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The Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles by Arial Burnz is the saga of Broderick MacDougal following the soul of his true love through the centuries.

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Broderick MacDougal follows the familiar yearning of his soul to a fierce warrior who is as seductive as a siren at sea – and she is just as deadly. The world of the supernatural opens to Broderick as he not only finds himself in the midst of an ancient war of shapeshifters, but the devious Cordelia Lynn Harley has re-entered his life and has a few of her own surprises.

Born into a hated race of Norse wolf shifters, Celina Hunter knows all too well the dangers of trusting anyone other than her two brothers. And yet the survival of her family hinges on trusting the strangely familiar vampire, a natural enemy of her kind…yet her tribe’s Shaman advisers confirm he is her soul mate. Enemy or not, Celina slips into the spell of Broderick’s promises of eternal love, gambling with all she holds dear.

Broderick and Celina are bound by a curse, but having come this far through the centuries, Broderick is not about to risk his chance at having his soul mate for eternity. The price, however, may be more than Celina is willing to pay as there is more at stake than just her immortal soul

Bio: Broderick “Rick” MacDougal

  • Born: April 4, 1450
  • Crossed Over: October 11, 1486
  • Height: 6′ 3″
  • Weight: 220 lbs (15.7 stones)
  • Role: Hero and Main Character of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles

Born with a sword in his hand and raised in the Highlands…

…Broderick is a rugged Scotsman through and through! Son to Hamish and Moira, he was the elder of his two siblings – Maxwell the middle son, and Donnell the youngest. In 1478, Broderick’s mother died in battle beside her sons and husband during a raid orchestrated by Angus Campbell and his father Fraser. At Moira’s funeral, Hamish MacDougal threw himself from the highest tower of the MacDougal estate. Though his sons had tried to talk him down, Hamish could not be swayed from his deed and shouted, “’Tis my fault she is dead! I’ve brought this upon all of you,” before he fell to his death.

Broderick and his brothers had to forge on with their lives and occupied themselves with building their own estates. Maxwell and Donnell both married and had children while Broderick focused on finishing his own holdings of Glenstrae, where he eventually settled in with his own wife, Evangeline. However, during a May Day celebration in 1485 at his manor – with his brothers and their families in attendance – Angus Campbell attacked the estate and slaughtered all in attenance, leaving Broderick for dead. Evangeline escaped and was rescued by a convent. Rescued by Cordelia Lynn Harley and with her assistance, Rick crossed over into immortality a year later, seeking revenge against his clan enemy. Traveling as a Gypsy in a caravan of wagons, he hid his vampiric nature by using his immortal gifts to tell fortunes while he searched for Angus Campbell, who is also a vampire.

Rick is a very accomplished painter, and gets to indulge in this pastime when he isn’t fighting for those he loves.

Fact About Broderick MacDougal NOT in the Books

  1. Broderick had two brothers – Maxwell (3 years younger than Rick) and Donnell (5 years younger than Rick). Maxwell married Addy MacIntyre and they had two girls and one boy (Libby, Agnes and Richerde). Donnell married Elspet Murray and they had two boys (Johne and Will). Broderick and his brothers would have loved more siblings in the family, but their mother, Moira, had many miscarriages before she was told by the physicians that childbirth would endanger her life if she tried to bear anymore offspring. If Angus had known this about Broderick’s past…a lot of lives could have been saved.

Giveaways!

