A Murdered Peace by Candace Robb
Publication Date: December 11, 2018
Paperback & eBook; 304 Pages
Series: Kate Clifford, Book 3
Genre: Historical Mystery
A Murdered Peace by Candace Robb
Publication Date: December 11, 2018
Paperback & eBook; 304 Pages
Series: Kate Clifford, Book 3
Genre: Historical Mystery
Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Chapters | IndieBound | Kobo
Praise for A Murdered Peace“Those who meddle in the affairs of kings live to regret it. A...tale of love and murder set in a turbulent period when death and betrayal lurk around every corner.” -Kirkus Reviews “Superior. Robb effortlessly integrates the era’s intrigues into a whodunit framework and peoples the plot with a wide array of characters readers will come to care about.” -Publishers Weekly (starred) “A fine flowing narrative and a genuine sense of mystery and peril.” -Writers & Readers
About the Author
Book Blast ScheduleTuesday, December 11 100 Pages a Day Bookish Rantings Wednesday, December 12 The Lit Bitch Bri's Book Nook Passages to the Past Thursday, December 13 Creating Herstory Just One More Chapter Friday, December 14 What Is That Book About Jennifer Tar Heel Reader Saturday, December 15 Old Timey Books Historical Fiction with Spirit Sunday, December 16 Donna's Book Blog Hoover Book Reviews Monday, December 17 The Writing Desk Tuesday, December 18 A Book Geek Tea Book Blanket Wednesday, December 19 Umut Reviews The Book Junkie Reads Thursday, December 20 Clarissa Reads it All For the Sake of Good Taste Friday, December 21 Jathan & Heather Encouraging Words from the Tea Queen
GiveawayDuring the Blog Tour we will be giving away a signed set of Candace Robb's Kate Clifford series! To enter, please use the Gleam form below. Giveaway Rules – Giveaway ends at 11:59pm EST on December 21st. You must be 18 or older to enter. – Giveaway is open to US residents only. – Only one entry per household. – All giveaway entrants agree to be honest and not cheat the systems; any suspect of fraud is decided upon by blog/site owner and the sponsor, and entrants may be disqualified at our discretion. – Winner has 48 hours to claim prize or new winner is chosen. A Murdered Peace
Psychological Romantic Suspense
Date Published: November 21, 2018
Lizzy Adams spent the summer pining for Tyson Smith, the sexy security agent whose instruction at a safety seminar saved her life. Now, every man she meets is measured against the absolute awesomeness of the brawny black man with the soulful eyes, the baritone voice that whispers over her like a velvet caress, and a smile that turns her knees to jelly. Now she just had to get him to notice her.
Tyson Smith had a lot of respect for Lizzy Adams, the spunky teacher who freed herself from the clutches of a deranged miscreant who’d wanted to take her hostage. But his concept of her wholesome ‘girl-next-door’ image was challenged the night she showed up at a company barbeque dressed as a flirty cowgirl. Always the gentleman, he managed to keep his eyes off her assets as she strolled around the farm. His mother had raised him better, but there was no denying that she was every man’s ‘American Beauty’ fantasy. But the night he’d shown up at her doorstep to help her out altered their relationship forever. Between the fear in her eyes and the baseball bat perched on her shoulder, his protective side surfaced, and he handed her a piece of his heart.
Their whirlwind romance is threatened when a man from Lizzy’s past attacks her. Sam Clark wants vengeance for his son. He blames the jurors from Jason’s trial for Jason’s death and crafts a hit list. But killing Lizzy, the scrappy survivor, is harder than he thought. After Sam fails at his first attempt on Lizzy’s life, he resolves to kill her before he’s forced into hiding. He just has to get past the big, black man who appointed himself Lizzy’s protector.
About the Author
Karen Tjebben lives in central North Carolina with her wonderful husband, twin daughters, and two hamsters. When her girls left for kindergarten, Karen discovered that she needed to fill her days with something, and that was the beginning of her new career in writing. She loves to create worlds filled with unique characters that she hopes will delight and raise goose bumps on her readers. In her free time, she enjoys traveling with her husband and seeing the world through her daughters' eyes.
