Cover Reveal/Pre-Order

Title: Wicked Saint
Series: Sinners and Saints Book 1
Author: Veronica Eden
Genre: Dark NA High School Bully Romance
Release Date: February 10, 2020

 

GEMMA

 

He stole my first kiss… and now he thinks everything else is his.
I said no to the one person no one at this school dares to refuse.
Now I’m targeted by jealous girls, guys that compete to be the first to “break the prude”, and by him. After one kiss, the king of the school hunts me down like I’m a conquest to win. He’ll have to fight harder than that, because I’m no one’s trophy.
They all want a piece of me, but I will not bend or break for them.
LUCAS
No one refuses the king.
One case of mistaken identity and a hasty kiss turned my world upside down.
The new girl refused me. Not only that, she threw down the gauntlet. That won’t stand. No one ever says no to me. This school is mine and she’ll learn her place as a loyal follower or her life is going up in flames.
I’ll make her say yes. She’ll be screaming it before I’m finished breaking her

 

 

Veronica Eden is the author of dark new adult romances + reverse harem romances with spitfire heroines and irresistible heroes. She loves exploring complicated feelings, magical worlds, epic adventures, and the bond of characters that embrace us against the world. She has always been drawn to gruff antiheroes, clever villains, and the twisty-turns of morally gray decisions. She believes sometimes the villain should get the girl and is a sucker for a deliciously devilish antihero. Veronica Eden is the pen name of romance author Mara Townsend. When not writing, she can be found soaking up sunshine at the beach, snuggling in a pile with her untamed pack of animals (her husband, dog and cat), and surrounding herself with as many plants as she can get her hands on.
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New Release/Excerpt

Title: Shadow of Angels
Series: Halfway Between
Author: Kathryn Ann Kingsley
Genre: New Adult Paranormal Romance
Release Date: January 6, 2020
The first time I died was November 1st, 1945. That might’ve been the first time, but it certainly wasn’t the last.
 
My name is Veil, and my life has been far from normal. Everything I thought I knew about myself had been a lie. Every single thing. Turns out, I had been in the care of a cult dedicated to a King in Hell and fallen archangel.
 
But after learning the truth of who—or what—I am, I devoted my life to stopping them and everyone like them.
 
Which is why when I learned that Boston was under siege from an occult society who was slaughtering innocents, I had no choice but to come and stop them. Even if it meant it would take me piece by piece through that past I’d spent seventy years trying to avoid—and right into the presence of the archdemon I’d been running from for so very long. Asmodeus.
 
Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I realized once more that I had no clue what was coming next…

 

“Raise your hands if you love villain romance! **Thrusts her hand in the air.** Kathryn is back with a new series! Shadow of Angels was a great beginning, and I can’t wait to read more.” – USA Today Best Selling Author, Tiffany Roberts

“Throw out everything you thought you knew about angels and demons and get ready to be swept off your feet with a kickass heroine in Shadow Of Angels!” – Julia from Red Hatter Book Blog

Veil was dying.

Again.

At this point, she was on a first-name basis with the sensation of her body shutting down. All her organs were struggling valiantly to soldier on, even though things were entirely out of place and had gone very much awry. A golf-ball-sized hole had been punched straight through her chest. But her body only had one job, keeping her alive, and it was trying so very hard to do just that.

She was lying on the floor. A bullet had been what put her there. A particularly large caliber one, judging by the pain. The gun the man had used packed a damn good punch.

It was also likely enchanted and holy.

She figured it went with the territory.

Now she found herself examining the ceiling tiles of a charming little coffee shop. It was trying to make the vintage thing work at all costs, even if it meant putting up fake stamped copper tiles. I bet they’re plastic from Home Depot or something.

It’s amazing what came to mind when the brain was struggling for oxygen and blood. The thoughts were always the most random, trivial things. Never anything salient or prophetic. Never anything interesting.

The bullet might have nicked her heart. It had definitely punctured her lung. She knew this, because when she went to breathe, it felt as though she had liquid in her chest. It gurgled like trying to suck air through a snorkel with too much seawater in it. The sensation was just as unpleasant.

It’d be over soon enough, she knew. It wasn’t the first time this’d happened. It wouldn’t be the last. While every kind of death carried its own unique form of pain, she likened it to flavors of ice cream. Sure, it all tasted different, but down at the core it was the same thing. How she got there might be new and interesting, might be double-fudge or salted caramel, but it all got her to the same place.

Man, I could seriously go for some ice cream right about now.

Lifting her hand, she touched it to the wound in her ribcage. It was sticky and wet. And big. She picked her hand up to look at the blood dripping off her fingers. More out of morbid curiosity than anything else. It was painful to breathe, so she opted not to. It would just get it over with easier that way. The darkness that was creeping at the edges of her vision would come faster. The quicker that happened, the quicker she could get on with her day.

Death obeyed, and she felt the darkness at the edges of her vision rush in closer. The bullet had punched its way easily through bone, flesh, and sinew. The man was also an excellent shot, she’d give him that.

Y’know, Yul Brenner made a weird villain in West World. Again, with the random-ass thoughts. It almost made her laugh. She would have, if she had the air and the lungs to do it. Just another weird thought popping up out of nowhere as her brain struggled to survive.

Veil knew the telltale signs that the end was coming soon. She shut her eyes as her lungs burned and willed her body to just give up the ghost and let it end. When a hand grasped hers and clutched it, she blinked in confusion and looked up at the man kneeling over her.