Arial Burnz is giving away a TON of stuff during this tour! Please use the Giveaway Tools entry widget to be entered into the drawing. Each button will earn you more chances to win and you can keep coming back to earn more entries! All entrants will automatically become members of Arial’s VIP Club, which is free to join and has many more benefits, such as exclusive contests like this one. These are the prizes for the Character Reveal Tour featuring the characters in Midnight Conquest (Book 1) – winners will be chosen on Sep 27, 2014:

  • Vampire coaster set
  • 1 signed set of Books 1-3
  • $10 Amazon, B&N or iTunes gift card (winner’s choice)

Tour Grand Prize

Arial is also giving away a single Grand Prize of…

  • A $100 Amazon, B&N or iTunes gift card – winner’s choice
  • A signed set of Books 1-4 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles

Winner will be chosen on 11/21/2014. Everyone who participated in any stops on the Midnight Eclipse tours (VIP Club members or not) will be entered for the grand prize drawing. The more you participate, the more chances you have to win. Use the Giveaway Tools buttons below to earn extra chances to win by tweeting, following and liking. For Official Contest Rules, click here.

Arial Burnz

Arial_Burnz

Arial Burnz has been an avid reader of paranormal and fantasy for over thirty years. With bedtime stories filled with unicorns, hobbits, dragons and elves, she succumbed to crafting her own tales, penning to life the magical creatures roaming her dreams. Having a romantic husband who’s taught her the meaning of true love, she’s helpless to weave romance into her tales. Now she shares them with the world. Arial Burnz lives in Southern California, with her husband (a.k.a. her romance novel hero)—who is also, quite coincidentally, a descendant of Clan MacDougal.

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Alexx Andria delivers a motorcycle club romance between two very bad, yet sexy men and a woman with enough curves to satisfy them both.

 My name is Zoe Delacourte. I thought I was going to build my future on the backs of Jax Traeger and Hunter Ericksen — bad boys from the wrong side of the tracks, running the notorious motorcycle club, the Kings of Asphalt — in my mind, the story had practically written itself. I was so naive. Little did I know they were going to change everything I ever knew about myself.

Jax and Hunter. I can’t even say their names without trembling.

They don’t see a fat girl or a girl who might be pretty if only she’d lose some weight. No, from the moment I walked into their club, they saw a hot, sexy woman with curves for days — and they couldn’t wait to get their hands on me.

Some people call them bad men. They see the rides and the rap sheets and they slap a label on them. I don’t care what they’ve done — all I care about is what they’re going to do to me next.

But loving them is dangerous. In fact, loving them might just get me killed.

*The following MC romance is approximately 41,000 words featuring a strong central love story, danger, and the rough, seedy world dominated by two bad boys and their curvy woman.

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“I-I’m sorry…I think your guy got the wrong idea…”

One black slash of a brow went up in question and he leaned forward, saying, “And what idea would that be?”

“The idea that I’m…oh, I don’t know…um, available for…” Shut up, you idiot! This was what deep cover was all about! Riding the knife’s edge to the ultimate story, finding your discomfort level and pushing past it to get to the good stuff that everyone else was too chicken to look for. Right. Inhaling a discreet, stabilizing breath, she straightened and braved a smile as she sauntered over to Jax, ignoring the flutters in her belly as his gaze darkened with interest. “Available for just anyone.”

“Oh? Isn’t that the whole idea behind being a whore?”

“A ww-hore? Excuse me? I’m not—“

“You’re not what? Not a whore?” His smile slowly faded. “Then you’re not from Dimas and if that’s the case…just who are you?”

Oh crap. Her damn mouth. “I-I just mean…well, of course, I’m from Dimas. I was just taken aback for a minute. I mean, well, I wasn’t sure I was in the right place.”

Faster than she could react, he had her pressed up against the wood paneling, crowding her personal space and sending her heartrate through the roof. He smelled of leathers, a cool midnight ride, and the faint wisp of alcohol clinging to the edge as if as a reminder that his angelic face and body was simply a ruse to lure unsuspecting women to their doom. It should’ve repulsed her — truly, bad boys weren’t to her tastes — but she was oddly, and dangerously thrilled by the threat of caged violence she saw in his eyes and could see rippling through his biceps as he pressed forward. Was he going to ravage her right there like a modern day pirate or simply punt her outside the doors with a growled warning? Was she crazy for hoping — for a wild, irresponsible moment — that he would choose to grind those sensual lips across hers as punishment for daring to breach their inner sanctum? Yeah, don’t answer that. She already knew — it was fucking lunancy.

