Books on Sale CYBER MONDAY

WELCOME TO THE CYBER MONDAY SALE BLAST! 
 
Click on any of the below book covers to be taken to the page that has more information on the novel as well as the Buy Links! 


Novels FREE!




 photo thecape final front cover_zpsa4c2tikm.jpg   photo thecape final front cover_zpsa4c2tikm.jpg   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png

 photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png    photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo thecape final front cover_zpsa4c2tikm.jpg   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png




 photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png
 photo thecape final front cover_zpsa4c2tikm.jpg     photo thecape final front cover_zpsa4c2tikm.jpg  photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png
 photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png
 photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png     photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png     photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png
 photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png
 photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png
 photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png
 photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png
 photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png




 photo thecape final front cover_zpsa4c2tikm.jpg   photo thecape final front cover_zpsa4c2tikm.jpg   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png
 photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png   photo HUNTERS E-BOOK_zpsovaszn47.png
Advertisements

Solstice

 

YA Science-fiction/ Romance
Date Published: November 25th, 2016
What You Believe, Can Destroy You!
William and Sydney have sacrificed everything to fortify their love, so much so that William dares to brave the depths of space to find a cure for their deadly Supernova bond, leaving both her and Earth vulnerable to Torrian Alliance attack. But with a full scale rebellion in play on Fabricius, the reality of Sydney’s execution from Torrian hands is diminished, only eclipsed by the certainty of a more threats – The Third Faction and The Dagmas Clan – lead by Dominic and his insurgent recruits. With overwhelming odds mounting against them, William makes a desperate attempt to find the last of the endangered Star-children only to be captured by a new menace, where he is forced to compete in the dreaded Gauntlet of sport. Allies surge to free Fabricius, seeking alliances across the galaxy while Sydney tries to keep her identity hidden and trains to master the third phase of her Star-child evolution: Solstice. With Sarah’s mysterious return home with clues to unlock the future, Noella’s training and Bill’s symbiotic development hope is restored, but will it be enough to unite the galaxy and destroy evil for once and for all?
Series Order
Supernova
Solstice
Protostar
About the Author
Multi-Award Winning and #1 Amazon Bestselling author Braxton A. Cosby is a dreamer who transitioned his ideas on pen and paper to pixels and keyboards. He tells stories that evoke emotions and stimulate thought. PROTOSTAR: BOOK 1 OF THE STARCROSSED SAGA and THE SECT: THE WINDGATE are currently Young Adult/New Adult series he created. He has written over 10 novels, including his new Superhero adventure book, THE CAPE is book three of the Dark Spores Series. He lives in Georgia with his amazing wife and a highly energetic Morkie named StarKozy.
Contact Links
Twitter: @BraxtonACosby
Purchase Link

The Little Voice

 

Psychological Realism / Contemporary / Literary Fiction
Date Published: 23rd November 2016

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

“Can you remember who you were before the world told you who you should be?”
Dear reader,
My character has been shaped by two opposing forces; the pressure to conform to social norms, and the pressure to be true to myself. To be honest with you, these forces have really torn me apart. They’ve pulled me one way and then the other. At times, they’ve left me questioning my whole entire existence.
But please don’t think that I’m angry or morose. I’m not. Because through adversity comes knowledge. I’ve suffered, it’s true. But I’ve learnt from my pain. I’ve become a better person.
Now, for the first time, I’m ready to tell my story. Perhaps it will inspire you. Perhaps it will encourage you to think in a whole new way. Perhaps it won’t. There’s only one way to find out…
Enjoy the book,
Yew Shodkin
Excerpt
ONE


