"Dark and Deadly" Spotlight and Giveaway

Dark and Deadly is now available worldwide for a special introductory price of only $0.99!

Dark and Deadly: 

Eight hot paranormal romances by New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors. Alpha-male bad boys will fulfill your darkest, most deadliest desires in these stories about shifters, werewolves, vampires, magic, special powers and other realms. 

BODYGUARD by Jennifer Ashley

Elizabeth Chapman is saved from an armed attacker by a Kodiak bear who shifts into a tight-bodied, naked human male. Ronan takes Elizabeth to Shiftertown, becoming her 24/7 bodyguard. The mateless Ronan has adopted a houseful of orphaned Shifters--having grown up in foster care, Elizabeth is touched by his protectiveness. Ronan only wants to keep Elizabeth safe, but the sassy woman is triggering his long-buried need to mate.

ALEJANDRO’S SORCERESS by Alyssa Day

He’s a warrior, hardened by years of protecting his town from vampire attack. She’s a garden witch who sees the world in shades of sunshine and delight. Opposites don’t only attract, they go supernova in this sizzling tale of magic and mayhem.

BEWITCH by Felicity Heaton

A vampire with a bloodstained past and a soul tainted with darkness, Payne is perfect in his self-control, never surrendering to his darkest desires. Now a beautiful witch in the shadowy fae underworld reawakens long denied hungers and tempts him with pleasure. When one incredible night of fulfilling their fantasies leads to more than just keeping a promise and saving a friend, will they be able to overcome the barriers that stand between them and forever?

DARKNESS FALLS by Erin Kellison

Agent Malcolm Rook is hunting for people with the rarest of talents—the ability to master dreams. He finds the undeniably gifted Jordan Lane, but she’s wary of mysterious Rook and resists his pursuit as long as she can. Yet the dreamwaters they enter are too exhilarating to resist, and attraction soon ignites electric passions. Delving too deep stirs a nightmare, one they must defeat, or be forever lost to darkness. 

ROGUE’S PASSION by Laurie London

Blaming himself for the death of a friend, Iron Guild warrior Asher Kane vows to bring those responsible to justice. After he’s hurt on a mission and nursed back to health by a beautiful yet mysterious woman, this dangerously sexy bad-boy finds himself falling for Olivia…even as he struggles to stay away. But stalking them on the streets of New Seattle is a cruel and vengeful evil—one that threatens to destroy them both…

THE FORBIDDEN LIFE OF ALEX MOORE by Erin Quinn

Alex’s mission: Kill the hellhounds that have invaded earth and return to his home in the Beyond. But from the start, things go horribly wrong. The hounds are cunning and a human female witnesses their attack—she intervenes and saves Alex’s life. Now he must keep the alluring Lilly alive while fighting his desire for her. When passion flares, Alex risks all to protect her and defend the forbidden life he craves.

THE MATING HEAT by Bonnie Vanak

Werewolf Kara Mitchell fled with her brother Aiden to Montana after their alpha father punished her for kissing sexy omega werewolf Ryder Carrington. Left scarred by her father’s cruelty, Kara believes no one can love her. After killing his alpha to save the pack, Ryder now rules, but needs a mate. His blood runs hot for Kara. Ryder will do anything to claim her, even risk an all-out pack war that could cost them everything…

TRAPPED by Caris Roane

Mastyr Vampire Zephyr, a one-man fighting force, struggles to save the life of a woman who despises his warrior ways. She’s been a thorn in his side, but he has one goal: to keep her safe. For Alesia, however, she just wishes he’d leave her alone since she can never approve of his profession. She broke up with him months ago and wants to start a new life. The trouble is, he’s still the one man who can curl her toes. 

Excerpt From "Darkness Falls" by Erin Kellison:

“It’s not my first time, man.” Interview over, Rook shrugged into his trim black wool coat. “I know what to do if I spot a likely target.” It’d been a few years, but what to look for hadn’t changed.

Innocent, unsuspecting fools.

Yeah, he knew how to find them. And once down the rabbit hole, there was no coming back again. Just a screaming fall into a darkness as infinite and clutching as a nightmare. No waking up, either.

God, why couldn’t he just wake up?

“Only, it’s been a while since you went hunting,” Coll observed, that level gaze assessing, always measuring, but giving away nothing. “Why the sudden change?”

Rook kept his reasons for going to himself; he didn’t owe Coll explanations. Not anymore. What did he know, anyway? Coll had an easy life working behind a desk, occasionally flying out somewhere, and getting himself a swank room from which to monitor at a distance. It was hard not to stare at the wall-to-wall view of the San Diego Bay—and the ocean beyond, vast and calm, restful. Rook wasn’t one to give in to envy, but a little peace would go a long way right now.

“It’s a big step backward from the work you’ve been doing,” Coll pressed.

Rook exchanged his wallet for the one waiting on the tray that Coll had provided—time to become, let’s see, Michael Reese; at least they’d kept his initials—and slid it in the back pocket of his jeans.

Of course, he could’ve explained to Coll that he’d been on the inside too long. That he had to get a taste of the virgin experience again to keep his edge. Any Chimera could relate.

But he was too far gone for easy lies.

Darkness lurked at the edges of his vision, crackling and dense with reproach—not that he could make out anything right now, or ever—but when he turned to confront it, the blind spot shifted, too. It was as if he had a fringe space in the back of his mind, one in which an intruder could hide, its presence hounding him like a constant uncertainty.

Rook had to go out or he’d lose his mind. He had to go out or Coll would have to put him down like a mad dog.

The alternate phone on the tray was a sleek little silver thing, the latest to hit the market, whereas his personal mobile was at least a year behind. Both were unnecessary. He had other ways of keeping current—other, more intimate ways to track his marks.

