BOOKS ARE FOR EVERYONE

by Dianna Gunn

I didn't have access to a lot of things growing up. Living in suburbia with two parents who didn't drive made it impossible to access, well, everything. We had to spend half an hour in transit or an hour walking to reach the nearest grocery store. Free or affordable programs for youths of all kinds were at least as far. I never even learned how to swim. The lessons we could afford were simply too far away.

Photo by Ed Robertson on Unsplash

There is, however, one thing I always had: books. I had bookshelves of my own lined with books for kids. My parents had a pair of bookshelves that stretched all the way up to our (admittedly low) ceiling. There were hundreds of stories to choose from, most of them science fiction or fantasy stories I could use to escape my dreary reality.

My world descended into chaos when my parents split and my dad was diagnosed with cancer, and those books became my lifeline. Sometimes I read lighthearted, comedic stories with guaranteed happy endings for pure escapism. Other times I read the darkest, most gruesome books I could find so I could look at my life and say "at least I'm not the characters in this book".

Both types of stories served their purpose: they kept me alive. And I was lucky. I accessed most of those books for free from my own relatives' libraries. When I got bored of the books my family had to offer, I went to the school library or sometimes directly to a favorite teacher for a personalized recommendation. I was able to immerse myself in hundreds of worlds without spending a dime.

Many kids weren't so lucky. Their parents didn't have books in the home, their school libraries were inadequate or even nonexistent, or their nearest public library was an hour or more away. They struggled for every book they read, until they either found a way to buy their own books or gave up on reading altogether.

The problem isn't limited to kids either. I know many adults, especially other adults in their 20's, who have tiny or nonexistent book buying budgets. And all across the western world, our public libraries are under threat. Library funding in my home province was cut by 50% this year alone. The loss of libraries combined with stagnant wages and the ever-rising cost of living are making books inaccessible to millions of people.

As an author, I need to make money, but as a person who grew up in poverty—a person who, let's face it, still lives in poverty—I never want money to be the reason why someone doesn't read my book. Everyone deserves access to books, and not to sound egomaniacal, but everyone deserves access to my books.

So I've come to a compromise: my novel, Moonshadow's Guardian, is sold for $4.99 on most major ebook retailers, but it's also now available on Gumroad with Pay What You Can Pricing. That means you can pay five dollars, one dollar, or no dollars at all to read Moonshadow's Guardian. Because in my world, books are for everyone, regardless of how much money you have.

Here's a brief intro for you.

All Riana has ever wanted is freedom. Unfortunately, that’s the one thing her kind cannot have.

Bound by the curse in her demonic blood for millennia, Riana has tried several times to bend the rules and live out her life in the mortal realm. Now her consistent rule breaking has drawn the attention of Loki, God of Mischief, the main tormentor of Riana’s kind. But instead of punishing her, he offers her the escape she has always desired. All she has to do to is save the kingdom of Moonshadow from a mysterious magical plague.

Armed only with the inherent power of her own blood and Loki’s pet dragon, Riana is determined to fight for the right to create her own destiny.

However, when her mission forces her to destroy the last remnants of an ancient culture, Riana must ask – what is freedom really worth?

Moonshadow’s Guardian is a tale about the meaning of belonging, and the struggle to create a future not defined by your past.

Along with Gumroad, Moonshadow's Guardian is available at

Amazon and Kobo

Dianna L. Gunn is a freelance writer by day and a fantasy author by night. She knew she wanted to be a writer since she was eight years old. Dianna wrote her first novel for Nanowrimo at eleven years old. As an adult,Dianna quickly discovered writing books is not an easy way to make a living. So she decided to broaden her horizons, seeking another career that still allowed her to work with words.

Her freelance writing career started when she became a marketing intern at Musa Publishing in September 2011 and quickly became a staff writer in charge of multiple imprint blogs. Since then she has worked with a variety of small businesses and non-profits to improve their online brands and create long term marketing strategies. Some of her most notable work has been for the tech education non-profit STEAMLabs and natural dog care company ProPooch. She is dedicated to helping her clients build successful brands and making their dreams come true.

Need help creating awesome content for your business? Send an email to diannalgunn@gmail.com explaining what your needs are, and she will help you.

When she isn’t helping her clients bring their dreams to life, Dianna can be found working on her own dream of being a successful fantasy author.

Dianna blogs about writing, creativity, and books at The Dabbler.

Learn more about Dianna on Facebook and follow her on Twitter.