It was my sixth birthday when the little voice first spoke to me.
Please do understand, dear reader, that it wasn’t an abstract little voice. Oh no! It belonged to a little creature who lived inside my brain. But that creature had not, up until that point, ever said a word.
That creature wasn’t human. Far from it! Although its eyes were identical to my own.
If I’m to be totally honest, I must admit that I’m not exactly sure what it was. I’ve always just called it ‘The Egot’.
The egot’s skin was as red as hellfire, its hair was as bright as the midday sun, and its belly was as round as a pearl. It had webbed feet, elfish ears and lithe claws. I assumed it was male, but it could’ve been female; it was impossible to tell.
Yet, despite its peculiar appearance, I felt comfortable whenever I saw the egot. It possessed a powerful sort charisma which always put me at ease. It’d lift its flat cap, bend one of its spiky knees, and wink in a way which made its eye sparkle. Just seeing the egot made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.
The egot was familiar. It was a part of the scenery of my mind. My companion. My friend.
But it had never spoken. Not until the day I turned six.
I was at school when it happened, sitting at the set of desks which I shared with five other pupils. The waxy floor was illuminated by white light. The smell of pencil shavings wafted through the air.
Our teacher, Ms Brown, was standing at the front of that prefabricated space. She was scratching a tiny nub of chalk along an indifferent blackboard.
“As soon as those brave explorers stepped foot on that distant land, they
were attacked by a group of wild savages,” she told the class through a cloud of chalk dust.
“Ooh! Ooh!” screamed Snotty McGill.
I liked Snotty McGill. I liked all the children in my class. Back then, I think we all just tacitly assumed that we were equal. That we were all in the same boat. We didn’t really think about our different genders, races or classes. We just co- existed, like one big family.
I think Snotty McGill was actually called Sarah, but we called her ‘Snotty’ because she always had a cold. An hour seldom passed in which she didn’t either sneeze, pick her nose, or wipe a bogie onto her snot-encrusted sleeve. But she had such a lovely colour. That pink glow which comes with the flu used to engulf her like an aura. It suited her. She always looked so damn effervescent.
Anyway, as I was saying, Snotty McGill was waving her hand above her head.
“Ms! Ms!” she called. “What’s a ‘savage’?”
Ms Brown turned to face us. She looked chalky. Everything around her looked chalky. The floor was covered in chalk-dust and the skirting-boards were covered in chalky-ashes. Chalk residue glistened in Ms Brown’s bushy hair. It coated the points of her fingers.
“Well,” she said. “A savage has the body of a man, but not his civility. A savage is like an animal. He doesn’t wear clothes, live in a house, study or work. He follows his base urges; to eat, drink and reproduce. But he doesn’t have an intellect. He doesn’t have any ambition. He’s smelly, hairy and uncouth. He does the least he can to survive. And he spends most of his time sleeping or playing.”
Snotty McGill looked horrified. As did Stacey Fairclough, Sleepy Sampson and Gavin Gillis. Chubby Smith looked like he was about to start a fight. Most of the class looked dumbfounded. But I felt inspired.
‘They don’t have to go to school!’ I thought with envy and intrigue. ‘They spend all their time playing! They sleep for as long as they like!’
It was as if I’d stumbled across a species of super-humans. To me, the savages sounded like gods. I knew at once that I wanted to be one. I’d never been so sure of anything in my life.
The egot smiled mischievously. It rolled a whisker between its skeletal claws and tapped one of its webbed feet.
Ms Brown continued:
“Well, when the explorers stepped ashore, a pack of savages came hurtling towards them; swinging through the trees like monkeys, beating their breasts like apes, and howling like donkeys. They flocked like birds and stampeded through the dust like a herd of untamed wildebeests.”
That was when the egot spoke for the first time.
It leaned up against the inside of my skull, just behind my nose, and crossed its spindly legs. Then it began to talk:
“If you want to be a savage, you should probably act like a savage. You know, you should probably stampede like a wildebeest. Maybe beat your breast like an ape. Perhaps you’d like to howl like a donkey? Yes, yes.”
The egot’s voice was so… so… so… So far beyond description. So subtle. So calm. So quirky. So eccentric. And so, so quiet!
The egot accentuated random letters, as if it was shocked to discover their existence. It swilled its words, like a Frenchman mulling over a glass of confused wine. And it stretched random syllables, as if it was saddened to see them go.
There was a certain melody to the egot’s voice. It didn’t so much speak as rhyme, like a Shakespearean actor on a crisp autumn night.
But the egot was quiet. Its voice was such a little voice.  A little voice inside my head.
That little voice struck me dumb.
The egot strummed its lip, like a pensive philosopher, and waited for me to reply. But I was in a state of paralytic shock. I couldn’t have replied if I’d wanted to. So the egot folded its arms, in a gesture of mock offence, and then continued on:
“I’m only telling you what you want to hear,” it purred. It swirled the word ‘telling’ so much that the ‘ell’ sound reverberated five times; ‘Tell-ell-ell-ell-ell-ell-ing’.