He had long, chestnut hair in a ponytail and sharp hazel eyes. He wore all black, save for a white clerical collar that only made him look tan by comparison. He held her hand gently, and with his other one with two fingers aloft, gestured in the shape of a cross in the air in front of him. Earnestly, he began to pray in Latin.

It almost made her laugh again.

“Don’t bother,” a familiar voice said from the table nearby.

“What?” the priest kneeling over her looked up, appalled and offended.

“Give her a minute.”



***



Two days prior.

Boston.

Once, not very long ago, the city had been Veil’s home. Well, it was the only place she had spent enough time in to qualify for the title, anyway. And for exactly those reasons, she avoided it as best she could.

Every street seemed to dredge up bad memories and feelings she didn’t want to experience again. She hadn’t been back in…oh, fifteen years, give or take, and another twenty before that. Once and a while she had to pass through, but never long enough to really let the cloud settle over her.

But her work had called her here. There were only a few things that could drag her back here, nearly kicking and screaming. Death on a large scale was one of them.

Death in the city of Boston was something she was familiar with.

This was where she had been raised. This was where she had spent time in the only semblance of a family she had ever known.

And this is where she had killed them all. This is where she had abandoned him to rot.

Veil shuddered. It had nothing to do with the overly-dry, overly-chill hotel room air. It had everything to do with the image that flashed into her mind. The glint of candlelight off a silver blade that was poised to drive into her chest and into her heart.

That had been the first time she had died and the exact moment everything had gone wrong. The moment she had learned everything had been a lie. She shoved the miserable memory to the back of her mind for the millionth time. It came back to her enough without having to dwell on it.

One foot in front of the other. Always. Immortality was going to drag her down the pavement anyway, she might as well stand up and walk. Besides, there was work to do. There were probably demons to hunt, and more importantly, the humans who brought them here.

She was standing by the window, looking down at the street and busy intersection below. They were staying at the Omni-Parker House Hotel. It was supposed to be one of the nicest hotels in the city. It was the oldest, anyway. It showed, if she were honest. It wasn’t a bad hotel, but it wasn’t her favorite. Namely, she wished she could open the window. She’d much prefer the heavy air of the city and the constant honking, shouting, and shrill whistle of the valet driver below, over the rush of the fan and the stifling feeling of the over-recycled air.

But, there was no use trying to get the windows open. They were screwed shut. Any jumpers might mess up traffic more than usual, and the city might not survive that. It was School Street down below her, and it was bumper-to-bumper in the evening rush hour traffic. That one-lane example an utter failure in city planning was already a majestic cluster-fuck on a good day without somebody turning themselves into street pizza adding to the mess.

Boston was a place built not on top of the old, but around it like a bad jigsaw puzzle. It was trying to do its best to cling to the old streets and old buildings that defined it. Unlike New York or Chicago, that hadn’t minded blasting down a few streets to fix problems, Boston was proud to let it linger.

New York and Chicago also had taken advantage of having mostly burned down at some point or another and used that opportunity to build streets in such novel concepts as “straight lines” and “grids.”

Not in Boston.

Major city improvements also never did quite go as planned. The Big Dig was testament to that. It made the populace a little less eager to take on new ones.

This intersection was a perfect example of Boston’s problem. Three lanes of road meeting two lanes meeting one. A seventeenth-century church, a nineteenth-century hotel, and two large glass structures of two very different styles all met at the same point.

School Street, meets Tremont, meets Beacon. Really, School Street should have been bulldozed a long time ago, if it weren’t for the string of historic buildings. Although, one of them seemed to have been turned into a Chipotle somewhere along the way, so there was that.

Old and new, woven around each other to try and make a cohesive whole.

She resembled the city. Maybe a little too much for comfort. Maybe that’s another reason she hated it so much.

Her thoughts strayed and tried to lock onto her opinions of the city below. Anything to keep them from the matter at hand. Anything to keep away from dwelling on what brought her to her former home.

But like a bad yo-yo, her thoughts spun out, ran dry, and let her dangling on the end of the string without anywhere to go. She had to wind it all back up and face the facts. The TV behind her was buzzing away, the local news personalities yammering pointless observations and speculations about one very undeniable thing—this was a city gripped in fear.

People were afraid to go out. They were afraid to leave their houses and apartments after dark. They had a perfectly good reason, by her estimation.

There had been murders.

Messy murders.

One person getting beheaded in an alleyway was awful, but not international news. Two people being dismembered, blood streaking the walls like it had been caused by a piece of rogue farm equipment, and people began to take notice.

But it didn’t stop. Every night, people went entirely missing…or were found in pieces. The sickest part was that the more apt description would be “pieces were found.” The dismembered bodies were never whole. Bits were being taken, but not just any bits. The important ones you’d notice, like the head or the whole torso. They only ever left the limbs behind, if anything other than just the blood.

Nobody had caught sight of what was causing the mayhem. At first, Veil had ignored the news, chocking it up to human, non-magic using crazies, until the blood left behind by one was scrawled onto the wall in a symbol. It was a circle, with angled triangles and pentagons inside of it. It bore all the hallmarks of a kind of ceremonial magic that she was all too familiar with.

It was dribbly, dripping down the cement surface, put there by hand by whoever—or whatever—had murdered the man left crumpled in a heap of torn up parts nearby. The writing was sloppy, the Enochian was mangled, but it had been clear enough.

