Kissing Games by Tara Eglington: Excerpt!

 Excerpt:

For a girl who shares her name with a princess (Aurora from Sleep- ing Beauty), my present circumstances were fathoms away from a fairy tale. My kissing skills had left both parties maimed—one case worthy of the emergency room.

Our first kiss as a couple, and my first-ever kiss, had been a melding of everything I’d heard kisses could be, all the glorious cli- chés in action—weak knees, my heart a field of fluttering butter- flies, life in Technicolor. Worth the wait.

With a start like that, I’d expected the second kiss to be as good.

Or at least not to end in calamity.

Four hours ago I’d had no idea I’d be spending half of my Thurs- day night in the local hospital’s emergency department, watching the on-call physician stitching Hayden Paris’s formerly perfect lower lip.

four hours earlier . . .

I stood at my bathroom mirror, staring at my lips. I’d just applied red lipstick, taking a good five minutes to make sure that the edges were perfect. Now I was having second thoughts.

Normally I wasn’t one to spend lengthy amounts of time pout- ing at my own reflection, but in the fifteen minutes before Hayden was due to arrive I was fixated on my own mouth.

It had started with the intention of making sure I had fresh breath. Three brushings and a lengthy flossing session later, I’d pinched the superstrong dental clinic–issued mouthwash used by my dad (otherwise known as the NAD—New Age dad), on the ba- sis that it would work better than my Listerine. Figuring that if I used any more mouthwash I’d give myself acid reflux, I’d finally stashed a mini breath spray in the pocket of my skirt so I could do a last quick spritz after Hayden and I had finished dinner. Literally sharing breath with someone was nerve-racking.

I was now in a conundrum over lipstick. I’d automatically reached for the red, as numerous studies have proved that red lips are considered the most sensual, due to the way that lipstick mim- ics the way our lips flush when attracted to another person. But just as I’d finished applying the lipstick, I started worrying that it wasn’t the best choice. It would inevitably kiss off, wouldn’t it? What if I pulled away from the (hopefully) amazing kiss and Hayden was left smeared with red lipstick? Gloss wasn’t an option, either—I’d over- heard way too many guys complaining about how they hated goopy lips.

I blotted the lipstick, hoping to achieve a nice, subtle stain, like I’d been sitting in a field eating raspberries or something. Revlon had had that famous Cherries in the Snow ad campaign in 1953, so bring on Raspberries in a Field. I was obviously getting jittery if I was planning 1950s-esque cosmetic campaigns.

I hadn’t talked about my anxiety with my best friends, Cassie, Jelena, Lindsay, and Sara. They were looking to me to be their dating guru—and hopefully the whole of Jefferson High would be, too, once I implemented my Find a Prince/Princess™ program. This is a program I designed to help guys and girls navigate the minefield that is the high school dating scene. As well as using the program to help Cassie find love with Scott (aka the ubercute new guy) and

to help Lindsay win her ex-boyfriend Tyler back, I had also been using the program to weigh my own romantic prospects, with the aim of identifying my “prince.”

A prince:

•   has Principles. He stands up for what he knows to be right, instead of going along with the crowd.

•   Recognizes your worth. He understands how special you are and treats you with respect and kindness.

•   possesses Integrity. He’s genuine with his feelings and won’t mislead you for underhanded or selfish purposes.

•   Never doubts you’re the only one for him.

•   is Constant. He stands by you through the sunshine and the shadows, the good and the bad.

•   possesses Endurance. He is willing to overcome considerable obstacles to win your affection.

I know the “prince” thing sounds cringeworthy, like it’s some- thing from another century. But the program isn’t about glass slip- pers or lying around until a prince shows up. It’s about valuing yourself and saying no to guys with dishonest intentions or luke- warm feelings. Guys who lie or are self-involved or only looking for an ego boost. Guys who play around with our feelings like it’s a form of sport.

What the program is really about is knowing what you are wor- thy of and accepting nothing less.

I get that some people might see this as idealistic. But if I listened to everyone else’s cynicism, I’d never have stuck with the Find a Prince/Princess™ program for the past three years. I’d have given up and settled for a substandard guy. Instead, following my heart had landed me Hayden Paris, Prince Extraordinaire. After years of misunderstandings and miscommunication, Hayden and I had finally come together as a couple three days ago, after he’d revealed himself to be my secret admirer. I’d realized that he was not the

bane of my life but actually the boy of my dreams. And after six- teen years and six months of not settling, I’d finally had that magi- cal first kiss I’d been waiting for.

I’d once read that the term “French kiss” was derived from “soul kiss,” because of an ancient belief that the sharing of breath was, in essence, the sharing of souls. It was a romantic notion, yet I had to admit, when I’d let Hayden touch his lips to mine the other night, I’d felt as if parts of me, tiny molecules at a time, had come close to dissolving in the intense closeness.