About the Author

ALEXX 3 

USA Today bestselling author Alexx Andria is the pseudonym for RITA-nominated contemporary romance author, Kimberly Van Meter. Born in a small town with a flair for the dramatic, Alexx Andria has a delightfully perverted nature that she hides behind a mischievous smile.

Alexx loves being the life of the party and doesn’t mind one bit being the center of attention (just ask any of her friends or family!)

She loves to write about Alpha men who are wonderfully flawed and just a little dangerous and heroines who are smart and sassy, but just a little vulnerable, too.

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Procrastination Is A Form Of Genius, Right?

By Alexx Andria

USA TODAY bestselling romance author

Writers of all sorts are proficient in the art of procrastination and I’m no different. Don’t get me wrong, I try really hard to stay on track and in the beginning of a project, I’m very proactive but then inevitably the siren call of anything aside from the WIP starts to tickle my ears. I’ve tried all sorts of things to help me stay focused, concentration apps, mood music, aromatherapy candles, ambient noise, locking myself in a room with nothing but my laptop and my muse — but I’m an expert level procrastinator.

I think I’ve figured out why, though. I need the pressure. I work best somewhere between burgeoning worry and all-out-deadline-panic. My best work is squeezed out of my brain when I’m so consumed with my deadline that I allow nothing else in. Often, I go into a writing frenzy when I’m really stressed about making it and in those frenetic writing jags, I can get 10,000 words in one day — but afterward, I fall into a writing hangover and I’m basically useless for a day or two, so that’s not a very efficient way to get things done.

Funny thing is, I’m not alone. I’ve come to realize that writers are the masters of procrastination and it’s probably just part of everyone’s process at some point. Now, it’s true some of us (possibly me included) just take it to an extreme but all writers can own up to some degree of avoiding what they should be working on.

The question of why is baffling. I love my work. I’m so blessed to be able to do what I do for a living so why do I practice such avoidance?

I think it’s fear. Fear of what, you ask? Writers are a neurotic bunch. We put ourselves into each book, each novella and short story so when we release something new into the world, there’s always the possibility that readers won’t enjoy it, that somehow we’ll miss the mark and completely alienate our fans, and our career will end. I know, I know…we’re neurotic. Or perhaps the worst fear…that the work we just finished, won’t measure up to the one before it — the one the fans loved. So, instead of facing that fear, we jump willfully into the time-sucking abyss known as Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc.

But at the end of the day, we simply can’t stay away from our WIP for too long. The characters start jabbering in our heads more loudly than we can stand and then we’re pounding out the words that we could’ve done all along but couldn’t find the courage.

Then something amazing happens…The End starts to come into view and then the excitement builds again. I always catch a second wind when I know I’m nearing the end of a project. There is nothing more satisfying than knowing you’ve done it — you’ve reached The End of yet another WIP and you can breathe again.

Only to start again with the next WIP waiting its turn before you can blink.

Sometimes, months after a project has come and gone, I’ll reopen the file and skim a few scenes only to be quietly shocked at how well it came together. I’m even more shocked when I read a particularly evocative scene that I don’t remember writing. I know it must’ve come out of one of those writing frenzies and that’s when I realize that my crazy process works.

And that’s probably why writers procrastinate — that’s where the magic starts.

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3 $10.00 Amazon Gift Cards and 2 Backlist Ebook Titles

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Book One

I killed a girl last night. I did it with my bare hands and an old piece of pipe I found lying next to the dumpster. But that’s not the part that got me. The part that scared me, the part I can’t seem to wrap my head around and still has me reeling, was that when she charged me, her body shifted – and then she was a wolf. All snapping teeth and extended claws. But by the time I stood over her lifeless body, she was a girl again. That’s about the time I went into shock… And that was the moment he showed up.