What Girls Are Good For by David Blixt
Publication Date: November 6, 2018
Paperback & eBook; 535 Pages
Genre: Historical Fiction
Nellie Bly has the story of a lifetime. But will she survive to tell it? Enraged by an article entitled ‘What Girls Are Good For’, Elizabeth Cochrane pens an angry letter to the Pittsburgh Dispatch, never imagining a Victorian newspaper would hire a woman reporter. Taking the name Nellie Bly, she struggles against the male-dominated industry, reporting stories no one else will – the stories of downtrodden women. Chased out of Mexico for revealing government corruption, her romantic advances rejected by a married colleague, Bly earns the chance to break into the New York’s Newspaper Row if she can nab a major scoop – life inside a madhouse. Feigning madness, she dupes the court into committing her to the Insane Asylum on Blackwell’s Island. But matters are far worse than she ever dreamed. Stripped, drugged, beaten, she must endure a week of terror, reliving the darkest days of her childhood, in order to escape and tell the world her story. Only, at the end of the week, no rescue comes, and she fears she may be trapped forever... Based on the real-life events of Nellie Bly’s life and reporting, What Girls Are Good For is a tale of rage, determination, and triumph - all in the frame of a tiny Pennsylvania spitfire who refused to let the world tell her how to live her life, and changed the world instead.
Praise for What Girls Are Good For"David Blixt pens a heroine for the ages in "What Girls Are Good For," which follows the extraordinary career of pioneer newspaperwoman Nellie Bly. A pint-sized dynamo who refuses to stay in the kitchen, Nellie fights tooth and nail to make a name for herself as a journalist, battling complacent men, corrupt institutions, and her own demons along the way. This real-life Lois Lane had me cheering aloud as I turned the pages - simply a delight!" - Kate Quinn, author of The Alice Network "Dramatic, engrossing, and spirited, What Girls Are Good For takes the reader straight to the heart of an unsung American hero--a feminist icon whose voice rings loud and true. This is a must-read for anyone who loves an underdog and celebrates justice; the perfect accompaniment for our present times." - Olivia Hawker, international bestselling author of The Ragged Edge of Night "With rich imagination and meticulous research, David Blixt has brought the hectic, exciting world of nineteenth-century journalism vividly to life. His Nellie Bly is determined, independent, crafty, irresistible -- a heroine any reader would be delighted to get to know." - Matthew Goodman, New York Times bestselling author
About the Authorwebsite. You can also find him on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.
Book Blast ScheduleMonday, November 26 Passages to the Past Tuesday, November 27 Hoover Book Reviews Wednesday, November 28 What Is That Book About Thursday, November 29 Donna's Book Blog Friday, November 30 Clarissa Reads it All Monday, December 3 100 Pages a Day Tuesday, December 4 History From a Woman's Perspective Wednesday, December 5 The Book Junkie Reads Thursday, December 6 Pursuing Stacie Friday, December 7 Peppermint Ph.D. CelticLady's Reviews
The Viking’s Captive
“If you vomit on my lap, I will most likely throw you overboard,” Dayna, my incredibly helpful sister, told me for the fourth or fifth time.
“If you hadn’t come running after me like a sodding fool, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself captured. Then you wouldn’t even be on this boat, and you wouldn’t have to worry about me vomiting on you, now, would you?” I asked as I clutched my midsection. My stomach seemed to think it should take its cues from the ocean upon which we sailed. It rolled and flipped just like the waves.
“First, if I hadn’t come after you, then that would make me a coward and not much of a sister, so that was never an option. Second, if I hadn’t gotten captured, then you would be all alone with no one to hold your hair while you vomit, now, wouldn’t you?”
“Do we have to use the term vomit in every sentence?” Hilda, the Hakon clan Oracle, healer, and Torben’s mother, asked dryly.
“Apparently, we do since you just used it yourself,” Dayna pointed out.
Hilda shot me a sly grin, with one eyebrow raised, asked, “You don’t mind if I just put a small hex on her, do you?”
“She is my sister, so I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Thank you,” Dayna said a bit smugly.
