I tugged my hood over my ears and sloshed onto the sidewalk. American flags lined store windows. Support our Troops shirts and Uncle Sam bobbleheads monopolized every retail display in town. The Fourth of July fun was right on schedule, only a few days until the big parade and concert in the park. My family didn’t celebrate this weekend anymore.

Several yards away, two guys took shelter under the awning outside our local honky-tonk. Their laughter broke through the drumming of rain on rooftops and pounding of truck tires through puddles. Both were tall, dark, and out of place in my town. Instead of jeans and boots, like cowboys or country singers, or the shorts and gym shoes of locals and tourists, this pair wore black pants and dress shoes. Their matching V-neck shirts were equally out of place in St. Mary’s, West Virginia.

The broader one noticed me first. His smile vanished and his posture stiffened. He locked his wrists behind his back and nodded. The short sleeves of his shirt nipped his biceps. The ridiculous breadth of his chest
tested the limits of the thin black material. His clothes probably hid the grotesquely oversculpted figure of a body builder.

My feet slowed instinctively, weighing the merits of crossing the street to avoid them. Crossing meant moving away from my destination, staying meant eventually sharing a three-foot patch of cement with two guys already filling every spare inch.

The leaner, younger-looking one turned his face toward me. Black ink crawled up his neck from the collar of his shirt to his earlobe. A scar pierced one eyebrow and a thin silver hoop graced the corner of his mouth.

Dad wouldn’t approve.

I rounded my shoulders, withdrawing into my hoodie and averting my eyes.

The broad one whipped a hand out as I stepped onto their patch of cement. “Miss.”

I jumped back, wrapping my fingertips around the strap of my bag.

His enormous arm blocked my path. He clenched a mass of silk flowers in his fist. “For the lady.”

“Uh.” I pulled in a shallow breath. “No thank you.”

The younger one’s eyebrows dove together. “I think you’re scaring her.” His dark eyes settled on mine. His voice was deep and low. “Is he scaring you?”

The big guy handed the flowers to his friend and stepped back, palms up.

The younger one offered them to me, extending his arm slowly as if being careful not to frighten a wild animal. “I’m Cross. This is Anton. Anton thinks he’s a magician.”

I glanced over one shoulder at the church behind me before accepting the strange offer. A lifetime of forced manners pushed my name from my mouth. “Mercy.”

Cross’s lips twitched. “He’s a lot to take in, but he’s a marshmallow.”

I bit back an awkward smile as Anton protested the remark with a shove. “Mercy’s my name. It wasn’t an exclamation.”

Cross relaxed his posture. “Good to know.” He shoved his fingers into his pockets. “Do you live here?”

“Yeah.” A measure of unexplained confidence wound through me. “Not you, though.” I scrutinized their strange ensembles again. Their clothes were almost like costumes, or what I imagined a mortician would wear in the nineteen hundreds. “What are you doing here?” I sidestepped them, exchanging my view of the distant willows for a view of the church.

The low tenor of their voices collided as Cross said, “Visiting,” and Anton said, “Performing.”

Cross narrowed his eyes at Anton.

Interesting. A sign tucked into the corner of the honky-tonk’s window announced another round of live bands. Cash prizes and a guaranteed Nashville record executive in the audience meant lots of newcomers to St. Mary’s. Maybe these two were country singers. “Performing what?”

Again with the twin speak, Cross answered, “Nothing.”

Anton answered, “Everything.”

I frowned. “Well, that’s cleared up.” I waved the bouquet. “Thanks for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome,” they answered.

Dad’s face appeared in the church window, and I darted into the rain. “I have to go.”

I stuffed the flowers into my bag as I jogged away from the street of shops, closing the space between the willows and me. Thunder cracked in the distance. The storm was passing for now. I stepped into the pavilion outside St. Mary’s Cemetery with a sigh of relief. Willow trees lined our small town along the river’s west edge. Their craggy branches swept the earth with every gust of wind. The town cemetery stretched fingers of marble graves into the distance, marking lives lost in the mid-eighteen hundreds beside others lost in my lifetime. Two of those graves marked the lives of Porter women, Faith and Mary Porter. My older sister and my mother.

When the drops thinned to sprinkles, I made my way up muddy paths to their grave sites, sliding down as often as I moved forward. Dad said he’d chosen the spots at the top of the hill so Faith and Mom could look over our town. If they truly had a view, theirs was perfect.

The sopping earth squished under my weight as I left the path. A week of relentless rain had ruined the dirt roads and flooded the lowlands mercilessly.

I knelt before the headstones. “Hi. I bet you didn’t think I’d come in the storm.” Tears burned my eyes. I’d come selfishly. “You’re the only one I can talk to.”