Now, all I can do is accept the truths that are staring me in the face. One, Werewolves do exist. And Two, I was born to kill them.

Excerpt

Up ahead, a movement caught my eye, pulling me out of my thoughts. I stopped short and felt my pulse jump at the unexpected company. I didn’t usually see anyone else in this part of the cut-through, but just past the next Dumpster, a girl with long blond hair and pointy-heeled boots stood in the center of the alley, shaking uncontrollably. I took a step towards her, wanting to help in some way, and then stopped again when I saw her face. She was glaring at me with a look of hatred so raw, it sent a shiver down my back.

“Um, are you okay?” I called out, still trying to understand why she was basically convulsing. Was she having a seizure? But she was managing to stay on her feet. Her gloved hands were balled into fists at her sides, and she was breathing heavily now. I tried again. “Do you need some help?” Something about the way she looked at me made my skin tingle. I shivered again.

“Help,” she repeated, through clenched teeth. “Right.” Her words dripped with sarcasm and unconcealed malice.

Then, before I could think of something to say to that, her shaking reached its crescendo and then she … exploded. There was really no other word for it. With a harsh ripping sound, her clothes disappeared, scattering into the air in tiny pieces. In the same second, her body seemed to waver and then morph, leaving in its place the largest wolf I’d ever seen. My jaw dropped. Was I crazy, or had that girl just turned into a giant dog?

I had a split second to stare at her before she charged. The brown fur became nothing more than a blur as she rushed forward, teeth bared, claws extended. In that moment, I was completely sure that I was going to die. I didn’t even have time to be afraid; it would all be over too quickly.

Then, somehow, though my conscious brain had nothing to do with it, my body reacted. Just before impact, I twisted aside, dodging her. Using my body’s momentum, I brought my hand around and swung. I hadn’t even realized I’d made a fist, but my knuckles connected and I heard the crack of bone as my hand slammed into the wolf’s cheek. The hit drove it—her?—back a few paces, but then she straightened and seemed to right herself. Her yellow eyes locked onto mine and she came again. I shed my jacket, and let it fall next to me on the concrete; some hidden part of me knew I needed better use of my limbs.

Three more times I managed to dodge the wolf as she lunged. On the fourth, her claws caught on my shirt and raked down my abdomen on either side, driving me back. I stumbled and fell. My back slammed onto the pavement with a hard thud. Again, I accepted my inevitable death. I watched as she continued to come at me, slower and more confident now that I was on the ground. All I could see were razor canines aimed straight for my throat. I cringed and turned away, unable to look into those bright yellow eyes, knowing what was coming. When I turned, a glint of slivered moonlight caught a piece of piping nearby, probably meant for the Dumpster but somehow had landed here.

Again, subconscious reasoning took over and I felt myself reaching for it, my hand closing around the cold steel. With a grunt, I swung out.

I hadn’t expected to actually land the blow or for the crack to be quite so loud. I felt the vibrations from it all the way up my arm but managed to hold onto the pipe until I felt the wolf’s weight go slack. She crumpled in a heap, half on top of me. I pushed her aside, which wasn’t easy, and scrambled to my feet. I stood, staring down at the giant mass of fur, wondering how in the world no one else had noticed what just happened.

As I stared, the wolf’s form began to shake and then shimmer around the edges, going hazy, and then finally, it was the girl again. Her long hair covered her face in stringy waves, matting to her head on the side where the pipe had made contact. Blood seeped slow and steady from the wound to the pavement. Her body was naked and curled together, almost fetal, except for her knee wedged at an unnatural angle. I could see that her eyes were open and staring vacantly but I didn’t linger on that. I couldn’t. Shock and disbelief surged through me as I gaped at her crumpled form, struggling to accept what I was seeing. No way. It was impossible. People couldn’t be … wolves. That was a myth. A way for Hollywood to cash in.

