Teaser Tuesday: Roman by Marteeka Karland #promo #comingsoon #teasertuesday #excerpt #mcromance #romance #Rabtbooktours @marteekakarland @Changelingpress

 

(Iron Tzars MC)

Contemporary Romance, Suspense, Motorcycle Club, Age Gap

Date Published: February 10, 2023

 

 

 

Winter -- My life hasn’t been easy. For so long, my sister has been the only one I could rely on. When we were teenagers our father sold us to sexual predators who hurt us. We both have the scars to prove it. But we were rescued, and I got revenge for both of us. That was over a decade ago. I love the home we found with Black Reign, but now it’s time to move on. To live outside the cocoon the club wrapped us in. Another club who’s found a girl in a situation similar to the hell we left behind all those years ago may be our answer. One man in particular calls to me on a primitive level. His name is Roman. And I want him for my own.

Roman -- I’m the enforcer for Iron Tzars. Violence is in the job description. Never thought I’d find myself attracted to a woman as fragile as Winter. She and her sister have been through a lot, but there’s a core of iron in her. She’s stronger than she looks, and the fight in her stirs the primitive Alpha male inside me. It’s time I show her she’s more than the sum of her scars. She’s a friggin’ goddess.

 

EXCERPT

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2023 Marteeka Karland

 

Roman

I’d never been so glad to leave a place behind as I cheerfully rolled out of Lake Worth, Florida. I did my part as enforcer for Iron Tzars, but the entire time we’d been there I felt like we were outgunned. Black Reign MC might not be a rival club, but they were by no means safe. As evidenced by the way they took care of business with the fucking men we’d caught taking orphans from the group home in the city.

Violence didn’t bother me. If a motherfucker deserved it, there was no limit. My balls were twitching because of the casual ease with which that bastard, Chief, had taken the skin off the men he tortured. Yeah, Brick had participated, but our VP was emotionless on the best of days. Chief and El Diablo were different. I wouldn’t say they enjoyed the act, but I wouldn’t say they didn’t, either. It hadn’t bothered them in the least.

But what really had me glad to see this place in my rear view were the twin women who haunted the place like ghosts. Eerily lovely, they always seemed to be where I was. Neither said anything, but they stared at me constantly. More than one of Black Reign’s members gave me the stink-eye over it, too though no one would tell me why. Only that I should stay away from them. I didn’t even know the pair’s names, for fuck’s sake! Didn’t want to know!

I drove the Bronco we’d taken as a chase vehicle down to Lake Worth. Normally I’d ride my bike with the other brothers, but someone had to drive the big thing back to Evansville. As Road Captain, the task would normally fall to Clutch, but he’d had a family emergency and had headed back early. After that, I’d drawn the short straw. My bike was stowed in the trailer, and here I was. Behind the wheel of a fucking cage.

Lost in thought, my eyes on the road as my brothers surrounded the cage in front and behind, I reached over and switched on the radio. I had no desire to dwell on another club. Not even one our former president -- and my long-time friend -- now belonged to. I was an enforcer in Iron Tzars. Not Sergeant at Arms. I didn’t need to find trouble, only punish it. Besides, if Sting -- our current president and son to the former president -- had decided Warlock had to be killed for his infractions against the club, I would be responsible for carrying out the sentence. I didn’t want to do that. It looked like El Diablo had forestalled anything in that regard, though I had no idea why. It was rare for anyone to leave the Iron Tzars. When they did, the situation was permanent. Warlock was only the second man I knew of not to die when he left or was asked to leave. Oh, well. Above my paygrade. I was just thankful I didn’t have to kill my brother.

A tap on my shoulder had my head whipping around. When I saw that same eerily lovely face I’d been trying not to think about right next to mine, I was so startled I jerked the wheel. The girl squealed and disappeared from my immediate vision.

“What the fuck?” The Bronco hit the rumble strips on the shoulder. My tires must have squealed, because several of the riders in front of us either glanced over their shoulder or turned their head slightly to look in their mirrors. They moved to the center lane in case I was out of control. When I slowed and pulled fully onto the shoulder, they followed.

I got as far over as I could but didn’t turn on my flashers. Though we weren’t hauling any contraband, I’d rather not enlist the help of a good Samaritan or, God forbid, the state police.