So when it came to tonight, I wanted the follow-up kiss to be just as legendary. I wanted utter elation, a moment of tenderness in which my heart would tremble inside my chest at how exquisitely beautiful it was to be so close to Hayden.

I shivered at the thought, and the tiny hairs on my arms stood up. Catching sight of my watch, I realized there was only about five minutes until Hayden was due to arrive. I had to turn my mind to practicalities.

My heart pounding, I ran downstairs to do a last-minute check of the living room. Thankfully, Dad had headed out to an event at the local meditation center, so I’d had some time this evening to prep the room for maximum ambience. Beyond emotional connection, romance was a sensory experience, so I’d aimed for soft light and scent. I placed oversize, velvety cushions on either side of the cof- fee table to encourage a more relaxed feel than the two of us perched at a distance from each other on my long couch, and then I set three large scented candles atop the coffee table.

After lighting the candles, I dimmed the light, just enough to heighten the mood but not so dramatically that I’d have difficulty making out Hayden’s features.

Then I turned them up again a fraction of an inch. Yes, I was trying to create a sense of intimacy, but what if Hayden thought I was being overly forward? It was only our first date, and here I was getting out the candles!

Oh god, could I even pull this off? Yes, I’d readied the room, but was I ready? Could I take this second kiss to the dizzying heights required?

What if our heart-stopping first kiss had set a precedent in Hayden’s mind that I couldn’t equal the second time around? What if I instigated a kiss and it fell flat? What if Hayden was disappointed? My basic plan was to move in close at some point during the night, ensuring that my intimate intentions were obvious to Hayden. But I had major timing trepidation. How would I know the oppor-

tune moment to get up close and personal?

For example, what if I moved in and he was tired or cranky or lip-fatigued from an afternoon arguing in the debate team? I pictured myself getting shot down midmove in the candlelight. Hmm . . . was rejection better or worse in low lighting? The lack of light would hide my extreme embarrassment, but I’d also be sitting there in a highly sensuous atmosphere. Hopefully not too sensuous. My hand went to the dimmer switch again.

Right. I was calling Cassie.

She picked up right away. “Hey, aren’t you on your date?” “About to be. As in, Hayden’s probably heading toward my door

right now and I’m doubting I have the courage to open it, let alone make a lunge for his lips later. Cass, what if I get the timing wrong and I’m left cast off in the candlelight?”

“Aurora, you know he’s crazy about you. I’m sure he’s planning to kiss you tonight. But if you want to be the one to make the first move, just look for the cues.”

“Cues?”

“Kissing green lights. Physical indications telling you to go straight ahead.”

“I’m a total newbie on the dating highway, Cass. Unless Hayden actually turns green, I’m going to be playing the yes/no game for the next few hours.”

Cassie laughed. “I’m talking things like prolonged eye contact and sitting really close to you, not Hayden turning into a chame- leon.”

“Oh god, why can’t he be a chameleon? You know the male ac- tually changes color when he’s in the mood? Just think—if Hayden’s lips burst into stripes of blue and green, I wouldn’t have any hesita- tion!” My voice rose a half octave with nervous tension.

“Aurora, I can hear you getting breathless. You have to breathe. If you don’t breathe while kissing, you’ll pass out. It happened to my cousin!”

“What?” I shrieked. “No one warned me about this!” The doorbell rang.

“Argh! Hayden and his nonchameleon lips have arrived!” “Focus on the feelings and you’ll ace it,” Cassie said. “I promise.”

I caught sight of my face in the hallway mirror as I set the phone down and headed for the door. I looked like a rabbit staring up in terror at a farmer with a pitchfork. Fantastic.

I took a deep breath and opened the door. Hayden’s smiling face greeted me. My whole body instantly relaxed.

“Good evening, Princess.” He gave me a hug. “Any chance a wannabe knight bearing wood-fired pizza could cross the thresh- old?”

I smiled as I stepped aside to let him in. “Was it an epic quest?” “It involved much gallantry,” Hayden replied as we headed down the hall. “The guy at the pizza place was actually kind of a fire-breathing dragon. He had serious issues about half-and-half

pizzas.”

Hayden started turning right to go into the kitchen.

“Oh!” I touched his shoulder. “I thought we might eat in the liv- ing room. It’s cozier.”

My plan of action was to get Hayden comfortable. Get him com- fortable and then pounce.

“Sure.” He turned left then stopped at the entrance to the liv- ing room. “We might need a little more light.”

