C.D. Hersh and Son of the Moonless Night

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Today I am happy to have C.D. Hersh back on the blog with an excerpt from their new release and some background on the Turning Stone Society, the thread that connects their series.

Thank you, Jessica, for hosting us on your blog today. Jessica has asked us to talk about the secret Turning Stone Society of shape shifters.

SON OF THE MOONLESS NIGHT_505x825The society began in ancient Celtic times when the Fae gifted a magic bloodstone to three Celtic families with the charge to use the stone’s magic to benefit mankind. The magical bloodstone enables humans to shape shift into their alter egos, male to female, visa versa, and into an animal. The magic also provides the ability to mimic shift into any person, but there may be a cost if you do evil while mimic shifted.

The three families cut the stone into ring size pieces and mounted them in gold. The heart of the stone, which contained the most magic and the gift of immortality, was mounted in silver and given to one family to act as the Keeper of the Stone. But things didn’t go the way the Fae intended. Man’s jealousy and greed for power started a battle between the three families to control the rings and thus control the world. That battle is going on even today and is part of why our hero Owen Jordan Riley believes the only good shifter is a dead shifter.

Book one of the series, The Promised One, is about the discovery of the good shape-shifter faction’s most recent Promised One, a shape-shifter savior who will bring the two warring factions together. When book two, Blood Brothers, opens, the Keeper of the Stone has just discovered two extremely powerful potential Promised Ones: Rhys Temple and Alexi Jordan. Never in the history of The Turning Stone Society has such a discovery been made, calling into question the interpretation of the prophesy about the Promised One.

In book three, Son of the Moonless Night, Owen Jordan Riley is determined to rid the world of all shape shifters, good and bad. To do so he has become a shape shifter himself. Revenge for the death of a friend motivates him, and nothing stands in his way. What he doesn’t count on is falling in love with paranormal huntress Katrina Romanovski who hunts and kills creatures like him.

Thrust back into the world of paranormal huntress, Deputy Coroner Katrina Romanovski must unravel a string of murders she believes are vampire attacks. When she discovers the shape shifter she’s in love with is the murderer, she must reconcile her feelings for him, examine her life of violence against paranormals, and justify deceiving him in order to bring him to justice.

Amazon buy links for The Turning Stone Chronicles series:

The Promised One (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 1):

eBook: http://amzn.com/B00DUMODKI

paperback: http://amzn.com/1619353504

Blood Brothers (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 2):

eBook: http://amzn.com/B00OVNFC8W

paperback: http://amzn.com/1619358271

Son of the Moonless Night (The Turning Stone Chronicles Book 3):

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Genre – Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Suspense Romance

Heat Level – Sensual

EXCERPT:

“Why aren’t we going after the man who killed him?”

“What man? There’s no body to examine to determine who is guilty. The other side carried his body off, which is most unusual.”

“Probably to hide who killed him. Shouldn’t that be enough to make you go after them?”

Roc’s persuasion to love all things evil shifter had worn off Owen when Roc died almost a year ago. Owen still remembered the man’s friendship and respect. Those emotions were driving his need for revenge.

“I do not act until I have gathered the facts and analyzed the ramifications of the action I’m going to take,” Falhman said evenly.

“He was my friend, I can’t do nothing.”

“He was my son!”

Although spoken softly, Owen heard the intended bellow in Falhman’s tone.

“You will not go after another Turning Stone shifter until I command you to do so. There are forces and plans in the working you cannot possibly comprehend. I don’t want you screwing things up because you can’t control your well-intended, yet misguided, revenge. I will deal with my son’s killers in my time and in my way. Do you understand?”

Falhman waited for a response. When none came, he jabbed Owen’s wound with the needle and dragged the suture through the flesh with more force than necessary. “Obey me, Owen, or you will regret it.”