“But if you feel it’s absolutely necessary, I guess I could overlook it,” I added, earning me a pinch from said sister.
I had no idea how long it had been since Magnus, Torben’s jarl, had captured us. On one hand, he’d done me a favor. I certainly wasn’t going to have to marry Cathal now. On the other hand, my sister and I were now the prisoners of a man who was slowly losing his mind. I wasn’t sure which was worse, being married to a madman or being stolen by one. For whatever reason, I seemed to have suddenly become a hot commodity to lunatics. I chuckled to myself.
“Pray tell, sister, what is so funny?” Dayna asked.
“Madmen want me,” I said as I groaned and shifted my head, which was indeed lying in my sister’s lap, where I very well might have been sick at any second.
“Do you think she’s already delirious from being at sea?” Dayna asked Hilda.
Hilda snorted¾a most unladylike sound. “We’ve only been at sea for half a day at most. If she’s already delirious, then we are going to need to shore up her constitution.”
I was just about to tell her where she could shove her shoring up when I quickly covered my mouth and sat up. I refused to vomit. If I did, it would feel like Magnus was winning in some bizarre, silent game between the two of us. Once I was sure I could open my mouth without anything but words coming out of it, I addressed Hilda. “I am feeling more than just my own illness, worry, and fear.” I pressed my hand to my heart and rubbed it as if that could somehow remove the ache. “There’s a pain deep in my breast.”
Hilda nodded. “That would be the anchor bond between you and my son. You are feeling his worry and fear as well as your own. And knowing how deeply Torben feels anything, I imagine he is in quite a bit of distress, though he won’t show it on the outside.” She shook her head. “No, he’s a warrior through and through. On the outside, he will look as though he could slit your throat without a second thought. But on the inside, he is frantic to get to you.”
“Is that why you weren’t wailing about the possibility of Torben being dead when Magnus said he was?” Dayna asked.
“I would know if he were dead. A part of me would die inside as well.” I looked back to Hilda. “Will he kill Magnus?” I asked.
She nodded. “It is his destiny to become jarl of the Hakon clan, as it is your destiny to rule at his side. For that to happen, the old jarl must die. Magnus will never relinquish power willingly. Our two nations will grow stronger, not only because they embrace one another’s differences, but because they need new blood. Your offspring will be strong.”
The boat gave a mighty heave, and Dayna and I both nearly fell off the small bench upon which we were perched. Hilda didn’t appear bothered at all by the motion. She noticed the expression I was giving her and shrugged.
“I’ve lived at sea a long time. She and I are well acquainted.”
“Forgive me for speaking out of turn,” Dayna said, gripping the seat beneath her as though it might try to toss her into the bottom of the boat, “but your life has been about as fun as a house rat’s on cleaning day if you’ve spent that much time on the ocean.”
I look out over the city, and I can see everything that’s wrong. All these people. Suddenly I feel responsible for all of them. “Have you ever had a secret?” I ask.
“I don’t know a single person who doesn’t have secrets,” he answers. His voice is so calm. There’s this low, deep timbre to it. There’s something about it that’s unique. I’ve never heard a voice that sounds like his.
“Well, have you ever had a secret that would affect billions of people?”
My stomach twists in knots just at the thought of it.
“I can’t say that I ever have had a secret of that scale,” he confesses. “Surely, you don’t actually mean billions.”
I huff one short laugh and nod my head. “Actually, I do. And the thing that sucks about it is that I could tell people, but it would create so much chaos, I might actually make things worse. I hate that. I hate it so much, because it makes me feel responsible.”
“One person can’t be held accountable for billions,” he says. His words are like a soft touch, like a hand on my back, rubbing for comfort and support.
“Sure they can,” I argue, even though I want to accept his words. I’m in a self-depreciating spiral right now, and I have no intent to get myself out of it at the moment. “Look at Cyrillius. He’s destroyed trillions of lives. And he doesn’t even feel guilty about it.”
Just saying his name makes my mouth taste bitter. As the heir and owner of Dominion, he makes all the calls that affect every single solar system. He could make the galaxy a better place. He could stop the centuries of greed and money. But he’s only taken things twenty steps further than his father and his grandfather before him.