Once stopped, I put the thing in park and turned around. “What the everlasting, God forsaken fuck are you doing in my fuckin’ vehicle?” I growled at the girl but tried not to yell. I got the feeling she was fragile and, though I was angry, I didn’t want to scare her. As I spoke, the other one poked her head from behind the backseat in the cargo area. “Shoulda guessed. You two ain’t ever far apart.” There was a knock at my window, saving the girls from a lecture.

Instead of rolling down the window, I opened the door and stepped out. The two girls ducked back behind the seat, the first one having returned to what had probably been their hiding place in my fucking Bronco.

“You good?” Brick peered inside the vehicle, looking for a threat. His hand was on the gun at his hip, but he didn’t draw.

“Yeah. Just realized I had a couple of stowaways.”

Brick raised an eyebrow. Instead of explaining, I walked him around to the back and opened the tail door for him to see for himself. They were hiding behind cargo, but both of them poked their heads up when I opened the door so I could see their eyes and the top of their heads over their hiding place.

“Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You two in trouble?”

One of them shook her head. The other girl shrank back.

“You know you can’t stay with us. We’ll have to take you back.”

“No.” The braver of the two shook her head. “We want to stay with you.”

“You afraid to go back?” Brick crossed big arms over his brawny chest. “They hurt you?”

Black Reign didn’t seem like the type of club to hurt women. They were protective as all get out of any of the women under their care, especially these two. The idea that any woman might be running from that club didn’t sit well with me, but the thought that either of these women had an issue with them made me want to drive back and beat the fuck out of someone.

“No,” she said in a soft voice. “It was time to leave.”

I looked at Brick. “We’re only an hour from home. We could let Black Reign know once we get back to the clubhouse.”

“Let me check with Sting. He may know something we don’t. If not, he’ll decide what to do.”

“Can we please stop at a gas station or something?” The braver one raised her head farther as she spoke. “It’s why I bothered you. We need a bathroom break.”

“You shoulda said something before now,” I groused. “We’ve been on the fuckin’ road for twelve fuckin’ hours! Stopped twice! Why didn’t you get out then?”

“We were afraid we wouldn’t be quick enough, and we’d get left behind.” Her voice was almost musical but soft. And it affected me like a gentle stroke down my chest headed straight to my cock. I needed to squash that feeling hard. This girl wasn’t up to taking me on, even if she’d wanted to.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I can’t fuckin’ believe this. Get your asses in the back seat and buckle up.” I thought they’d get out the back, but both of them climbed over the back seat and did as instructed.

“Jesus, Roman, could you sound any more like a fuckin’ old man?”

“Shut the fuck up, Brick.” Then I muttered under my breath. “Motherfucker.”

A couple miles down the road, Brick pulled the group over at a Buc-ee’s and everyone in the club surrounded the Bronco as the women got out. And they were women, not older girls like I’d first thought. The shy one shrank behind her sister when the men crowded around them both. We didn’t get into their personal space, but it was something that would have probably freaked any woman out.

“Jesus, guys, back off ‘em!” Iris, Sting’s ol’ lady, was going to be a great match for our president. “Are you trying to frighten them to death?”

Sting chuckled, watching as his woman went to my stowaways. “Better do what she says, boys. She’s a force of nature when she wants to be.”

Naturally, we didn’t need Sting’s OK to back off. The girls looked terrified. The braver one had a determined look on her face as she lifted her chin. “We’re not fragile. There’re a lot of you. And you’re all big.”

“Of course, you’re not fragile.” Iris took her hand and reached for the other one. “Everyone, this is Winter. Her sister here is Serelda.”

“You know them well, baby?” Sting stood close to his woman, but not close enough to spook the other two.

“No. But I’m looking forward to getting to know them.”

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Cover/Excerpt/Trailer REVEAL - The Wild Hunt by @RonCNieto

The Wild Hunt - Cover/Excerpt/Trailer Reveal

By Ron C. Nieto

Mature YA Paranormal

Date Published: May 29, 2014

  

  

Magic still lingers in the mist-covered corners of the world, wherever the Old Ways are remembered. However, as civilization and reason scoff at the Fair Folk, the paths to power have been forgotten by all but a few.