COME CELEBRATE INDIE EBOOKS DAY

from Dianna Gunn

Photo by Frank Holleman on Unsplash

Ebooks may never completely eliminate paper books, but they have revolutionized the publishing industry. Authors today can format an ebook affordably or even learn to do it themselves, and once they’ve published, they can sell that ebook an infinite number of times, to anyone in the world. Indie Ebooks Day is a celebration of the vibrant indie author community that has grown out of these changes.

Indie Ebooks Day hopes to inspire the next part of the publishing revolution. The stigma surrounding indie publishing has largely dissipated, but indie authors still don’t receive the same level of recognition as traditionally published authors. We have to fight for every book sale, every review, every newsletter subscriber.

Alone, these struggles are enormous, and often seem insurmountable. But there are tens of thousands of indie authors around the world. If we band together, commit to buying and promoting each other’s books, we can achieve great things.

Together we can amplify each other’s voices, make ourselves visible to new audiences, and even force the mainstream to acknowledge us. We can ensure each other’s success, and events like Indie Ebooks Day are the first step.

How can you participate in Indie Ebooks Day?

Indie Ebooks Day is a Twitter event happening on July 27th, 2019. To celebrate, we’re asking readers to buy an indie ebook and share a photo of themselves enjoying their new book on their favourite e-reading device, using the hashtag #IndieEbooksDay in their Twitter post. We’ve got an exciting line-up of featured indie authors to share throughout the day, so if you don’t know any indie authors right now, all you need to do is watch the @IndieEbooksDay Twitter account.

This year Indie Ebooks Day is only on Twitter, where the indie author community is most vibrant. We hope to expand to Instagram in 2020.

What comes after Indie Ebooks Day?

Indie Ebooks Day is only the first of many community initiatives. Celebrating indie authors is great, but we want that publishing revolution—and we need help to make it happen. If you’re an indie author and you want to become part of this grassroots movement, join us on Twitter at 4PM EST for #IndieCommunityChat, where we’ll tackle tough publishing situations and work to shape a more inclusive, more successful indie author community.

Here is a glimpse at my Indie Ebook. I hope you like it.

All Riana has ever wanted is freedom. Unfortunately, that’s the one thing her kind cannot have.

Bound by the curse in her demonic blood for millennia, Riana has tried several times to bend the rules and live out her life in the mortal realm. Now her consistent rule breaking has drawn the attention of Loki, God of Mischief, the main tormentor of Riana’s kind. But instead of punishing her, he offers her the escape she has always desired. All she has to do to is save the kingdom of Moonshadow from a mysterious magical plague.

Armed only with the inherent power of her own blood and Loki’s pet dragon, Riana is determined to fight for the right to create her own destiny.

However, when her mission forces her to destroy the last remnants of an ancient culture, Riana must ask – what is freedom really worth?

Moonshadow’s Guardian is a tale about the meaning of belonging, and the struggle to create a future not defined by your past.

BUY LINKS

Amazon - Kobo

Dianna L. Gunn is a freelance writer by day and a fantasy author by night. She knew she wanted to be a writer since she was eight years old. Dianna wrote her first novel for Nanowrimo at eleven years old. As an adult,Dianna quickly discovered writing books is not an easy way to make a living. So she decided to broaden her horizons, seeking another career that still allowed her to work with words.

Her freelance writing career started when she became a marketing intern at Musa Publishing in September 2011 and quickly became a staff writer in charge of multiple imprint blogs. Since then she has worked with a variety of small businesses and non-profits to improve their online brands and create long term marketing strategies. Some of her most notable work has been for the tech education non-profit STEAMLabs and natural dog care company ProPooch. She is dedicated to helping her clients build successful brands and making their dreams come true.

Need help creating awesome content for your business? Send an email to diannalgunn@gmail.com explaining what your needs are, and she will help you.

When she isn’t helping her clients bring their dreams to life, Dianna can be found working on her own dream of being a successful fantasy author.

Dianna blogs about writing, creativity, and books at The Dabbler.

Learn more about Dianna on Facebook and follow her on Twitter.

Exciting New Release

from J.F. Posthumus just in time for the necromance lover on your Holiday list!

What would you do if you had the power to destroy the world…

In her younger years, Catherine Woulfe was known as the Lady of Death…but those days are long past. Now, at over 300 years old, she is older, wiser…and painfully dull. Instead of using her necromancy skills for things like killing people and taking over governments, she now works as a private investigator, helping people find their lost treasures.