“You don’t really want to succumb to civility. No, no. You want to be a savage. I think you want to jump between tables, like a monkey swinging between trees. If you thought you could get away with it, and no-one was judging you, you wouldn’t think twice.”
It was a moment of clarity. Bright white, unadulterated clarity. Silent. Outside of time and space.
Please do allow me to explain…
I’m a big fan of the founder of Taoism, the ancient Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu. He was a wizened old gent. His hair was as white as virgin snow and his eyes were deeper than any ocean on earth.
Well, Lao Tzu once said that ‘Knowing others is wisdom. Knowing yourself is enlightenment’.
Dear reader, that’s exactly how I felt! In that moment, I felt that I ‘knew’ myself. In that moment, I felt ‘enlightened’.
Everything was clear. It was clear that I’d been living in a cage. It was clear that freedom was mine to take. It was clear what I had to do. The egot was my clarity. Everything was clear.
I remember a sense of otherworldliness, as if I’d stepped outside of the physical realm. My legs lifted my torso, my frame stood tall, and my spirit stood still. My body melted away from my control.
I watched on as it broke free. As it leapt up onto our shared desk. As it pounded its breast like a valiant ape. And as it puffed its chest like a swashbuckling superhero.
The faint sound of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony started to fill my ears. Delicate violin strings provided a melodic backdrop for the ballet which was unravelling onstage.
My body performed a pirouette.
White paper rose up beneath my feet and span around my shins like froth on a choppy ocean.
I felt an all-encompassing surge of bliss.
One leg rose up in front of my body, forming a sharp arrow which pointed out towards an adjacent desk. I held that position perfectly still, whilst lifting my chin with a pompous sort of grace. Then I leapt like a spring deer, in slow motion, with one leg pointing forward and the other one darting back.
Beethoven’s Ninth sounded glorious as it purred through the gears. Violas joined violins and cellos joined those violas. Double basses began to hum and flutes began to whistle.
I landed with my feet together; an angel of the air, a demon of the sea. My mind floated atop an infinite ocean.
My legs leapt on through the infinite air. They bounded from table to table with ever-increasing speed; gaining momentum, gaining height. I could see my monkey soul. I could hear the monkey calls which were emanating from my open mouth.
I could hear Beethoven’s Ninth reach its first crescendo, as the brass section began its battle cry. Flutes became one with clarinets. Bassoons boomed. Trumpets and horns squealed with uncontrollable delight.
I howled like a donkey at the moment of sexual climax. My lungs filled with pure spirit.
I landed on all fours, looking like a bison. My shoulders were bulging out of my back and my temples were as erect as horns.
I leapt like a giant frog. And I stampeded between desks like a herd of untamed wildebeests; leaving a trail of overturned chairs, twisted students and miscellaneous debris in my wake.
Beethoven’s Ninth called out for redemption, glory and release. It was an impassioned cry. It was a fury-filled yell.
“Yew! Yew! Yew!” Ms Brown yelled. “Yew! Yew! Yew!”
Ms Brown had been yelling since the moment I stood up. But I’d been on a different plane. I hadn’t heard a thing.
My teacher’s voice pierced my ether, burst my euphoria, and threw me down amongst the shards of my shattered pride. To my left; a small calculator bled black ink, a wonky table rocked back and forth like a sober addict, and a potted plant spewed crumbs of soil all across the vinyl flooring. To my right; Aisha Ali was crying into her collar, Tina Thompson was rubbing her shin, and Chubby Smith was holding his belly.
“Yew! Yew! Yew!” Ms Brown yelled.
(I’m called Yew by the way. I think I forgot to mention that).
“Yew! What on earth do you think you’re doing? What’s come over you? I,I, I…”
Ms Brown choked on her words, lifted a hand to her throat, coughed up some chalk-dust, and then gulped down a stodgy chunk of passive air.
She shook her head.
“You’re usually such a good boy!”
She exhaled.
“I’ve never seen anything like it. Whatever came over you? Look at this place! Just look at this place! I… I… I just can’t believe it! Oh my.”
I looked around.
The debris of my liberation assaulted my torrid eyes. The disgrace of my emancipation flushed through my dusty veins. And my glorious body became a tepid vase for the desert’s tears.
“I’m not angry,” Ms Brown sighed. “I’m just disappointed.”
That hurt. It hurt a lot.
I was fond of Ms Brown. She was such a sweet person. She was warm. So her disappointment really cut through me.
It was a heavy sort of disappointment; weighed down by the burden of expectation and the gravity of my situation. And it was an overpowering sort of disappointment. It pinned me to the floor.
My world inverted. Ignorance replaced enlightenment. Darkness replaced light. Density replaced levity.
My euphoria was usurped by a deathly sort of anxiety, which shook me from side to side and made me shiver to the core. Beethoven’s Ninth was snuffed out by the booming of my incessant heart. I was sucked down into a black-hole at the centre of my being; paralysed by my teacher’s disappointment and frozen by my own sense of fear. I felt trapped, small and base.
“Disappointed,” Ms Brown repeated. “Yew! That’s not how you’re supposed to behave. That’s not what society expects of you.”
Ms Brown shook her head, which caused chalk-dust to float up into the air. It glistened in the bright-white light. It sparkled.
Ms Brown tutted.
Then she sent me to see the headmaster.
About the Author

