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Legacy of Truth

6/6/2016

Historical Fiction, Historical Fantasy

Druid's Brooch Series, #2

Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing

Release Date: July 6, 2016

Set in late 18th century Ireland, Esme must grow up quickly in small, isolated northwestern town. Her parents are leaving for America, abandoning her and her sister to fend for themselves. As she struggles to find her place, she finds it difficult to keep hold of what's left that's precious to her.

Once married and in a new town, Esme's only friend, Aisling, helps her through difficult times, as her Traveler husband stays away longer and longer plying his trade.

While Esme has had some comfort in her small family, she must now find comfort on her own, as her treacherous sister tries stealing the family heirloom to sell, a brooch reputed to have mystical powers, which had been left to her by her grandfather. Esme must learn to cope with her dwindling family and growing despair in order to keep the brooch safe.

Other Books in the Druid's Brooch Series:

Legacy of Hunger

EXCERPT

Ardara, County Donegal, Ireland

March, 1787

Éamonn Doherty eased onto the old rocking chair beside the crackling fire. As soon as he settled, he was bombarded with children, clamoring eagerly for a story from Grandfa.

Well, it was his fault. Whenever he returned from his wanderings around the country, he would give them a story, a tale of Ireland’s past or his own.

The bairns settled onto the ground at his feet. There were Esme and Eithne, the twins, looking stark and thin with shocks of wild red hair and too many freckles to count.

“That's my spot! I always sit there, Eithne, and you know it!”

Eithne looked at her sister and sniffed, saying nothing. She turned to Éamonn and blinked as if innocent.

Esme pushed at her sister, but Eithne was braced for it. She resisted the shove and looked back over her shoulder with disdain.

Fuming, Esme crossed her arms.

In the far corner, with her arms wrapped firmly around her knees, sat the youngest sister, wee Brighid. Everyone called her Bridey. Her solemn green eyes peered at him, owl-like. She must be about ten years old by now. And little Níaṁ wasn’t a sister, but a cousin, her parents having died of a fever. A brown wren, she was plump and sweet, still a toddler.

Éamonn would have preferred some grandsons to pass his stories to, but his son and daughter-in-law, Brian and Shona, had given him only granddaughters thus far. Still, he loved them dearly. His two other children were both dedicated to the church, so Brian was his last hope for grandsons. Éamonn looked at the girls and decided perhaps a story of a manly hero might do them for the night.

He fixed his eyes on wee Níaṁ until she giggled nervously. He tousled up his thick white hair until it looked like a lion and she laughed. Smiling, he began.

“Tonight our tale will begin with a hero of great fame, for who has never heard of Fionn Mac Cumhaill, leader of the Fianna, Warriors of Ireland?”

Timidly, Bridey raised her hand.

Interrupted, Éamonn cocked his head. “Yes, child? What is it, my dear?”

“I haven’t heard of him, Grandfa.”

Éamonn closed his eyes, reaching for patience. The children weren’t to know what a rhetorical question was.

“That’s all right, mo chuisle. I will be telling you now, so?”

The girl nodded and wrapped her hands more tightly around her knees until she was just a pair of feet, arms and a curly mass of red hair sparkling in the firelight. For a moment, Éamonn went back in time, to the memory of his dear, long-dead wife, Katie. She had hair such as that, wild and bright. The windows rattled as the wind outside picked up. The children all shifted uncomfortably.

“The Fianna were a band of warriors, pledged to protect the shores of Ireland from foreigners. Fionn’s father was the leader of the Fianna, so he had his son raised by a warrior woman. Have you ever seen a warrior woman, Eithne?”

“I have!” The girl was the boldest of the lot. “There is a woman who hunts up in Bunbeg. I heard Alan say she came into his dad’s bakery one day!”

“I heard that first! He told me first.” Esme said.

“Girls, that’s enough. Would you like to know about this warrior woman?”

It did the trick. All four children looked up at him, expectant.

He grinned and got back into the rhythm of his tale.

“This great woman was called Liath Luachra, and she was tall, with long muscles and longer hair. Her brown hair she kept in thin braids, which went all the way down to her knees. She was a fierce warrior, always clad in skins and furs, and she taught Fionn all her arts. When he had learned all he could from her, he left to join the Fianna.