Oh my god—the living room now resembled a dimly lit saloon where busty women of the Wild West were likely to slink by in skimpy corsets or recline languorously on velvet cushions. I must

have accidentally hit the dimmer switch in my scramble to get to the front door.

“Sorry, I was, ah, setting the scene.” Had that actually come out? “The scene?” Hayden turned, eyebrows raised, his hand paused

on the switch. His eyes were undeniably nervous. He probably thought he was about to be thrown down on the coffee table.

Great. I aim for ambience and wind up scaring my date. “Setting the scene—for history!” I cried. “You know, the Middle

Ages, living by candlelight? I was hoping it would help with my es- say. I, um, was working on it while waiting for you.”

My voice was increasingly resembling a chipmunk’s—high- pitched, fast-paced, and bordering on panicky.

“Much as I love your imagination, I think the take-out pizza might destroy the illusion.” Hayden laughed as he turned the dim- mer switch up. “Let’s skip ahead a few centuries so you don’t drip sauce on that gorgeous dress.”

I tried not to feel seriously insulted. Here I was, preparing to ex- ecute a major move, and my date didn’t want to know about it. I flopped down onto one of the velvet cushions, trying not to let out a sigh as Hayden set out the pizza and filled our glasses with Coke. Why was this so easy in movies? I thought of Cleopatra and Eliza- beth Taylor tumbling out of the rolled-up carpet. Caesar had been putty in her hands. I’d tried to set up a scene of seduction and in- stead I’d wound up eating pizza underneath blazing lights.

I looked across at Hayden, who’d picked up a piece of pizza but seemed to be waiting for me. I studied the pizza on the table in front of me. The second I took a bite, my painstakingly applied lipstick would be messed up. Then, as the smell wafted up toward me, I real- ized I had bigger worries—there was garlic on the margherita! No way was breath spray going to cover up that potent passion killer.

I looked up from the pizza and saw that Hayden was watching me with an amused expression.

“Here, my lady, let me choose the perfect piece for thee.” He picked up a slice and put it on the plate in front of me.

His hazel eyes were so warm they were almost golden in the glow of the candles on the coffee table. Eye contact! That was one of Cass’s green lights. Okay, time to up the ante.

My heart had accelerated within mere seconds. I had to push the rest of me to catch up with it before the opportune moment slipped by. I gave Hayden a long gaze and raised an eyebrow in what I hoped was a Cleopatra-esque expression.

He let out a nervous laugh. “Have I got sauce on my face?”

I started in surprise. “What?” Obviously my attempt at Cleopa- tra was more scornful than seductive. “No!”

My hands, still trembling from the extended eye contact, shook harder, and I dropped my pizza slice into my lap.

“You see! This is why we needed the light!” Hayden leaned for- ward, shaking his head in amusement, grabbed the pizza slice, and put it back on the plate with a smile.

He reached over and pressed a napkin into my hand, giving it a squeeze. Houston, we had contact. If I didn’t do this now, I never would.

Hayden went to move his hand away, but I grabbed on to it. Be- fore my fear could kick in, I leaned across the coffee table, meet- ing Hayden halfway.

“Sorry, blotting the stain will probably make it worse—” he began.

I placed my index finger over his lips, stopping his sentence short. His eyes widened.

Okay, replace finger with lips. With hopefully minty-fresh lips. I leaned farther toward Hayden, closing the distance between  us. The caramel aroma of the candles was intoxicating. I took a steady breath, trying to concentrate on my senses. I could feel my cheeks were flushed, although I couldn’t tell whether that was from the warmth of the candles or the dizzying pulse of blood through my body. The room was in complete silence except for our breath- ing and the pounding of my heart, which thumped in my ears like the crash of the ocean on the sand when you lay your head down

on your towel at the beach.

There were two inches left between our faces. I removed my fin- ger from Hayden’s lips and our foreheads touched. The gentleness of the gesture caused a pulling feeling in my chest.

Last step. Last tiny little step and the plan would be complete.

Focus on the feelings. Cass’s advice floated back to me.

I touched his cheek with the fingers of my right hand. This was Hayden, my Potential Prince, my childhood friend, bane of my life turned boy of my dreams. I felt my lips relax into a smile, a smile that sank down through my skin and seemed to hover over my heart. I was so lucky. This thought tipped me over into the cour- age zone and, almost in a trance, I closed the minute distance left between us.

I pressed my lips to Hayden’s, so lightly that the touch of skin to skin was almost imperceptible. Even the second time around, the sensation was so exquisitely unfamiliar that it was all-encompassing. I was lost to feeling—the exact pressure of Hayden’s lips, his hair brushing against my fingers where they rested on his neck, the smell of his skin—a mix of soap and cologne with green-apple notes.