Gritting his teeth to keep from flinching under Falhman’s physical assault, Owen replied, “I understand.” But not even the threat of bodily harm would keep him from enacting revenge on those who killed his friend. Then he would go after the rest of the shifter world, good and bad. From his perspective, they all wanted to control the world in one way or another. The only good shifter, in his opinion, was a dead shifter.

hersh_smallBio:

Putting words and stories on paper is second nature to co-authors C.D. Hersh. They’ve written separately since they were teenagers and discovered their unique, collaborative abilities in the mid-90s. As high school sweethearts and husband and wife, Catherine and Donald believe in true love and happily ever after.

Together they have co-authored a number of dramas, six which have been produced in Ohio, where they live. Their interactive Christmas production had five seasonal runs in their hometown and has been sold in Virginia, California, and Ohio. Their most recent collaborative writing efforts have been focused on romance. The first three books of their paranormal romance series entitled The Turning Stone Chronicles are available on Amazon.

Where you can find CD:

Website: http://cdhersh.wordpress.com/

Blog: http://cdhersh.wordpress.com/blog-2/

Soul Mate Publishing: http://smpauthors.wordpress.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cdhershauthor

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/C.-D.-Hersh/e/B00DV5L7ZI

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorCDHersh

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/CDHersh

Meet New Author Devon Hart

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Tempted by Pleasure Large

Devon Hart’s new erotic romance, Tempted By Pleasure, releases June 3rd.

Here’s a PG-13 excerpt!

Minutes later, when the car stops, I look up, surprised we’re in the parking lot of a gated condominium complex. “Wait,” I say before the driver gets out. “This isn’t a restaurant.”

He twists around. “No, ma’am, it’s not.”

“Mr. Wagner assured me we were meeting in a café, not in a private home.”

“This is the company condo, ma’am, complete with a private chef and ocean view.”

“Chef?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I find some comfort in knowing we won’t be alone. “All right.”

He gets out, then opens my door. He escorts me upstairs, knocking on the front door. I hear heavy footsteps and Foster answers wearing faded jeans and a Dallas Cowboys jersey. The bastard told me no jeans. I frown, but appreciate how good he looks in denim.

“Erin.” His lingering gaze makes me squirm. “Please, come in.”

I brush past him, eyeing the interior, curious what he’s planned. Sunshine fills the great room and the dining room table is situated along a wall of glass that offers the ocean view the driver mentioned. The table is set for two, and a bouquet, identical to the one Foster brought me yesterday, graces the center. I suck in a breath as I walk to the windows. No resteraunt downtown offers this kind of seascape. Although I live on Padre Island, two blocks from the beach, there’s something special about gazing across the water a dozen stories up.

“Time has been kind to you, Erin.”

I turn. Foster is standing behind me. “You told me not to wear jeans.”

“Sue me.” He shrugs. “I wanted to catch a look at those legs, baby.” He bites his fist.

“Legs are legs.”

“Au contraire. Yours are beautiful, like ivory pillars.”

Not original at all. I’m thinking Song of Solomon. His legs are like pillars of marble. Foster always knew how to sweet-talk his way into a girl’s heart, then between her legs. Seeing him grown up, just a bigger and more dangerous version of himself, makes me feel vulnerable. I can’t ignore his southern-boy charm or the fact that when he glides his tongue over his full lips I feel something. Warmth spreads up my body. 

“What are you thinking, Erin?”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “How full of shit you really are.”

He palms my hip and I jerk away, catching his smirk.

“Relax,” he says. “I’m glad you’re here.” He steps forward, trapping me between the glass and his hulking frame. He slides a finger up my arm, evoking such a deep, violent shiver my sex clenches. “Are you hungry?”

Not for anything he has to offer. That’s a complete lie. I want to suck his tongue into my mouth. And if I had any courage, I’d take care of my little virginity problem right now. I don’t value my innocence like some women. I see it as a handicap. I’m a business owner, educated and cultured, world-travelled, and an extrovert. But I’ve never made love. And this man has the power to shut me down. Why?

He gently tugs me from the corner. “Want a drink?”