Joss Sheldon is a scruffy nomad, unshaven layabout, and good for nothing hobo. Born in 1982, he was brought up in one of the anonymous suburbs which wrap themselves around London’s beating heart. And then he escaped!
With a degree from the London School of Economics to his name, Sheldon had spells selling falafel at music festivals, being a ski-bum, and failing to turn the English Midlands into a haven of rugby league.
Then, in 2013, he went to McLeod Ganj in India; a village which plays home to thousands of angry monkeys, hundreds of Tibetan refugees, and the Dalai Lama himself. It was there that Sheldon wrote his first novel, ‘Involution & Evolution’.
With several positive reviews to his name, Sheldon had caught the writing bug. So he travelled around Palestine and Kurdistan before writing his second novel, ‘Occupied’; a dystopian ‘masterpiece’ unlike any other story you’ve ever read!
Now Joss has returned with his third, and most radical novel yet. ‘The Little Voice’ takes a swipe at the external forces which come to shape our personalities. It’s psychological. And it will make you think about the world in a whole new way. As the Huffington Post put it, The Little Voice is probably “The most thought-provoking novel of 2016″…
Contact Links
Purchase Links

The High Yield Vector

 

Espionage Thriller
Date Published: March 2016

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Former British intelligence agent Mark Savannah escapes the international arrest warrant hanging over his head by taking refuge among the Tuareg of Mali. In 2008 the resurgence of fighting in the North of the country causes him to change his plans, forcing him into hiding in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where he works undercover as a doctor at the hospital in Kinshasa. Trying to survive the widespread corruption in the country, Mark becomes a direct witness to the devastating and deadly effects of a transgenic plant project funded by an international consortium that is looking for breakthrough OMG production strains while ruthlessly taking huge risks with the native population’s health. Approached once again by British intelligence to investigate the activities of the consortium, Mark finds himself involved in violent clashes between several countries’ intelligence services as they fight for control over the territory and its markets. Mark once again finds himself facing a deadly confrontation with his mortal enemy and the “sniper” who has never stopped hunting him.
 
First Book in the Series: 
Date Published: December 8, 2013
Mark Savannah has already lived two lives and now he is looking for a third, but he is trapped by a past he can’t escape.
Professor Zimmermann of the University of Buenos Aires has warned him: “They have been able to cover up the whole affair and destroy all the evidence”.
Mark has discovered an extraordinary secret hidden deep in CIA director Colonel Reed’s past and in the neural transplant operations of Biosketch Technologies Inc., a biotech company set up by Reed.
Mark came into contact with Biosketch Technologies Inc. and the diabolical Project “Transtem 1.1″ while studying civilian and military neural transplant patients. As Mark attempts to uncover the truth, he is pursued by Anaïs Degann, a CIA agent with orders to terminate him.
Project “Transtem 1.1″ is just the tip of the iceberg of Reed’s dark plans and, in order to get his life back, Mark has to break the ties connecting Colonel Reed with Colonel Kozlov of the Russian counterintelligence service. Reed’s links to Russian intelligence threaten to compromise international security and Mark must stop him at all costs.
About the Authors 
Baibin Nighthawk writes spy fiction, thrillers and science fiction. She is the co-author of the Mark Savannah espionage series and of the Dhungwana Chronicles. She holds a bachelor’s degree in Economics and a Certificate in Art (Martenot Arts Plastiques, Paris).
Dominick Fencer writes spy fiction, thrillers and science fiction. He is the co-author of the Mark Savannah espionage series and of the Dhungwana Chronicles. He holds a bachelor’s degree in Biological Sciences and an MBA. 

Contact Links
 
Purchase Links
 
On Sale For $1.99 From November 21st – November 27th

Self Serve Murder

 
Cozy mystery
Date Published: December 5, 2016
 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png
Book 3 in the Death by Cupcake series. Can be read as a standalone.
Kristie is kind with a capital K, so it’s quite the surprise when she wakes up next to a dead man with no recollection of the previous night. Even worse? She’s naked. Kristie may be a sweetheart out to save the world, but sticking her nose into an investigation of rapes across campus makes her the target of a murderer. Before she knows it, Callie is smack dab in the middle of a murder investigation with her colleagues Callie and Anna. If that’s not enough to drive a sane person up the wall, a friend has decided he’s going to keep her safe whether she wants him to or not. And, oh yeah, he’s her man and that’s that.
Come join us at Callie’s Cakes, where murder investigations are on the menu. You are most welcome, but you may need to serve yourself as our barista Kristie is busy trying to save the world.
Warning: Although there are plenty of moments that will make you shake your head and laugh at the antics of the ladies of Callie’s Cakes, the subject matter – rape on college campuses – is very real and somewhat darker than your usual cozy mystery.