Lily Boyd was meant to become a faerie doctor, a warden of humans and a keeper of balance, until disbelief and pragmatism led her away from the hidden world and into a mundane life. But truth has a way to be Heard and she will be forced to face it if she wants to save her family.

Armed with nothing but her childhood memories and protected by a debt of gratitude she doesn’t understand, Lily must decide who to trust while she navigates a world that is darker and more twisted than she is prepared for.

And should she make the wrong choice, should she mistake friend and foe… the eternal balance between the Faerie Courts may shatter, and then there will be more than Lily’s life on the line.

EXCERPT

Lily woke. She didn’t have any recollection of falling asleep or passing out, but when she opened her eyes, the cottage was no longer in sight and she was no longer riding.

A dream? She stirred and a jolt of pain traveled her body.

“I would ask you not to do that,” the level voice of the stranger said somewhere behind her. “I took great pains to close your wounds and I dislike working in vain.”

Lily moved her arm ever so slightly, just enough to glimpse her hand. In the dim light, it looked covered in a mud-like paste and wrapped in rough cloth. A doctor would fret at the possible infection, and it did feel numb, but after the attack and the overwhelming events, numb was too much of a blessing to complain.

“Where am I?” she asked instead.

“Someplace safe.” He walked around and crouched in front of her, close enough for her bleary eyes to make out his features and study him. His coal black hair was wet and slicked back. Occasional droplets of water fell down his brow, running down the side of his face and neck. He had delicate eyebrows, a well-defined jaw and sharp cheekbones that gave his angular face a striking, atemporal beauty. His thin lips were smirking.

“Who are you?” Lily pressed on, fighting a sudden urge to crawl back and put some distance between them.

“A friend. The question is, dear girl”—his eyes caught the scant light and glinted, the luminescent green of lichen—“who you are. What is your name?”

“Lily,” she said. He canted his head, eyes narrowed in thought, and after a moment she added, “Lily Boyd.”

That startled a laugh out of him. He rocked forth on the balls of his feet, his crouch bringing him too close, breaking all illusions of personal space. She caught sight of his tongue, darting out to wet his lips.

“Such delicious naivete,” he said. “It truly is, is it not? Lily Boyd.” Her name rolled off his mouth, languid and sensuous, and she felt a chilling tingle down her spine. He watched her reaction and nodded, satisfied, before sitting back to give her a little more room.

“What’s yours?” she asked, trying to shake the odd sensation.

“Why are you wearing that piece of jewelry?” he asked in turn, pointing to her neck with a long, delicate finger.

On reflex, her hand went up to grab the silver charms and the movement sent another flash of pain through her arm. She gritted her teeth through the worst of it.

“It’s a gift. From my grandma,” she said when she could form words again. “Why?”

“Who is your grandmother?”

“You saved me from her house. Why were you there, anyway?”

“Such inquisitive mind.” He offered another smirk and reached out to touch the pendant around her neck. “So you are the faerie doctor’s blood, then. Giving you her protection is much like her, yes.”

“You’re not… I’m not following you.” Lily sighed, letting her head roll back and closing her eyes. Her head had begun to pound. “And you haven’t told me your name yet.”

“And I won’t.” He laughed. “But you may call me Troy if you must.”

About the Author:

Ron C. Nieto is a fantasy and romance author who has been writing in her secluded fortress for the longest time. Recently, she had a talk with her cat and decided that she should share her creations, because it was selfish to hoard them all for herself.

Author Links

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Blog | Pinterest | Goodreads

Cover Reveals: Consumed and Created by Jean Booth

Consumed and Created - Cover Reveals

By Jean Booth

Paranormal Romance

Add to Goodreads

Four hundred years ago, my life was destroyed. Everything I knew and loved was obliterated as my powers surged for the first time. My family, my home and my life were taken from me, in flames.


I was transformed against my will into an abomination, a dizzien of hell to forever walk the night, a vampire. For four hundred years I've walked this earth, the painful screams of my family a constant reminder of the monster I am.


I've never known love, or the gentle touch of a man. The only respite from the agony of my existence was the three hundred years spent with Stephan. Although, once She came, I was again tossed aside, shunned and ignored.