But there was no mistaking it. The girl lying in a heap in front of me was definitely the same girl as before. And she smelled, distinctly, of animal.

I kept hoping she’d move, or at least groan, from the pain of the head trauma. Ignoring the feminine details of her bare body, I stared hard at her shoulders and chest, looking for any sign that might indicate breathing. I didn’t see any. And I knew, deep down, that I wouldn’t.

My hands began to shake. Maybe from the cold, but I was too numb to feel the temperature against my skin. I took a step back and stumbled.

Hands closed around me, keeping me upright. I jolted and tried to jerk away from the unexpected contact. A strangled scream escaped my lips as the hands whirled me around to face my attacker.

“Whoa, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

I didn’t answer. My ability to speak coherently had been momentarily lost; any sound would’ve been a scream, anyway. My breath came in uneven gasps and he waited until I got myself under control.

There was concern in his eyes but that didn’t go very far with me. I noticed vaguely that his eyes were the same exact color as his hair, a sort of bronzed brown. The color was fascinating: unlike anything I’d ever seen, and they seemed to hold some dark edge that hinted at danger, no matter how gentle they got. The rest of him wasn’t bad, either. His face matched his eyes, rugged and hard edges from his cheekbones to his jaw. When he’d spun me around, I’d grabbed out to steady myself and even now my hands still rested on his shoulders, where I’d first gripped. Underneath my fingers, and the leather of his jacket, was solid muscle.

The fact that I was actually checking him out—just moments after killing a girl—was my first clue I was in shock.

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. Training to fight Werewolves? Because of some age-old promise to protect the human race? This was not happening to me. It was ridiculous, and far-fetched, and impossible. And even if I believed it, which I didn’t want to admit that I did, I couldn’t just run off and train for hours each day. I wasn’t the Karate Kid. And my mom and my friends would definitely know something was up—not that I could explain it to them, and not that they would believe me even if I tried. It took seeing it—up close and personal—for me to believe me.

     And even now, there were two thoughts that were so clear, they felt branded into my mind: One, Werewolves do exist, and two, I was born to kill them.

I felt the air in the car begin to change as I stared back at him. It felt warm and thick, like a humid, post-rain summer day. And even though we were already touching, palm to palm, I suddenly had an intense desire to be closer to him, pressed to him. My muscles ached with it and I had to restrain myself from scooting across the seat, and wrapping my arms around his shoulders, and burying my face in his neck.

The image wouldn’t remove itself from my mind and I finally had to wrench my gaze from his to keep from acting on the impulse. I was breathing heavier, partly because of the thickness in the air and partly from wanting to touch him. I wondered if he was affected, too, but I couldn’t look at him again or I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.

His hand slid free from mine, and he started the car and busied himself with checking the rearview and easing us out of the lot. I pressed the button for the window, letting in a gust of cold air. For once, I didn’t curse the cold, and was relieved when I felt the tension melt away.

When we were on the road, Wes cleared his throat. “Well, that was …”

I lifted my head from where I’d been leaning closer to the open window and looked over at him. He was running a hand through his hair, still searching for a word to describe what had happened. He’d noticed it, too. “Different,” I finished.

He sent me a half smile. “Yeah. Definitely that.”

Wes ran a hand through his hair and exhaled. “I tell you what you need to know to be safe. There are things you still don’t understand about The Cause. I get that you would be drawn to something like this. Our group, the idea of it—it probably seems exciting and noble. But it’s also dangerous and bloody and violent. People don’t always want to listen to reason and some of them don’t even want to talk to begin with. They figure out what message you’re spewing, and they attack you twice as hard. That’s not exciting or noble, and it’s not something you can just jump into with no experience.”

“I get that. But you can’t keep trying to push me out of it all, either. I’m a part of this world too, apparently. And I have to figure out for myself where and how I fit into it all. And I can’t do that if the one person who has promised to help me is keeping secrets or always ordering me around.”