“You could shave, at least. Make yourself pretty.” Coll’s idea of a joke.

Since he’d decided to back off, Rook offered a dry one of his own. “Girls like me rough. Guys, too, actually.”

Grab the boxed set right now for just $0.99 to read this story and seven others…

 Find more info at http://www.felicityheaton.co.uk/dark-and-deadly/  

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Giveaway and Spotlight: "Vampire's Hunger" by Cynthia Garner

VAMPIRE’S HUNGER  by Cynthia Garner (Release date: April 1, 2014)

In a post-apocalyptic wasteland, civilization no longer exists, and only the strongest survive. The few remaining humans must band together with supernatural beings to battle unspeakable evil-or all hope will be lost.

Kimber Treat is an ordinary woman with an extraordinary gift: she can raise the dead. As a necromancer who works with the police, she communicates with murder victims to bring their killers to justice. But after a normal session goes horribly wrong, Kimber realizes she's summoned something dark and sinister. She's unwittingly unleashed the apocalypse, and everyone blames her…except Duncan MacDonnough, the devastatingly handsome vampire she can't stop fantasizing about.

As society shuts down and flesh-eating hordes close in, Duncan vows to protect Kimber. He can keep her safe from others-but not from the insatiable carnal hunger he feels for her. Now racing to reverse the chaos she's unleashed, Kimber can't afford any distractions. But even as she succumbs to Duncan's seduction, she fears that he has a hidden agenda. And with the line between life and death starting to blur, his secrets might kill her-or worse…

Excerpt:

“What are you thinking?” Aodhán set his sword on the table and rested one brawny forearm along the back of the couch.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and blew out a breath. “What I’m always thinking about,” she whispered. “Them. And that it’s all my fault.”

“Do I have to tell you again what I’ve been telling you for six months, mo chara?” He leaned toward her and took her hands in his. His callused palms were warm against her skin. Aodhán had become her confidant, in spite of the fact he was buddies with a certain irritating vampire, and had taken to calling her “little friend” in his lovely lilting Irish Gaelic. Usually it served as a balm to her battered nerves. But tonight…not so much.

She didn’t need him to repeat the meaningless words. “No, because it didn’t happen to another necromancer, Aodhán,” she said. “It happened to me.” She pulled her hands away from his and stood up. She started to pace. “And I should’ve known…”

When she didn’t go on, he prompted, “You should have known what?”

She pressed her lips together and plopped sideways into the oversized recliner, letting her legs dangle over the padded arm. “There was something different about the Unseen that night. It seemed to…reach for me.” She met his bright blue eyes. “It’s never done that before. Maybe if I’d stopped, if I’d aborted the ritual…” She huffed a sigh and shook her head. “I dunno. I should’ve done anything different than what I did, which was just plow right ahead because I had a job to do. A reputation to maintain.”

He rested his ankle across the opposite knee and stretched both arms along the back of the sofa. “Hindsight is always the clearest. You had no way of knowing what would happen.” He leaned forward, his gaze somber. “And all the coulda-shoulda-wouldas in the world won’t change what happened.”

A smile caught her by surprise. She hadn’t felt like smiling in…forever, it seemed.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

She shook her head. “You are.” When he frowned, she held up one hand, palm up. “I just mean you’re centuries old, you’re a warrior—with a mighty sword, for crying out loud—and to hear you say ‘coulda-shoulda-woulda’ struck my funny bone. That’s all.”

“You know I’m right.”

“Knowing,” she said with a finger tapping her forehead, “and knowing,” she went on with two fingers over her heart, “are two different things.”

“Can’t argue with you on that one.” He reached for his sword and the sharpening stone he always left on the end table.

The key turned in the front door. Kimber and Aodhán both jumped up, he with his sword gripped tight in his right hand, instantly ready for battle.

Duncan walked in. He closed and locked the door behind him and quirked a brow at them. “You think zombies are going to have a key?”

“Shut up.” Aodhán sat back down and started sharpening his sword.

“Kimber,” Duncan said in greeting. He walked over and dropped down onto the end of the sofa. His dark hair was mussed, slight curls flopping onto his forehead. A tire iron hung from his belt loop.

Whatever the infection was that turned humans into zombies, it didn’t work on vampires, at least not from the aspect of turning them into shuffling undead. But it was just as deadly to vampires as it was to humankind, causing the infected vamp to die a horrible and agonizing true death. So they couldn’t use their teeth as a weapon like they would under other circumstances. They’d had to improvise, just like everyone else.

She glanced at Aodhán. He’d been pretty close-mouthed about whether the fey could get infected. She had a feeling they could, or maybe they didn’t know yet. When the Outbreak happened, most fey returned to their own realm, refusing entry to anyone not fey, leaving humans to deal with the problem or be overtaken by it.

At least vampires hadn’t completely abandoned them. Of course, that was probably because humans were their preferred food source. She turned her attention to Duncan and tried to ignore how delicious he looked. And realized that since he was here it meant it was dark outside. Already? Damn it.

“I hate this.” Kimber folded her arms across her chest. “Damned windows all taped up. We don’t know what freaking time it is anymore. We only know that it’s dark because you show up.” Her voice cracked. She cupped her hands around her elbows, not sure how much more of this she could take. It felt like the least little thing would shatter her beyond repair. She needed a good scream. Which she couldn’t have.

The next best thing would be a good cry. Which she wouldn’t do, especially in front of Duncan. She didn’t want him thinking she was weak. And immediately she grew irritated at herself for caring one way or the other what he thought. She didn’t base her choices on what Duncan would think. This wasn’t a What-Would-Duncan-Do world. She let loose a growl of frustration.

“Easy,” Duncan murmured.

