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Giveaway and Cover Reveal of Hereafter by Terri Bruce
Exciting news you heard here first.
This book now available.
Giveaway for the cover reveal
Giveaway $10 Amazon gift card and 2
swag packs (3 giveaways total)
HEREAFTER
By
Terri Bruce
Why let a little thing like death get in the way of a good
time?
Thirty-six year old Irene Dunphy didn't plan on dying any
time soon, but that’s exactly what happens when she makes the mistake of
getting behind the wheel after a night bar-hopping with friends. She finds
herself stranded on Earth as a ghost, where the food has no taste, the alcohol
doesn’t get you drunk, and the sex...well, let’s just say “don’t bother.” To
make matters worse, the only person who can see her—courtesy of a book he found
in his school library—is a fourteen-year-old boy genius obsessed with the
afterlife.
This sounds suspiciously like hell to Irene, so she prepares
to strike out for the Great Beyond. The only problem is that, while this side
has exorcism, ghost repellents, and soul devouring demons, the other side has
three-headed hell hounds, final judgment, and eternal torment. If only there
was a third option…
Book Details
Publication Date: August 1, 2012
Publisher: Eternal Press
Number of Pages: 356
Genre: Contemporary Fantasy
Paperback
Available From:
E-Book Available From:
Amazon.com
Amazon.com
Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.co.uk (kindle)
B&N.com B&N.com
(nook)
Local Book Retailers Blio
Fictionwise
iTunes (epub)
Kobo Bookstore
Short
Excerpt Hereafter:
A boy appeared in her
path. She veered around him and then skidded to a halt. Something about him
made her stop. She turned around to look at him and realized he was
staring at her, his face a mask of astonishment, his mouth hanging open.
“Hey kid, watch where you’re going!” she said,
more surprised than annoyed.
He was maybe fourteen and nearly as tall as her,
at that “beanpole” stage, as her grandmother had called it—the tall and scrawny
look of one growing too fast. What little of his face visible under a curtain
of straw-colored hair was pointed and sharp—cheekbones, chin, and nose. His
hair, cut in an asymmetrical bob that left it longer in the front than the
back, was parted on the side and hung in his face, concealing his left eye.
Somehow, the way one washed-out hazel eye was visible and the other hidden
reminded her of Pete, the dog from the Little
Rascals.
She realized he hadn’t moved a muscle and was
still staring at her gape-mouthed.
“Did you hear me?” she asked.
He gave a little shake of his head, as if he was
doing a double take. The motion caused the curtain of hair hanging over his
eyes to sway. “Yeeesss,” he said in a slow, cautious, drawn-out way.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“Well, it’s just, because…you know. You’re…” He
trailed off.
Irene narrowed her eyes. “I’m what?”
The boy turned beet red and took a step back,
giving a hard gulp that made Irene fear he had swallowed his tongue.
“Well…dead,” he stuttered.
About the Author
Terri Bruce has been
making up adventure stories for as long as she can remember and won her first
writing award when she was twelve. Like Anne Shirley, she prefers to make
people cry rather than laugh, but is happy if she can do either. She produces
fantasy and adventure stories from a haunted house in New England where she
lives with her husband and three cats.
The lives of Madeline and Sybil
become intertwined in heated confrontation by the birth of a child - a child
that each claims to have a right to. For one woman, possession of the
child represents redemption; for the other, the repetition of generational
sin.
The Fruits Of Our Sins chronicles the deeply
flawed relationships these women have with their parents, the impact of those
relationships on the direction of their lives and ultimately the lives of their
children as they attempt to flee from, yet reconcile, the betrayals and
abandonment of their youth.
Excerpt :
Prologue
1995
Madeline Stovall raised her
fists high in the air then plunged them downward forcibly onto Sybil’s face.
Sybil staggered sideways, dazed and unsteady, yet Madeline continued striking
her harder and harder. Sybil cowered at the rage darkening Madeline’s eyes, and
it was in that moment that she became fully aware of the depth of her
fury. Sybil threw a series of futile
punches, a few contacting Madeline’s chin, most simply sailing through the air,
inciting Madeline’s onslaught to intensify.
She won’t keep fighting someone who won’t fight back, Sybil silently reasoned, and
she stopped all efforts to defend herself. Trembling and spent, she bent
forward with her arms shielding her face, and crouched immobile. Madeline
continued her frenzied flailing, and her knuckles, bruised and bleeding,
pounded with increasing vigor. Sybil suppressed the urge to cry out for fear of
angering her opponent even more. She locked her jaws shut, endured the weighty
punches and said nothing at all. She stood erect to lessen the battering to her
head and face. Nevertheless, Madeline’s blows increased in speed and intensity
and the strikes, now aimed at her breasts and stomach, nearly brought Sybil
kneeling to the ground. She heard the
sickening snap of her own ribs cracking, and grimaced just before the painpunctured her insides. She remained still and rigid
hoping that her refusal to fight back might end the battle, but respite did not
arrive.