“But the Fianna knew him for his father’s son and worried for his youth and safety. They told him he must leave, and they could not protect him from harm. This angered Fionn, so he left in a temper. After his temper had cooled, he sought out a Druid to learn wisdom. The Druid he found was named Finnegas. Finnegas spent seven years trying to catch the Salmon of Knowledge, and he had just caught the fish before Fionn found him. It roasted on the fire, and Finnegas told Fionn to watch it while he got more firewood.

“Fionn watched the fish, watched it bubble and pop, sizzle and squeak.”

Níaṁ let out a squeak of her own to help with the sound effects.

“He saw a great blister form on the skin of the salmon, growing larger and larger, about to pop. He pressed his thumb to it to push it back down so the skin wouldn’t be blemished. As he did so, his skin burned, so he stuck his thumb in his mouth.” Éamonn demonstrated with his finger and looked around until each child did the same.

“But he had done a terrible thing, now.”

“What was so horrible, Grandfa?” Bridey asked with wide eyes. “All he did was touch the fish!” She replaced the thumb in her mouth absent-mindedly.

“Ah, that is true. But, you see, Fionn was the first to taste of the flesh of the Salmon of Knowledge, and it meant he now had all the Salmon’s great wisdom. Finnegas was furious and chased him out with a club, but Fionn now had the knowledge and wisdom he needed to lead the Fianna fairly.”

All the girls watched him for the end of the tale.

“In the end, he controlled his own fate, and therefore could make himself happy. That's all that any one of us can do, aye?”

When Níaṁ realized the tale was over, she belatedly removed her thumbs from her mouth. As she did, he picked her up into his lap and rocked in front of the fire with her. She was a solid, warm little child. Brian might not be able to make his farm work well, but he at least kept his children fed.

He sang a sad, low song of lost love and broken promises until each child fell asleep on the soft, white wings of fantasy.

About the Author

Christy Nicholas lives in western New York State with her husband, dog, cats and sugar gliders. She works as an accountant, an artist, and an author, and is likely looking for another career that begins with A.

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Legacy of Truth is available for $.99 during pre-order and the first week of release only. After that the list price is $5.99

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Sanctuary- Free!

6/4/2016

Left Behind for the Hunger Games Generation

In a heart-racing thriller described as Falling Skies meets The Walking Dead, Jennie struggles to find a safe place for what's left of her family. But it seems as though there is no place sacred, no place secure. First the aliens attacked the sun, making it dimmer, weaker, and half what it used to be. Then they attacked the water supply, killing one-third of Earth's population with a bitter contaminate. And when they unleash a new terror on humankind, the victims will wish for death, but will not find it… When the world shatters to pieces around her, will Jennie find the strength she needs to keep going?

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Pauline Creeden

Pauline Creeden is a horse trainer from Virginia, but writing is her therapy. In her fiction, she creates worlds that are both familiar and strange, often pulling the veil between dimensions. She becomes the main character in each of her stories, and because she has ADD, she will get bored if she pretends to be one person for too long. Follow Pauline Creeden: Website | Facebook | Twitter

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Children From the Dark Houses

6/4/2016

Mystery/Thriller

Date Published: June 1, 2016

Cynical private investigator Atticus Wynn and his idealistic partner Rosemary Sanchez will stop at nothing to save a damaged boy, even when it means taking on a pair of professional killers and a gang of outlaw bikers in this action-packed and gallows-humored mystery thriller prequel to The Black Song Inside.

When Atticus and Rosemary are hired for the seemingly routine job of finding Imran Khan, a runaway from San Diego’s posh Barrington Academy for troubled teens, the detectives quickly discover this case will be anything but routine.

Imran wasn’t running away from the rigid rules of Barrington, he was running into the arms of an enigmatic beauty who goes to great lengths to stay in the shadows. As soon as Atticus and Rosemary learn of this mystery woman, they’re targeted by a brutal outlaw biker gang.

When the detectives finally meet their employers in person, Imran's parents, the pieces fall into place. They discover a family seething with rage, an abused boy seeking love, and a secret so powerful, it blows the lid off the case. A dark world of dirty money, deadly spies, and double-crosses is brought to light, forcing Atticus and Rosemary to question whether Imran is an innocent victim or a violent avenger.