After that, no matter her hatred for the city and her desire to never come back to Boston, she had to do something to stop whatever was transpiring. She couldn’t look the other way.

Neither could her friend, who was currently tapping away at his laptop like a madman. They were a team. He found her the jobs, she went out and did them. They had the same goal—to make sure as few people in this world suffered the same fate that they both had.

Veil’s job?

Cult hunter.

Not like she carried a card, or anything. She called it a job, but it wasn’t like you go off to get certified in it. She had enough background in the topic to be an “expert.” Both in the creatures that stalked the shadows, and the kind of crazies who worshipped them.

Demons were real. Angels could be worse. Even worse than them, were the humans who dedicated themselves in service to them, who prayed and knelt in devotion to one or more of the ancient creatures.

The ones who had their silly little altars and lit their candles and drew their symbols in chalk on the floors weren’t so bad. They were harmless, and she let them slide by. It was the ones who then etched those symbols in human flesh that were the bigger problem.

She hunted them down, one by one, and did what she needed to do to make sure they wouldn’t hurt anyone again. That was her bad excuse for “work.” It didn’t even come with a paycheck. Not really. Once and a while she’d take a gig here and there that came with a dollar sign attached. Missing persons, mostly. It was lame, but they paid extremely well.

She looked back at her friend. Richard was in his forties now, gray at the temples, glasses having grown thicker over the years, as he peered over them and typed away. She had met him when he was eight years old. He had been huddled in a cage in the corner, his head buried in his hands. He had listened to the screams of his mother and six-year-old sister as they were diced to pieces, dissected alive all in the name of glorious Belphegor.

The joke was on them. Belphegor had retired years ago.

She had “dispatched” the cult in the best way she knew how. She murdered them all. She hated taking lives, but they had given up their right to live when they had started chopping up innocent people. She had taken the boy outside and hugged him and stayed by his side until she had to make her exit as the cops arrived. Veil didn’t do well with the police. Too many very good questions that she had entirely unacceptable answers to, like “how did you get through the locked door?” and “does any of the blood you’re wearing belong to you?”

It usually didn’t. That tended to be the wrong answer. Cops got huffy at that kind of thing, go figure.

She’d kept an eye on Richard as he grew up. His family was gone, his dad having been shot by the cultists when he had tried to protect his family from being taken. The poor kid had been put right into child services. He was adopted at around ten years old by a nice family who cared for him. She had made sure he had everything he’d needed. When he went to college—and went on to get his doctorate—she had quietly paid for his tuition and made it look like a miraculous scholarship award.

She’d done her best to stay out of his life and to stay away from him. She only brought trouble, and any association he had with her was going to end poorly. That worked right up until the invention of the internet. Then, Richard had found her. He tracked her down by finding the occult bastards she was after right before she did.

The first few times he pulled that stunt she walked away from him and told him to go away and leave her alone. She insisted that she was dangerous. But the man was brutally stubborn, and he kept at her for years. Finding her targets before she would, texting her the locations—she still didn’t know how he had gotten her phone number—and meeting her at the scene before she went to work.

Finally, she had given up. He was better at hunting down her quarry than she was, that was for damn sure. And, once she’d given up and let him help, they had become fast friends. It was Richard’s digging and connections that had turned up the classified image of the circle painted in blood on the alley wall in Boston.

If it had been any ol’ ceremonial magic circle, she would have come to stop the sect and it wouldn’t have been anything out of the ordinary. It wouldn’t have bothered her or brought up the memories that were pulling at the back of her mind and ruining her mood.

But it hadn’t been just any circle. Ceremonial circles have rules. They work in certain ways, using lines and the right words to draw power. They tap into energies and pull from them. One wrong line, and it’s as useful as a lead balloon. This one…had invented a whole new set of rules. But, much like looking at the first cubist painting by Picasso, she knew it still worked. Even if it defied everything she knew.

The other problem is whose power it was tapping into. Whose name was scrawled in sloppy but legible Enochian. It was one that made her skin crawl. One that she knew quiet well.

Asmodeus.

The sun was going down, and that meant that it was almost time to get going. All the recent murders and disappearances all happened at night. Cliché, but not unexpected. She walked away from the window and slumped down at the opposite side of the table from Richard. Their hotel rooms had a little adjoining living room-ish kind of thing with a kitchenette, and while it was tiny, it worked. Hopefully they wouldn’t be in town for long.

The doctor in philosophical history—she thought that’s what it was, she could never get it right—had quickly taken over the table that was supposed to be used for eating, and had covered it in scraps of paper, notebooks, leather bound volumes, manuscripts, and his laptop. Research.

He didn’t acknowledge her she had sat down. He probably hadn’t noticed. Veil began to absently spin a piece of paper on the table in front of her underneath her fingers. “Any leads yet?”

“No,” he replied after a long pause and without looking up from his screen. “No one’s seen anything like the circle they drew on the wall. It’s…based in the lesser key, but it’s a new alteration. I have a few friends working on it, but nothing’s turned up yet. I still think we should contact the Church and see if they know anything. I’ve heard reports they’re already in the city, and—”

“No. Absolutely not. I haven’t hidden from them for this long only to screw it up now.”

“But—”

“We can solve it ourselves. We can. We always have before.”

He sighed. “Fine. I’ll keep trying. But I can’t make heads or tails of it. It’s entirely new. I can’t figure what they’re after.”