 

About the Author
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. After surviving the army experience, I went back to school and got my law degree. I jumped ship and joined the hubby in the Netherlands before the graduation ceremony could even begin. 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. But being a lawyer really wasn’t my thing, so I quit (again!) and went off to Germany to start a B&B. Turns out being a B&B owner wasn’t my thing either. I decided to follow the husband to Istanbul for a few years where I managed to churn out book after book. But ten years was too many to stay away from ‘home’. I packed up again and moved to The Hague where I’m currently working on my next book. I hope I’ll always be working on my next book.
Contact Links
Email: dena@dehaggerty.com
Purchase Links

Hello, Agnieszka

 

Between Two Worlds, Book Two
Women’s Fiction, Coming of Age
 Date Published:  June 2014

 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

Elise thought she knew her mother. But when her oldest brother attempts suicide, painful secrets are about to be revealed. Agnieszka Halverson must now tell her children a past she has kept from them.

 

As a child in the seventies, Agnieszka discovers a passion for music when she hears her grandaunt Jola, a concert pianist in Poland, give a piano recital. Jola hones her talent and feeds her dreams. But too poor to continue professional training and with a mother who fails to support her ambitions, her dreams of being a pianist are shattered.

 

Agnieszka meets Lenny Weisz and they fall in love, renewing her hopes for happiness. But her hopes are thwarted  once again by forces beyond their control.

 

Weighed down by its roots, her family casts her aside. Can music and memories of her first love help Agnieszka make a life for herself all alone? Can she rise from the loss she has suffered and get a second chance at happiness?

 

Book 2 in the family saga Between Two Worlds (BTW), Hello Agnieszka explores mother-daughter relationships in a tale of a mother’s youthful dreams, thwarted and renewed amidst the exciting promise of the 70s,  In three standalone  novels of loss, love, second chances, and finding one’s way, BTW tells the stories of three strong women who cope with issues contemporary women face.

 

Praise for Hello, Agnieszka!
“…a beautiful narrative …an intricate, heart-wrenching coming-of-age story about family and love.”―GoodbooksToday Reviews
 
“…character descriptions written to perfection with a unique POV that places you deep in her thoughts and feelings.”–★★★★★Michael Alexander Beas for Readers’ Favorite
 
“…interesting, enlightening and, in some respects, heartbreaking. … All families struggle with issues, this one more than most.”–★★★★ Kathryn Bennett for Readers’ Favorite
Other Books in the Between Two Worlds Series

 

Between Two Worlds Book 1
Published: December 2013
What would Elizabeth Bennet be like if she had been born today? What things would she have to cope with? In this modern-day tale inspired by Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, bright, beautiful law student Elise Halverson looks forward to a promising career. The last thing she needs is to fall in love with well-known playboy Greg Thorpe. Besides, he’s engaged to be married.

Greg finds Elise so unlike the women he used to date and he’s deeply intrigued. But distrusting the image she has of him, Elise tries to keep away.

 

Elise’s parents invite Greg to their frequent dinner parties. There, Greg and Elise butt heads. She’s surprised to find that, behind his rich playboy persona, he’s intelligent and engaging. They can’t help feeling drawn to each other.

The night before his wedding, they give in to their mutual attraction. Although Elise expects nothing more from that night, Greg is in for trouble. His jilted fiancée strikes back, intent on revenge.

Two years later Greg and Elise get a second chance but they find that the way to their happy-ever-after is not so easy. For one, Greg is in for a surprise. Then, his former fiancée comes back and trouble returns to haunt Greg and Elise again.

At the core of this women’s fiction is a literary and realistic romance spiced with a twist of mystery. Hello My Love is Book 1 in the series Between Two Worlds, a family saga about three strong women. In three tales of loss, love, second chances, and finding one’s way, they cope with issues contemporary women face.

Between Two Worlds Book 3
Published: May 2015
Leilani’s mother has never set foot in her school until the day she whisks her children out of their Pacific Island country, without their father and without explanation. Eighteen years later, Leilani just wants to leave the past behind, move forward.