But when a charismatic stranger walks through her door, searching for one of the most powerful artifacts ever created, she is drawn into a case where she must use all of her old powers—including several forbidden ones—if she is to find the missing amulet. When the last person to see the amulet goes missing, she realizes it’s time for the Lady of Death to summon her minions and go on the warpath.

Angels and demons are searching for the amulet, as is a mysterious dark elf about whom little is known. Everyone is stalking her, waiting for her to find it so they can grab it for their own; meanwhile, her client has awoken feelings long suppressed, which is proving to be…distracting. Can Catherine find the trail of the thief and recover the amulet before the thief uses it to summon a deity that will destroy the Earth? More importantly, if she gets it, will she give it back?

EXCERPT
A knock on the door pulled my attention away from the emails I was sorting through for the day. I lifted my brows in surprise at the visitor standing in my doorway. Dark eyes met mine, and it took every bit of willpower to keep from admiring the way his designer clothing fit his body. He wore the perfectly tailored three-piece suit with the same ease most wore jeans and a t-shirt. His face was elegant and had aristocratic features, which fit his six-foot-three-inch frame perfectly.

Thankfully, unlike most people, I wasn’t intimidated by his height, stature, or handsomeness. Or his reputation.

“The Consigliere,” I said. “To what do I owe this dubious pleasure?”

“Dubious?” The Consigliere’s honey smooth baritone carried across the room. “You wound me, Lady Catherine. I am here on good business.”

“That’s Miss Woulfe to you. Good for whom?” I said through gritted teeth I hoped looked like a smile.

“For all parties concerned, naturally.”

Naturally.

I drew in a breath and let it out slowly as he entered my office, allowing the door to shut with a soft whisper behind him.

The man was handsome and immaculate from his brown hair to his loafered feet.

He could have been a model for Men’s Fitness or a Chippendale’s dancer. There was sensuality in his movements, and he exuded confidence. We moved in similar circles, and his reputation preceded him wherever he went. While I was spoken about in cautious whispers, he was spoken about in awe, if not longing.

And the bleeding sod refused to take his twinkling brown eyes off me.

His gaze made me want to check my snug, professional-looking chignon to make sure no stray, black strands were flying loose. At least I didn’t have to worry about my long-lasting lipstick.

I paused a moment and glanced away as though I were pondering his unspoken request. When I met his eyes again, I replied in a flat, cold tone, “No. Whatever it is you’re trying to sell, you can take elsewhere. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“You don’t know what my business is; nor do you know who besides you could benefit…yet you dismiss it.” He was still looking at me, smiling, while his words poured from between his yummy lips. “Is my reputation that sullied in the circles in which you walk that you won’t even listen, or is there another reason for your behavior?”

I snorted. “Not hardly, and you know it. There are few reasons you, of all people, would desire my services, and it isn’t for the appraisal of any occult item.”

“Are you as wrong in your appraisals as you are in your presumptions?” Fergus Sterling taunted before continuing, “Your reputation must have been paid for.”

He held out a photograph.

My impulse was to cursorily glance at the picture, but my eyes locked on it once I saw the item captured on the paper. Ancient workmanship surrounded a jeweled eye of blue. The amulet was legend, myth, and history.

“Ilygad Amon,” I said, realizing a moment later I had said the words under my breath instead of speaking properly.

Sterling’s voice was smug. “So, you do know some of what is reputed.”

Ignoring his attempt to rile me, I took the picture and looked closer at it.

“The captured eye of the Christian demon, Amon,” I explained, “transmogrified into a jewel by ancient fae Magick—some claim by traveling gypsy witches, others give credit to followers of Anubis—and locked into a box made of equal parts gold and lead. It’s ancient and used only in the darkest Magick.”

“Would you be willing to help track down this piece, verify its authenticity, and turn it over to parties who wish it to remain unused or, at least, contained from further use?” Sterling asked. I could hear the smile in his voice as he waited to see how I would react.

“How do you know I won’t try to keep it for myself? I am, after all, a practitioner of the Dark Arts, or to be more precise, a necromancer of considerable talents.” I offered him a placating smile. “Or is that why you came to me? You could easily authenticate this piece, unless my parents were incorrect when they said you’ve been alive since the middle ages.”

“How sweet of them to make me younger than I am,” he replied jovially. “I could do the job, but my age and reputation are considered disadvantages to the interested parties. They want someone who has less experience with such powerful objects.”