“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”
she screamed over and over in a rhythmic chant. Her voice was the shrill timbre
of a stranger’s, yet she could not stopher senseless, cadence of shrieking.
Her cries invigorated her opponent.
Madeline lunged toward her, fists poised for more. Sybil took several
quick steps backwards, colliding with a brick support pillar. There was nowhere
to run. She clenched her jaws shut tight, swallowing her shrieking voice into
the pit of her stomach. Her teeth sank into her tongue but she dared not cry
out again. The metallic taste of her own blood filled her mouth as her body
jerked with spasms. She coughed to keep from choking. Blood seeped through her
lips, down her chin and onto the concrete below, forming tiny dark circles at
her feet. Sybil feared for her life. Weeping openly, she fell to the ground,
drew her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth, still shielding her face
and head.
In rapid succession, two kicks to her left hip
knocked her onto her side, yet she continued her rocking motion until she again
assumed an upright position. A damp heat
rose from her neck to her forehead and droplets of sweat rolled onto her chest
and thighs. Sybil’s surroundings grew dim as her senses dulled. But just before
she succumbed to the solace of unconsciousness, the assault came to an abrupt
halt. For a moment, all was still.
Sybil inhaled and exhaled
deeply until she regained lucidness. The warmth of the mid-afternoon sun bathed
her neck and shoulders, while the cool rigidness of the concrete cooled her
from below. She inhaled the Poeme Perfume she so lavishly splashed on her body
before leaving home that morning. A mild scent of lavender with a hint of fresh
roses ‒ it was the fragrance all the
young women were wearing. It reminded her of springtime and morning rain. But
on this day, her favored Poeme pitched waves of nausea spiraling through her
stomach. She willed herself not to vomit.
Sybil lowered her arms and
examined her surroundings. She was surprised to find that she was kneeling on
Madeline’s front porch, since the encounter began with the two women having a
simple conversation in the living room of the brick twin home. A three foot
high stone wall surrounded the rectangular porch, framed by pillars that faced
the tree-lined street. Less than six feet away, four concrete steps descended
to a path leading to the sidewalk. Adrenaline raced through her limbs, lending
her a quick burst of energy. Sybil considered making a run for the steps, but a
small group of neighbors clustered on the sidewalk blocked the path that led to
a quick escape. She observed the faces of the people in the crowd as they
peered back at her. All of them witnessed her brutal humiliation yet did
nothing more than watch her suffering. Sybil was alone amidst the dozen
onlookers and made a conscious effort to shrug off her self-pity.
I really shouldn’t be surprised, she almost said aloud.
They were all Madeline’s neighbors, and most of them ‒ men and women alike ‒
feared Madeline’s wrath. Sybil heard a rumor that she once tried to kill her
own husband with a sword while he was asleep. The rumor had never been
confirmed, yet no one dared question Madeline about the tale’s authenticity.
Sybil shifted her gaze to
examine her adversary. Madeline’s short, curly hair sat in uneven tufts around
the sides and top of her head. A scowl distorted her sharp aquiline features,
and one of her large breasts poked through an opening in her silk blouse,
twisted where the buttons were torn away. Sunlight glittered off the
perspiration on her bare shoulder. Madeline stood with her feet slightly apart
and her arms rigid at her sides. She breathed fast and heavy, almost panting,
reminding Sybil of a pit bull she once saw mangle a newborn rabbit. She
shivered in spite of the intense heat.
I figured talking about the baby would be hard but I surely
didn’t expect to have a full blown fist fight with this woman.
Just then, the baby, lying
in a bassinet in the living room, whimpered softly as a kitten. Sybil’s chest tightened. Madeline turned her
head in the direction of the baby’s whimper and relaxed her stance.
This is my chance, Sybil thought.
I’ll take her off guard.
She sprang from the ground
with a frenzied torrent of punching and kicking. Madeline lost her balance
momentarily, yet quickly became oriented and battle ready. She pounded her fist down forcibly where
Sybil’s neck met her shoulder. Sybil folded, collapsing to the ground, and lay
motionless. Madeline stood over her, waiting and watching, until it was evident
she had fully succumbed. She backed away until she reached the door, and as she
stepped into her home, she turned to look at the beaten woman one last time.