She took a deep breath and held it several seconds. “I’m all right,” she finally said. She sat back down and looked at him. “Did you have any trouble getting here?”

He shook his head. “The area’s quiet. For the moment. We must be in between waves.”

Waves of zombies. Hordes. Herds. Gaggles. She stared at their blacked-out windows. She’d heard the living dead referred to in all of those ways, first in graphic novels, never really dreaming one day they would be a reality.

Well, reality sucked.

About the author:

Cynthia Garner discovered her love for writing when her sixth grade teacher told the class to write a story that began "It was a dark and stormy night..." With that Cynthia's love for all things paranormal was born.  When she's not working her day job as a mostly mild-mannered Human Resources Manager, she's on her laptop writing or playing way too much Solitaire. Originally from Northeast Ohio, Cynthia now lives in the desert Southwest.

Social Media Links:

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"Winterblaze" Blog Tour: Exerpt and Giveaway

Kristen Callihan's Darkest London series has been getting rave reviews and Winterblaze is no exception.  In the latest installment of her historical paranormal romance, we get a much deeper look into the darker side of London that very few know about.  Thanks to Ms. Callihan and Grand Central Publishing, I have an excerpt to share with you from the first chapter of Winterblaze.  

You can check out my reviews for all of the Darkest London books here:  Firelight, Moonglow and Winterblaze.  
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The West End, August 28, 1883

A telegram, as sent to the SOS Home Office:

Daughter of the Elements STOP All of us must reap what we sow STOP Now it is your turn STOP I’ll take not the heart of ice that resides in your sweet breast but the fragile one that beats in another and sail away with it on a ship of fire STOP When I tear it to shreds you will remember the agony of failing STOP Again STOP


The way to her parlor was along a winding stair, but down, not up. Down in the pit of the earth where sunlight and fresh air never reached. Yes, a proper English parlor with electric lights and air forced by means of an elaborate fan system of such strange modern devices that even the most jaded persons took a moment to stop and wonder.

Poppy had recently shown her sister Daisy the way in, a fact that she was beginning to regret as she settled back in her desk chair and surveyed the two women sitting in front of her. One of the women was Daisy, looking luminous as ever and trussed up in an extravagant frock which was no doubt highly fashionable, and equally uncomfortable. Having ferreted out Poppy's secrets with surprising speed, Daisy had earned the right to be here.

The other woman was the problem. Miss Mary Chase. Oh, she sat demure and quiet as Daisy prattled on in that way of hers, but the girl's glittering eyes took in every nook and cranny of Poppy's office. Learning and secreting away bits of information as only a GIM could do.

GIMs, or Ghosts in the Machines, were the best spies in the underworld. Blessed by a demon to have an immortal body with the ability to leave it in spirit form, they could drift into any room, listen in on any conversation. And now this GIM knew the way to Poppy's office. Bloody hell. Poppy had requested to speak with Daisy. She had not expected her sister to bring along a guest.

"Well?" Daisy prompted, breaking into Poppy's thoughts. Poppy took a short breath and pulled herself together.

Something that was getting harder and harder to do. Inside she was frozen and fairly certain that, one day, her outer skin would simply freeze over as well.

"You want me to bring this girl to Mother," Poppy repeated, her lips feeling numb. Mother was the head of The Society for the Suppression of Supernaturals, or SOS, an organization whose sole focus was to keep the world from learning the truth: that the monsters in their fairytales were real. Mother, whom no one, no one, ever met. Really, the nerve of Daisy sometimes. Poppy tapped her fingers to relieve the urge to wrap them about her sister's lovely neck.

Daisy too was a GIM. A decision she'd made in the face of a gruesome, prolonged death. She'd saved herself by making a devil's bargain. And now she would never die. Daisy would be here long after Poppy was dust in the ground. It made Poppy unaccountably sad, though she really couldn't say precisely why.

Daisy glanced at Poppy's thrumming fingers. Poppy instantly stopped. Daisy too tapped her fingers when she was agitated. A stupid slip to do in front of her sister. Damn it all.

When Daisy replied, it was with exaggerated patience. "Not precisely. I am here to make an introduction to Mother." Poppy  froze.  Daisy  could  not  possibly  be  implying what she thought she was. "Why did you not bring your
request to Lena?" Poppy hedged.

Daisy's eyes gleamed bright for one sharp moment. "I had assumed my sister would be a little more accommodating. Perhaps I was wrong."

Poppy looked away first. It had been petty to bait Daisy. While Lena was Mother's official go-between and requests for Mother always went through her, she had also been Ian Ranulf's lover years ago. As Ian was now Daisy's husband, the women did not particularly find each other's presence comfortable.

"Look," Daisy leaned forward, her tone forgiving when Poppy knew she'd normally drag out her displeasure, "Mary is the best GIM we have."

"Then why do you want to lose her?"

Mary Chase stirred. "If I may speak for myself?" There was a bit of fire in her eyes, something Poppy had to admire, and so she nodded. Miss Chase settled her slim hands on her lap as she faced Poppy without blinking.

"My term of service with the GIMs is over." Her hands clenched for a moment. "Mrs. Lane, I want to be a Regulator. I have wanted this for some time."

Poppy managed not to wince upon hearing her name. Mrs. Lane. A farce, for her husband had left her. The pain that lived in her chest spread out to her arms and then down to her fingers. She didn't allow it to show but let her gaze wander over Miss Chase. The young woman appeared to be all of nineteen, but from Poppy's reports, she was closer to Poppy's own age, having lost her first life in 1873.

"I gather you know this," Poppy answered. "However, I feel compelled to remind you that being a Regulator is no easy task. They live a hard life, and it is often quite short." Regulators were the SOS's agents, men and women on the front lines of the supernatural world. They came face to face with things that gave monsters nightmares. Poppy leaned in a touch. "And believe me, many an immortal's head has rolled while on the job. Just because you cannot die, doesn't mean you cannot be killed, child."