She has settled peacefully in California and like her long-lost father, she heals people. But her tranquil existence is disturbed one evening.

 

A computer nerd and culinary whiz with a biting sense of humor, Justin is brokenhearted from the loss of his girlfriend who has left him after seven years. All he wants is to drown his sorrows. But he finds more trouble than he’s looking for when thugs assault him.

On her way home from work, Leilani sees the assault. An ace with a gun, she rescues him.

Weeks later, they meet again and find themselves attracted to each other. Fearing Justin is on the rebound, or has a rescuer complex, Leilani doesn’t want to get involved.

But Leilani cannot deny her feelings. As they begin to fall in love, her past comes back to haunt her.

A friend of her father arrives with news which forces her mother to reveal a shocking, shameful secret—the truth about the role Leilani’s father played in a deadly political web.

Can Leilani deal with the truth? But hero or villain, he is her father and only she and Justin can rescue him from the island she’d left long ago.

At the core of this women’s fiction is an Asian woman-white man interracial romance spun with international political intrigue and a young woman’s acceptance of her past. Welcome Reluctant Stranger is Book 3 in a family saga. In three tales of loss, love, second chances, and finding one’s way, three strong women cope with issues contemporary women face.

About the Author
Evy Journey is a flâneuse (a female observer-wanderer) who writes about, and illustrates (oils, pastels, digital) what she sees that intrigues her.  In a past life, with a now-dormant Ph.D., (University of Illinois at Champaign-Urbana), and the primacy of her left brain, she researched, evaluated and developed mental health programs. But writing was her first love.
Contact Links
 
Purchase Links

Ave, Caesarion

 

The Rise of Caesarion’s Rome, Book One
 Fantasy, Alternative History
 Date Published:  October 21, 2016
 photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

A single event can reshape a world—or shatter it forever.

 

Fifteen years ago, Caesar escaped assassination, and went on to be crowned Emperor of Rome. His son by Cleopatra, Caesarion, carries the blood of Mars, Venus, Isis, and Osiris in his veins—but will the power that the gods have granted him, be enough to secure his hold on Rome after his father’s death?

 

What of the powers his sister, Eurydice Julia, has begun to manifest, and her puzzling visions that hint at the sacrifices that the gods of both Rome and Egypt will demand of them?

 

Will they, together, be strong enough to forge a better world than the one their ancestors built?

 

Return to the world of Edda-Earth, where magic and science coexist and all the gods are real.

 

And always remember this truth: The end of all things . . . was just the beginning.
Recent Praise for Ave, Caesarion:
“. . . irresistible wit and superior characterization . . . . A scorching alternate-history adventure packed with romance and fantasy action.” — Kirkus
 
“. . . a fantastically complex, evocative and involving story that moves through . . . every nuance of the social, spiritual and political world of their times. [A]s gripping, involving, and as real as today’s modern world.” — D. Donovan, Midwest Book Review
Excerpt

 

On this warm summer evening, fifteen years after Julius Caesar had been crowned in the Forum of Rome, the Empire held its breath. Rumor—fleeter of foot than Mercury—swept through the city, from patrician homes to plebeian ones, whispering that Gaius Julius Caesar had suffered some manner of fit. It had long been murmured that he was subject to the falling-sickness, perhaps contracted in tropical climes, or meted out as punishment by the gods for having dared to ascend so far. More troubling, however, were Rumor’s sly additions to her tale: that the seventy-year-old emperor could not rise, and that his foreign-born wife, Cleopatra, would not leave his side, whispering spells and incantations to keep him alive.

 

The freeborn muttered in the marketplaces; the Empress might be a curse on Rome. Their beloved Emperor had divorced his third wife, Calpurnia, after his coronation, and had extended to Cleopatra and the Hellene-Egyptian House of Ptolemy Roman citizenship for “services to the Empire.” Italians who had only recently been granted citizenship spat at those words; her services, in their opinion, were those of a harlot, and the rights that their grandfathers had died for in the Social War had been granted to her for what lay between her thighs.

 

Few in Rome understood that the bread distributed by the government—the Annona—came at such a low cost to the state solely because Egypt’s fertile fields provided their plenty at the whim of their queen.