“Seems like a little bit of a jump, comparing yourself to him,” he says quietly. “Just a few days ago you were complaining about your boring life, and now you’re hiding a secret that could affect everyone on your planet?”
“Pretty insane how quickly life can change,” I muse. Though, really, nothing has changed at all. Other than now I have to figure out how to get me and my dad, and Zayne, off-planet. “Know of anywhere good left in the galaxy?”
“Suddenly you’re also ready to move planet?” he asks. There’s a thoughtful probe to his tone.
I shrug, even though he can’t see it. “Know of any place?”
This is where I hate this part of our connection. I hear his voice. But that’s it. I can’t read his body language. I get impressions sometimes, but I don’t know if those are real, or my brain filling them in.
I want to read his face right now. I want to have something to fill these longer pauses, to decipher what he’s thinking.
But I have nothing but his voice, echoing in my brain.
“Do you really think there’s any such thing as a good place, anymore?” he finally asks.
I consider his question as I look out at Korpillion.
This is supposed to be a good place. But, as I look at it, I see the race for credits. I see advertisements flashing bright in my face. I see businessmen talking to prostitutes who are only interested in their connect-link accounts. I see jobs, so many of them, that no one takes pride in, they just do it because it allows them to survive.
I think of Reena, whose goal isn’t to save anyone but herself and her crew.
I even think of my dad, who has no joy in life. He just puts his head down and survives.
“I don’t know, anymore,” I say. I hate the confession, but I am honestly not sure.
“I’ve been to a lot of places, and all I’ve seen everywhere is the innate drive to survive,” he says into my head. “People will do whatever it takes to survive.”
“I wonder when we lost everything else,” I say. “The few books that were stored before all of that was lost talk about all these other things, these principals. Honor, glory, love. When did we become a galaxy full of survivors?”
He doesn’t answer, because really there isn’t an answer. These are just the deep thoughts spoken out loud between two strangers connected by a power neither of us understands.
“I wish I was there with you,” he surprises me with his honest words.
I straighten a little, and a smile creeps onto my face. “I wish you were here, too.” I pause, letting that confession fill me. “Do you think we could ever meet in real life?”
He takes a considering pause. “I think we have to be careful what we wish for, sometimes.”
At first, the mass appeared to be a wall of snakes, surging out from one of the cells and splattering against the far wall. But instead of a wet thump, the shadowy forms cracked into the very stone. Among the undulating mass of slithering things, I heard the fall of rock and metal clattering across the floor.
I tried to concentrate on my footing, careful not to twist an ankle, as we attempted to outrun the massive shadows. A moment later, the dullahan’s eyes disappeared in the distance, and those snakelike forms broke into a halo of light. As they crossed through, I could see they were caked in mud, blood, and other viscera I couldn’t identify. One thing I was sure of: they weren’t snakes.
“What is that?” I shouted.
Morrigan glowed. Between one step and the next, the crone became the raven, and she rocketed forward on oily black wings. “Burn them!” the bird squawked.
Throwing an incantation while running was a sure way to miss your target. But one thing Zola had taught me was if you threw a large-enough ball of fire in an enclosed space, you didn’t really need to aim. “Magnus Ignatto!”
I stumbled as the power ripped through me. I felt what was left of the hairs on my arms burn to a crisp. Morrigan, almost distant now, made the turn through the intersection and flew up the stairs. She’d be safe from the heat, though I wasn’t sure if she was susceptible to fire incantations. The chaotic wall of flame shot forward at irregular intervals until it crashed into the writhing mass of what now looked very much like lampreys or dying gray vines draped in gore and dripping blood I suspected was from our allies.
Whatever they were, they were sentient. The instant the flames hit and widened to the point that I couldn’t see down the hallway through the fire and pain in my arms, something else screamed. It wasn’t immediately recognizable as pain, as the sound was so deep and basso it took me a moment to understand the earth wasn’t shaking around me. I let the fires die away and gasped for breath as I stumbled forward, making my way for the staircase as the soles of my boots sizzled on the superheated stone beneath them.