Mary Chase's wide, brown eyes narrowed. "I am not a child. And I'm not afraid of death."

Poppy rose from her desk, no longer willing to sit still. "Everyone says that." She grabbed her thick cloak. "And then they discover that, in their heart, they have lied. I don't believe GIMs get a second chance should they lose their head, do they?"

"No," Mary said after a moment. "Come."

The two women rose and followed her to the door. Poppy walked through it, not waiting to see if they kept up. Outside of the office, Mr. Smythe sat at his desk, his pasty skin blending with his grey hair. He faced a vast and dark corridor, and often times Poppy wondered how he could stand looking into that abyss on a daily, sometimes nightly, basis. Mr. Smythe, however, never complained. He gave her a deferential nod as she passed. She had worked alongside Smythe for fourteen years, and yet he did not know about Winston or that she had a fondness for meat pies sold by street vendors. Not one person within the SOS truly knew her. People tended to stay away from Poppy as though they felt she was something alien and not like them. Which said quite a lot, given that most of her colleagues possessed gifts that were the epitome of unearthly. She did not precisely mind the isolation. She had Winston. . . . Poppy's step nearly halted. She did not have Win. He was gone. And she was alone.

"I had a good reason for this, you know," Daisy murmured just behind her as they slipped into the stone-lined corridor. Here and there electric torches glowed, turning Daisy's blond curls a harsh yellow. Mary Chase followed at an inconspicuous distance, her eyes lowered and subservient. Ha. Men might be fooled by the display but not Poppy.

"You  better  have,"  Poppy  said,  just  as  low.  "You've come quite close to breaking my trust today, Dandelion." Daisy made a noise of annoyance at the nickname, but she  quickened  her  stride  to  catch  up  and  then  grabbed Poppy's elbow, forcing her to slow down. "Pop. Listen for
a moment, will you?"

Every muscle in Poppy's body went heavy and cold. She knew that tone in Daisy's voice, as well as the soft, despicable pity that dimmed her eyes. "Well," Poppy said through her teeth, "out with it. And then explain what it has to do with Miss Chase here."

Daisy took a stabilizing breath. "She knows." Her voice dipped a bit. "Who you are."

The struggle not to break something, or someone, held Poppy in place, frozen with shock and outrage. Daisy took a half step back, her mouth opening and closing like a puppet's, her hand lifting as if in defense. Smart woman. Poppy couldn't fathom why her sister would break her trust in such a manner.

Poppy advanced. "Have you lost your nut? What on God's green earth gave you the right?"

Daisy's pointed silence gave her a moment's qualm, which Daisy pounced on. "I agree that it is bloody irritating to be managed by one's sister." Poppy scowled, and Daisy ignored it. "However, as you've been known to point out, I have only the best intentions." Daisy touched her arm. "You need a companion, Pop."

A harsh laugh burst from Poppy. "You think I'm that infirm, do you? I bid you to remember that I am thirty-two. Hardly ancient, despite what your society friends might think."

"I do not think that you are ancient, Pop," said Daisy quietly. "I think that you are in pain."

"Do not." Poppy took a sharp breath. "Do not ever pity me, Daisy."

Bad enough that her sisters knew Win had left her. It had been humiliating. But that was nothing compared to the emptiness and the dull, unwavering ache that his absence wrought upon her.

In the gloom, Daisy's eyes gleamed like star sapphires, the effect of her new GIM nature when emotions were roused within her. "Pity and empathy are not the same thing."

"You have brought a GIM to keep me company," Poppy snapped, "as if you fear I might do something drastic."
What nonsense. Poppy did not do drastic things. She simply died a little more inside each day and wished the world to go away. That had not worked particularly well; the world was still here.

Daisy's gaze searched hers. "Mary is loyal and discreet. And she is entirely trustworthy. On my life, I swear that."

"Good thing to swear, as your life might very well be what I take." It was entirely too temping at the moment.

"I am shaking," Daisy said with an unladylike snort before becoming serious once more. "You need someone to keep you focused. And lord knows that bitch Lena will not do that for you. She's just as likely to stick her fangs into your neck when your back is turned."

"You really ought to get over your dislike of Lena." "Pish," Daisy said with a wave of her hand, "that woman means nothing to me. And you know full well that I speak the truth in regard to her character."

Unfortunately, Daisy was right. Lena wasn't the helpful sort. She despised weakness even more than Poppy did.

Poppy sighed, then looked at Mary Chase who hovered just beyond the circle of light where Daisy and Poppy stood. The young GIM had drifted back, having correctly read Poppy's request for a modicum of privacy. Poppy turned back to Daisy. "I asked you here because I seek information, not a nanny."

"Then ask away," Daisy retorted. "Mary won't tell a soul, and as she is currently my right hand, I'd tell her anyway. So you can drop that repressive glare, Pop."

Just once, Poppy would love to wring her sister's neck. Hell, Daisy would easily recover so it wouldn't be out-right murder. She studied the unflinching Mary Chase for a long moment. Sensible woman, crafty, discreet. It could all be a lie. Poppy's life depended on her choices. Which meant she had to use more than logic, but instinct as well, to survive.

"All right then, Miss Chase," she said to the woman. "You have your chance"

Miss Chase curtsied prettily. "Thank you, Mrs. Lane." "Don't  thank  me  just  yet.  A  demon  has  escaped  his prison," she said to them. "I received the report from Lena an hour ago. The only information we have of his current whereabouts is from a telegram, which may or may not have been sent by him. It makes mention of a ship of fire." Her hand rested upon the cold, stone wall. "It is imperative that the SOS locate him. Immediately."