Sybil lay flat on her
stomach. Splattered blood and tears peppered the ground around her. Shuddering
and grimacing with each inhalation, her eyes pled for mercy. Madeline bolted the door.
“Wait!” Sybil screamed from
the porch. “I can’t leave without my baby.”
With one arm cradling her abdomen, she crawled across the porch, her
knees cutting open on the uneven concrete, and banged on the door with her
fist.
“Please! Give me my baby.”
Facing the closed door,
still on her knees, she waited.
“Please!” she sobbed, her
voice now hoarse and raspy.
When Madeline’s footsteps retreated farther
into the home, she bowed her head and closed her eyes as if in prayer. After
several quiet moments, Sybil pulled herself from the ground and faced the crowd
of neighbors that was now beginning to disperse. Some whispered with their
hands cupped over their mouths, others patronized her with pitying stares,
while still others shook their heads disapprovingly.
As
Sybil began to depart, the infant’s whimper swelled to a persistent wail. She
paused with her face tilted toward the sky, but did not turn around, then she
dropped her chin to her chest and continued on her way. The wail ripened to a
piercing scream, Sybil’s sobs now in concert with those of the infant. As she
placed one foot in front of the other, knees trembling and unsteady, the crescendo of the wailing symphony commingled in the
air.The
farther away she crept, the more vehemently the infant screamed, as if bemoaning and mourning Sybil’s permanent departure.
Author
Information:
Jean Mckie-Sutton:
After graduating from Franklin and Marshall College with a dual degree
in Spanish and Government, Jean rose through the ranks of the insurance
industry for twenty years before heeding her own heart and pursuing her passionfor writing.
She
grew up listening to the stories that elders recounted about the women in her
family, and it is from these dominant, yet richly flawed matriarchs that she
draws inspiration for her writing.
In
addition to “The Fruits Of Our Sins”, Jean has published two short stories,
“Stella’s Silent World”, and “When The Bough Breaks”. She is also a featured
author in “Sister To Sister, Black Women Speak To Young Black Girls.”
Jean
lives in a suburb of Philadelphia with her husband and three children.
Having worked as a social worker and
worked with Child Welfare Services, these types of books are difficult for me
to read. There was a reason I worked in
the adoption department, and the issues that these children had to endure are
the main reason that I helped kids find permanent loving homes. This is such an important issue to discuss
and talk to our children about to try and prevent it from occurring in the
future, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to face.
This book made me feel sorrow,
anger, happiness, fear for the children, a strong desire to bitch-slap people
(yes, more than one person), and more passion for proving preventative and
support services. I’m still not sure of
my feelings about the book because it brings up very complex issues for me, as
you can see, including frustration that those agencies that are supposed to
provide help were not present and did nothing to help. Knowing so many dedicated service people I
know that for every child helped there are more that don’t get helped because
it isn’t reported or due to significant understaffing and staff burn-out.
Okay, I’ll get off my soapbox. The book was well written, if difficult to
read. I strongly recommend that everyone
read a book like this periodically just to keep in mind what the issues are and
how lucky you are to be where you are.
If you have children, hold them tight and tell them you love them (even
the teenagers who roll their eyes… they love it even if they complain).
I give this book 4 out of 5 clouds.
This
product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my
opinions or reviews.
This
product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my
opinions or reviews.
Believing herself
responsible for her father's fatal diving accident, Rachel Lyons has withdrawn
from the world and assumed a safe position at a foundation office. When called
upon by a museum director to assist her former love interest with the recovery of
a cursed relic from a sunken Chinese merchant ship, she has no intention of
cooperating - until her brother is kidnapped by a drug-dealing gangster. In
order to save him and gain control over her own life, Rachel must not only
overcome her greatest fears, but also relive the circumstances that lead to her
father's death.
--Kaylin has been involved in
the business of collecting and selling Asian antiques for more than a decade.
Due to her interest in this field and her fascination with the undersea world,
she was inspired to write a story about the recovery of a Chinese concubine's
cursed treasure from a sunken ship, which aids in healing a woman's damaged
soul. Kaylin spent four months researching scuba diving, trade routes, famous
battles, and the natural disasters that befell Spanish galleons during the
15th-17th centuries. It is her hope that this action-adventure romance
entertains readers and honors dedicated salvaging and exploration companies
that have contributed remarkable discoveries and cross-sections of history to
museums and institutions around the world.
Book
Excerpt:
Chapter One
Shipwreck Site
Ten miles off the California Coast
Chase Cohen tumbled over Stargazer’s side and into the cold Pacific
Ocean – his dreams of riches so close he could barely breathe. Five years
diving for salvaging companies had taught him to restore his senses as quickly
as possible. To concentrate and remain focused on his purpose. Yet every time
he entered this icy underwater world, he found himself briefly caught up in his
surroundings. Off to his right, a brown dogfish approached. It hovered close
by, apparently intrigued by his trailing bubbles and slow-moving black fins.