There’s a pain in my chest as I remember the first time I stumbled across a man with fists lined with metal spikes. I was walking through downtown Santa Ana with Justin, and it was one of those times when I thought, He’s totally going to kiss me tonight. It was back before I began traveling through time, before I found out just how dark the world could be. We were laughing and heading toward a frozen yogurt shop, and he slid his arm around my waist.
It might have been the first time I thought, This guy is it; he’s the one I could fall for. I knew he was a Genetic and that nobody wanted us to be together. But I didn’t care. He was sunshine on a dark night. He was heat when the cold winds blew.
I put my head on his shoulder.
It was only natural.
It was exactly right.
Then I saw the metal man, his brow furrowed as if his heart held all the anger in the world. He was chaos and destruction and he was walking toward us, eyes like fire, like he wanted to kill us both.
Maybe he was looking at Justin. Metal men hate Genetics, because in a real battle, Genetics win. It doesn’t matter how much metal you’ve grafted onto your skin or bones—it might make you stronger, but you’re slower, too. Nobody can match the speed and natural strength of a Genetic. So, this guy might have been looking at Justin and challenging him, but it felt like I was going to be collateral damage.
One swing of his spike-covered fist and I’d be dead.
But I didn’t have to worry about it for long, because Justin pushed me behind him. I couldn’t see his face, but I could see the metal man. Doubt flickered in his eyes; he paused and glanced to the side. He was probably looking for a way out.
Justin took a step forward, his hands curled in fists. When he spoke, his voice came out like thunder, a loud, low growl that rumbled through my spine.
“Don’t even think about it,” Justin said. “Take one more step and I’ll rip out your metal implants, one by one. They hurt going in, so you better believe it’ll be a mother when I pull them out.”
He paused to laugh, but I’d never heard him laugh like that before. It was chilling, like he was a different person. He continued to warn the metal man. “Especially when I twist those implants sideways and the roots tear off chunks of your flesh.”
The metal man narrowed his eyes, and there was a split second when I thought he was going to tackle Justin.
Maybe he would have.
But he didn’t get a chance. It was like Justin knew the metal man’s plan, like it was an open football playbook. Justin rushed him, grabbed the guy around the waist, and slammed him against the brick wall of a local tattoo parlor. It took the wind out of the metal man’s lungs, and he was temporarily stunned. Justin could have slugged him; he could have broken the guy’s arms; he could have killed him.
All he did was lean close enough to whisper in the guy’s ear.
Then Justin stepped back and let the thug slide to the sidewalk in a heap. The metal man caught his breath, his eyes flickered, and he glanced up at us. Then he floundered to his hands and knees and crawled away as fast as he could. By the time he got to his feet, we were surrounded by a Friday-night club crowd, most of them drunk and all of them laughing at the metal man as he ran away.
Justin didn’t even hit the guy.
Sometimes you can win by intimidation alone.
So, do I melt every time I see this boy, who was willing to fight to protect me?
You better believe it.
The Vampire King’s Mate
Eden gulped as the huge male was suddenly in front of her, one hand on each thigh, holding them apart, as he knelt between the V of her legs. He had moved so fast, he must have ported. Her heart pounded, and she used her magic to force the oxygen in her bloodstream to slow its speed.
“Do not do that,” Viktor snarled and tightened his grip on her thighs.
“Do what?” she whispered, adrenaline flooding her system. Her skin felt tight as her hormones surged.
“Whatever you are doing to your heart. It’s contracting, and you are denying it its natural response. You could harm yourself. I will not allow it to continue.”
“You think I am hurting myself?”
“Of course, you are. And I. Do. Not. Like. It,” he gritted through his teeth.
Despite his domineering attitude, his command was endearing. In his own way, he was trying to protect her. Her palm buzzed, then pushed itself to the side of his face.
Viktor held still, feeling the cool leather of her glove touch his cheek. He could feel the cicatrice’s pull as it beckoned to his own. He wanted to feel her skin slide along his, to join their hands as he emptied himself inside her.