Never again!

I'm done with being condemned, suffering for the consequences of something I didn't know I was capable of. It's time I lived.

My name is Victoria, and this is my story.

EXCERPT

Today I sat on a rooftop overlooking the city, the muggy heat of the Miami night pressing on my shoulders. I didn't feel the heat, or the soft undercurrents of wind as it tried to whip me off my precarious perch. I felt nothing beneath the hollowness of my aching heart. Seeing Stephan with her, hearing his heart wrenching pleas for her to stay with him, and watching as they embraced, was simply too much for my wounded heart to bear.

I ignored the pink tinged tears that refused to abate. There'd been so much pain in my life; I could no longer remember a time when hope existed. Secretly, I treasured the tears. They represented my broken heart, and wouldn't exist if I didn't have the capacity to hope, to love. That I was still capable of hope amazed me.

I sat on the rooftop of the tallest building in Miami and thought about what I'd do next. I certainly couldn't go back to Stephan's. Watching them together, night after night, expressing their love in gestures or looks, would hurt beyond measure. It was time for me to move on.

A shiver of fear slithered up my spine. I'd never been alone before. I'd never experienced the wide incalculability of life's infinite possibilities. The opportunities were an endless expanse in front of me. I could do anything, be anyone or go anywhere I wanted to go. I could see snow.

In my four hundred twenty-two years of life, all I'd ever known was the tropical paradise of my homeland, followed by the tropical paradise of Southern Florida. I secretly held a love of the cooler climates in my heart, hidden behind a well of pain no one could cross. Excitement followed fear. Should I dare go into the unknown, be an invisible person in the vast openness of the country? Should I venture out into the north, where I'd be unprotected, unknown and have to rely solely on myself for survival?

I shook, but could no longer tell if it was from excitement or fear. Perhaps it was a little bit of both. A small smile curved my lips as I thought of finally escaping the clutches of men, and living my life as I was meant to. I shed my final tears for the man who saved me, for the vampire I dearly loved, and for the life I'd so foolishly thought we'd build together once he realized how perfect we were together.

It was time I lived.

Consumed

Paranormal Romance

Add to Goodreads

For three hundred years I lived with Stephan; learning about the culture forced upon me, growing as a pyrokinetic vampire and healing from Mneseus' century of abuse. Before Stephan's guidance and direction, I was an empty shell. His kindness, compassion and just beliefs showed me that there could be a life without pain. Over time, I learned to love again. Foolishly I believed Stephan and I would be partners, comfortable and content with out half-life for eternity.

Then She came and ruined it.

I left them to find a place I could spend the rest of my lonely years. Mneseus' last words reverberated through the centuries, reminding me, I wasn't worthy of love. It would be now, when I finally resigned myself to an eternity of solitude, that I would find it.Logan was everything I'd ever needed in a man, with one fatal flaw. Could I look past that, risking my heart, my future and his very life to be with him? Was love truly enough?

Jean Booth

Author Bio

Jean Booth was born in Las Vegas, Nevada on a sweltering summer night. She's spent most of her life in the midwest, alternating between Michigan, Minnesota and Florida before returning to her roots to settle down with a husband and 9 cats. She, along with those that know her, affectionately refer to her as "The Crazy Cat Lady." She's worked in healthcare for the entirety of her adult life and was challenged in 2010 to finally start writing the stories that live in her head. She's an Indie-author specializing in Paranormal Romance, but tends to dabble into erotica, horror and suspense. While not seeking the notoriety of being a raunchy romance novelist, fans have been known to have said this about her love scenes: "Hot, steamy, detailed and so explicit I couldn't wait to be alone with my man!"When not writing, Jean enjoys cruising on the back of her Kawasaki ER-6n with her husband next to her. She's an avid reader, reading everything and anything fiction. She's also considered to be extremely "crafty", making everything from clothing to jewelry to painting the cover art for each book.

Jean loves to hear from her fans, so feel free to drop her a line whenever you like!