The detectives will need all of Atticus's street smarts and Rosemary's combat experience to survive as they race down a road of blood and broken people toward a showdown where the very boy they've sworn to save is the person most likely to get them killed.

EXCERPT

Rosemary Sanchez’s phone rang, or to be more accurate, warbled into song. Specifically, Muddy Waters famous blues tune “Mannish Boy,” which she had not programmed into it. It started at the part that refers to the singer’s destiny to become “the greatest man alive.” She snorted. That Atticus.

Clad in jeans and a gray T-shirt that read ARMY across the front, she’d been in the midst of her daily bed-making duel with her nemesis, her tortoiseshell cat Mawroo, who with feline telepathy, always anticipated the moment she began to make her bed. As the sheet came billowing down, Mawroo leapt onto the mattress. The cat-hump raced around beneath the sheet like a gopher in a cartoon, all the while uttering her namesake cry, “Maaaaawrooooo!” Rosemary could only answer such an affront to bed-making etiquette by scrabbling her fingers about so that the hump raced hither and thither after them, sometimes rolling over to create four paw tent poles, claws poking through the sheet.

Rosemary answered the phone while, in protest at the interruption, Mawroo “mawrooed”!

“Let me guess,” Rosemary said. “You made one too many smartass remarks, and now we’re barred from Barrington.”

“Scoff, scoff,” Atticus said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“I wanted to scoff at your lack of faith, but I’ve only read about people scoffing and never actually seen it. Thus, I don’t know how one would actually go about scoffing in real life. So I improvised.”

“I don’t know whether it’s more disturbing to think you’ve been pondering that for a while or that you just thought it up.”

“Either someone’s playing a violin with a meat tenderizer,” he said, “or you are foolishly trying to make your bed with Mawroo in the room.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Rosemary said. “She sulks all day if I shut her out.”

“How can one tell if a cat is sulking or just being a cat?”

“When one loves another being and is in a close relationship, one pays attention and thus becomes quite attuned to the being’s sensibilities.”

“Are we still talking about a cat here?” Atticus asked.

“Meow,” Rosemary answered.

“Um, er, normally, I’d be game for the metaphorical banter, but I happen to have a gentleman tailing me. I’m hoping you can come out here and tail my tailer.”

Rosemary’s tone switched from banter to business. “Already someone following you? Feel dangerous?”

“Can’t tell,” he said, “but it’s hard to see what I could have done so quickly to make someone want to hurt me.”

“You’ve never been on the other side of your smart mouth.”

“Anyway,” he said, “once you’ve got him, I’ll lose him.”

“And I’ll follow him back to his criminal lair.”

“Criminal lair?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Any criminal associated with Barrington Academy wouldn’t have anything as uncouth as a hideout. He would merit a lair.”

“Brains as well as beauty,” he said. “Brains enough that once this ne’er do well is ensconced in his lair, you wouldn’t dream of doing something as stupid as trying to get a real good looksee before you’ve called your charming partner in for back up, right?”

“You do recall I’ve done a tour of duty in a war zone?”

“And I know you’re going back soon,” Atticus said, his voice tight, “which I don’t like to even think about. My point is that neither of us should take any unnecessary risks.”

“But that’s my specialty.”

“Computers are your specialty. That’s why we joined forces. Risk-taking is your addiction.”

“Fine, if you’re going to be such a big butt about it, I’ll play it all careful and boring.”

Atticus sighed. “All I ask is that you be as concerned about your safety as I am.”

Rosemary ended the call as Mawroo scooted from beneath the sheet, paused, and then suddenly realized it was absolutely imperative she get out of the room as quickly as possible. She galloped through the door and made it all of three feet into the hall before lying down, licking her paws, and rubbing her little baseball head with her wet feet.

Grinning at the kitty’s antics, Rosemary threw her hair into a braid, wriggled into her jeans, and headed out the door to her silver Ford Fiesta ST. Fifteen minutes later, Rosemary texted Atticus that she was in position behind the tail.