Needing to move, Poppy turned away and strode up the cast-iron staircase that spiraled upward. Heels clanked upon the metal, then Poppy reached the top and turned the handle, which released several heavy bolts. The heavy door pushed open without a sound, and the familiar, comforting scent of books and wood polish greeted her as she stepped into her bookshop.

Daisy and Mary followed, and then she pushed the door shut and heard the sound of the bolts slipping back into place.

Daisy's pretty face was pale. She knew something. Damn. Instinct had Poppy's hackles rising before Daisy even spoke. "Winston is on holiday in Paris."

"Paris? Win hates Paris." Poppy had tried to get him to take her there on holiday years ago, and he'd outright refused, calling it a heathenish, boorish city, filled with wastrels and gadabouts. Poppy told him he'd overstated his case, but Win had made it up to her by keeping her in bed for their holiday, giving her an interesting demonstration of his own rather heathenish proclivities.

Thankfully,   Daisy   responded   before   Poppy   could dwell any further on that time. "All I know is that he went there after . . ." Daisy nibbled on her bottom lip.

"After what?" Poppy could not cull the worry from her voice. Win had left her, and still she was fretting over him like a bloody mother hen.

Daisy's nose wrinkled. "He beat a suspect to a pulp two weeks ago. The CID let him go, Poppy."

Poppy sagged against the counter. She could not fathom Win losing control of his temper. And the CID was his life. Winston Lane was an inspector, first and always.

What would he do now? How must he feel? Lost, she realized. Win had given up everything to become an inspector, including being cut off from his very powerful family. Daisy's voice broke through her musings.

"He is set to return aboard Archer's boat," 

"Ship. One does not call an ocean liner a boat."

"Ship," Daisy corrected with an eye roll. "At any rate, the ship is called The Ignitus." Daisy made a halfhearted attempt to smile. "Archer named it for Miranda."

Poppy's heart stopped. Ignitus, Latin for "set on fire." Daisy's breath came out in visible puffs as the air about them chilled and ice began to crackle over the counter. Poppy couldn't rein in the reaction. Dear God, how had Isley known? She'd been so careful to keep this life separate from Win.

"When is the ship set to sail?" Poppy's body hummed with the urge to move, to run.

"I believe it's due to depart this Friday. That is two days from now." Daisy's smooth brow furrowed. "Poppy, you can't mean to meet it. The bloody thing is in Calais! We are in London," she added with unnecessary emphasis.

Rage pushed its way along Poppy's veins, making her see more clearly than she had in months.

To find out more about Kristen Callihan and her books, visit her website here.

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Excerpt from "Tangled Web" by Crista McHugh

The deadliest assassin in the empire just got too close to her target…

Azurha, a former slave turned deadliest assassin in the empire, has just been offered the ultimate challenge—seduce, then murder the new Emperor. But Titus is not the tyrant his forefathers were, and his radical ideas might be the glimmer of hope the empire needs.

Titus Sergius Flavus has yet to master the powerful magic of his ancestors—magic he must wield if he’s to protect his people—but his father’s death has left him no choice. Rule the Deizian Empire and attempt to right his ancestors’ wrongs, or watch her fall to his greedy kin.

More than just Titus’ ideas hold Azurha captive. Night after night, he awakens desires she thought lost, and uncovers the magic of her hidden lineage. As her deadline approaches, Azurha is forced to make an impossible decision—complete her job and kill the man she loves, or fail and forfeit both their lives.
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I read a couple of Crista's novels ("Tears  of Elios" and "A Soul for Trouble") last year and have been working through some of her other books since.  I have loved each story and I have no doubt that this will be another amazing one.  I'll have a review posted soon.  The book is due to be released October 16th.  Here's an excerpt from "Tangled Web," thanks to Crista McHugh. 