Authors Links

Website | Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Youtube

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Cover Reveal: The Tale of the Valiant Hero Kenta

Cover Reveal

The Tale of the Valiant Hero Kenta

By Ezra Jonah Jacobs

Fantasy/Romance/Historical/Action-Adventure

Date Published: March 22, 2013

Synopsis: 

Kenta Takeyama is a 16 year old martial artist who possesses superhuman strength and abilities and the Takeyama -ryuu fighting art. He desires to become the most powerful shogun on the Nikkoujima (Sun Light Islands), as there are much more powerful  men in the world. He lives with his father Tesshin, who trained him in the martial arts, and  his mother Amaya, who is the former princess of a royal family and master fighter; his little  sister Mana, who wants to become a famous play actress and open her own production studio,  as well as his pet bear Kumomori, whom he had since he was 4. Kenta finds that it’s time to follow his dreams of becoming a great and powerful shogun (using his power to protect people  and build more homes and villages, help the poor and starving, rather than just for pomp and  circumstance. 

He wants the people to live in peace and prosperity with no fear, as the world is  already entering another age of war. Essentially, he wants to change the country). And so, with his parents’ permission, he decides to travel to Senkyou to enlist in the military and become  a true samurai warrior. He feels confident that the can do so after going through many trials  and travels through his childhood, and training under the  tutelage of his father in his family’s  martial arts styles.

During the first part of the novel, after a little love fiasco with his childhood friend  Yumine who has a crush on him and sparring with some buddies, he travels the lush and vibrant  island and helps many different people out. As Kenta reaches Senkyou, he meets new rivals  and friends, such as Natsumi, a new love interest and Hayate, a mysterious ninja who wants  to raise up his own organization of ninja mercenaries. During basic training, he discovers that  the capital is being attacked by powerful youkai. The powerful beasts appear and disappear in  a flash, even the temple priests are having trouble.

Does the Great Tengu King of the Gogonji mountain territory  know anything about these attacks? Do our heroes stand a chance against  these swift and powerful foes?  What is the reasoning behind all of this carnage?

Note: The genre is apart of the 'wuxia' (martial arts fiction) works of literature. It is a ancient style originating from Tang Period China (5th century AD). The style places great attention to detail during fight scenes (punches, kicks, combinations, throws, etc.) as well as giving attacks exotic names, a convention originating from Chinese martial arts. It may take some getting used to, yet will very quickly become easier to follow as you read. -Ezra

Ezra Jonah Jacobs

Author Bio

Ezra Jonah Jacobs was born in 1988 in Atlanta, Georgia. He was raised in the suburbs 45 minutes outside of Atlanta by his father and mother, having one older brother. Growing up in a small country town, there was plenty of farmland and open plains to play and run around, a good place to let his young imagination run wild. When not outside, he was usually reading, drawing pictures, or playing video games. He has also had an interest in martial arts since the age of 6, first gaining an interest after watching a Bruce Lee documentary and seeing a movie by the name of Street Fighter. He started emulating the techniques he saw in these movies. It was also around this age he became interested into becoming an author after hearing his teacher read a book to his class. He would be influenced more by other books throughout grade school either by going to the library or during in-school readings.

In Jr. High School, Jacobs developed an interest in many new different mediums, including manga (Japanese comics) and ancient world literature, such as Don Quixote and Beowulf (already having some world literature in his background the form of Gulliver’s Travels and Aesop’s Fables while in Elementary school). He also first came across ancient stories of kung fu masters with enough strength to slay lions, enough speed to out run a cheetah, and being able to lighten their bodies enough to walk on egg shells. He found these stories rather fascinating and would spend time reading them, while at the same time trying to find more.

During his time in high school, world literature reads had expanded. He also began reading more of a genre called Wuxia (martial arts fiction), in particular Jin Yong, and was greatly fascinated by the scope of the stories as well the detailed battle sequences. To him it was as if he were watching a kung fu movie unfold before his very eyes. He thought this genre was rather interesting, especially since it influenced all of his other favorite mediums as well, even theater.

At college, Jacobs finally made the conscious decision to become an author. It was during this time, after class that he would spend time typing up many different stories. Many being one-shots (one long chapter), while others became full length novels. He began trying different genres and styles out until reading Jin Yong’s “A Smiling, Proud Wanderer”. He then decided to give wuxia a try and began working on a novel of such style. He had developed many early versions of his current stories, eventually editing and reforming them into what they are now. He also began reading many other novels around this time, such as Musashi, even more ancient world literature such as Canterbury Tales, The Divine Comedy, and The Faerie Queen, as well as many other things that would later influence his works.