Hayden put his hand on my waist, pulling me closer and taking the kiss deeper. His breath was hot against mine. My pulse, already at high tempo, hit critical level. I now knew why Cass’s cousin had passed out. The feeling in my chest as we kissed was so intense I almost couldn’t bear it, yet I desperately sought more. I was like the candles, set alight with sensation, all thoughts dissolving in the heat of the moment. The feeling was so realistic that I could almost smell smoke.

I took another deep breath, hoping to dispel the phantom smell by inhaling more of Hayden’s green-apple scent.

Wait a minute. Something was burning. The smell was unmis- takable now, almost sulfuric. What on earth . . . ?

There were about five seconds of illogical agony, in which I won- dered whether the mouthwash had failed me and the smell was coming from my own breath, before I realized what I was actually smelling. My hair was on fire!

The thought screamed through my brain, shocking me out of my kissing reverie completely. Forget the notion of “the heat of the moment”—I was literally going up in flames!

My eyes flew open, but I couldn’t look down to see how much of my hair was on fire because Hayden and I were still in lip-lock. All I knew was that I didn’t want the flames to reach my face. The hair spray I’d so liberally applied earlier was probably acting as an ac- celerant—I might only have seconds to spare!

I threw up my arm, trying to push Hayden away, and instead felt my hand make contact with one of the heavy candles positioned be- tween us. I heard the clunk of the glass holder hitting the table at the same second that I felt boiling-hot wax spill onto my arm.

My whole body jolted from the searing pain. My teeth slammed together in an instinctual reaction and I bit down on Hayden’s lips, which were still intertwined with mine. Hayden let out a muffled shout.

I ripped away from him and stared in horror at the gash in his bottom lip. But there was no time to apologize yet. I snatched the burning ends of my hair from the candle jar, then threw my glass of Coke over them, thankfully extinguishing the flames before they got any closer to my head.

My wrist was prickling with pain from the blisteringly hot wax. I needed ice. I needed liquid of any description. I snatched up Hayden’s Coke and poured it on my arm. As my pain level dropped from all-consuming smart to a bearable throbbing, my attention snapped back to Hayden. He had leaped to his feet and was clutch- ing his mouth. Blood was trickling between his fingers.

Blood. My kiss had actually drawn blood. And not in a sexy, Twi- light way. I wanted to be sick.

“Hayden!” I leaped up from my cushion, too.

“I have to get to the bathroom before I get blood everywhere.”

He pushed past me, his words muffled by his hand, and took off down the hall to the downstairs bathroom.

I ran to the kitchen for the first aid kit. I wanted to cry, from both

the extreme embarrassment of having sunk my teeth into my Po- tential Prince and the throbbing pain of my wrist. I swiped at my eyes with the back of my hand, pushing away tears as I dashed toward the bathroom. I had to stay calm. I would have plenty of time to reflect upon my disastrous attempt at acting the siren once Hayden’s lips weren’t streaming blood. Right now I had to focus on helping him.

Hayden turned as I entered. He had one of our hand towels pressed to his lips. I gasped when I saw that the towel was no lon- ger white but almost completely red, soaked with blood in the few minutes he’d been in the bathroom.

“It won’t stop bleeding,” he said. “I think I have to go to the hospital.”

This product or book may have been distributed for review, this in no way affects my opinions or reviews. COPYRIGHT © 2014 LIVE TO READ

Smoke and Iron by Rachel Caine: Excerpt and Giveaway (link at bottom of post)

Excerpt:

It had all started as an exercise to fight the unending boredom of being locked in this Alexandrian prison cell.

When Jess Brightwell woke up, he realized that he’d lost track of time. Days blurred here, and he knew it was important to remember how long he’d been trapped, waiting for the axe to fall—or not. So he diligently scratched out a record on the wall using a button from his shirt.

Five days. Five days since he’d arrived back in Alexandria, bringing with him Scholar Wolfe and Morgan Hault as his prisoners. They’d been taken off in different directions, and he’d been dumped here to—as they’d said—await the Archivist’s pleasure.

The Archivist, it seemed, was a very busy man.

Once Jess had the days logged, he did the mental exercise of calculating the date, from pure boredom. It took him long, uneasy moments to realize why that date—today—seemed important.

And then he remembered and was ashamed it had taken him so long.

Today was the anniversary of his brother Liam’s death. His elder brother.

And today meant that Jess was now older than Liam had ever lived to be.

He couldn’t remember exactly how Liam had died. Could hardly remember his brother at all these days, other than a vague impression of a sharp nose and shaggy blondish hair. He must have watched Liam walk up the stairs of the scaffold and stand as the rope was fixed around his neck.

But he couldn’t remember that, or watching the drop. Just Liam, hanging. It seemed like a painting viewed at a distance, not a memory.