You’ll never find a knot you can’t unravel.
     The soothsayer’s words from years ago sent a shiver down Azurha’s spine. The last time she’d heard them was the day she’d slit her master’s throat. It did not bode well for this job.
     She’d barely been more than a child when an old crone had approached the home of her master, promising to tell him of his future. Her master had shoved her out into the street, claiming
he made his own future and didn’t need to listen to old woman’s rants. Feeling pity for her, Azurha snuck outside to offer her drink of water, never knowing how much the soothsayer’s words would come to haunt her.
     That felt like a lifetime ago. Since then, she learned pity could be a liability in her occupation.
     She strolled along the market and pretended to read the inscription on one of the columns that celebrated the Deizian victory over the Alpirions at the Battle of Silbus. The ore deposits there had magnified the Emperor’s magic, collapsing the ground from underneath the Alpirion army. It was the same battle that had turned her parents into slaves. She didn’t need to be reminded of that.
     Her mind focused on the conversations around her. Her contact had told her he would find her by using a distinct phrase that would not seem too out of place in a market. She edged closer to the fishmongers.
     To her left, a middle aged Elymanian woman crept alongside her and murmured, “Fresh fish tastes better after the Spring Equinox.”
     “Yes, but pork is always pleasant when it’s freshly killed,” she replied.
     The woman looked up at her, her hands shaking, and nodded. The scent of sweat that clung to skin revealed her to be a member of the lower classes dressed in a gentlewoman’s clothes. An old ruse, but one Azurha readily saw through. She followed the woman through the crowded market and up the hill where the wealthier merchants and government figures lived. Elaborate mansions replaced the simple homes below, becoming more ostentatious the higher they climbed. Some of the chill eased from her body. At least she would be guaranteed a nice sum of money for this job.
     The woman glanced over her shoulder and entered the gate before disappearing into the shadows behind an extravagant Deizian chariot adorned with elaborate gold filigree. Apparently, the lord of the house wasn’t satisfied with the fact it required neither wheels nor horses to fly over the streets. He needed to proclaim both his possession of magic and his station in the gaudiest way possible.
Azurha’s gut clenched as the soothsayer’s words echoed in her mind. She straightened her tunic and brushed her hands over the two daggers concealed beneath the fabric. Her keen eyes surveyed the wealth of her prospective employer. Marble statues of the gods aligned the walls of the garden. A glance further down the colonnade showed another courtyard with a gurgling fountain. Two courtyards was a symbol of wealth in this town, and the masts of the airship that rose over the roof signaled this was the home of a powerful Deizian. She needed to watch her manners. Any perceived insult could end in unnecessary bloodshed.
     The woman opened the door to a room on the other side of the courtyard, and the color drained from her face. She waited for Azurha to enter. The tremor in her hands intensified.
     When the doors closed behind her, Azurha checked the room for any possible traps. Not seeing any, she then searched for escape routes and alternative weapons. It was one of the first lessons Cassius taught her when he took her under his wing—an assassin was always prepared. He’d been a strict teacher, but what she learned from him had proved invaluable. And he’d given her freedom by teaching her the business, an occupation where she could support herself without selling her body.
     Voices echoed from the courtyard, and the door inched open. Azurha crouched behind an urn. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of a dagger, ready to draw it if needed.
“I hope your trust is well placed,” a man’s voice said. His accent was a mixture of Elymanian and Deizian. Her prospective employer.
     “I trained her myself, Pontus. She is as deadly as she is beautiful.”
Azurha almost dropped her dagger. The last time she’d heard that voice was two years ago, as he boarded an airship that had been attacked by the Barbarians. A cosmic storm had weakened the barrier long enough for them to slip through the shield that protected the Empire. They’d left no survivors, and her heart had ached for months when she leaned of his demise.
     She stepped out from behind the urn. “Cassius?”
     The familiar face grinned at her, although time had added more wrinkles and the sun had bronzed it far more than she’d remembered from their life of hiding in the shadows. He stretched out his arms to welcome her. “Little Rabbit.”
     She crossed the room, her emotions warring with each step. Part of her was overjoyed at seeing her mentor after all these years, the man who’d been her rock during those early dark days when she battled the demons of her past, but her heart reminded her of the months she’d spent grieving him.
     When she got close enough to touch him, she slapped his face. “I thought you were dead, you asshole.” Then she wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug.
Cassius returned the hug. “I guess I deserved that.”
     “Are you sure she’s stable enough for my needs?” Pontus asked. He ran his finger along the purple border of his fine linen tunic as if to flash his wealth before his two plainly dressed guests.
     “I wouldn’t have recommended her if she wasn’t,” Cassius replied.
     She broke away from her resurrected mentor to assess her potential employer. Spurius Pontus Gurges, the provincial governor. Perhaps forty summers with a wiry frame and gaunt face, he was a man with blood connections to the Emperor and ambitions to match. Her eyes narrowed. She had no problems killing when paid well for it, but if the whispers were correct, Pontus wanted more than just a troublesome rival removed.
     He scrutinized her in a similar manner. “You are right, Cassius—she is beautiful enough for my plan. I’ve never seen eyes that color, especially in a woman with such a dark complexion. But what of her skills?”
     “She spent nearly seven years under my tutelage. She can kill a man in at least three dozen ways and slip out before she’s caught. I’m sure you’ve heard of her reputation. I’m not the only one who calls her Rabbit.”
     Pontus turned his pale blue gaze to her. His brown hair betrayed the Elymanian taint in his bloodlines, but only the Deizians had eyes like that. “You’re the Rabbit?”
The corner of her mouth quirked up into a half smile as she nodded. “Three dozen is being modest.”
     “I find your reputation to be largely exaggerated.” He turned his back to her.
     The whisper of her blade filled the second of the silence before she pressed it against his throat. “You have doubts about my abilities?”
     He tensed. His Adam’s apple bobbed against the blade, shaving the top layer of skin away. “I could have you arrested and executed for this.”
     “You’d be dead before you cried out for help.”
     Cassius crossed his arms and grinned. “You don’t want to anger Azurha, Pontus. She may prove to be a useful ally.”
     “Fine, she has proven she is quick and silent. No need to continue this demonstration.”
     Her mentor nodded, and she concealed the knife back under her tunic. “Just so we understand each other, Governor.”
     She turned to her former mentor. “Although I wonder why you asked for me, I’m even more curious how you cheated death, Cassius.”
     “What was the third rule I taught you?”
     She closed her eyes and recalled her lessons during her first weeks with him. “Never believe someone is dead until you hear their heart stop beating.”
     “And you were gullible enough to believe I was killed by Barbarians.”
     “There wasn’t a body for me to examine.” A fist formed in her stomach. She’d been fooled by her mentor. “Why didn’t you contact me to let me know you survived?”
     “As much as I’d love to continue this warm reunion,” Pontus interrupted, “I have more important matters to discuss. Shall we talk business?” He poured a glass of wine and sank into one of the cushioned chairs.
     She declined the glass of wine Cassius offered her and sat in a chair across from the men. “Why did you summon me here?”