“Fine. I won’t order you, but I will insist, at least for now, that you do what you can to protect yourself and stay out of danger. Which means, staying on the sidelines of our little group.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled, with absolutely no intention of heeding his wishes. It wasn’t that I’d already decided to join, but I didn’t like being told I couldn’t, either.

“And since you don’t have the ability to protect yourself, I’m going to also insist on guarding you, like we discussed at the meeting.” His eyes flashed, challenging me to argue.

Suddenly, the idea of him spending every waking hour with me didn’t sound so good. Especially if he was just going to act like my mother the entire time, lecturing and telling me what I could and couldn’t do. “I managed just fine with Liliana.”

“And what about next time? Metal piping going to become your weapon of choice?”

His mocking tone was meant to make me feel like an idiot, but I was too angry to give in. I didn’t need him. I could handle myself. Probably.

“Next time I’ll be ready,” I shot back. “I have weapons. See.” In a swift move, I reached behind me and yanked out the plunger handles, angling them downward in my palm, in what I hoped was a stance that made me look battle ready.

Wes’s eyes widened in surprise. I got a certain satisfaction out of that. Then his eyes narrowed as he got a closer look at my makeshift weapons. “Where the heck did you get these?”

“I made them.”

“Out of what?” He was still staring at the splintered ends, obviously trying to figure out what it had been before.

I hesitated, already regretting showing them to him. Finally, I sighed. “A plunger.”

Wes bit down on his lip.

I glared at him. “Well, I had to protect myself somehow,” I hissed, “especially that first day. I had no idea where you were taking me or how Jack and Fee would react to me.” I knew I was rambling but I kept talking, hoping the sound of my voice would drown out the laugh I could see building. When I was done, I shoved the wood pieces back in my pockets to get them out of sight.

Wes snickered, and looked like he was trying to hold in something louder. He managed to keep mostly quiet, probably from the murderous look on my face. “Okay, so help me understand,” he said, a little breathlessly. “You’ve actually been carrying these around since last week?”

“Every day.”

“Wow. That’s actually kind of impressive in a strange, disgusting, unexpected sort of way.”

“Whatever. Laugh it up. But I can protect myself.”

Wes’s face turned red from the pressure of holding his breath. Finally, it whooshed out of him, along with loud, knee-slapping laughter. I glared at him a second longer, wondering if now might be a good time to test out the durability of my plunger handles, and then abruptly turned on my heel and strode away.

“Where are we?” I finally asked.

“My apartment.”

My pulse sped up a little and my breath hitched. For a moment, I forgot all about the fact that Wes had just fought another Werewolf for me, or that I was mad at him, or that I’d caught George making out with my mortal enemy in the school gym. All I could think about was that this was Wes’s apartment, his private space, and we were alone.

I realized Wes was giving me an odd look so I did my best to smooth my expression. “So, what now?”

Instead of answering, Wes set his water on the counter and came around to stand in front of me. He stared down at me for a long moment and then, slowly, his arms came around me so that his hands were tangled in my hair. He lowered his face until it was inches away from mine and then stopped, watching me with a question in his eyes. I held my breath and waited. When I didn’t push him away, or move to stop him, he closed the distance and pressed his lips to mine.

Heat coursed through me, and I felt my muscles go deliciously soft. Wes’s arms tightened around me and he stroked my hair, deepening the kiss. I could feel his body relaxing against me. It was satisfying to know he was affected, too, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, not sure how long it would last and not wanting it to end. I could smell him again, woods and wind. His breath tasted tangy, and there was a hint of animal still in him that was both exciting and scary.

Eventually, he pulled away, but he kept his hands on my hair and face. He stared down at me with an intensity that took my breath away.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” he said, his voice gravelly.

“When can we do it again?”

He smiled at that, but it was sad. “Soon, I hope. I mean, if you still want to. There are some things I should tell you first.” He took my hand and led me to the couch, pulling me down next to him. When he turned to face me again, the smile was gone, but the sadness still lingered.