When he smiled and reached out, the shark-like creature darted away then turned
back around to assume a distant appraisal.
Chase’s partner dropped into view, sending the fish
scurrying for safety. Hanging weightless before him in his black mask, wetsuit
and regulator, Sam Lyons took on the appearance of a dark angel. His peppered
hair swayed in the current, matching the rhythm of his large slow-moving hands.
The muted light of the sea framed his brown eyes, now tense with impatience. He
signaled okay and Chase mimicked his action.
Deflating his BC vest, Chase followed Sam’s scissoring fins
down the length of the anchor line and in no time they reached the bottom,
eighty feet down. Moss-covered boulders were tucked into the soft gray sand. In
the distance, the ground gradually slopped into an opaque bottomless depth.
They were positioned in the exact area Sam’s mysterious map had indicated. For
hundreds of years, the jagged outcropping had snagged unsuspecting ships and
toppled them into the sea. Somewhere down here tucked out of sight lay a
barnacle-crusted anchor. And if Sam’s calculations were right, below it rested
the wreck of the Wanli II – the Ming Dynasty Emperor’s lost galleon.
Aside from the antiquated Elmwood box Sam had acquired from
a local junk shop, it was still unclear what had led him to this particular
spot. Perhaps the drunken ramblings of the retired salvager he’d kept company
with at the Crow’s Nest Bar. Or the volumes of books he poured over every
night. Had he really found the mother lode as he claimed? Chase had his doubts,
but Sam’s unrelenting pursuit of his elusive treasure ship gave credence to the
notion that something spectacular lay buried down here. Something he wanted so
badly he would stake his life on it.
As they swam beyond their own anchor, an occasional fish
passed by. But there was nothing of interest in the gray, gloomy water.
Following Sam, Chase floated over a pile of craggy bedrock into a gully of
crevices spanning like arteries in all directions. They signaled and nodded
before separating to cover more ground, to peer into dark places, hidden nooks
and crannies where evidence and unseen creatures might rest.
For more than thirty minutes, they surveyed the ocean floor.
They fanned boulders and incrustations, dusting off layers of sediment. The
further and deeper they went, the more muddy the frigid waters grew. Chase
strained his eyes and ran his hands over rocks in the hazy murk.
This is pointless! Diving 101 had taught him the
necessity of staying within visual proximity of his diving partner, to
carefully monitor his time, but growing impatience tempted him to blaze his own
path. He signed to Sam before veering off in a northerly direction and
continued groping along. His flashlight bounced off the particulate, floating
like dust in the narrow sunbeam.
Then something took shape before his eyes. His hand closed
over the metal object, an ingot half buried in silt. He brushed the sand away,
searching for more remnants, artifacts, anything to confirm Sam’s boisterous
claims. But his efforts proved fruitless.
He glanced at his watch and quickly realized time was
running out. Worse yet, Sam had disappeared. Damn it. He noted his
position on his compass and checked his gauge. By his calculations, he had
barely five minutes to spare. Just enough air to reach the surface. But what
about Sam? As he circled back around to locate him, Chase’s breath suddenly
caught. He felt a wall hit his lungs, the stream of oxygen halt in his
regulator.
What the hell? He briskly tapped on his gauge, but
the problem no sooner became clear. Equipment malfunction. The gravity of his
situation sunk in with the weight of lead. Reacting purely on instinct, he
triggered the inflator on the buoyancy compensator in his vest. He sucked on
the backup mouthpiece. Then willing himself to sustain a controlled ascent, he
rose through the swirling cloud of silt he’d kicked up from the ocean floor.
Halfway mark, he assured himself. Out of nowhere, a
current took hold-blasting him sideways into the grip of an abandoned fishing
net. Oh, shit! Tank tangled, he struggled to break free. But the woven trap
held tight. He grabbed the knife strapped to his ankle and slashed wildly above
him, behind him. All around until the web gave way. With his heart pounding, he
quickened his strokes. Racing his small cluster of rising bubbles, he
calculated his required safety stop. Miss it and he’d be facing decompression
sickness and a whole heap of pain.
When he reached ten feet, he slowed his strokes and hovered.
For an eternal minute of strained, rationed breaths, the silhouette of Sam’s
boat taunted him from above. Come on… come on. Finally, he kicked his
fins to rise. Reaching upward, he emerged in the choppy surf and spat out his
mouthpiece. He gasped for air. Salty air. Air that never tasted so good.