     “I have a job for you. It will not be simple. I’d originally wanted Cassius for it, but now he tells me he’s retired from the assassination business.”
     Cassius shrugged, holding his palms up long enough for her to notice the violet tinged to them. His tunic was well made, but simple, making him appear to be a typical middle-aged Elymanian plantation owner. “Sometimes a man finds happiness in the simple things in life. Like growing grapes.”
     “Pathetic,” Pontus sneered.
     “If your hands were smeared with as much blood as mine, you’d grab happiness however you could find it.”
     Azurha glanced down at her own hands. She’d lost count of how many people she’d killed over the years. Despite his warning to harden her heart if she wanted to make a career of this, she still felt moments of remorse for the countless faces that stared up at her in death when she was finished with them.
     Cassius caught her reaction and gave her a sad smile. He’d once told her he regretted turning her into what she was, but she’d laughed at him then. Being a killer was an improvement over what she had been subjected to as a slave.
     She erased any emotion from her face. “What do you have in mind for me, Pontus?”
     He leaned back in his chair and took another sip of wine. “First, I need to know what we discuss never leaves this room.”
     “We survive on discretion,” Cassius replied.
     “True. To reveal what we are would be suicide.” She wound one of her dark curls around her finger while the other hand rested over the hilt of her knife. “Who do you want dead?”
     “I’ll get to that. Second, I need to know that you bear no loyalty to the Empire.”
     She laughed. “As I’m sure Cassius has told you, I was born an Alpirion slave. I have no love for the Empire. As far as I’m concerned, you Deizians can return to the sun you came from and burn.”
     “I told you she would be perfect, Pontus. Why would you doubt me after all these years?”
     Her blood chilled. There was more to this meeting than she had first thought. How far did her mentor and the governor go back? “Are we going to talk in riddles, or are you going to tell me what you’re planning?”
     Pontus raised a brow at her impertinence. “The latest news from Emona is that Emperor Decius will not live to see the next full moon.”
    “If he’s already on his deathbed, why do you want me to hasten him to the afterlife?”
    “I’m content to let nature take its course with him. The person I wish for you to kill is his son, Sergius.”
     She bit her bottom lip. “Murdering a member of the Imperial family, especially the heir to the throne, is no simple task. No weapons are allowed inside the Emperor’s chambers. That is, if you can find a way to gain entrance at all.”
     Cassius steepled his fingers under his chin. “You’re a clever girl, Azurha. I’ve taught you plenty of ways to kill someone without a conventional weapon. And as for gaining access to the palace, Governor Pontus has an idea for that.”
     “Oh?” This should prove interesting.
     “According to tradition, when a new Emperor takes the throne, the provincial governors send gifts of tribute in honor of his coronation. Usually, things like gold, fine linen, or rare spices. But nobles have also been known to make contributions to the new Emperor’s harem.”
Azurha shot up to her feet. After the hell her master had put her through, why would Cassius even consider her for this? “Absolutely not. I refuse to be a sex slave for the Emperor.”
She was almost to the door when Cassius caught her and pressed a blade just under her ribs. “Sit down and hear us through, Rabbit.”
     Funny how quickly he could turn on her when it came to business. Every muscle in her body tightened while she weighed her options—kill them or agree to the plan. From what little she’d heard, this plan sounded like madness. She should kill them now before they coerced her into participating in it.
     You’ll never find a knot you can’t unravel.
     “Yes, please let me finish. My contribution to his harem is only a ruse to allow you close access to Sergius. From there, you can decide how far you wish to allow the games to proceed, so long as he ends up dead.”
     “And then?”
     “You will have earned the gratitude of the next Emperor.”
     The air rushed out of her lungs. Just as she had suspected—this was far more than just an assassination. This was a political coup that would place Pontus on the throne as a surviving member of the Imperial Family. “You already know I bear no love for the Empire. Why should I trade one tyrant for another?”
     His laughter sounded too musical to be sane. “Because if you don’t kill him, one of the other ruling families will hire someone else to do it. Sergius spent far too much of his youth studying philosophy instead of warcraft. His ideas for what he wishes to accomplish during his reign are interesting at best.          Most of us consider them far too radical and fear the Empire will crumble if he imposes them.”
     “And how is this a bad thing? If the Empire falls, my people will be free once again.”
     “No, amidst the chaos caused by his plans, the lowest among us will be the first to suffer. That includes the slaves. Sergius is weak. From what I’ve seen, his magic is not even strong enough to maintain the barrier against the Barbarians.”
     Azurha let his words sink in. The Emperor’s primary duty was to maintain the magical shield that encased the Empire and kept outsiders like the Barbarians from attacking. If Sergius was really as weak as Pontus suggested, perhaps it would be a blessing for everyone if she killed him.
     Cassius released her arm and stepped back. “Listen to what he proposes, and you will see Pontus has the stability of the Empire at heart.”
     “If you can help me, Azurha, I will make sure you are properly rewarded. You’ll want for nothing the rest of your life.”
     The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Her mind screamed at her to walk away. “And how long would my life be once I’ve served your purpose?”
     “I give you my word that if you succeed, you’ll live to see your grandchildren playing around your ankles.”
     The prospect of living a life of leisure overcame her hesitations. This could be her last job, the one that made her rich enough to buy a life of obscurity. “You’ll bear witness to this, Cassius?”
     “On my life and honor.”
     She snickered. “There’s no honor in you, but I know you jealously guard your life.”
     “Then are you agreed to it?” Pontus leaned forward, greed dancing his cool blue eyes.
     She settled back into her chair. “Almost, Governor Gurges. Explain your plan to me.”
     “As I mentioned before, I offer you as a gift to the harem. As one of his concubines, you will have greater access to the palace in Emona than most members of the Imperial Family. When Sergius summons you to his chambers, you do what you do best.”
     She exhaled slowly. She wouldn’t have to become the Emperor’s whore. It was all a cover. “And you think the Emperor will find me suitable to summon to his bed?”
     “My dear, I’d summon you to my bed if I didn’t know how deadly you were.” Pontus stared at her as if he was picturing her naked. His cold smile made her skin crawl. “Of course, you’ll need appropriate attire for an Imperial concubine, which I will supply, as well as some instruction on how to please the Emperor.”
     “Which you will supply, too, I assume?” She ground her teeth together.
     “In theory only, naturally, unless you would like hands-on instruction.”
     “I’d prefer not.” She turned to her mentor and searched his face. “Why did you choose me? Surely you know other female assassins.”
     “Because you’re the one person that could carry it out, Rabbit.”
     Could she carry out the guise of pretending to be the Emperor’s whore? Flashbacks of the pain and humiliation she suffered at the hand of her former master filled her mind, of her bleeding wrists bound above her head while he and his friends look their liberties with her. She belonged to no man now and never would.
     Anger warmed her blood, and she swallowed the lump of doubt caught in her throat. She could easily kill the next man that tried to take advantage of her. Let them offer her to the Emperor. His blood would stain his sheets before the sun rose.
     “When do I leave for Emona?”