“What is it?” I asked, a heaviness forming in my stomach.

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Book Two

Wood Point Academy is not at all what I expected. For one thing, it looks like a cross between military school and Buckingham Palace. Everyone stares, the floors shine so bright you can see your reflection in them from a mile away, and no one smiles. Unless they’re kicking your butt in the process.

At least I’ve got plenty to take my mind off the fact that my psycho cousin, Miles De’Luca, keeps calling and declaring his love and promising to come for me just as soon as he’s destroyed anyone standing in our way. Wes isn’t going to like that idea. So between Miles, Wood Point’s evil welcoming committee, and the drill sergeant hottie trainer from hell, I just keep asking myself, how did I end up here?

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Book Three

  1. If I had to choose one word to sum up all of my problems, this would be it.
    Without hybrids, I wouldn’t have to watch my best friend slowly becoming a monster. Without hybrids, I could let go of the mentality “hunt or be hunted.” CHAS wouldn’t be scouring the Earth, intent on slaughtering and using Alex to do it. Without hybrids, I wouldn’t have to be on guard that losing my temper meant losing my shape. There would be no monster inside me, struggling to get out.

    Then again, without hybrids, I wouldn’t have Wesley St. John.

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Book Four

Forty-six.
That’s how many hybrids survived the Hunter attack in the woods after I revived them with an injection of my blood. That’s how many followed me home to Frederick Falls. And that’s how many were now mentally linked to me through a blood bond.

Two days. Three valium. Fourteen hours of sleep.
That’s what it took to realize I wasn’t losing my mind as a result of the noise in my own head.

Sixteen.
That’s how many days have passed since I almost killed Alex. That’s how many days I’ve sat by his bedside, waiting for him to wake up. To ease the guilt, to understand his betrayal, to remember the exact shade of brown in his eyes.

Zero.
That’s my chances of skating by with Gordon Steppe and the Hunter Council. They want me for questioning. I’m afraid what’ll happen if I give them answers.

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About the Author

Heather Hildenbrand

Heather Hildenbrand was born and raised in a small town in northern Virginia where she was homeschooled through high school. Since 2011, she’s published more than eight YA & NA novels including the bestselling Dirty Blood series. She splits her time between coastal Virginia and the island of Guam and loves having a mobile career and outrageous lifestyle of living in two places.

Heather is also a publishing and success coach bent on equipping and educating artists who call themselves authors. She loves teaching fellow writers how to create the same freedom-based lifestyle she enjoys. For more information visitwww.phoenixauthorink.com and find out how to create your own OutRAGEous Life.

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When a beautiful young woman is found murdered on Cape Town’s Seapoint promenade, journalist and part-time police profiler, Dr Clare Hart is drawn into the web of a brutal serial killer. As more bodies are discovered, Clare is forced to revisit the brutal rape of her twin sister and the gang ties that bind Cape Town’s dark crime rings. Is her investigation into human trafficking linked to the murders or is the killer just playing a sick game with her?

Like Clockwork is a dark and compelling crime story that will thrill fans of Deon Meyer and Tess Gerritsen.

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 About the Author

Margie Orford Author Pic

MARGIE ORFORD is an award-winning journalist who has been dubbed the Queen of South African Crime Fiction. Her novels have been translated into nine languages. She was born in London and grew up in Namibia. A Fulbright Scholar, she was educated in South Africa and the United States. She is Executive Vice-President of South African PEN, the patron of Rape Crisis and of the children’s book charity, the Little Hands Trust. She lives in Cape Town. The entire Clare Hart series is forthcoming from Witness.

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jahleel

A TRUE-ly fabricated story about Love & Obsession…

I’m an idiot.
I’m too stupid to be human. Too stupid to live.
I lack common sense.

I used to be a normal human being. Until the guy in the red hoodie. Just a glance, and I was owned. Enslaved.