“Well, they need to be stopped. I don’t really care what they’re after.”

“Are they trying to bring him back?” That was the first time Richard looked up over the top of his glasses and screen at her, gray eyes worried.

“They can’t. Not from where I put him. Nobody can. Either they’re too stupid to know that, or they’re after something else.” At least, she was pretty sure of that. She at least sounded confident.

Richard shook his head, and sighed, at a loss. “If you manage not to knock one of their heads off in the process, perhaps we can question them.”

She snickered. “I’ll do my best, but I make no promises.” She stood again and stretched, cracking her back. She walked into her hotel room and grabbed her weapons. Two metal rods, about two feet long each, and otherwise nondescript. They weren’t flashy, but they were more than effective. Flashy got you noticed—flashy drew questions. Two metal rods earned you some squinty-eyed looks from the cops and the locals but could be mistaken for the weirdest new sporting craze, like those people who speed-walk with weights or something.

She slipped them into the holsters she wore on her legs, one on each side, tied her long hair back into a ponytail, grabbed her coat, and headed for the door.

“Be careful, Veil.”

“It’s just some losers collecting hearts because they read somewhere they could cast fireballs with them,” she grinned as she wiggled her fingers at him as if she were casting a cartoonish spell. “Just another day on the job, Richie. I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, yes,” he laughed. “But something feels odd about this one. The public attacks in a major city? And it’s his name they wrote…”

“I know. Trust me, I know.”

“And here, of all places, to have his name appear?”

She gritted her teeth and did her best not to yell at him that she was very much aware of the fact that this wasn’t a coincidence, no matter how you looked at it. “Just idiots in robes Richie. Like it always is.”



***



Veil walked down the street, humming to herself, slurping happily on her frappa-mocha-something from the coffee shop. She loved coffee. Adored it. And this was a frilly, far-too-sweet concoction loaded with more sugar and whipped cream than any of the actual caffeinated substance.

Fine by her.

It was seven o’clock, and it was already growing dark in mid-October fall. It was gorgeous in Boston that time of year. Even if it didn’t have a whole lot of trees to turn color, it was worth it. Halloween season was a special time in New England. The whole region seemed to just appreciate the holiday more—you could almost feel it tap into the earth. She used to spend a lot of time up on the north shore in Ipswich in her early years, and she remembered how inherently creepy that whole region was. She had loved it at the time and eaten up every volume of Lovecraft any of her so-called family would bring her. That, along with any scrap of anything spooky or morbid she could get her hands on.

The memories made her smile even as they dug a dagger into her heart. It was a painful kind of hate and fondness that mixed together as she took another slurp from the sugary mess she had purchased. It chased away her melancholy. Hard not to, when it even had little chocolate sprinkles on top.

No self-respecting adult had the right to buy something this stupid with a straight face. And she hadn’t, to be fair. She’d been grinning the whole time.

Focus, you moron. Focus. All the murders and disappearances had centered in and around the center of the city. And so, she started there. Worked her way out in slowly-widening circles. Which, really, were probably squiggly lines knowing the stupid street layout.

But she didn’t plan on walking around all night just hoping to trip over a bunch of assholes trying to summon whoever-or-whatever they were intent on calling. She had a plan. She was just trying to find the right place. It’s surprisingly hard to find a dark and deserted alley when you need one. Maybe they all went out of fashion. Not to mention, a dark and deserted alley that felt right.

Magical hoo-ha and all that stupidity. She didn’t understand it. But she felt it like the weather. People didn’t need to understand why it rained to know it was wet.

Finally, after an hour or two—and long after her sugary monstrosity had run out—she found the right spot. Glancing left and right, making sure she was alone, shed pulled a piece of white chalk out of her coat pocket. Humming and half-singing, murmuring the lyrics to “Black Hole Sun” to herself, she drew on the side of the Mexican restaurant the symbols she needed.

It took her three attempts of one line to get it right, and she had to use the melting ice from her coffee cup to wipe it clean. “Damn it,” she grumbled.



“Penmanship, dear. Penmanship is key.” The hand that settled on the back of hers was warm and gentle. Even if the voice was cold and trying to sound stern, it was clear it was for show. His emerald eyes seemed to catch her in them and hold her. They always had, and they always would.

“Start again, this time, try it with straight lines for a change.”

“A novel concept,” she teased back. “And here I was trying to be artistic.” No, really, she was just awful at drawing straight lines. He could do it with perfect and practiced ease, like it wasn’t even difficult. “Nobody appreciates my talent.”

“There is a time and place for all things.” He chuckled at her sarcastic joke. “Try again.”



Veil bit back the memory and swallowed it hard into the back of her throat. That, or the smell of the rotting dumpster nearby, was making her nauseous. Probably both. But finally, the work was done. She took a step back and eyed her work. It was a little crooked. She could almost hear his voice haunting her, pointing out over her shoulder the bits she had screwed up. He had been a perfectionist in all things.

The worst part was that he had never been wrong. It was hard to argue when he was right, but it hadn’t ever stopped her from trying.

Biting back the melancholy again, she sighed. It wasn’t flawless, but it’d work just fine. She tossed her plastic coffee cup into the offensive dumpster and walked back up to the symbol and put her palm flat against the center.

It was like popping a bottle of champagne. She had created the bottle, the cork, and the fizzy substance that wanted nothing more than to explode. If she didn’t pop it right, she’d take the cork to the face, shatter something, and otherwise just make a massive mess of things.