 

In the last light of sunset, five cohorts of legionnaires marched along the Via Flaminia towards the gates of Rome, accompanying two young men on horseback. The dirt and dust on their uniforms suggested a long journey, conducted rapidly. The senior centurion and all the men on foot were hardened soldiers in their thirties, members of the Legio X Equestris—the first legion levied by Julius Caesar. The Equestris formed the backbone of Caesar’s Praetorian Guard, the personal protectors accorded to many a general over the centuries. Hence the distinctive white crests on the helmets of their officers.
Of the pair on horseback, the elder, who wore the long white crest of a tribune of the Tenth Legion, didn’t look to have escaped his adolescent years; the younger, who wore no uniform, but rather just a tunic and cloak suitable for riding, looked barely old enough to have received his toga virilis. “Malleolus! Fall the men out,” the older of the pair called to the centurion, reining in. “Let them eat and bathe and see their families. But be at my father’s villa outside of Rome first thing in the morning.”

 

The centurion thumped his breastplate in acknowledgement, and the weary legionnaires gave a desultory cheer. But the centurion let the rest of his men file past, and then caught the young officer’s reins before he could thump a heel into his horse’s flanks. “I’ll be going with you, dominus?” Malleolus asked. It wasn’t quite a question.
The corners of the young man’s mouth kinked upwards slightly. “This is Rome.”
“Yes, my lord.” Solemn acknowledgement. “And fifteen years ago, seven men tried to murder your father. On the sacred soil of Rome.”
The young man put a hand on his shoulder, imperceptible through the armor. “I’m harder to kill than my father, Malleolus. Though I thank you for your care.” In the last rays of sunset, his eyes gleamed an unnatural shade under the shadows cast by his helm—the color of spilled blood. For Ptolemy XV Julius Caesarion Philopator Philomator—generally called Caesarion—was god-born.
His mother, Cleopatra, who had made her son co-ruler of Egypt with herself when he was no more than three, claimed that the blood of Isis and Osiris ran in her veins. His father had once minted coins that reminded the people of Rome that his house claimed descent from Venus. And none could deny that Mars had favored Caesar on the battlefield as well. Yet neither of his parents had shown the signs of divine favor as clearly as Caesarion did.
Malleolus released the reins, saying mildly, “I would sleep better tonight, my lord, if you’d allow me to follow you to the villa’s gates.”
A quick smile. “You’re going to insist?”
“I would never so presume. But I do ask, dominus.”
“For the sake of your good rest, then, yes.” A nod, and then the young patrician clucked at his horse, preparing to enter the city. But now his brother, young Alexander, caught the reins. “Caesarion,” Alexander said, his voice tight, “You’re not carrying a sword. You can enter the city legally. But . . . if you enter now, you’re giving up your right to a triumph.”
 “I don’t care,” Caesarion replied impatiently. “Father had a choice once, between being accorded a triumph for his victories, and standing for election as consul. He chose the consulship. You pick the thing that’s more important. And seeing him before he dies . . . that’s more important.” He grimaced. “And ensuring that we’re here to deal with issues of succession, too. Gods. I hate thinking like this.”
Alexander shook his head sharply. Five years younger than his brother, he still seemed to have more political acumen. “A triumph will ensure the love of the plebeians. And you must have the mob behind you before dealing with the Senate.”
Caesarion’s expression tautened. “It’s strange, Alexander. I see your face, but I hear our mother’s voice when you speak.” An impatient shake of his head. “Every man who stood with me in Germania deserves that triumph. They all deserve that recognition, because without the men who followed me, the seventh Legion would have been cut off, surrounded, and destroyed in that damned forest.” His face settled into stubborn lines. “But holding a triumph instead of making my way to Father’s deathbed?” He regarded Alexander steadily. “Bad taste. It would look as if I valued his position more than his life.” He stared at the Porta Flaminia, and then turned his head and spat into the dust at the side of the road. “To Dis with the damned triumph. Let’s go home, brother.”

 

Centurion Ramirus Modius Malleolus trotted silently alongside the pair as they entered the city. They looked far too young to bear the weight of the Empire on their shoulders. But Caesarion will have to carry it. And in spite of the young man’s high rank and youth, he liked Caesarion. Uncannily, almost everyone did. The love of his father’s legions was mostly assured, but Malleolus had seen freedmen and slaves who served the legionnaires in their camps—men who hated anyone with a patrician name—smile when Caesarion addressed them.
He sighed, and kept his eyes on the people crowding the streets. No one had yet given them more than a glance, but someone had to keep these two youngsters alive.