“Bloody wind’s comin’ up,” the Irish helmsman barked at him.
“Callin’ it a day.” Onboard, the crew feverishly looped anchor lines.
Froth-tipped waves rocked the boat back and forth as Chase bobbed in the
restless surf. He slid his mask back over his dripping hair.
“Gauge is busted,” Chase yelled. “Get me some new gear. I’ll
head down and grab Sam.”
Within a matter of minutes, Chase reached the bottom. He
retraced his path and spotted his partner twenty yards out.
Up, Chase repeatedly motioned.
Sam shook his head. He signaled not okay. Yet rising
bubbles indicated his oxygen was still flowing.
Chase grabbed him by the harness to maintain contact. Hang
on, Sam. As they ascended, Sam began moving his arms and legs. Then his
limbs went limp. After ten more feet, his regulator fell out of his mouth.
Heavy lids sealed his glazed eyes, indicating he’d lost consciousness. Come
on, buddy. Don’t do this. Chase’s brain scrounged for information, a
practice drill from the certification classes he’d taken years earlier. Classes
he should have paid more attention to.
Damn it! This wasn’t supposed to ever happen. Chase
shoved Sam’s regulator back into his vacant mouth. He pushed the purge button
forcing air down his throat. Sam didn’t breath. Escaping air bubbled around his
slack lips. Chase punched Sam’s chest repeatedly. But his efforts proved
useless.
God no, God no. This couldn’t be happening. Not to
Sam. Not to Rachel’s father. Not when Chase had assured her he’d look after
him.
Fifteen feet under the ocean, Chase struggled to keep his
calm. He seized the lifeline and secured Sam to it. He removed his weight belt
and inflated his BC. With one huge push, Chase shoved him upward. Go!
Then remaining in place, he hovered – decompressing himself for the longest
five minutes of his life. All the while, his memories filled with Sam. The only
man in his life he had allowed himself to trust. The only father figure he’d
ever known. Without hesitation, Sam had offered him a job. He opened his home
and welcomed him like a member of his family. How could Chase have been so
careless? So completely self-absorbed?
His reeling thoughts centered on Sam’s daughter. The moment
Rachel had stepped into his life, all the bad that ever was had vanished. Of
all the women he’d allowed himself to become involved with, she was the one who
had found her way into his heart. How could he possibly explain this fiasco to
her? What words could he use to excuse his actions? Sam and Rachel were both
the most important people in his life and now in a matter of minutes, that
could all change.
Be alright, Sam. Please, be alright. Chase tucked
away his anxieties and headed straight for the surface. With each determined
stroke and kick, he prayed that his partner would survive. By the time he
boarded Stargazer, the crew had already hoisted Sam onto the dive platform.
They had radioed the San Palo Coast Guard station, only fifteen minutes away,
and one of his crew members had taken over the helm. As they blazed a path
towards shore, Chase breathed in oxygen to help purge the excess nitrogen from
his system. His gut wrenched as he watched the bulky helmsman aggressively work
over Sam’s body. Exhaled breaths, rhythmic chest compressions. Ian’s relentless attempts continued for an
eternity with no visible response from Sam. Then Ian checked Sam’s vitals. He
closed his eyes and shook his downcast head.
Chase could hear voices all around them asking questions,
but his fear muted them. He shoved Ian out of the way. “No!” He took over
breathing into Sam’s gapping mouth, hammering his chest with his fist.
“Breathe, Sam, goddamn it! Breathe!” he yelled. Chase knew people could be
revived after as much as an hour in cold water without brain damage. He
couldn’t give up. Not when it meant losing his closest friend.
They finally reached the dock and someone had the courage to
pull Chase off. Hold him at a distance as a team of professionals took over.
“Looks like cardiac arrest,” a Coast Guard officer
announced. The words reverberated in Chase’s ears. He grasped the boat’s
gun-rail to keep from collapsing. He watched as they transferred Sam’s spent
body into a waiting ambulance. Then he forced himself to follow closely behind,
his rubbery legs barely cooperating. He begged to come along, but the same
officer assured him nothing more could be done.
Chase stood barefooted in the graveled lot, watching the
white emergency vehicle drive away. As soon as it disappeared from view, he
fell back against a parked car.
Why Sam? He was a healthy fifty-five year old man. He
had over twenty years under his belt. He knew the ocean better than anyone.
With no boats or reported sharks in the area, he had to have seen something.
Witnessed a sight so shocking and unnerving, it stopped his heart cold.
What did he see? Chase’s eyes dropped to a discarded
plastic bag, bouncing and rolling across the ground. All sound had been
siphoned from the air. The only thing registering was his throbbing brain and
the radiating pain in his chest.