She shut her eyes and let herself focus on the feeling of it beneath her palm. Like a racing river beneath a smooth, frozen surface.

Some people had to chant to do magic. Some people used symbols. Some people gestured. Most did all three. They were all tools. They were guns, knives, swords, or tanks. They all existed for the same purpose—getting the job done. Magic was about will. Sheer, unadulterated force of will over the world around them.

Veil was shit at magic.

Well, no, that wasn’t true. She was better than the cultists she was always hunting. They sucked at magic. She had always just been surrounded by people far better at it than she was. She had always felt like the child playing adults at poker. And for all intents and purposes, she had been.

At least she didn’t have to chant or flail around like a moron. Her weapon of choice was drawing symbols and using those to tap into the world around her. She felt the lines she had drawn and used it like a fork. Just plunked it into the power around her and willed it to do what she wanted.

And right now, she wanted a compass. Something to show her the way to the fuckers that decided to make murder the new fall fashion statement.

She really had to learn to be more specific.

“Command me, Mistress!”

Oh, no.

Oh, fucking Hell.

Veil jumped back from the wall and watched in horror as an…imp pushed itself forward from the wall. Oozed out of the concrete as it borrowed molecules and substance from the building itself to create its body.

It flapped its little purple bat wings, and it landed on a trashcan nearby with a loud thunk. It was a chubby little bastard, and it looked like its little leathery wings wouldn’t hold up its girth on a good day. It petted its stomach with a toothy grin, tipped its stumpy, piggish face back and snuffed loudly in the direction of the dumpster. “What smells good?”

Veil groaned.

She hated imps.

It stood itself up and flapped its wings, and then landed on her shoulder like a fat, leathery cat. “What is our mission, Mistress?”

She tried to keep the disgust off her face. She was pretty sure she failed. Well, this is what she got for not being very specific in what kind of compass she wanted to create. “We’re hunting cultists. Murderers. They’re out somewhere and the city and I need to find them.”

“Oooh! Yes, yes! I can do these things! Yes!” It pointed a stubby, clawed finger out of the alley. “We should go that way!”

“That’s the only way out.”

“I know!” It grinned toothily. “Exactly! Then it is the right choice!”

She really hated imps.

“Just make yourself invisible. The last thing I need is to cause a panic.”

“I…cannot do this thing.” The imp pouted as he shoved a finger inside his ear and wiggled it, as if trying to get out some wax. She wanted to chuck it off her shoulder, but, she had summoned it, and that’d be rude. “Ah! I know! The humans have a beast for this kind of deed!”

It flew from her shoulder to the ground, and as it landed, its body flashed brightly and changed. She had to turn her head away, and when she looked back, the worlds weirdest looking dog was sitting at her feet, tongue hanging out the side of its mouth, panting happily.

Reaching down to pick up the leash it had the presence of mind to summon with its change, she sighed. “All right. Let’s go.”

It bounced up to its feet eagerly and bounded toward the entrance to the alleyway. But not before stopping to lift a leg and take a piss on a few boxes and empty kegs.

She really, really hated imps.
Kat has always been a storyteller. With ten years in script-writing for performances on both the stage and for tourism, she has always been writing in one form or another. When she isn’t penning down fiction, she works as Creative Director for a company that designs and builds large-scale interactive adventure games. There, she is the lead concept designer, handling everything from game and set design, to audio and lighting, to illustration and script writing. Also on her list of skills are artistic direction, scenic painting and props, special effects, and electronics. A graduate of Boston University with a BFA in Theatre Design, she has a passion for unique, creative, and unconventional experiences. In her spare time, she builds animatronics and takes trapeze classes.
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New Release/Excerpt

Title: Covet
Series: Beautiful Sinner Series #2
Author: Elena M. Reyes
Genre: Romantic Suspense/New Adult
Release Date: October 21, 2019
Cover Design: Black Widow Designs
I’m a sinner. A criminal.
The beast that will never let her go…
Everyone in England knows the name Casper Jameson. They know that I’m a cruel bastard with no regrets when it comes to dealing with those that cross me. They fear me; a man with no morals. Someone cold—without a weakness.
Until I see her…
 
She’s beautiful; a delicious temptation standing across the room from me without a care. Unaware of the danger that lurks—that this man wants to consume her.
I’m going to own her every sigh.
Taste her every moan.
Drown in her pleasure.
Let the bloody chase begin.
 
(The Beautiful Sinner Series are all interconnected standalones full of suspense and romance and an OTT alpha willing to burn the world to the ground for the woman he loves! It’s sexy and has an edge of darkness that will leave you breathless!⁣)