Wish I could remember, he thought. If Liam had held his head high on the way to his death, if he’d gone up the steps firmly and stood without fear, then maybe Jess would be able to do it, too. Because that was likely to be in his future.

He closed his eyes and tried to picture it: the cell door opening. Soldiers in High Garda uniforms, the army of the Great Library, waiting stone-faced in the hall. A Scholar to read the text of his choice to him on the way to execution. Perhaps a priest, if he asked for one.

But there, his mind went blank. He didn’t know how the Archivist would end his life. Would it be a quiet death? Private? A shot in the back? Burial without a marker? Maybe nobody would ever know what had become of him.

Or maybe he’d end up facing the noose after all, and the steps up to it. If he could picture himself walking without flinching to his execution, perhaps he could actually do it.

He knew he ought to be focusing on what he would be saying to the Archivist if he was called, but at this moment, death seemed so close he could touch it, and besides, it was easier to accept failure than to dare to predict success. He’d never been especially superstitious, but imagining triumph now seemed like drawing a target on his back. No reason to offend the Egyptian gods. Not so early.

He stood up and walked the cell. Cold, barren, with bars and a flat stone shelf that pretended at being a bed. A bare toilet that needed cleaning, and the sharp smell of it was starting to squirm against his skin.

If I had something to read . . . The thought crept in without warning, and he felt it like a personal loss. Not having a book at hand was a worse punishment than most. He was trying not to think about his death, and he was too afraid to think about the fate of Morgan or Scholar Wolfe or anything else . . . except that he could almost hear Scholar Wolfe’s dry, acerbic voice telling him, If only you had a brain up to the task, Brightwell, you’d never lack for something to read.

Jess settled on the stone ledge, closed his eyes, and tried to clearly imagine the first page of one of his favorite books. Nothing came at his command. Just words, jumbled and frantic, that wouldn’t sort themselves in order. Better if he imagined writing a letter.

Dear Morgan, he thought. I’m trapped in a holding cell inside the Serapeum, and all I can think of is that I should have done better by you, and all of us. I’m afraid all this is for nothing. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being stupid enough to think I could outwit the Archivist. I love you. Please don’t hate me.

That was selfish. She should hate him. He’d sent her back into the Iron Tower, a life sentence of servitude and an unbreakable collar fastened tight around her neck. He’d deceived Scholar Wolfe into a prison far worse than this one, and an inevitable death sentence. He’d betrayed everyone who’d ever trusted him, and for what?

For cleverness and a probably foolish idea that he could somehow, somehow, pull off a miracle. What gave him the right to even think it?

Clank.

That was the sound of a key turning in a heavy lock.

Jess stood, the chill on his back left by the ledge still lingering like a ghost, and then he came to the bars as the door at the end of the hall opened. He could see the hinges move and the iron door swinging in. It wasn’t locked again when it closed. Careless.

He listened to the decisive thud of footsteps against the floor, growing louder, and then three High Garda soldiers in black with golden emblems were in front of his cell. They stopped and faced him. The oldest—his close-cut hair a stiff silver brush around his head—barked in common Greek, “Step back from the bars and turn around.”

Jess’s skin felt flushed, then cold; he swallowed back a rush of fear and felt his pulse race in a futile attempt to outrun the inevitable. He followed the instructions. They didn’t lock the outer door. That’s a chance, if I can get by them. He could. He could sweep the legs out from under the first, use that off-balance body to knock back the other two, pull a sidearm free from one of them, shoot at least one, maybe two of them. Luck would dictate whether he’d die in the attempt, but at least he’d die fighting.

I don’t want to die, something in him that sounded like a child whispered. Not like Liam. Not on the same day.

And suddenly, he remembered.

The London sky, iron gray. Light rain had been falling on his child’s face. He’d been too short to see his brother ascend anything but the top two steps of the scaffold. Liam had stumbled on the last one, and a guard had steadied him. His brother had been shivering and slow, and he hadn’t been brave after all. He’d looked out into the crowd of those gathered, and Jess remembered the searing second of eye contact with his brother before Liam transferred that stare to their father.

Jess had looked, too. Callum Brightwell had stared back without a flicker of change in his expression, as if his eldest son was a stranger.

They’d tied Liam’s hands. And put a hood over his head.

A voice in the here and now snapped him out of the memory. “Against the wall. Hands behind your back.”

Jess slowly moved to comply, trying to assess where the other man was . . . and froze when the barrel of a gun pressed against the back of his neck. “I know what you’re thinking, son. Don’t try it. I’d rather not shoot you for stupidity.”

The guard had a familiar accent—raised near Manchester, most likely. His time in Alexandria had covered his English roots a bit, but it was odd, Jess thought, that he might be killed by one of his countrymen, so far from home. Killed by the English, just like Liam.