I rubbed my wrist over each eye. “I am so amazingly sorry.”

Wind beat against the trees, shaking limbs and freeing wads of green leaves from their branches. “The storm’s gathering again.”

I wiped pine needles and dirt off Faith’s name. Wind tossed sticks and tiny American flags across the thick green grass. A batch of grave flowers rolled down the hill toward the river, reminding me of the ones in my bag.

“I have something today.” I unlatched my bag and pulled out the silk flowers. “Some very weird guys outside Red’s gave these to me. I think you should have them, Faith. I don’t bring you flowers enough. Maybe that’s why I ran into those two. You needed flowers.” I stabbed their plastic stems into the mushy ground and pressed the grass tight around them, anchoring them the best I could.

“I miss you. I wish you knew how much. Dad’s still trying to save the town. Pru’s still pretending she’s like everyone else. The color guard’s coming over for popcorn and movies.” I rolled my eyes. “I think she’s planning to sneak out tonight, and I don’t even know if it’s the first time.”

I settled in the wet grass and tilted my face to the sky. “I’ve never minded our summer storms. Remember when we used to dance in the rain until Dad begged us all inside? He’d laugh and say,” I mocked Dad’s deeper voice, “‘I guess the rumors are true. My girls don’t have the sense to come in out of the rain.’”

A sound in the distance caught my attention. A rhythm. “Do you hear that?” Wind whipped through the trees, but the eerie sound of tinny pipes and organs floated to my ears. I rubbed my palms over gooseflesh-covered arms and an icy shiver slid down my spine.

I stood on wobbly knees and moved to the hill’s edge.

A line of black vehicles crawled along the river toward the campground. Each truck was marked with the symbol that once haunted my dreams. A fancy letter L, circled in curlicue lines and tiny words from another language. “The Lovell Traveling Sideshow came back?”

After three years, it was back.

I turned to my sister. “I bet they came for the River Festival. What should I do?”

I sensed her presence and felt her voice in the wind, obscured by the ringing in my ears. My weary conscience screamed, “Leave it alone,” but my every curious fiber disagreed.

I’d researched, cyberstalked, and obsessed over the Lovells off and on for two years before I backed off. I squinted at the caravan of trucks below. If one of them knew what happened to Faith, I needed to hear it. Maybe someone at their campsite could help me.

Dad refused me the courtesy of knowing what happened to my sister. When I’d followed him through our home begging, he’d said I was too young. Faith was too young. I should pray for peace. I’d scoured the local paper and Internet for information. Three years later, the only things I knew for sure were Faith was dead and Dad blamed the Lovells. I’d heard him and Mom after Faith’s funeral. He hated them, but it didn’t make any sense. Faith drowned. Dad believed the Lovells contributed to Faith’s death somehow, despite the coroner’s accidental drowning conclusion.

I looked over one shoulder at Faith’s headstone. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back.” I rubbed wet palms against my jeans. My feet stumbled through the grass on autopilot. This was my chance.


I sprinted toward home, formulating a plan. First, I needed a shower and change of clothes. Next, I needed a picture of Faith from that summer. The Lovells probably saw thousands of new faces every year and three years had already passed. Expecting them to remember one girl from a town as unremarkable as ours was asking the impossible.

I slowed my pace on Main Street. Outside the honky-tonk, a fresh banner hung from the awning, a photo advertisement for the Lovell Traveling Sideshow. My mouth dropped open as my gaze swept over the ad. I missed the curb and planted one foot in ankle-deep runoff racing for the gutter. “Gross.” My palms hit the sidewalk, stopping me from a complete fall. The open flap of my bag dripped against my pant leg when I stood. I buckled the bag without looking, unable to drag my focus away from the banner. A woman covered in tattoos posed with a set of acrobats front and center. A shirtless strongman with a mask and endless muscles stood behind her. I tried to match Anton and his flowers to the masked man in the photograph. Was it possible?

A man in tuxedo tails pulled fire from his hat and a woman in a ball gown swallowed swords. Animals in black tutus and studded collars pranced at her feet. Behind the others stood a brown-eyed guy with neck ink, a guitar, and a frown. Cross was a performer all right. He was one of them. A Lovell.



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Book Blitz Giveaway: The Cure, YA Dystopian by Tania Hagan


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Join me as I get distracted by Tania Hagan and her YA Dystopian story!
Enjoy!

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Title:  The Cure
Author:   Tania Hagan
Published:  February 16th, 2016
Publisher:  Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing
Genre:  YA Dystopian
Content Warning:   Mild violence, romantic scenes, mild foul language

Synopsis:  Eighteen-year-old Genesis Weatherby is a clone of a long-dead silent-screen star. In order to eradicate cancer, GOD–the Genetic Operations Division–only allows procreation by way of the code-regeneration system. All of her life, Genny has learned “Original” births are the greatest threat to the cancer-free world. But, what happens when dashing British newcomer, Nat Wilkinson, steps into her perfect life, and overturns everything she ever believed?
Buoyed by their love for each other, as well as by their mutual distrust of GOD, Nat and Genny hatch a dangerous plan to change the system, one child at a time.