“Then they obviously aren’t aware of half the items I possess,” I replied. “Who are the ‘interested parties?’ I don’t go into anything blind.”

“You know my reputation, so you know I don’t give out my clients’ identities.” Sterling countered. “They were referred to me by Zeus and Merlyn.”

I wasn’t going to touch that one with a fifty-foot pole. Instead, I rolled my eyes and leaned back in my chair.

“Have a seat, and let us discuss fees.”

Once Sterling was seated in the plush, antique chair opposite my oak desk, I nodded. The Eye of Amon was an artifact I’d only heard about growing up. Finding it and verifying that it was more than myth would certainly add to my resume. The job would have to take precedence over any opinion I had of the arrogant, but delectable, male in my office. “My standard fee for such a task is $250,000, plus expenses.”

“A quarter million?” he retorted. “That’s all?”

It really annoyed me that I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or incredulous.

“You have a problem with my fee?” My voice was sharp, like a whip’s crack.

“Had I known you charged bargain prices, I would have sought you out sooner, for other clients.” He smiled cattily. “Of course, I’d only do so if you deliver what’s being asked for.”

I knew I was leaning toward him, narrowing my eyes and smiling tightly. I didn’t care, though. “Of course. And, of course, you won’t have a problem signing a contract. Correct?”

“Correct.”

Turning slightly, I opened the drawer to my left and removed one of the contracts I kept there for such occasions. I had two types of contracts: one for mundane, normal people and another for anyone of a Magickal, supernatural, or preternatural persuasion. The latter contract was binding in multiple ways.

It took less than five minutes for me to fill it out, then I slid the papers across the desk to Sterling.

“You know how this works: read, sign, and date. No blood is required for this particular contract.”

AMAZON BUY LINK

Wife and a mother of five, J.F. Posthumus is an IT Tech with over a decade of experience. When she isn’t arguing with computers and their inherent gremlins, or being mom to the four younger monsters (the eldest has flown the nest and is doing quite well on his own), she’s crafting, writing, or doing some other sort of art. An avid gamer, she loves playing Dungeons & Dragons, and a variety of other board games with her family and friends. J.F. is also a hopeless romantic, thanks to all the fairy tales she cut her eyeteeth on. They were what she learned to read before discovering the Boxcar Children Mysteries. From there, J.F. Posthumus fell into the rabbit hole that’s reading, where she discovered a love for mysteries, fantasy, and the occasional romance. Since writing was her favorite subject, J.F. naturally incorporated her love of murder, mysteries, and fantasy into her works.

When J.F. came up with the idea of a body being found at a local building, it was only natural to create a necromancer for the job. From there, Catherine’s story unfolded, complete with monsters, magic, and a little bit of romance…

Learn more about J.F. Posthumus on her website. Stay connected on Facebook and J.F.'s Facebook Author's Page.

NEW RELEASE for DIANNA GUNN

Dianna Gunn has crafted an awesome world with vivid characters and an intense storyline that sweeps you away in this dark fantasy. Book One of the Moonshadow Rising Duology (World of Omicaer Novels) is a definite must read! It also makes a great gift for the holidays.

All Riana has ever wanted is freedom. Unfortunately, that’s the one thing her kind cannot have.

Bound by the curse in her demonic blood for millennia, Riana has tried several times to bend the rules and live out her life in the mortal realm. Now her consistent rule breaking has drawn the attention of Loki, God of Mischief, the main tormentor of Riana’s kind. But instead of punishing her, he offers her the escape she has always desired. All she has to do to is save the kingdom of Moonshadow from a mysterious magical plague.

Armed only with the inherent power of her own blood and Loki’s pet dragon, Riana is determined to fight for the right to create her own destiny.

However, when her mission forces her to destroy the last remnants of an ancient culture, Riana must ask – what is freedom really worth?

Moonshadow’s Guardian is a tale about the meaning of belonging, and the struggle to create a future not defined by your past.

BUY LINKS

Amazon - Kobo

Dianna L. Gunn is a freelance writer by day and a fantasy author by night. She knew she wanted to be a writer since she was eight years old. Dianna wrote her first novel for Nanowrimo at eleven years old. As an adult,Dianna quickly discovered writing books is not an easy way to make a living. So she decided to broaden her horizons, seeking another career that still allowed her to work with words.