Once a set of Library restraints settled around his wrists and tightened, he felt strangely less shaken. Opportunity was gone now. All his choices had been narrowed to one course. All he had to do now was play it out.

Jess turned to look at the High Garda soldier. A man with roots from another garden, maybe one closer to Alexandria; the man had a darker complexion, dark eyes, a neat beard, and a compassionate but firm expression on his face. “Am I coming back?” he asked, and wished he hadn’t.

“Likely not,” the soldier said. “Wherever you go next, you won’t be back here.”

Jess nodded. He closed his eyes for a second and then opened them. Liam had faltered on the stairs. Had trembled. But at the end his elder brother had stood firm in his bonds and hood and waited for death without showing any fear.

He could do the same.

“Then, let’s go,” he said, and forced a grin he hoped looked careless. “I could do with a change of scenery.”

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This product or book may have been distributed for review, this in no way affects my opinions or reviews. COPYRIGHT © 2014 LIVE TO READ

Forsaken Paradise by Elise Whyles: Promo

About the Book:

What could be more dangerous than loving a rogue?

Condemned as a rogue and punished by his master, Angrail, one of the Seven Paradise Walkers, has wandered mortal and immortal worlds for centuries. He's determined to find those responsible for killing an innocent woman and the child she carried, no matter the cost to himself.

Ephynia, a demoness with scars, has spent a lifetime serving Nerafail, Lord of the Dead. When she unwittingly stumbles upon the one being who can end her loneliness, the battered Angrail, her life changes forever.

Unknown to Angrail and Ephynia, evil lurks in the shadows. There are those who believe Angrail and Ephynia are the key to preventing a coming war—a war that they need to take place—and they seek to end their lives.

Can Angrail find love in the arms of a demoness at war with herself? Or will the secrets hidden within the bowels of their worlds destroy them before they can find peace?

Book Links:

Goodreads * Amazon

Read an Excerpt:

Angrail moaned, agony flowing like water through him. He could taste the souls wanting peace, hear their weak cries, but could do nothing. Shifting, the wounds he'd suffered screamed in protest, pain lacing through his muscles.

Inhaling a sharp breath, he froze. The sweetness of a strange smell stirred something within him. Blood, bone, life clung to whoever hovered nearby. The smell of smoke, of flame swirled in the air as well. Cracking his eyes open, he blinked to clear his vision and tensed.

Bronze skin glistening in the fading sunlight, a female stood at the mouth of the cave. Her arms were crossed beneath her breasts, a sword hanging at her hip. Multi-toned hair was slicked back, revealing the ornately decorated curve of a horn. She was a huntress. But why would she have removed him from the battlefield? None of her kind, or his own brethren, were allowed to touch him. Nerafail's generosity had bound them to watch him suffer. Aye, the old lord was a fool, one he had no desire to seek forgiveness from.

"What…" Licking his dry lips, he struggled into a sitting position. His head swam with the effort, his stomach revolting at the pain swarming him. "What do you have need of me?"

"You are awake. Excellent." The demoness turned, her eyes narrowed on him. "What do I have need with you? I should hope you have such an answer for me, guide."

Coughing, Angrail leaned his head against the stone, his chest tight, burning with the need for oxygen. Being trapped within the mortal frame had its drawbacks. "Who are you? Nerafail would not permit you to aid me."

"Aid? I have no desire to aid you. I wish to know why you called me back from my task." She stalked to him, her hips swaying. Hunkering down by his feet, she tilted her head. "I was sent forth to retrieve a soul and had nearly done that when I felt you. You kept me from leaving the field, I would know why."

"Go to Hardress." Angrail winced. "Back to your revelry and—"

"I would go home, but you refuse to release your bonds. You will tell me what I wish to know." She slammed him into the rock, her fingers tightening around his throat.

With her touch, Angrail's body arched, gasping for air as pain and heat washed over him in waves. He could feel her grip tightening, feel the force of her anger, and felt his own stirring.

He blinked, the images dancing in his mind ones he'd never seen before. Images that instinct told him were important.

Flames danced around them. Sweat beaded and rolled between her breasts. Her tongue licked at his skin, and her horns flared with passion. His shaft throbbed in yearning at her body undulating, her hips gyrating slowly. To and fro, rolling, pitching, she remained in constant motion, her hands trailing over her flesh, cupping her breasts. Her fingers plucked at her nipples, pulling on them until they stood hard, pointing toward him. She shuddered, her hand drifting down her abdomen, slipping beneath the braided belt of her skirt.