“Mr. Cohen?” A man’s voice turned him around. The police
officer had been making inquiries, taking statements. The crew members were now
huddled at the far end of the dock, casing weary looks in Chase’s direction.
“Would you like to come with me… to explain all of this to Miss Lyons?” he
asked.
Chase’s chin shivered uncontrollably. God, Rachel.
The worst was yet to come. He glanced at the boat’s fantail, now vacant except
for Ian. The mountainous man stood hunched over, face in his hands, sobbing.
“I’ll… tell her,” Chase managed. He waited until the officer
turned and walked away. Until he was completely alone. Why had he agreed to do
such a thing? Knock on Rachel’s door. Tell her he was responsible for taking
away the only parent she had left. Watch the love in her eyes turn to hate.
Although he loathed his decision, he chose the coward’s way
out. He flipped open his phone and auto-dialed her number.
Rachel’s voice came on the line. Confident. Captivating.
Unaware. “So, don’t tell me. Another fool’s errand, right? I swear my father
will never grow up.”
Chase remained silent for an eternal moment. And in that
moment, he wished for the strength of Goliath – to rein in his quaking nerves,
to give him the courage to spill the words that refused to form.
“Chase?” Concern edged her tone. “Chase, are you there?”
He forced another swallow. “Rachel, listen,” he began, a
rasp of a voice. Rusted from panic, from guilt. From disbelief. “Something
happened. It… it’s your dad.”
* * * * *
AUTHOR'S BIOGRAPHY
Linda Yoshida, aka Kaylin McFarren, is a rare bird indeed.
Not a migratory sort, she prefers to hug the West Coast and keep family within
visiting range. Although she has virtually been around the world, she was born
in California, relocated with her family to Washington, and nested with her
husband in Oregon. In addition to playing an active role in his business
endeavors, she has been involved in all aspects of their three daughters' lives
- taxi duties, cheerleading coaching, script rehearsals, and relationship
counseling, to name but a few. Now she enjoys spending undisciplined time with
her two young grandsons and hopes to have many more.
Although Kaylin wasn't born with a pen in hand like so many of her talented
fellow authors, she has been actively involved in both business and personal
writing projects for many years. As the director of a fine art gallery, she
assisted in furthering the careers of numerous visual artists who under her
guidance gained recognition through promotional opportunities and in national
publications. Eager to spread her own creative wings, she has since steered her
energy toward writing novels. As a result, she has earned more than a dozen
literary awards and was a 2008 finalist in the prestigious RWA® Golden Heart
contest.
Kaylin is a member of RWA, Rose City Romance Writers, and Willamette Writers.
She received her AA in Literature at Highline Community College, which
originally sparked her passion for writing. In her free time, she also enjoys
giving back to the community through participation and support of various
charitable and educational organizations in the Pacific Northwest.
The worst day of Rachel’s life she
had a huge fight with her father in the morning and he died while scuba diving
that afternoon. She also lost the love
of her life. Four years later, he
unexpectedly walked back into her life and turned it upside down.
A sweet love story about fixing
something that was broken and true love that won’t die. Rachel has more than her fair share of
trouble when he arrives. But as in all
good romance stories, the girl gets the guy in the end (or vice versa).
I enjoyed reading this story and
getting a peak at what goes into salvage diving. I’m not sure I would want to live that way or
have to worry about how to get money to live that way, but it was exciting to
read about it.
I give this story 4 out of 5 clouds.
This
product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my
opinions or reviews.
Giveaway and Book Review
of Darkness Risingsponsored by Innovative Book Tours
Blurb:
A Pureblood...
Julien Gasquet belongs to the notorious Lycan clan, the Gasquet Pack based in
New Orleans. After a vicious argument, he storms out of the compound and
decides to spend the night with his sister, Jolie, in Baton Rouge.
A Half-breed...
Martina Beauchamp is considered an abomination to the Lycans as she isn't a
pureblood and doesn't have a pack to call her own. She meets Julien after a
horrifying incident forces her to flee her home and her car breaks down in the
parking lot next to his truck.
Destined...
The attraction Julien and Martina experience from the moment they meet isn't
about lust or a one night stand. However, when the pack is involved in every
decision a werewolf makes, is a happy ending at all possible?
WARNING: This is paranormal romance novella with sexy good times, smokin' hot
werewolves, toned bodies and explicit language. Blood, gore and closed door sex
scenes? Not this time. (Novella Word Count: 23,000)
Giveaway
Both
E-book (10) and Print book (5 signed by
author)
USA and
Canada ONLY for Print Book
Excerpt:
Chapter
One
“Boy, I don’t care how you feel—you goin’ to fight tonight,
come hell or high water. The venue has already been booked and everyone is
comin’ out to see you beat Clarence Remington from that bastard mongrel
Desreseaux Pack of Shreveport.”