I NOTICE HER the bloody second she comes into the room. There’s a shift in the air, a different kind of energy that sweeps over my over six-foot-two frame as I take in every delicate detail of her body. How she walks. How the little black dress she wears clings to each sinuous curve.
This girl commands the attention of every drunk arsehole without an ounce of effort.
From my seat, I have a view of every inch of this pub; from its entrance to the bar, to the small dance floor off to my left where bodies grind to the beat of some chart-topping artist. The place is full to the brim, and yet, she’s all I see. All I can seem to focus on. Taking into account every minute detail while all around me people continue to slam back pint after pint.
Each swing of her hips is a call to the animal within. A taunt.
The woman she’s with stops a few tables from the one I’m occupying near the back with my men; a setup of high-top seating, and along the wall, two private booths. They greet another couple already sitting there with a small handshake, though hers is more on the distant side, the kind you give a stranger. A bit timid.
She shifts a bit—head bobbing to the music—and I follow the move, lowering my eyes to roam her small frame and liking the way her hip juts a bit to the side. Naturally coquettish, she’s small but thick where it counts. Young, but legal. A beautiful little thing with the face of an angel and a body made to worship. At no more than five foot three and no older than twenty-two, she’s all hips and thighs and has a gorgeous face with hazel eyes and plump berry-colored lips.
Moreover, it’s that mouth that first caught my attention.
How she throws her head back, laughing at what someone at the table says. How carefree she looks. How those lips stretch wide and her eyes close for a brief moment before meeting mine.
We hold each other’s stare. Not moving.
And then that mouth parts in slow motion, her tiny pink tongue peeking out to sweep across her bottom lip, sealing her fate. At that moment, every single thought of retribution leaves my mind. My hunger morphs into something wickedly delicious.
I need that tight body on her knees.
I want her breasts encasing my thick cock as I slide between them.

 

I want her wetness running down my length, bathing me as those hazel orbs stay on mine.

 

MINE: Early 2020

YOURS: Summer 2020

Elena M. Reyes is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would.


As a small child, she was always intrigued by all forms of art: whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with hours of pleasure, but it wasn’t until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world.

She’s a short and sassy Latina with an adorable pup, a kiddo that keeps her on her toes, and a husband who claims she’ll cause him to go bald prematurely. Lol

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Release Tour/99Cents

Tabloid Princess by Anna Bloom

AVAILABLE NOW! 

Kindle Unlimited or just 99p!
Buy your copy Today: mybook.to/Tabloidprincess

GENRE: New Adult / Contemporary Romance

#TabloidPrincess #ReleaseBlitz #AnnaBloom #RoyalRomance
#BareNakedWords #RomanceReaders #Books
Blurb
“She didn’t believe in fairy tales… until she fell for a prince.”
Single mother, Leia Lawrence didn’t have a storybook childhood. Now? Dating… men…? She’d rather stay in her tower of solitude.
Until her path crosses with the heir to the British throne.
He should be the bad boy the press portray him as.
He isn’t.
He should be as arrogant as the rich elites she despises.
He isn’t
He should be easy to walk away from.
Oh, boy, he isn’t.
Oliver is nothing like the man she expects. Smart, funny and caring, he could push through every defence she has in place.
But one passing moment could change everything. It could bring the press to her door and uncover secrets she thinks are long dead.
What will he be willing to do to protect her?
She has nowhere left to turn, except to her prince.
The only thing she can do is wait and see if he’ll choose to protect his country… or her…
TROPE:
Opposites attract
Against the odds
Royal romance
Millionaire romance
Scandal Queen (book 2) Releases 28th November
 
 
 
Pre-order Today!
 
Meet the Author

A book hoarder and coffee addict by heart Anna Bloom loves to write extraordinary stories about real love. Based south of London with her husband, three children and a dog with a beard, Anna likes to connect with readers, fan girl over her favourite authors and binge watch Supernatural while drinking lots of wine.

 

Book Tour/Giveaway


Title: Saint Street
Author: Scarlett Hopper
Genre: NA Romance
Release Date: September 30, 2019

 

 

 
 
 

 

Amazon Review – “Another knock out”

Goodreads Review – “Fabolous read..”

Goodreads Review – “Her passion for writing shines through with her words.”

 
Augustana Prescott is used to following the crowd. Having lost herself somewhere along the way, a newly graduated Stana decides to leave her lacklustre life in Los Angeles and flee to London. Hoping to discover who she truly is away from all the noise, Stana gets more than she bargained for when she meets the Ronan siblings, Alistair and Emilia. 
 
As she and Emilia grow closer, Stana comes to realise that blood doesn’t always make family, and sometimes it’s the family you choose, and not the family you’re born in to, that matters the most. Stana’s connection to Alistair, the manager and singer at her local bar, Saint Street, reignites a flame in herself that she thought was dimmed forever, and she quickly finds her footing in London. The sparks between the handsome Brit and the American girl are clear from the start, but that doesn’t mean the path to happily ever after will be easy.
 
As Stana navigates the trials and tribulations of new love and a makeshift family, her perseverance is tested as strong forces back in LA try to pull her home. When it all becomes too much, Stana will have to decide how much she is willing to risk to keep the life and love she not only wants, but desperately needs.

 

 

 

 
 
Scarlett Hopper was born in Sydney, Australia and moved to Los Angeles when she was 10 years old. Her passion for writing came about at a young age when her sister would read her the works of Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath. Three years ago, Scarlett re-located back to Sydney where she studies creative writing and communications. When she isn’t writing or reading, she spends her time traveling and searching for the best record stores, while eating at 24 hour diners. After her graduation, Scarlett hopes to move back to the US and begin a new adventure in Seattle.


 
 
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Book Tour

Title: 51 Bad Dates
Author: M.M. Clem
Genre: NA Romantic Comedy
Release Date: October 4, 2019

 

Red Hatter Book Blog – “51 Bad Dates is the book you need to get you out of any sort of funk. It’s absolutely hilarious, sweet, swoony, and witty. I adored the style of writing just as much as I adored Wren and Wilder!”