To find out more about Crista McHugh and her books, visit http://www.cristamchugh.com/wordpress/

Giveaway and Excerpt from "Shadow Rising" by Kendra Leigh Castle

Thanks to the wonderful Kendra Leigh Castle for this great excerpt from Shadow Rising and for offering a signed copy to the winner of the giveaway!  Just fill out the form below to enter.  You can also check out my review of this latest book in her Dark Dynasties series here.


Synopsis:

      As one of the Grigori, a noble vampire dynasty shrouded in mystery, Ariane has spent her life hidden away in the desert. Like all of her kind, she is a watcher, fated to observe, forbidden to act. Yet when her best friend Sammael vanishes, she defies all rules and flees her safe haven to bring him home.     
     A shape-shifting assassin for the House of Shadows, Damien Tremaine is hired to locate Sammael. His hunt for the wayward Grigori leads him to Ariane, the rogue vamp who stands between him and his bounty. Damien never lets emotion interfere with his work, but a single touch from the sexy, beguiling vampire shatters his self-control. Drawn together by their common goal, they begin an alliance of necessity that soon becomes one of desire. But when the secret at the dark heart of the Grigori comes to light, Damien and Ariane must make a choice that could bind them eternally . . . or tear them-and everything they care about-apart.



Here's an excerpt just for you:
     Slowly, the tension beneath his hand eased, and the woman sank back down onto her stool. Damien released her reluctantly. His hand tingled where he’d touched her. For a moment, her awkwardness vanished, and the woman looking back at him was every bit as cold and ancient as her dynasty mark proclaimed her to be.
     He wondered fleetingly if playing with a Grigori this way was wise, then brushed it aside. He’d lived for centuries doing just as he liked, and it had served him well enough. Why stop now?
     “I’ll stay. For now. But I’m not going to entertain you…cat.” Her gaze dropped to the concealed top of Damien’s right collarbone. There, beneath his shirt, was the mark of his bloodline, a trio of entwined black cats fashioned into a Celtic circle. It branded him as Cait Sith, a cat-shifter.
     And without looking at it, she shouldn’t have been able to tell so quickly.
     “How did you know?” Damien asked.
     The woman shrugged, a dainty lift of shoulders exposed by the sleeveless little black dress she wore. The movement made him look below her neck, which he instantly knew he shouldn’t have done. He could stay distracted for weeks by the wonders showcased by that dress. With some effort, he dragged his eyes back up to meet hers.
     “I’m good at identifying who’s who,” she said, her tone defensive. “I studied.”
     “Really. And what identified me?”
     She turned her head to glare into her drink. “Does it matter? You’re just going to make fun of me, whatever I say.”
     The accusation startled him…more because she was probably right. And for whatever reason, the knowledge bothered him.
     “I won’t. I’m genuinely curious.”
     She didn’t even look at him. “I doubt that. You’re just bored. Go away.”
     Damien watched her face, seeing the frustration likely borne of fumbling her way through modern vampire society without a lifeline for at least a couple of weeks, and something in him softened. He didn’t bother to try and analyze it, but his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he sought to reassure her.
     "I’m not leaving until you tell me. But I’m happy to drag this out if you’d rather.”
     She looked up at him through long, dark lashes with such world-weariness that he had to fight back the urge to pull her into his lap and nuzzle her. The idea had some merit, actually…but Damien was pretty sure that would just put them back at square one. The longer they looked at one another, the more Damien had the unnerving sensation that she was sizing him up, judging him by some measure he couldn’t begin to guess at. The intensity of her focus on him was as pleasurable to Damien as a caress. To his shock, he had to swallow back an inadvertent purr. He didn’t purr for anyone. Anyone. And certainly not for something as cheap as a little attention.
     At last, she relented with a sigh. “It’s your eyes, for one thing. The pupils do some interesting things in the light. They’re very feline, if you look close enough. But mostly it was just the way you move. I’d read about it, but the words didn’t really do you justice.”
     He lifted his brows, surprised by the simple honesty of her answer. “Oh?”
     She nodded, obviously an eager student of a subject Damien was inclined to find ridiculously flattering. He didn’t think any woman had ever remarked on the way he moved before…out of bed, that was.
     “Yes,” she said. “Very graceful, very sinuous. Very…” She trailed off, and it seemed she’d been about to say a lot more than she’d intended. Damien watched her pale cheeks flush again.
     “Well. It’s unique anyway. So…” She looked a bit at a loss, grabbed the martini she’d been nursing, and took a large gulp. Then she looked at him over the rim of the glass, eyes glittering in the dim light, and Damien found himself momentarily lost again. All vampires were beautiful. It actually got boring after a while. But this one was damned near a work of art. Sculptors would have carved her likeness on temples; famed poets would have composed masterpieces extolling her beauty and then drank themselves to death over her. He could imagine it easily.
     Except that she acted like she’d been locked in a closet for the last five hundred years.

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