Jacobs graduated from Oglethorpe University in Atlanta, Georgia with a Major in Literature and a Minor in Arts. He also studied karate while on campus during these years. As he wrote, he always had in mind to create stories that would give his readers the impressions they were almost watching a movie or a TV show, something interesting and exciting yet bearing the allure of a novel. Jacobs currently resides in Atlanta, Georgia. When not writing, he is usually reading from his extensive book collection, taking walks in the city, and training.

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Cover/Excerpt Reveal - The Space Between by Kristie Cook

The Space Between(Book One in The Book of Phoenix Series)

By Kristie Cook
Release Date: April 5, 2013
Genre: New Adult Paranormal Romance

When Life Falls to Pieces, Answers Lie in the Space Between
After a month-long dance tour through Italy, 20-year-old Leni Drago returns to Georgia to care for her great-uncle, only to find him gone, the home they shared empty and any evidence he ever existed wiped out. All that’s left is a journal she can’t open.

Jeric Winters has been searching for a piece of his past for over a year, only to reach a dead-end in Georgia. When an urgent and magnetic pull draws him out of his hotel room, he comes face-to-face with the beautiful dancer who’s been haunting his dreams day and night.

Jeric’s one to stay away from—a bad-boy, hit-it-and-quit-it type—but Leni can’t escape the fervent feelings between them. As their own existences begin to crumble around them and shadowy forms that are more monsters than men attack, they realize there’s more to the connection between them than physical fascination.

To solve the riddle their lives have become, they must embark on a journey that requires them to face their pasts and release their true souls. And they must do it fast—dark ones from another world are closing in, intent on killing them. Permanently.


Excerpt:


LENI – The overhead lights fell dark for the last time as I opened the dressing room door. The back exit stood open at the end of the hall, allowing in enough light from the streetlamp outside to show my way. I inhaled slowly, cherishing the musty smell of an old theater mixed with the odor of dancers’ sweat and the fragrance of white roses. I silently said my goodbyes as my feet carried me outside.
“Thank you, Uncle Theo,” I whispered as I left the theater for the last time. Only because of him did I even have this opportunity. I couldn’t wait to tell him all about it.
A large, muscular body flew at me, swept me into his arms and twirled me around as though we were still on stage. Laughter bubbled out of my chest.
“You ready to celebrate, cara mia?” Alberto asked as he set me down.
“Celebrate that you’re finally getting rid of me?” I teased. 
He clapped his hand over his heart, and his face fell into an exaggerated expression of pain. “Oh, Leni, you do not know how I will miss you and your mane.”
He swatted playfully at the bottom of my curls. He had no idea how I would miss the way he said my name, drawing out both syllables, “laaaay-kneee,” like only an Italian could do.
“But you won’t miss my heels on your toes or my arm in your face?” I said in mock disbelief.
He took my hand and danced me down the cobbled street toward the plaza at the center of town. “You are a stunning dancer, cara mia. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” He spun me under his arm, my duffle bag banging me in the butt the whole time. “Of course, you have become much better since becoming my partner. But everyone does.”
He winked at me before dropping me into a dip. My bag slid off my shoulder and a hand darted beneath me to catch it. Alberto swung me up and around so that I came face-to-face with the most unbelievably stunning vision I’d seen my whole time in Italy. Which was saying a lot. His eyes—blue, I thought, though the light from the corner post wasn’t enough to be sure—enraptured me. He held my bag out with a small smile that hinted at dimples.
“Grazie,” I said breathlessly as I wrapped my hand around the strap of my bag. He gave me a nod almost deep enough to be a bow, his shaggy blond hair falling in his face. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away. My mouth fell open. “How rude.”
“Must be American,” Alberto said. I punched him in the arm.
“Who goes out of their way to catch a falling object and then can’t even say ‘you’re welcome’?” I asked absent-mindedly as I stared after the retreating body that rivaled Alberto’s. No, scratch that. It totally beat out Alberto’s even on his best day.
“What an ass,” Alberto muttered.
“Rude, yes, but I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“No, I mean what an ass that man has.” He let out a low whistle.
I laughed and admired the view as well. “I can agree with that.”
“He’s going to Alonzo’s. Lucky us.”
~ ~ ~
JERIC – I flipped to the picture I’d drawn a couple of weeks ago during my search in Italy. I’d woken from a dream, one I’d been having for years, and as I had previously, I’d felt the need to sketch the girl who had me waking with a painful boner. Now that I’d met her in real life, I couldn’t deny the girl in my sketches was Leni—curly hair, exotic green eyes, full lips and breasts, her skin … as if the absolute best features of both African and European blood had been blended together and given to her. The Leni I’d just met would probably never wear the leather bra, miniskirt, and knee-high boots I’d drawn her in, but damn if she wouldn’t look hot in them. The vision came to me clearly. Too clearly. I had to place the book over my lap to hide the full-blown wood pressing against my jeans.
I needed a distraction. I needed to get her out of my head. I bought several little airline bottles of rum and dumped them in my Coke, but they weren’t enough to blur the image of Leni’s face in my mind. When the smoking hot flight attendant ran her finger over my arm then dropped a napkin with a message on my tray (“Meet me upstairs?”), I couldn’t resist. I snuck up the spiral staircase to the empty upper level and found her in the bathroom wearing nothing but heels and thigh-high stockings, tendrils of bottle-bleached hair barely hiding her fake tits. Flight attendants like this had made me a lifetime member of the mile-high club—they wanted nothing more than something to make the transatlantic flight more interesting. My perfect kind of girl.
Unfortunately, my eyes only saw Leni’s body under my hands.