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About the Author:
Tania Hagan has been a writer most of her adult life. The Cure is her first work of fiction. Tania resides in Chicago with her husband, her daughter, and her three dogs.









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Excerpt from The Cure by Tania Hagan:

     That night, I was no longer Genny Weatherby. She was dead. At least, she might as well have been dead. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember who I was now supposed to be. I had used her name like it was my own earlier in the day. I had thrown it out there, and I’d owned it. But, at the moment, it escaped me. I knew it didn’t really matter. Whoever she was, she looked just like me. Everyone on that list looked just like me.
     I made a halfhearted attempt to pull her name into my head as I crouched behind the stack of alfalfa bales. The storage shed, which was little more than a roof supported by eight tall metal posts, provided little shelter for me.
     I knew I was not out in the open, so I couldn't be discovered. Despite the imperfect nature of my hiding place, at least I was hidden.
     I tried to relax a bit since I had already been there for half an hour. He’d told me to stay in the car, but I’d felt trapped. Plus, if anyone came looking for us, the first place they would look would be the car. That was my logic.
     My ankles were swollen. My stomach ached, and the sweet, fresh-cut grass smell permeating from the alfalfa only accentuated the problem. At any other time in my life, I would have welcomed the scent, but not now.
     My long red hair was pulled into a tight pony-tail. I loosened the band a bit, and pulled a few of the tighter strands out, in order to alleviate some of the pounding in my head. Along with the hair, I also released some of the familiar cherry-almond scent from my shampoo. I didn't remember how long it had been since I’d last washed my hair, but, apparently, the sweet odor outlasted the cleanliness. Even that pleasant scent turned my stomach.
     We hadn't eaten all day. We’d left our last bag of supplies on top of our car when we’d taken off in a hurry the night before. It was my fault. I knew better than to pull out the entire bag just for one meal. But, I had thought we would have plenty of time to repack before we had to flee.
     I had the old-fashioned rifle by my side. Of course, I didn't know how to use it. The impromptu training I had gone through a couple of days before had done nothing for my confidence, let alone my skill. But, it made him feel better knowing I had a way to protect myself if we were ever separated like we were now.
     I yawned, and I allowed myself to lean back a bit onto the itchy bale behind me. I was so tired. I never knew I could be so tired. I had only been able to steal maybe four hours of sleep since yesterday morning.
     The stars in the clear Nevada sky glistened above my head. Somewhere in the distance, a coyote howled into the night.
     I propped my growing ankles up on another bale, hoping they would eventually deflate. I was wearing my mom's expensive hiking boots. Even if my own, cheaper shoes had still fit me comfortably, they would not have made it through this journey. As I sunk further into the hay, my back thanked me for the relief, and I edged slowly towards sleep.
     A year ago, this would have been the last place I’d thought I would be. I was supposed to be getting ready to start college. I had been accepted to the University of Kansas, and I’d planned to have all of my supplies, including bedding and decorations for my dorm, ready by the end of August. School would be starting in the middle of September. I was going to follow in my sister's footsteps by majoring in Political Science, and entering the pre-law program. There was no chance of that happening now.
     Almost everything I had ever learned about the world was a lie. So many things I’d believed were good, now appeared to be nothing short of evil.
     They had eradicated cancer, but at what price? I was still reeling from the information we’d recently heard. It had overturned everything I knew.
     As part of our curriculum since Kindergarten, we’d learned all about how The Cure had come into being. While we were allowed some degree of laziness in subjects such as Math, and Language, US History was drilled into our brains from the time we could read.
     Eliminating cancer topped the list of important accomplishments in World History as well. No event, anywhere, at any time, even came close to the importance of The Cure. Except for a few fluke cancer-cases here and there, no one dreaded the beast in quite the same way our ancestors had.

     I thought of my little brother and sister. They were two of the lights of my life, as was my whole family. Now, I wondered if they were safe at all...