Eden released the hold on the oxygen in her veins, allowing her heart to thump wildly while her blood flowed through it. Her breathing accelerated.
Viktor’s eyes moved to the artery on her neck and his fangs elongated as his cock became fully erect. He would need to feed soon. First, he would sample her flesh.
He mimicked her touch and ran his thumb along her bottom lip.
“Tell me, mala vestica, has anyone tasted these before?”
“No,” she panted, reveling in the feel of his skin upon her face.
“Good. I’d hate to have to kill anyone who had dared.”
He barely got the words out before his lips were on hers. She groaned when she felt his tongue enter and explore her mouth. Eden tentatively pressed her tongue to his, and a purring sound came from his throat.
She’d been wrong about his laugh. This was the most wonderful sound to ever reach her ears. Her undergarments flooded with her juices and she inched forward, pressing as hard as she could into his stomach.
Viktor’s hands moved to her backside, lifting her slightly off the chair and rubbing her up and down his abdominal muscles. The scent of her sweet honey filled the air and he couldn’t wait to lap it up.
Eden twisted and pulled at his hair as she wrapped her legs around his waist in a feeble attempt to get better purchase, to feel more pressure between her legs. She could sob from the want.
Viktor broke the kiss, needing to see the yearning in her eyes, wanting her to feel as uncontrolled as he felt.
Eden’s lips were swollen from his sensual assault. Her hooded eyes implored him for more. She squeezed her legs tight around him and his fingers dug into her flesh.
When she whined and stretched to kiss him again, his heart thudded heavily. Her fingers nimbly unbuttoned his jacket and slid it down his arms. He let it drop absently to the floor, in a hurry to get her body back in his hands.
Viktor slowed the kiss and his lips drifted across her cheek to her ear. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do you?”
A simple Mayan girl. A powerful spirit. A bloodthirsty monster. All leading to a desperate quest. When the Mayan calendar ended some people scoffed while others joked and a few waited for the end of the world. After living half her life apart from her native people, Dalia no longer believes in the supernatural and monstrous things that the final cycle predicted. But unbelief is not protection. Going home draws her into a fight against mythical creatures, limitless power and a battle for humanity's survival. Can Dalia balance an outsider's knowledge and tribal wisdom to give the world a fighting chance? Or will she choose to stay blind and let the world collapse around her?
Reign Drops the running start to launch The Bloodborne Series, a saga of urban fantasy novels. If you like tenacious heroines, Mayan legends, and new twists on magical beasts, then get this book today!
Buy on Amazon / iTunes/ Kobo
Love, Music, Madness
99¢ today only!
I opened up the program Tim favored and selected a file I had created in the days since our meeting at Musso. A slamming four-on-the-floor beat filled the room. It was a simple starter beat I’d created for the first song Jessa and I had written together, from scratch.
Jessa turned to me, chin cocked, guitar at the ready. “What do I do?”
“Play Estrella. Jump in whenever you’re comfortable.”
Jesse took a deep breath and began to strum. In no time, she was locked into the beat. Clearly, she hadn’t abandoned our songs the way I had. She wasn’t rusty in the least.
When Jessa added her vocals, I shivered. I’d forgotten how full and warm her voice was. How it rattled with just a touch of gravel on the high notes. I had also forgotten just how good our songs were. All through the cold Gunther winter, Jessa and I had altered them and played them back over and over, making sure the flow was just right. The arc. The mood.
While Jessa strummed and sang, I made adjustments to the beat. I switched up the bass tone so it was even more thudding and added a ghostly echo to the snare. At first, I wasn’t sure how to approach the toms, but I ended up dialing them back by removing a few hits from the loop.
By the time Jessa hit the bridge, I was just listening. Layered over the beat, her voice took on a haunting quality. The result really was just as I’d imagined. A strange, but synergistic juxtaposition.
After Jessa’s last note, I hit the spacebar and halted the beat.
In the sudden silence, Jessa’s eyes widened. “Lawson. I can hardly believe it. That was our song. But it was so much more.” She shook her head.
“Should we try out a few more options? You know, keep searching for our sound?”
“Searching for our sound? Lawson, we just found it . . .”