About The Author:

Kristie Cook is a lifelong writer in various genres, from marketing communications to fantasy fiction. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, cooking, traveling and riding on the back of a motorcycle. She has lived in ten states, but currently calls Southwest Florida home with her husband, three teenage sons, a beagle and a puggle.

Website | Goodreads Page | Twitter | Facebook | Soul Savers Series Website

Cover/Excerpt Reveal - Going Under by S. Walden

New Adult 

Date to be Published: March 19, 2013

Brooke Wright has only two goals her senior year at Charity Run High School: stay out of trouble and learn to forgive herself for the past. Forgiveness proves elusive, and trouble finds her

anyway when she discovers a secret club at school connected to the death of her best friend. She learns that swim team members participate in a “Fantasy Slut League,” scoring points for their

sexual acts with unsuspecting girls.

Brooke, wracked with guilt over her friend’s death, decides to infiltrate the league by becoming one of the “unsuspecting girls,” and exact revenge on the boys who stole away her best friend. An unexpected romance complicates her plans, and her dogged pursuit of justice turns her reckless as she underestimates just how far the boys will go to keep their sex club a secret.

(This is a New Adult fiction book with mature themes. It contains explicit language and descriptions of sexual violence.)

Book Excerpt (from Chapter One):

I left the bathroom in a hurry, turning the corner for the foyer and slamming into him. The

force of the hit was so great that I stumbled backwards, nearly falling on my bottom if not for his

outstretched hand. I grabbed it before going down and wobbled on my too-high heels, clutching

him as I worked to regain my balance.

“God, I’m sorry!” he exclaimed.

I looked at his face then, unprepared to see something so beautiful. I think I gasped. And

then I averted my eyes out of sheer embarrassment.

“I really should watch where I’m going,” he said.

He still held my hand, and I let him. I couldn’t remember who I was or where I was going. I

couldn’t remember where I had just been. I only knew that a very cute boy . . . no, he was more

than cute. He was gorgeous. This very gorgeous boy was holding my hand, and I had only one

thought. I wanted to make our handholding more intimate. I wanted to lace my fingers with his.

“I think I should,” I mumbled.

I chanced another look at him. I made a conscientious effort not to gasp as I took in his light

blue eyes. I’d never seen eyes that color. Bing Crosby had nothing on this guy’s eyes, and Bing’s

eyes were the color of the Mediterranean. No, the eyes I looked into now were so light blue they

looked translucent. I thought if I stared a little longer I could see right inside his head, to his

brain, and I don’t know why that turned me on so much. I wanted to witness the workings of his

mind, the firing synapses, information traveling safely inside neurons to different parts of his

body. A few made it to his hand, and they must have told him to keep holding mine because he

didn’t let go.