Beyond the Covers Blog – “51 Bad Dates by m.m. clem is a quirky, delightful, lighthearted story about how to and not to find love.”

Goodreads Review – “This was such a fun read! I loved all the crazy dates and characters she meets along the way. Highly recommended 💜”

 

 
At twenty-five, Wren Cooper knows exactly what she wants: a job writing for a successful blog, to work with her best friend, and to snag the hottie she’s crushed on since she was a teen.
 
The problem? He’s her boss.
 
Being the city’s most eligible bachelor and CEO of the wildly popular blog, OurGen, shouldn’t be that hard for Wilder Owens. When a sexy, smart-mouthed young woman from his past accepts a role at his firm, he discovers being the boss isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
 
There’s no denying the chemistry between Wilder and Wren. If only Wilder could get past his own self-imposed “no dating employees” rule and Wren could relax and finally admit to her feelings after all this time. Can they stop arguing long enough to see what’s right in front of them?
 
 
 

 

m.m. clem lives in a small town in the heart of Indiana with her husband, 3 bad ass kids, and her dog Leela. She spends most of her time hauling said bad ass kids to dance practices, band practices, and club meetings. When she’s not being a slave to everyone else’s schedule, you can find her sleeping, binging on Netflix, and losing hours of her life on social media.

 

m.m. is addicted to iced tea and has the mouth of a well-educated sailor. She also has a huge empathetic heart. She’s quirky and has a strange/dry sense of humor too. Sarcasm is definitely her second language.
 
 
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New Release/Giveaway/Excerpt

Title: Ryder
Series: Scandal U #1
Author: R. Linda
Genre: New Adult/College Romance
Release Date: October 1, 2019
Publisher: Limitless Publishing

 

Ryder and I are finally able to have a fresh start. Attending university with the man I love makes it easy to leave all the high school drama behind me. 

 

Unfortunately, things don’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped.
I end up sharing a dorm room with Christina, and I’m forced to see my ex boyfriend’s face on a regular basis. They already ruined my last year of high school, and clearly they’re not done with me yet.
Between Christina’s temper tantrums, Chace’s bad intentions hidden behind fake apologies, Ryder and I try to build a life together. But it’s not easy when past torments follow me wherever I go, slowly turning into a living nightmare.
Even though Ryder saved me once before, it’s different now. This isn’t high school anymore. The stakes are higher, and this time I have so much more to lose.

 

She was taking the three-foot rule seriously. So seriously, in fact, that she sat in the back of my car behind the passenger seat. The farthest possible point from me.

“I feel like a taxi driver with you in the back.” I angled the rear-view mirror so I could look at her.

“Three feet, Jones. Three feet.” She pushed herself into the door and tried to make herself as small as possible.

“Give it up. You’ll cave in. You know you will.”

“Give me some credit. I’m perfectly capable of keeping my distance from you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Why?”

“We’re drawn to each other, love. Like magnets. Tethered together. The pull between is too strong. I feel it, and I know you do too,” I said.

Bailey scoffed. “Well, I’m flipping over.”

“What?”

“You said we’re magnets.”

I didn’t know where she was going with this.

“And magnets are attracted to each other,” she continued.

“I just said that.”

“But when you flip a magnet over, it repels the other magnet. I’m flipping myself over, so I won’t be attracted to you for the weekend.”

I glanced in the mirror to see her smug smile and burst out laughing. She was fucking cute when she was trying to prove me wrong.

“Not sure it works that way. You need two negatively charged ions to repel. And I’m positively charged…” I caught her gaze in the mirror. “All. The. Time.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the meaning of my words. She swallowed and tore her gaze from mine to stare out the window.

One point for me.
R. Linda drinks wine and writes books.
 
A coffee addicted, tattoo enthusiastic fangirl with a slight obsession for a particular British boy band and solo artist, she is a writer of Contemporary YA/NA Romance and Suspense, sometimes dabbling in Paranormal as well. 
 
Renee lives in Melbourne, Australia with her husband and two sons. When not writing she can often be found reading books to her children and cuddling up with them on the couch to watch their favourite movies.

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New Release

Title: Chasing Wildfire
Series: Forever Series
Author: J. Lum
Genre: New Adult /Coming of Age
Release Date: September 24, 2019
Cover Design: Cover Me Darling
Cover Model: Chris Williamson
Photographer: Eric Battershell
 
How do you chase wildfires without getting burned?
I went to Scotland to learn about the world, I never expected to find love.
Except, the one I’m meant to be with is also the person who hates me the most.
Isla.
Independent and free, like the rolling hills of her beloved Scottish Highlands.
She grew wild, like the heather she loved so much.
I want to cherish her, not own her, because wildfires aren’t meant to be tamed, but allowed to blossom. To burn bright and beautiful, without being held captive.
My only goal is to win her heart.
I just hope I don’t lose mine in the process.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
J. Lum resides in the Northern Virginia area. While she calls Virginia home, she is constantly on the go. She’s got a constant case of #Wanderlust; most of the time, you can find her traveling around the world to see her book besties or checking off her bucket list places. Her second home away from home is Hawaii, where her family is from. The love for the ocean runs through her veins, but if she could help things, she’d probably permanently live in Scotland. She also has a love of ALL pugs, unicorns, and anything chocolate. She and coffee have been having a love affair for many years. 
 