What’s worst? He didn’t even notice me.

Yep. You guessed right: I’m delusional. I’m obsessed. I’m a stalker. A martyr. A masochist.

I’ve allowed my obsession to lead me down into a deep, dark pit, selfishly hurting everyone around me, and only his requited love can pull me out of it.

But I won’t apologize for it. I won’t apologize for being in love with Jahleel Kingston.
I’ve loved him at first sight. I’ve loved him for five empty years. I’ve loved him through all his bullcrap and asshole-isms.

I love him even now.

My name is Saskia Day. I’m British. I’m famous. I’m stinking rich. And this is my pathetic story.

Read at your own bloody risk.

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~ About the Author ~

jahleel author

First a reader and second a writer, Ann is an exaggerator, a laugher, sometimes overly chatty, sometimes overly shy. She believes cats are evil, and also detests dogs—mainly because she’d been bitten over a dozen times on separate occasions by the rambunctious creatures in her formative years (even by her own dogs.)

She is not your typical girl: she hates chocolate, candle-lit dinners and all that hearts and flowers stuff makes her feel awkward and coffee makes her drowsier than ever.

A lover of all things ‘romance’, Ann has always been a writer of poetries and songs of any kind. All who’s acquainted with Ann can attest to witnessing her write her way through life: through destruction, devastation, hardship, sadness and disappointments, her coping mechanism has always been writing.

Having an obsessive and unquenchable affair with the written word, she’s naturally a recluse who dwells inside her imagination and has to suffer continual bashings from her friends for being a neglectful pal who does nothing but sit around the computer all day, writing.

When she’s not abusing her computer keyboard, you can find her nosing a novel, watching anything on television that makes her laugh out loud, studying the Bible, or nursing any of the three alcoholic beverages: Black Label and Coke, Heineken, or a glass of Merlot.

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fate

Gabriella Carmichael has always tried to find her place in the world, but being raised as half-human/half-vampire she doesn’t quite know where she fits in, until she meets Grayson.
Grayson Alexander is one of the most influential men in New York. When he runs head on into Gabriella, he doesn’t quite know how that one event will change his world.
Gabriella knows that being involved with a human is strictly forbidden, even though she’s part human herself, and begins to fear for Grayson’s safety especially when the head of her nest, Anton, makes a play for her affections.

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About the Author

fate Author DC Gamble

D.C. Gambel is an independent author & army wife. She spends her free time with her fur babies, who sit next to her whether she’s writing or just curled up with a good book, when she’s not taking care of my soldier.

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Scared to Live Cover

The seventh novel in the popular Cooper & Fry series.

How do you investigate the murder of a woman without a life? That is the challenge facing Cooper and Fry when a reclusive agoraphobic is found shot to death in her home. With no friends, no family, and virtually no contact with the outside world, the dead woman may have simply been an unlucky victim of a random homicide.

At virtually the same time, a raging house fire claims the life of a young mother and two of her children. But as the debris is cleared, troubling questions remain in the ashes. Among them, how did the fire start, where was the husband at two a.m. the day of the blaze, and was it really the fire that killed his family?

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About the Author

Author Picture ~ Stephen Booth copy

Stephen Booth is an award winning British crime writer, the creator of two young Derbyshire police detectives, DC Ben Cooper and DS Diane Fry, who have appeared in thirteen novels set in England’s beautiful and atmospheric Peak District.

Stephen has been a Gold Dagger finalist, an Anthony Award nominee, twice winner of a Barry Award for Best British Crime Novel, and twice shortlisted for the Theakston’s Crime Novel of the Year. Ben Cooper was a finalist for the Sherlock Award for the best detective created by a British author, and in 2003 the Crime Writers’ Association presented Stephen with the Dagger in the Library Award for “the author whose books have given readers the most pleasure”.

The Cooper & Fry series is published all around the world, and has been translated into 15 languages.

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Scared to Live