About the Author

Carlyle Clark was raised in Poway, a city just north of San Diego, but is now a proud Chicagolander working in the field of Corporate Security and writing crime and fantasy fiction. He has flailed ineffectually at performing the writer's requisite myriad of random jobs: pizza deliverer, curb address painter, sweatshop laborer, day laborer, night laborer, security guard, campus police, Gallup pollster, medical courier, vehicle procurer, and signature-for-petitions-getter.

He is a married man with two cats and a dog. He is also a martial arts enthusiast and a CrossFit endurer who enjoys fishing, sports, movies, TV series with continuing storylines, and of course, reading. Most inconsequentially, he holds the unrecognized distinction of being one of the few people in the world who have been paid to watch concrete dry in the dark. Tragically, that is a true statement.

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Twitter:@Carlyle_Clark

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Multiple autographed Crime Novels

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BIG

6/3/2016

Erotic Romance, New Adult, Military, Romantic Suspense

Date Published: June 3, 2016

Publisher: Fido Publishing

He’s big. He’s bad. And he only wants one thing.

Revenge.

Ric Ryker spent years being called “Big Dick.”

Ridiculed for his weight, shunned by all the pretty girls, snubbed by all the cool guys.

But after a secret journey of transformation, he’s back—ready to take over leadership from his father at Ryker Arms—with an impressive new physique and a plan to prove them all wrong.

Especially her.

The one woman who hurt him the most.

Annalesa—smart, sassy, stunning.

And his stepsister.

The girl he could never have.

The girl who wouldn’t look twice at him anyway—especially in front of her stuck-up friends.

Now he’s going to make her want him.

Show her just what she was missing.

And hurt her, just like she hurt him.

He’s got the weapon and he’s taken aim—but he didn’t count on his own heart getting caught in the crossfire.

EXCERPT

“Leesa, I’m still not so sure this is a good idea…” Ric looked down at her, a frown turning the corners of his perfect mouth down just slightly. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Please trust me.” She kissed his chest, rubbing her cheek there, her voice almost a whisper. “I should have tried harder. I should have told you how I felt. I should have been brave then, I know.”

“Oh Leesa.” His lips brushed the top of her head.

“But I wasn’t brave then. And I’m sorry, Ric. I’m so sorry. I’ve been sorry every single day we’ve been apart, every minute that you were out of my reach.”

“Oh Christ.” He sighed.

“But you have to understand something.” She lifted her face and met his eyes, squaring her shoulders. “There are only so many times I can explain, only so many ways I can apologize. I know what happened… it made you feel awful, and I’m sorry you were hurt. But Ric—I never did any of it on purpose. I never, ever set out to hurt you.”

“I know.”

She felt weightless as he lifted her onto the ledge of the booth, feeling the warmth of his palms through the thin cotton of her top as he kept his hands around her waist.

“So you forgive me?” She knew the question was in her eyes as she put her arms around his neck.

“If we do this…” His thumbs stroked her belly, on either side of her navel, a delicious distraction. “I need to trust you. Completely.”

“Okay.” She nodded, her heart soaring at the possibility. She wouldn’t have admitted it to her closest friend or even confessed it to a priest on her death bed before this moment, but this, with Ric, was what she wanted, what she’d always wanted.

“We’ll have to keep it secret.” His thumbs brushed beneath her top, stroking her bare skin. He looked over his shoulder, checking they were alone. “At least, for a while.”

“Yeah.” She winced, not relishing the thought of telling their parents.

“Leesa, I really need to trust you.” His grip tightened, his fingers digging into her sides so hard it almost hurt. He was so strong! “I imagine our relationship’s going to be tested. A lot.”

“I know.” She nodded vigorously, agreeing, the word ‘relationship’ from his mouth secretly thrilling her. “Ric, I promise, I—”

“I mean it. This isn’t a joke. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” His harsh words jarred her senses but he didn’t let her go. His hands were under her shirt now, fully on her skin, his big palms spreading heat through her whole body. “Because, I may ask you to prove it, Leesa.”

“I will,” she breathed, straightening her spine so she could get her lips closer to his. “I swear, I’ll do whatever I have to, to prove my feelings for you, this time.”

“Good.” He gave her a slow, weary smile, and then he kissed her, his mouth soft and open, not demanding anymore.