“Roy,
just leave him be. If he can’t fight and he says he ain’t well, you ain’t
makin’ it no better.”
“Shut
the fuck up, Adele. I’m gettin’ tired of you taking his side all the time. Who
you married to anyway, him or me? You let his pansy ass get away with murder,
woman.”
Adele
kissed her son’s cheek before she walked toward the door. “Listen, I have to
work tonight and if I am late again, that vamp bastard is gonna fire me.”
“He
should. Don’t make no sense you workin’ in one of them kind’s fancy schmancy bar
anyway. You belong with the pack, goddamn it!”
“And
I would be if I had a better excuse for a husband.”
Julien
“Jules” Gasquet finally got tired of the back and forth between his mother and
step-father. Adele always pulled out the same tired old lines why she worked at
Le Sang, an upscale gentlemen’s club in the French Quarter, but the truth was
she preferred being around vampires rather than her own husband.
He
gathered a few clothing items from his bedroom and took off in his Ford F-150.
He could imagine his gorgeous mother now telling his no-good step-dad how he’d
chased him off yet again. He didn’t plan to go far; probably Baton Rouge as leaving
Louisiana wasn’t such a good idea. He might decide to keep driving and never
grace his pack again but he couldn’t leave that kind of burden on his mother.
Adele,
was not only a beautiful and eternally youthful woman of Creole descent, her
lineage remained pureblood Lycan. She’d also been orphaned at a young age and raised
in middle-class New Orleans with a family who was not aware their adopted daughter
would soon become a werewolf when she entered puberty. When she became of age,
she hunted down her biological mother and though they never became close she at
least knew her kin. She’d married his father, Jean Gasquet, a first generation
French-American thus he wasn’t considered Cajun, who belonged to the Gasquet Pack
and was instantly accepted by them.
His
father had been like him, though Alpha of the Gasquet Pack he would always be a
fighter, who loved to shift and show how great his lineage as a Lycan was, how
strong and tough. He’d died in a bar fight, three wolves against his one when
Jules was fifteen and his younger sister, Jolie, was seven
It
had been just the three of them for almost ten years but his mother eventually
wanted a lover even if he could never be her true mate. Roy had come along and
their life had seemed fucked from the word “go”. His mother was so beautiful
and could have any man
she
wanted but Roy was second cousin to their father and he was just as good
looking as he possessed the same crystal blue eyes and blond hair. Everything
seemed okay in the beginning but the moment Roy married Adele, everything went
downhill in a hurry. Roy couldn’t wait to prove Julien was tougher and stronger
than his father. He enrolled him
in
the Lycan Fighter’s League where there was serious money to be made. Roy took
over his life and when he wasn’t training, he was fighting. After almost eight years
of this constant lifestyle, it was starting to wear him down.
He
pulled the truck to the side of the road and checked his face. The black eye
sustained on the left side of his head from the previous night’s bout had yet
to fade completely on his ivory skin and had taken on a bluish purplish tinge
around his eye. The bruise didn’t take
away
from his gorgeous crystal blue eyes, the same color as his father’s though the
rest of him resembled his mother. He had her bone structure and dark hair though
he was tall, almost 6’4” and two hundred pounds of lean muscle mass.
Julien
decided then and there if and when he decided to go back to his parents’ house,
his life would have to change. He couldn’t keep getting into these professional
fights that lead to bar brawls as he was already hyped up on blood and
violence; followed by casual sex with every were-bitch and sundry just because
his life sucked and he hated how dead end the situation seemed at the moment.
The
only bright spot in his life was his sister, Jolie, who attended LSU in Baton
Rouge. He would stay with her as she lived off campus in an apartment he
secretly paid for and make sure she was all right as far as money was
concerned. University ended almost six weeks
previously
but she preferred to stay in her apartment year round as she despised Roy more
than he did. Halfway to Baton Rouge, he decided to stop at Tommy’s Pizza to get
some dinner. Hammond was the perfect in between place and there were some
pretty good restaurants situated near enough to the interstate to make it his
favorite halfway point stop.
He
parked his truck and locked it with the remote as soon as he stepped out.