I stared shamelessly, licking my lips at one point. He stared back just as boldly. I wanted

him to like what he saw. I wanted him to think I was sexy. I wanted him to feel the same instant

attraction I did. I’d never felt it before. Not really. Not even with Finn. It was unsettling, and I

wondered how people functioned after being smacked upside the head with it. Instant. Physical.

Chemical.

Primal.

Just rip my clothes off, I thought. Just rip my clothes off and do me right here in the hallway!

He smiled and released my hand. I thought he did it reluctantly, like his brain ordered him

to and he finally acquiesced. I smiled back, a flirty grin. I pulled my ponytail forward over my

shoulder and played with the strands. I bit my lower lip. And then reality came crashing down

like a hailstorm, large lumps of ice banging my head and screaming at me in unison.

“YOU’RE AT A FUNERAL!”

I looked at the gorgeous guy, and my face went white.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

He stared at me for a moment before saying, “Are you okay?”

I shook my head and started towards the sanctuary doors. He followed behind.

“I’m awful, I’m awful, I’m awful,” I whispered over and over. I didn’t care if he could hear.

What the hell was I doing? Trying to flirt with a guy at my best friend’s funeral? How could

I even forget for a second that I was at a funeral? I was supposed to be carrying around heavy,

black sorrow to match my black dress and black heart, not batting lashes and fantasizing about

sex with a stranger. Was I so ridiculous that a hot guy could make me forget to have any kind of

decency? Or shame?

I rounded the corner and saw my mother waiting for me. And then I ran to her, threw myself

into her arms, and burst into a fit of tears.

“Brooklyn,” she whispered, holding me in a tight hug. “It’s okay,” she cooed as she stroked

my hair.

“I’m a terrible friend!” I wailed. I saw the fuzzy outline of a boy walking past us tentatively

through the doors.

“No, you aren’t,” my mother replied.

“Yes, I am! I don’t even know why I’m here! Beth hated my guts! She wouldn’t talk to me

all summer!”

“Brooke,” Mom said. “I want you to calm down. Now, we talked about this. You knew it

would be hard, but she was your best friend for all those years. Do you think she wouldn’t have

wanted you here?”

“No, I don’t!” I cried.

“Yes, she would,” Mom said. “Now we have to go in.”

“I can’t!”

“Brooke, Beth was your best friend,” Mom said, trying for patience.

“No she wasn’t! Not after what I did! I ruined everything! I’m a freaking slut!” I sobbed,

shaking my head from side to side.

“Sweetheart, don’t say words like ‘freaking’ and ‘slut’ in a church,” Mom replied.

I only sobbed louder.

“You can do this,” Mom encouraged.

I stood my ground, shaking my head violently, refusing to go in.

“Brooklyn Wright!” Mom hissed pushing me away and grabbing my upper arm. She

squeezed too tightly, and I squeaked in discomfort. There was no more tenderness in her voice.

“Get yourself together. This isn’t about you. So stop making it about you. You’re going into that

sanctuary and you’re going to pay your respects to your friend, and you’re going to make it about

Beth. Do you understand me?”

I swallowed hard and wiped my face.

“Do you understand me?” Mom repeated.

I nodded grudgingly, and she took my hand, leading me through the doors.

© S. Walden, 2013

S. Walden used to teach English before making the easy decision to become a full-time writer.

Easy because once she completed a full-time graduate program, there weren't any teaching jobs

anyway! She lives in Georgia with her very supportive husband who does not read fiction and

has a difficult time understanding why her characters must have personality flaws. She is wary of

small children, so she has two Westies instead. Her dreams include getting through her next big

writing project (a three-part series) and owning and operating a beachside inn on the Gulf Coast.

Her husband's dreams for her include getting her Ph.D. so that he can tell people he's married to

a doctor.

She loves her fans and loves to hear from them. Email her at swaldenauthor@hotmail.com and

follow her blog at http://swaldenauthor.blogspot.com where you can get up-to-date information

on her current projects.

Blog: http://swaldenauthor.blogspot.com
email: swaldenauthor@hotmail.com
twitter: swaldenauthor

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