Giveaway Details:
There is a tour wide giveaway. Prizes include the following:
  • 2 X $10 gift cards
  • The Cure tote bag with handmade, beaded stretch bookmark
  • GOD coffee mug with DNA keychain
  • DNA earrings with silver-toned necklace
Giveaway is International


Ends February 22nd at 11:59 PM ET

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 Keep being distracted by reading,
Urania

Thursday, February 11, 2016

Blog Tour Giveaway:The Girl and the Gargoyle (The Girl and the Raven #2) by Pauline Gruber


Blog Tour: Mystical (Mystical, #1) by Michael Weekly




Mystical (Mystical, #1)
Release Date: 12/08/15
Limitless Publishing
240 pages

Summary from Goodreads:
When Eliza Rose found out she
was a witch, she thought she’d be casting spells…
However, it turns out Eliza is on her way to becoming a mystical assassin. But
first she has to start college with her best friend Dawn Roberts and her feline
familiar Jared. If you think college is stressful, try finding your best friend
being seduced—nearly to death—by a venomous fairy. Something is horribly wrong,
and Eliza must find out what it is.
Knowing who’s who in the Mystical world can be a burden—or save her life…



Murderous mermaids, seductive fairies, and manipulative elves are terrifying
enough, but pure witches can become corrupt…and they’re the most dangerous
creatures of all. Eliza struggles to discover the source of this chaos, but is
repeatedly attacked—and saved by a shadowy figure. On a very personal note,
Eliza must learn whether corruption is beginning to claim her mother.
Her strongest ally might be handsome, enigmatic Donovan—but he is hiding a
shocking secret…
Donovan wants nothing to do with his old gang—not after the things they’d made
him do. But when he meets Eliza, he’s both frustrated by her amateur skills and
impressed by her emerging strength, and he feels compelled to help her grow
into the assassin she’s meant to be.
Every answer has a price, and there are beings born to corrupt the pure.
Eliza fights to master her skills before it’s too late, while Donovan must
determine whether Eliza can be saved…or if she must die to keep her out of the
hands of those who would use her powers to reign over all of Mystical.




Buy Links:

Amazon



About the Author

Michael believes he is a mad scientist experimenting with his own
imagination. He enjoys world building and having alluring conversations with
his stubborn characters.

He is your author of The Mystical Trilogy, Casso and TESTED. Specializing in
many genres such as Fantasy, Urban Fiction, Dystopian, Young and New Adult.
Most of his inspirations come from fairy-tales, music, and his curious what
ifs.

You can find him anywhere to snuggling in a comfy seat with hot cocoa Netflix
binging, or taking a soothing walk along the forest lines. Possibly diving in a
tank with sharks, but that would be too insane.

He is a shopaholic east coaster living in Virginia with his fury companion
Coco.

Where the two live happily ever after.

Author Links:
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Excerpt 1

The weeds continue to wrap around my legs, holding me in place. I shake my head, trying to fall back into reality. I press my lips tightly together and focus on cutting off the weeds slowly. With each slash, it feels like my movement and reactions are slowing down. It must be the scent causing the nerves in my body to act strange. I cover my nose and continue cutting the strands of weed silently. Each cut increases the growth beneath me. The mud from the gravel thickens, gluing me further in place.
The girl moans in pleasure while the weeds attach to me and cling onto the fabric of my clothing. The noise she is making and the weeds from underneath me are overwhelming me. My heart picks up frantically, and my lips feel dry.
The strange creature caresses his prey’s bruised body. There are glowing hickeys all over her skin. He allows the weeds to slither around her neck slowly. He leaves another colorful hickey on her skin. He kisses her neck, eventually pulling on her skin with his sharp teeth.
The scent of his tongue sliding slowly on her neck flows over to where I’m being held captive. My lips part as her eyes roll back into her head. I can feel my mind and thoughts drifting away with her. I want the creature’s lips on my skin just as much as his prey does.
Think, Eliza, think. Stay focused.
I shudder as the cold wind tickles the tiny hairs on my skin. The guy stops kissing the girl and the moans fade away. He looks up and scans his setting. His eyes lock on my hiding place. I increase my cutting movement as fast as I can. He smirks at me with colorful drool dropping to the ground from his white blade-like teeth. His red lips glimmer in front of me in the shadows.
He lets the weeds take over the girl’s body, preserving his meal for later. She is still stuck in ecstasy. Her eyes slide in my direction. Even though she must be in pain, she’s smiling. Weeds form around her body, slither up, and then slap across her eyes and mouth.
The creep holding her captive flutters toward me slowly. He reaches out as weeds beneath the ground and roots spring up and wriggle around my ankles and neck. They travel up against my thighs and then slap across my mouth, preventing me from screaming. I am lifted up against the wall, just how the girl is in front of me.
I raise my dagger to try and cut the weed covering my mouth, but I lose my grip and it falls to the ground. I panic, struggling to breathe, but the same scent crawls into my nostrils. Its sweet taste overpowers my senses. My heart beat slows down drastically as my eyes follow the monster, who is floating in front of me, grinning wickedly. He touches my skin with his soft hand, sizzling and calming my emotions.
My heart skips a beat. It’s finally my turn

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