Julien
realized if Hammond had a down side, the place was firmly in “shifter”
territory. The Lycan had absolutely zero respect for shape shifters and
considered them just a step above regular humans but the fuckers were crafty
and usually poor as dirt. They didn’t possess the pack mentality and that was
the main reason why they always stayed in trouble, was the main reason why they
always stayed in trouble, especially with law enforcement. Nothing would hurt
his mother more than if he got involved with a shifter—Lycans weren’t crazy about vamps either but even they were better
than shifters— and he decided the best defense was to be cognizant of his
environment at all times.
He
waited until he was safely inside the diner and seated before he pulled out his
Samsung Android phone and placed a call to Jolie. She answered after a couple
of rings.
“Hello?”
“H
ey, chère,
it’s your big brother. I wanted to see you and I had to get away from Mama and
Roy. Is it okay if I stay at your place tonight?”
Jolie
sighed on the other end of the phone. “You need to get out of there, Jules.
It’s no good for you to stay there with them…I’m gone and you did your part. Who
are you staying for because if you tell me it’s Mama, I’m gonna ring your neck.
She is capable of taking care of herself and she doesn’t need any help from
you.”
“Okay,
it is for the sake of Mama. I don’t trust Roy. You know what kind of wolf he
is…he isn’t a real alpha though he likes to act the part. I couldn’t take it if
he ever put his hands on her—”
“It’s
a little late for talk like that, don’t you think? He’s been puttin’ his hands
all over Mama for almost eight years. What are you gonna do? Stop ‘em from fuckin’?
It’s really none of your business what goes on
between them. You need to get out of there and find a place of your own.
You can afford it so stop being cheap. By the way, I expect you in about half
an hour.”
“Make
it an hour or so. I stopped by Tommy’s Pizza in Hammond and you know I always
get the sirloin, bloody, and a baked potato. I think I might have two tonight
so let me enjoy my dinner in peace.”
She
sniggered. “Okay, just don’t make me wait too long. Talk to you later and drive
carefully, all right?”
“
Ye s, mademoiselle,” he replied before he ended their call.
The
waitress walked over to him; she was a young shifter who looked tired and awaited
anxiously for her double shift to end. By the way she kept shifting the weight
of her body from one foot to the other and back again, her work day couldn’t be
over soon enough. “What can I get for you?”
“I’ll
have two sirloin steaks—bloody—and three eggs over easy with a side of hash
browns,” he said without consulting the
menu he had memorized.
“It’ll
be about ten minutes. You want anything to drink with that?”
“Yeah,
I’ll take a Budweiser.”
The
waitress walked away and he ran his hands through his ultra-short hair. He
didn’t have to be psychic to know it would be a long night.
About The Author
Danielle
Blanchard Benson is a world traveler and author of several different series.
Ms.
Blanchard Benson is the author ofBeginnings:
Book I(The Plague),Death Wish: Book I,Better off Dead: Book IIandDeath
Lair: A Novella(all fromThe Vamp Saga), The
Catalyst: Book One (The Pop Stars)andThe Beautiful Peopleseries.
She
is currently working on Love Voodoo: Book I(DeGeneration),Apocalypse 2012: Book II(The Plague),Hart Attack: Book I(The Hart Family Saga), The
Making of a Star: Book Two(The
Pop Stars) andQueen of
the Undead: Book III(The
Vamp Saga).
Ms.
Blanchard Benson has lived abroad in Stockholm (Sweden), Manchester (England),
Los Angeles, the San Francisco Bay Area and Portland. She currently resides in
Las Vegas, Nevada.
Shifters and Lycan aren’t exactly
the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s but they’re close.
They don’t shoot at each other over property lines. In fact, they try to avoid one another
altogether. Alpha Heir Apparent Julien
stops for pizza on his way to his sister’s in an attempt to avoid his
step-father and finds a distraught and stranded Martina.
Martina has grown up not being accepted
by Shifter’s or Lycan because she is a mixed breed, Lycan and Shifter. Tonight her step-father tried to rape her,
she finds out the stories about her grandmother being raped and giving birth to
a mixed baby are false, she is half Lycan not ¼ like she thought, and her car
finally gives up the ghost.
These two upset people cross paths
unexpectedly and things take an unexpected turn that neither foresaw. They….
Well, you’ll just have to read to find out what happens because I don’t
do spoilers.
Danielle Blanchard Benson provides a fresh
look at shifters and Lycan (werewolves) in a world where paranormals have equal
rights and are out of wherever they were hiding. I give this book 4 out of 5 clouds.
This
product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my
opinions or reviews.
A boy appeared in her
path. She veered around him and then skidded to a halt. Something about him
made her stop. She turned around to look at him and realized he was
staring at her, his face a mask of astonishment, his mouth hanging open.
Irene narrowed her eyes. “I’m what?” 
Email: tbruce@terribruce.net