About the Author

Deborah L. Davitt was born in Washington State, but grew up in Reno, Nevada, where she earned her BA in English Literature. She received her MA in English at Penn State, where she taught college rhetoric and composition, and has since worked as a technical writer in industries including nuclear submarines, NASA, and computer manufacturing.
Her poetry has appeared in Star*Line, Blue Monday Review’s Storytime Challenge, Grievous Angel, Silver Blade, Dreams and Nightmares, Poetry Quarterly, and other venues. A short-story of hers has appeared in Intergalactic Medicine Show, and she has four novels published to Kindle–The Valkyrie, The Goddess Denied, The Goddess Embraced, and Ave, Caesarion.
Contact Links
Purchase Links

An Ode For Orchids

 

 Romance

Date Published: August 30, 2012

 

Meet Dawn, Brook, Cicely and Karen: four cousins raised under the Southern sun. Their grandmother called them orchids and taught them to be independent, intelligent, chaste and courageous. So why does Dawn depend on a drug dealer? Why can’t Brook see that her husband is cheating on her? Why is Cicely so promiscuous? Why is Karen so afraid of rejection? But most importantly, why does Cicely hate Karen enough to want her DEAD?

“An Ode for Orchids” is the story of four beautiful young women who want to love and be loved. But will their love outlive the lies and abuse? Is their love strong enough to survive the hatred?

 

 

Review

These characters were all so multi-dimensional and showed so much growth from beginning to end of the novel. They really went through a lot in this story.

I love the multiple character aspect of this book. We had multiple storylines to follow as well as multiple characters to become invested in.

This book will definitely keep you on your toes! It’s very emotional and deep, yet uplifting at the same time.

James Fant is an award winning author who lives in Charleston, SC. When he’s not reading everything from business management to mysteries or “entertaining” his family with piano solos and spoken word, James writes inspirational romance and suspense that warms the heart and hopefully makes readers laugh—in public.

The idea for An Ode for Orchids came from his appreciation of the enduring strength and tenacity of all of the women in his life: his hardworking mother, loving grandmother, strong sisters (related and non-related), no-nonsense aunties, and last but definitely not least, his beautiful wife. 

  

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter: @jamesfantjr

Blog

Pinterest

Goodreads

 

Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

Single Chicas

 
Women’s Fiction / Humor
Date Published:8/19/16

 

Perfection is a Barbie doll, and, unless you’re looking for a guy with a fake smile, a hard head, and no genitalia, then you’re better off NOT being perfect―Single Chicas
Single Chicas is a collection of stories about modern Latinas being in, out, and around the zany hurdles of relationships. One woman receives strange calls from a lonely soul, another seeks advice on how to love herself, and another wakes up in a parallel universe to a man she’s never met. These chicas will make painstaking effort to survive the complexities with humor and grace. Once again, López dazzles audiences with her brilliantly candid craft. Smart, witty, and funny, these stories will explore the true endurance of singlehood.

 

 

 

Sandra C. López is one of today’s influential Latina authors in Young Adult literature. Her first novel, Esperanza: A Latina Story, was published in March 2008 WHILE she was still in college. Since then she has published several other books, including the Single Chicas series. She was named as one of “2011 Top Ten New Latino Authors to Watch” by Latino Stories, and her book, Beyond the Gardens, was a Silver Medal winner of the 2016 Global Ebook Awards in Multicultural Fiction and a finalist in the Int’l Latino Book Awards. Art, literature, and travel are her passions, and she aims to keep doing them as long as she can.

 

 

Contact Information

Website

Facebook

Goodreads

 

Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Amelia’s Hope

 

Contemporary Romance/Women’s fiction
Date Published: 11/14/16
Publisher: Fifth Ink Publishing

 

“Even though I was decaying, Amelia was growing. It was like some beautiful symphony the way both things were happening at once.”
Sacrificing your life for your child is one of the greatest ways a mother can show her love.
For Cara Michaels, that sacrifice was made.
At ten weeks pregnant, Cara was diagnosed with a fast-acting cancer and was faced with the ultimate decision…
That decision, was to forgo life-saving treatment to ensure her child would come into this world unharmed.
Cara shares with us the last months of her life as she prepared to give birth to her child and for her husband, Joel, to parent without her.
But a husband can only handle so much before he breaks…
Grab your tissues because you’re in for heartbreak.
Growing up on an old dirt road in the middle of nowhere, as a child Candis used her love for books as a way to escape reality (and her brother constantly trying to kill her–literally). She blames her love of all things Horror on being born on Friday the 13th and will always find joy in scaring her friends.
You will find a little piece of her in every book she writes. She loves a good happy ending but isn’t afraid to keep her stories real, even if that means telling the side of a story most people are afraid to tell.
Never caring for the norms or boundaries, Candis has written several genres from Horror to Erotica.
When she’s not writing or reading, she can usually be found chasing her children around or binge watching Netflix. She currently lives in Rome, Pennsylvania with her husband and three children.
Contact Links
 
Purchase the Novel