Heady, rich, the scent of her essence filled the air. Sweeter than honey, it teased along his shaft, filling him with want. Faint, the echo of her sliding her fingers through the folds between her legs grew in volume with each slow roll of her hips.

He pushed the images out of his head and shoved her arm aside, his eyes narrowing. "Careful, huntress, you're showing weakness."

"Tell me and I'll ease your misery."

"You can't."

About the Author:

Born in Northern British Columbia, Elise is a small-town girl. She writes in a variety of genres including paranormal, contemporary suspense, m/m in various lengths. Currently, she lives in British Columbia with her husband and son, one dog, one cat, and a gecko. Elise enjoys reading as much as she does writing, with some of her favorite books being read until they fall apart. 
She is currently working on the next book in the Forsaken Series, Burning Rain. As well she has a new contemporary she’s working on. For more information on Elise, or to check out her books you can find her on Facebook, twitter, and her website.

Contact the Author:

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Goodreads

This product or book may have been distributed for review, this in no way affects my opinions or reviews. COPYRIGHT © 2014 LIVE TO READ

Guest Post and GIVEAWAY by Lauren Carr: The Key Word in Social Media is SOCIAL

The first time I heard the word social media, I got sick to my stomach. When I found out what it was, and that this was the new wave in book promotion that was sure to open doors of discovery for indie authors, I had flashbacks of sitting alone at the lunch table in high school. Across the room, all the popular kids were whispering about that strange girl in literature class who didn’t write a love story for the term assignment like all the other girls. Instead, she wrote a murder mystery about a body found in a gym locker.

Some of us never get over being the social misfit during those formative years.

By nature, most writers are introverts. It’s hard enough to pack up our books in the trunk of our car, get out of our bathrobe and slippers, brush our teeth and hair, and venture forth into the outside world to sell books to total strangers. I’ve had authors tell me that appearing at events is harder than writing the book!

Good News:  Technology has made it possible for us to sell books without ever having to get out of our bathrobe and slippers. Hey, we can even sell books while having a bad hair day and morning breath.

Bad News: All we have to do is get popular.

I’ll wait until your flashback has subsided before continuing.

Social media truly has opened doors for authors who otherwise would be terrible at public appearances.

Several years ago, I met an author at a book event. Painfully shy, she sat in the corner and hardly spoke to anyone. When I learned she was a mystery writer, I struck up a conversation. To my surprise, I discovered that this quiet, socially backward woman was a best-selling mystery author.  Her books had made best sellers lists—thanks to social media. Behind the cover of the computer screen, she shines and sparkles.

Her story inspiring me, I decided I had to face my fears. After all, this isn’t high school anymore.

I started on Facebook. From there I went to Linked-In, Goodreads, Google-Plus, and then the biggie Twitter. I have accounts with the other sites, but I hang out more on Twitter and Facebook than the others because (Surprise!) I have friends there that I actually hang out with, even though I have never met them in person. They love me even when I have bad hair days. How do they know? I tell them. When you’re a middle-aged mystery writer, you are who you are. I’m too old to put up a fake profile picture of a bathing beauty. Instead, my profile picture is me and Sterling (he’s the handsome guy with the big ears). A delightful mixture of readers and writers, my friends list grows daily. Have I seen an increase in book sales? Yes. I also see a decrease in sales when I’m not on social media. Is my success purely due to social media? Not strictly.

Social media is best used as a tool in promotion. Don’t go onto Twitter with the intention of poaching followers to bombard with sales pitches for your books in order to make you a best-selling author. Most likely, you’ll lose a thousand followers as quickly as you’ve made them.

I use social media in conjunction with virtual blog tours through iRead Book Tours. With every stop of the tour, I use social media to promote my reviews, guest blog posts, and interviews.

Remember the word social. The rules of basic social media etiquette aren’t that hard. Even when not using media for promotion, these rules can help you to become more popular in cyberspace.

1.            Complete your profile...completely. Include the basics: name, e-mail, url(s), accomplishments, publications, professional experience, etc.

If you’re using Facebook for book promotion, you may want to look into setting up a separate fan page or a separate site for your career. This way your personal friends will not be bombarded with notifications about Lauren Carr getting yet another good review for her book and your fans won’t see that video that your son clandestinely took of you drooling while you were sleeping.

2.            Don't be a pest. This means you should not continuously blast your friends every five to ten minutes 24/7 with ways they can benefit you. Reserve sending out e-mail blasts for really big news: Major book awards, major book deal, finally made the NY Times Best seller’s list. In fact...

3.            Find ways to give more than you take. Isn’t that the point of being friends? Over coffee in the morning, I go through my social media routine which consists more of sharing my fellow authors’ books than pitching mine. If you want your network to grow over time, then you need to offer value to your potential audience.