“What now?” she breathed as they parted. If he’d wanted to take her right then, right there, she would have done whatever he asked.

“We take it slow.” He rested his forehead against hers. “And keep us a secret.”

“Us.” She smiled at that.

“You up for more target practice?” He smiled, too, glancing down at her gun as he took a step back.

“I’ll probably miss the target entirely.” She grinned, sliding off the ledge and putting her hands to her flushed cheeks. “But it’s probably a good idea for me to cool down a little before we leave.”

Ric helped her relax into her stance and, with the weight of their conflict gone, she went on to make six bullseyes out of ten shots on the next two targets, and the remaining shots clustered close around the center.

“Damn, girl.” Ric clapped. “I’m impressed. Remind me not to give you any reason to shoot at me.”

“You’re the last person I’d want to shoot at.” She smiled and emptied the last cartridges out of the magazine, handing them back to him, along with the gun. “At least, most of the time.”

“Except when I’m being a dick?” He snorted and she laughed as he led them back to the armory to check in their weapons.

About the Author

Emme Rollins is a NEW YORK TIMES bestselling author of New Adult/Mature Young Adult fiction. She’s been writing since she could hold a crayon and still chews her pen caps to a mangled plastic mess. She did not, however, eat paste as a kid.

She has two degrees, a bachelor’s and a master’s, one of which she’s still paying for, but neither of which she uses out in the “real world,” because when she isn’t writing, she spends her time growing an organic garden to feed her husband and children (and far too many rabbits and deer!) where they live on twenty gorgeous forested acres in rural Michigan.

She loves tending her beehives, keeping up with her daily yoga practice and going for long walks in the woods with her boxer dog, who loves chasing squirrels almost as much as Emme loves writing!

Emme loves hearing from fans, so feel free to use the contact page on her site (emmerollins.com) to connect with her.

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A Dangerous Green

6/3/2016

http://www.sanctionedrealm.com/

About the Book

Title: A Dangerous Green

Author: Stacy Hall

Genre: Fantasy

The Sanctioned Realm is being hijacked by a cruel and power-hungry king. King Zaranth isn’t like other Touched humans who can command animals, plant life, or the ancient elements. His Death Touched ability not only yields him virtually indestructible, but gives him power over the minds of humans he chooses. He’s

using his involuntary servants to seize the realm and shape it to his own crushing desires.

After Vandara Datore witnesses King Zaranth murder her beloved sister, she vows revenge. She partners with a group of Touched vigilantes called the Fist, who are committed to ending King Zaranth’s rule. As an unlikely sword master with magical abilities to control plant life, Van becomes the Fist’s favorite weapon. While in search of the King’s right-hand witch, Van believes she’s closer than ever to gaining her

revenge. However, she’s about to discover that her enemies are not who she thinks they are… and neither are her friends.

Author Bio

Stacy Hall is the author of the Sanctioned Realm series and has had flash fiction published at Flash Fiction Magazine and 101 Words. In her free time she enjoys sewing and all things crafty.

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Under Her Skin

6/1/2016

About Under Her Skin She's lucky he's a charmer… Lindi Parker works hard at being human, not an easy task for a weresnake. She has no desire to search for others like her—until a new case changes everything. When Lindi learns that she she's not the only shapeshifter in the world, she realizes she might be next on a killer's list. In order to save herself and the abused children she works with, she will have to team up with Dr. Kade Nevala, a member of the shifter tribe responsible for eradicating weresnakes—and the most attractive man Lindi's ever met. Even more terrifying, she’ll need to embrace her serpent side, a choice that has enormous consequences for Lindi, and for everyone around her. Add to Goodreads Underherskinbanner2

About the Author Margo Bond Collins is addicted to coffee (mmm...caffeine) and SF/F television, especially Supernatural (mmm...Winchesters). She writes paranormal and contemporary romance, urban fantasy, and paranormal mystery. She lives in Texas with her daughter and several spoiled pets. Although she teaches college-level English courses online, writing fiction is her first love. She enjoys reading urban fantasy and paranormal fiction of any genre and spends most of her free time daydreaming about heroes, vampires, ghosts, werewolves, and the women who love (and sometimes fight) them. You can learn more about her at http://www.MargoBondCollins.net and follow her on all the usual For updates about publications, free fiction, and other goodies, be sure to subscribe to her newsletter Amazon Author Page / Website/ Blog / Twitter@MargoBondCollin/ Google+ / Goodreads Author Page / Facebook Author Page / Pinterest