Wine will help you relax. “Please.”

He walks to the credenza and opens a door, retrieving two glasses. “I have a bottle of Lafleur open, or do you want something lighter?”

I’m accustomed to the finer things in life, but once I left home, I learned to budget. Foster seems to have no limitations. I accept the drink and take a tiny sip, tasting licorice and raspberry. “A simple red would have satisfied me.”

His permagrin stretches wider. “There’s nothing simple about you.”

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Saturating everything with sexual innuendo.”

“Can’t help it.” He moves to the table and pulls out a chair. “Join me?”

I feel safer sitting down. Every measured step he takes, every move, reminds me of a stalking panther. And at the moment, I’m his only prey.

“Tell me everything about yourself, Erin.”

He takes a long drink, then sets his glass aside. Our gazes meet, and I can’t resist admiring the incredibly thick lashes that frame his dark eyes—coffee bean brown with specks of gold if the sunlight hits them just so. Or if I were being less complimentary—shit brown.

I clear my throat, wondering where I should start. He altered my future drastically, gave me every reason to leave home. “After I graduated, I attended college at Texas A & M.”

“You know we missed each other. That’s where I did my undergrad.”

I’d heard rumors about him being around. Maybe that’s why I chose to study instead of socializing. “It’s a small world.”

“Too small.” He cradles my hand in his, massaging the soft flesh between my thumb and ring finger. “Feel it?”

“What?” The more disinterested I act, the quicker he’ll get the message. I hope.

“Want me to spell it out?”

“Stop imagining things, Foster.”

“Am I?” He caresses my neck.

As if on command, I sigh with pleasure.

He smirks and blows on his fingers. “Haven’t lost my touch.”

I roll my eyes. “Lunch.”

He leans back in his chair. “But I’m enjoying the conversation. I’ll change the subject if it will help you get more comfortable. Why a bookstore?”

“I majored in literature and always appreciated the classics. After Grandmother died, I decided to use my inheritance to invest in something I loved.”

“Is it profitable?”

“Depends on what your definition of success is. My store does better than most independently owned shops in South Texas. The publishing world is in flux. With the closure or downsizing of so many national chains, readers rely on small stores like mine.”

“And the name, Shakespeare’s Quill?”

“I’m fond of The Taming of the Shrew.”

He chuckles. “Didn’t you land that role in theatre freshman year?”

Feeling complimented, I say, “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“How could I forget? You were hot, but didn’t have a lick of acting talent.”

I punch his shoulder playfully. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

“That red dress put you on my radar and half the football teams.”

I laugh so hard it hurts. “What about you, Mr. Peacock? Strutting around on the football field like you were God’s gift to the sport.”

“I was.”

“You had a mullet.”

“Bullshit.” He shoves his chair back and launches himself at me, his strong fingers digging into my sides, tickling too hard. “Mullet?”

“There’s proof. Glamor shots!” I practically scream.

“You still have that picture?”

“I-I . . .” Can’t breathe anymore. “I’m going to hyperventilate.”

He stops, and I slowly catch my breath.

“Where’s the photo?” His lips twitch.

“In my bottom drawer at my parents’ house.”

For a moment he’s quiet, studying me. He cracks another boyish grin, warming my insides. “Make sure it stays there or I’ll pay them a visit.”

 amazon buy

Bio:

Devon Hart lives in the Pacific Northwest and loves to travel. Married to her biggest fan, her husband is the inspiration behind many of her super sexy heroes. When she’s not hanging out with friends or in the garden, she can be found in her favorite spot in the house reading or writing her next story.
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Iris Wynne and The Missing Mah Jongg Player

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Iris Wynne’s new release is out and I’m so excited to be sharing an excerpt.

Iris Wynne-The Missing Mah Jongg PlayerBlurb

Steve Wade is an ex cop with an ex-wife and girlfriends he could never commit to. Now he’s a private investigator known for his knack in solving crimes.