I never shoot my new friends and followers a direct message with a sales pitch to buy my books. Nothing screams newbie to social media like a direct message pitching your book! Rather, I give my new friends and followers an opportunity to sell theirs by sharing their posts about their books to my friends and followers. With over 38,000 followers on Twitter, all it takes from me is a push of a button to help a fellow author. That doesn’t cost me anything.  Like my mother always said, “You make friends by being a friend.” In return, word has quickly spread on Twitter. Every week I get tagged by followers for the highest volume of retweets. I get an average of a hundred new followers a week—all for retweeting while drinking my coffee.

4.            Listen to others. Social media is most effective when you're building relationships. Relationships are formed through the sharing of information. This means you should absorb as much or more than you put out into the world. When you have friendship with other authors, and they have a blog tour stop, share the link on YOUR Facebook page and pass it along in your other social media. If you do this, they are more likely to do likewise for you. That’s friendship.

5.            Don't post when you're overly emotional, especially if you're angry or depressed. That doesn't mean you should hide your emotions, but it does mean you should give yourself a little time to simmer down before posting—to protect yourself. Also, it's never a good idea to post when drunk. Remember: What goes on the Internet stays there forever.

6.            Be accountable. Some people get a little crazy online because of the perceived anonymity. But if you're a writer trying to build your social network, you don't have the option of being anonymous. In fact, that's exactly the opposite of what you're trying to do. So be an upstanding and accountable member of your social networks and respect the toes of others online.

7.            Keep Sex, Religion, and Politics Out of Your Social Media! Notice that I’m making this a separate item all by itself. It used to be under items 5 and 6, but over the last couple of years, I have found that it needs to be addressed in no uncertain terms.

Our country is divided. That means that despite what you may think based on how your friends feel about liberals or conservatives, gay marriage, or our president—whatever—half of the country disagrees with you. That means half of the people on social media disagree with you. That doesn’t make them stupid or racist or socialist or whatever. That means they are potential readers who disagree with you on these issues, which are totally separate from your sci-fi or romance books. So, you need to ask yourself, are these issues important enough to you to cut your potential reading audience and book royalties in half by ranting about political issues on your social media and calling everyone who disagrees with you a deplorable bigot or corrupt socialist?

Not me.

If you want to rant to your political opponents on social media without taking a hit on your book sales, set up a completely separate social media account under a different name.

Really, it all comes down to this final rule...

8.            Follow the golden rule. Treat everyone as you would like to be treated. In short, be nice—

As I tell my son, “Mind your manners.” Make friends, treat them like friends, and then you’ll have friends applauding you across cyberspace when you get a good book review—even if you do have chocolate stains on your bathrobe while posting the news. They may even buy your book.

Book Details:

Book Title: ICE by Lauren Carr
Category: Adult fiction, 380 pages
Genre: Mystery, Crime Fiction, Police Procedural, Cozy
Publisher: Acorn Book Services
Release date: February 26, 2018
Tour dates: April 2 to 30, 2018
Content Rating: PG (It's a murder mystery and there is mild violence. Very mild swearing no F-bombs. No on-stage sex scenes.)

Book Description:

The clues for a close-to-the-heart missing person’s case heat up when Chris Matheson starts chipping away at the ice on the cold case.

When Sandy Lipton and her unborn child disappear, the court of public opinion finds young Chris Matheson guilty. Decades later, the retired FBI agent returns home to discover that the cloud of suspicion cast over him and his family has never lifted. With the help of a team of fellow retired law enforcement officers, each a specialist in their own field of investigation, Chris Matheson starts chipping away at the ice on this cold case to uncover what had happened to Sandy and her baby and the clues are getting hot!

To read reviews, please visit Lauren Carr's page on iRead Book Tours.

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About the Author:

Lauren Carr is the international best-selling author of the Mac Faraday, Lovers in Crime, and Thorny Rose Mysteries—over twenty titles across three fast-paced mystery series filled with twists and turns!

Now, Lauren has added one more hit series to her list with the Chris Matheson Cold Case Mysteries. Set in the quaint West Virginia town of Harpers Ferry, Ice introduces Chris Matheson, a retired FBI agent, who joins forces with other law enforcement retirees to heat up those cold cases that keep them up at night.

Book reviewers and readers alike rave about how Lauren Carr’s seamlessly crosses genres to include mystery, suspense, crime fiction, police procedurals, romance, and humor.

Lauren is a popular speaker who has made appearances at schools, youth groups, and on author panels at conventions. She lives with her husband, and three dogs on a mountain in Harpers Ferry, WV.

Connect with the author: Website ~ Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Instagram

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This product or book may have been distributed for review, this in no way affects my opinions or reviews. COPYRIGHT © 2014 LIVE TO READ