 
 
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Release Tour




Book: Found (The Scions 2)

Author: Gemma Weir

Genre: Contemporary New Adult Romance

Add to your TBR
Synopsis
A throwaway & a Princess.Both of us are messed up, both of us pretending.

I’ve played with her, manipulated and bullied her, right up until the moment I realised how much I wanted her.

When I was planning to beg for forgiveness, someone else was planning her demise.

Her crown might have slipped but no one will ever be able to take it away, she’s a Princess, my Princess to the very core.

I’ve spent every moment of the last few years counting down for my freedom, now I want to be caught and bound to her.

Archer’s Creek was where I was forced to come; now it’s the only place I’ve ever wanted to stay.

Can she forgive me or has my past left me beyond redemption.

Buy Hidden – Book 1 **NOW**

Meet the Author

Gemma Weir is a half crazed stay at home mom to three kids, one man child and a hell hound. She has lived in the midlands, in the UK her whole life and has wanted to write a book since she was a child. Gemma has a ridiculously dirty mind and loves her book boyfriends to be big, tattooed alpha males. She’s a reader first and foremost and she loves her romance to come with a happy ending and lots of sexy sex.
Her social media links are:
 

 

Cover Reveal/Excerpt/Giveaway

Title: Covet
Series: Beautiful Sinner Series #2
Author: Elena M. Reyes
Genre: Romance Suspense/New Adult
Release Date: October 21, 2019
Cover Design: Black Widow Designs

 

I’m a sinner. A criminal.

 

The beast that will never let her go…
 
Everyone in England knows the name Casper Jameson. They know that I’m a cruel bastard with no regrets when it comes to dealing with those that cross me. They fear me; a man with no morals. Someone cold—without a weakness.
 
Until I see her…
 
She’s beautiful; a delicious temptation standing across the room from me without a care. Unaware of the danger that lurks—that this man wants to consume her.
 
I’m going to own her every sigh.
Taste her every moan.
Drown in her pleasure.

Let the bloody chase begin.

(The Beautiful Sinner Series are all interconnected standalones full of suspense and romance and an OTT alpha willing to burn the world to the ground for the woman he loves! It’s sexy and has an edge of darkness that will leave you breathless⁣)

 

I NOTICE HER the bloody second she comes into the room. There’s a shift in the air, a different kind of energy that sweeps over my over six-foot-two frame as I take in every delicate detail of her body. How she walks. How the little black dress she wears clings to each sinuous curve.
This girl commands the attention of every drunk arsehole without an ounce of effort.
From my seat, I have a view of every inch of this pub; from its entrance to the bar—to the small dancefloor off to my left where bodies grind to the beat of some chart-topping artist. The place is full to the brim, and yet, she’s all I see. All I can seem to focus on. Taking account of every minute detail while all around me people continue to slam back pint after pint.
Each swing of her hips is a call to the animal within. A taunt.
The woman she’s with stops a few tables from the one I’m occupying near the back with my men; a setup of high-top seating, and along the wall, two private booths. They greet another couple already sitting there with a small handshake, though hers is more on the distant side, the kind you give a stranger. A bit timid.
She shifts a bit—head bobbing to the music—and I follow the move, lowering my eyes to roam her small frame and liking the way her hip juts a bit to the side. Naturally coquettish, she’s small but thick where it counts. Young, but legal. A beautiful little thing with the face of an angel and a body made to worship. At no more than five-foot-three and no older than twenty-two, she’s all hips and thighs and a gorgeous face with hazel eyes and plump berry-colored lips.
Moreover, it’s that mouth that first caught my attention.
How she throws her head back laughing at what someone at the table says. How carefree she looks. How those lips stretch wide and her eyes close for a brief moment before meeting mine.
We hold each other’s stare. Not moving.
And then that mouth parts in slow motion, her tiny pink tongue peeking out to sweep across her bottom lip sealing her fate. At that moment, every single thought of retribution leaves my mind. My hunger morphing into something wickedly delicious.
I need that tight body on her knees.
I want her breasts encasing my thick cock as I slide between those plump tits.
I want her wetness running down my length, bathing me, as those hazel orbs stay on mine.
“Sir, are you alright?” someone says from beside me, but I pay them no mind. Not when my prey turns as some bloke taps her bare shoulder. I’m out of my seat and across the room before I can register the action, but there’s no ignoring the red hot ire that burns through my veins at the sight of the pompous wanker.
I want to punch the idiot. Break the hand he touched her with, but before that can happen, he catches my eyes and pales, stumbling in his haste to get away.
Then, I’m five steps from her and pause as my rage turns into an inferno of lust. My hunger renewed as the soft scent of cherry blossoms infiltrates my senses and I bite back a groan. It’s all her. The temptation and want and this lust that has me throbbing—beads of pre-come already rolling down the tip and shaft.
It’s also why I take the remaining steps and bend to place my lips next to her ear. Why I revel in the way she shivers for me. “What’s your name, love?”

Elena M. Reyes is the epitome of a Floridian and if she could live in her beloved flip-flops, she would.


As a small child, she was always intrigued by all forms of art: whether it was dancing to island rhythms, or painting with any medium she could get her hands on. Her passion for reading over the years has amassed her with hours of pleasure, but it wasn’t until she stumbled upon fanfiction that her thirst to write overtook her world.

She’s a short and sassy Latina with an adorable pup, a kiddo that keeps her on her toes, and a husband who claims she’ll cause him to go bald prematurely. Lol

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