This handsome private eye never has a problem finding clients. His newest case involves five frantic Mah Jongg players who are in search of one of their players who disappeared after meeting a man on an online dating site.

Steve Wade is reluctant to take the case. He believes she is just another woman not wanting to be found. But the women are insistent that their missing Mah Jongg player did not vanish on her own. In the meantime, they organize a Valentine’s speed dating gig inviting all the suspects who dated Marilou Dickson, the missing Mah Jongg player, in an attempt to find out what happened to her.

As he watches the dinner play out he begins to realize she may not have gone willingly when all the suspects are presented before him. He even hires his sometime drop dead gorgeous girlfriend for the event to lure the culprit out into the open. Steve just hopes no one goes home with a potential killer.

He has to work fast when the case begins to unravel as lies and betrayal become evident and the truth of what happened to the missing player becomes clear. Will he be able to find the suspect before they choose another victim? This may be his biggest challenge yet.

amazon buy

Excerpt

Marilou Dickson was sitting at the bar, sixty miles away from Toronto on a Saturday night waiting for her date. The only problem was she didn’t know who he was. She got in touch with him on an online dating site and his picture looked great, even though he was much younger than her. A full head of dark hair, straight nose, large hazel eyes and great abs from a previous picture he sent her. She imagined his strong arms wrapped around her as he made love to her. She was tired of being alone as age and beauty were slowly taking its toll while drinking and smoking was becoming an obsession that a good man could help her control.

The noise in the bar was unbearable and she was dying for a cigarette. At least in the old days before cell phones and Internet, you could smoke. The place was packed with pretty girls in floozy outfits, some displaying unwanted flesh. Youth could get away with many things and the sleazier you got, the more attention from the men.

It was like that years ago before marriage and grown kids.

Her phone buzzed which made her spill her drink on her new gold cashmere sweater.

“Damn!” she said.

“May I buy you another drink?”

She looked up and there was her man, looking better in

person.

“Hi!” she said tying not to slur her words.

“Let’s get out of here,” he whispered to her.

“What about my drink?”

“Let’s go to my place.” He smiled as his white teeth flashed at her.

She wanted to stay here and enjoy the bar and perhaps dance. She wasn’t ready to go to his place yet. She sighed and smiled up at him.

“Why don’t we just stay here?”

“You’ll get too drunk.”

She grinned at him, thrilled that he should be so concerned about her. Her phone buzzed again. She gave him a shrug.

“Sorry–I may as well answer this or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

She was going to tell him her friends were worried about her, warned her about going out with strangers–blah-blah. She decided not to say anything. She noticed that his hair was an unnatural black hue, almost like a wig. She wouldn’t care less if he was bald–didn’t men understand that? His glasses were tinted unable to really see the color of his eyes. Something in the pit of her stomach was telling her something was off. She answered her phone walking a distance away from him and the bar. He was watching her though, his look almost a leer. Perhaps it was because she was drunk that she thought this. Nevertheless she would not leave alone and go back into an empty house especially on a Saturday night.

“Marilou is that you?” Harriet said, her voice full of concern.

“What’s up, I’m in the middle of a date.”

“Just checking to see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine really, you don’t have to worry.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside of Toronto.”

“What!”

“Harriet, I’m a big girl.”

She glanced over at him. He bought a drink and was sipping it rather quickly. He was watching her so she waved to him.

“What does he look like?”

“I don’t know, he’s wearing a dark wig and glasses.”

“Marilou, that is not a good sign.”

Harriet could hear a deep voice asking her friend something.”

“Gotta go Harriet, see you Monday night.”

There was a click and the line went dead.

IrisWynne photoBIO

Iris Wynne is a book lover, a day dreamer and a hopeless romantic. She is a writer of cozy mysteries with an element of romance. She is a mother of two girls and in her spare time she dog walks, plays golf in the summer and of course grabs a game of Mah Jongg whenever she can. ‘The Missing Mah Jongg Player’ is her book debut.

My blog http://www.iriswynne.com/

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