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Bring Your Own Baker

6/1/2016

Cozy Mystery / Comedy

Date Published: June 20, 2016

Anna just wants to earn enough money on the side to buy into the bakery, Callie’s Cakes, where she works together with her best nerd pal Callie. The last thing she expects to see when she walks into Arthur’s apartment to do some moonlighting is a blood bath. Callie’s ready to jump into the investigation into Arthur’s murder, and she’s bringing another bakery worker, Kristie, into their hijinks whether Kristie wants to or not. But things aren’t as they seem. There are gang affiliations, illegal gambling dens, and ladies of the night to wade through. Will Anna and Callie discover who murdered Arthur or will Callie’s detective boyfriend Ben and Anna’s self-appointed protector put a stop to such aspirations?

Come join us at Callie’s Cakes, where murder investigations are on the menu, but make sure to bring your own baker because Anna’s a bit preoccupied at the moment.

Warning: This is NOT your mom’s cozy mystery. Bring Your Own Baker may be a ‘clean’ read, but if gangs, illegal gambling, and pimps make you turn your nose up at your e-reader, you might want to skip this one. Although you’ll be missing some sizzling chemistry between Anna and her protector. Not to mention a whole bunch of witty dialogue.

EXCERPT

I grasp the weapon in my hand and throw it with all my might at him. The weapon makes a ‘tee hee’ sound as it hits his stomach.

“Did you just throw a Pillsbury dough boy at me?” His voice carries a hint of humor. The Pillsbury dough boy was probably not the best item to grab from the kitchen to use as a weapon. Obviously, I’m totally losing it.

I inch backwards into the kitchen searching for a more appropriate weapon. Dag nab it! The knives are way over on the other side. I have no choice. Without taking my eyes of the man, I grab a perfectly formed and probably fricking delicious muffin from the tin and throw it at the intruder. Apparently, my fast ball needs some work as he just catches the muffin as if I merely lobbed it in his direction. He smiles and, not bothering with the paper liner, takes a huge bite.

“Mmmm…,” he groans around a mouthful. “This is really good.”

“Seriously?” I throw my arms in the air before planting my hands on my hips. “If you want my muffins, just come to the bakery. You don’t have to break in.” Uh oh, I nearly forgot that he broke in. I start backing up again, getting ever closer to those knives.

The man’s eyes narrow as he notices me shuffling my way towards the knives. He stalks me and, when he’s only an arm’s length away, reaches around me and grabs the knife block. He keeps his eyes steady on me as he places the block on top of the refrigerator. Somewhere I can only reach if I get out my step ladder.

“Who are you? And what are you doing here?” I may be terrified and my voice my stutter a bit, but I’m not backing down. Not. One. Bit.

“You’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Who you calling little?” Apparently, I have no regard for my safety at all as I’m now goading an intruder.

The man chuckles. His smile shows a perfect set of teeth. Huh, not exactly what I expected from Mr. Piercings and Tattoos. “For a pink-haired pixie, you sure aren’t afraid, are you?”

I grew up reading everything I could get my hands on from my mom's Harlequin romances to Nancy Drew to Little Women. When I wasn't flipping pages in a library book, I was penning horrendous poems, writing songs no one should ever sing, or drafting stories which have thankfully been destroyed. College and a stint in the U.S. Army came along, robbing me of free time to write and read, although I did manage every once in a while to sneak a book into my rucksack between rolled up socks, MRIs, t-shirts, and cold weather gear. A few years into my legal career, I was exhausted, fed up, and just plain done. I quit my job and sat down to write a manuscript, which I promptly hid in the attic after returning to the law. Another job change, this time from lawyer to B&B owner and I was again fed up and ready to scream I quit, which is incredibly difficult when you own the business. Thus, I shut the B&B during the week and in the off-season and started writing. Several books later I find myself in Istanbul writing full-time.

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