Her freelance writing career started when she became a marketing intern at Musa Publishing in September 2011 and quickly became a staff writer in charge of multiple imprint blogs. Since then she has worked with a variety of small businesses and non-profits to improve their online brands and create long term marketing strategies. Some of her most notable work has been for the tech education non-profit STEAMLabs and natural dog care company ProPooch. She is dedicated to helping her clients build successful brands and making their dreams come true.

Need help creating awesome content for your business? Send an email to diannalgunn@gmail.com explaining what your needs are, and she will help you.

When she isn’t helping her clients bring their dreams to life, Dianna can be found working on her own dream of being a successful fantasy author.

Dianna blogs about writing, creativity, and books at The Dabbler.

Learn more about Dianna on Facebook and follow her on Twitter.

Little Treats with BIG Flavor

from Chris Pavesic

This kid-friendly recipe is quick and easy to make. It’s a little bit like a s’more, a little bit like a bird’s nest, and 100% yummy. Get those marshmallows and chocolate chips ready!

Quick and Easy S'mores Treats

1 pkg. (12 oz.) semi-sweet chocolate chips
½ bag (5 oz.) mini marshmallows
2 cups pretzel sticks
2 cups vanilla wafers, broken into pieces

Preheat oven to 250° F.

Pour chocolate chips into an ungreased baking pan. Pop it into oven for about 5 minutes or until the chips get shiny. They should still retain their shape.

Take the pan out and immediately add the other ingredients. Stir as fast as possible because the chocolate will cool quickly.

This can be a bit messy when stirring—you will get chocolate on your hands—but that’s part of the fun.

When the other ingredients are coated, spoon the mixture onto parchment paper in serving-size portions. Allow to cool completely and serve.

Enjoy a brief glimpse into my new novel, FIERCE!

In this wide-ranging collection of steampunk, dystopian, and fantasy short fiction, award-winning author Chris Pavesic presents vibrant female characters in compelling narratives. This rich compendium includes previously published stories as well as new fiction.

Praise for "Going Home":
"This is an excellent short story that is full of surprises for the reader. Martial law is about to be imposed in the colony. A secret room, trips on a train and a clandestine meeting are all part of this superb steampunk short story. Most highly recommended."--Off Grid & Loving It

Praise for "The World in Front of Me": "This reminded me a lot of the Lakeside community in Neil Gaiman's American Gods, but I won't say anymore about that for fear of giving away spoilers. But fans of Gaiman should really enjoy this story. Fans of strong women who make tough choices should enjoy this as well.”--Karissa Sluss, Author.

Praise for "Heart & Mind": “The author has managed to weave an intricate web about being true to yourself. One shouldn’t be guided or led by others. Above all, feel the magic in your own heart."--Chief, USN Ret…VT Town

AMAZON BUY LINK

Chris Pavesic is a fantasy author who lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, steampunk, fairy tales, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends.

Learn more about Chris on her website and blog.

Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and her Amazon Author Page.

Strong Women from a Strong Writer

Chris Pavesic is the author to read when you want spellbinding stories with top-notch characters. Pavesic's latest collection is powerful and showcases the true talent of this award-winning author.

In this wide-ranging collection of steampunk, dystopian, and fantasy short fiction, award-winning author Chris Pavesic presents vibrant female characters in compelling narratives. This rich compendium includes previously published stories as well as new fiction.

Praise for "Going Home":
"This is an excellent short story that is full of surprises for the reader. Martial law is about to be imposed in the colony. A secret room, trips on a train and a clandestine meeting are all part of this superb steampunk short story. Most highly recommended."--Off Grid & Loving It

Praise for "The World in Front of Me": "This reminded me a lot of the Lakeside community in Neil Gaiman's American Gods, but I won't say anymore about that for fear of giving away spoilers. But fans of Gaiman should really enjoy this story. Fans of strong women who make tough choices should enjoy this as well.”--Karissa Sluss, Author.

Praise for "Heart & Mind": “The author has managed to weave an intricate web about being true to yourself. One shouldn’t be guided or led by others. Above all, feel the magic in your own heart."--Chief, USN Ret…VT Town

AMAZON BUY LINK

Chris Pavesic is a fantasy author who lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, steampunk, fairy tales, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends.

Learn more about Chris on her website and blog.

Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and her Amazon Author Page.

NEW RELEASE for CHRIS PAVESIC

Chris Pavesic, the Queen of Steampunk,just released the first book in a new mystery series. The twists and turns are pure Pavesic. Unquiet Dead is destined to be a best seller for this fine author. See for yourself.

When the Temples north of Chiaroscuro are burned and followers of the Sun Goddess are murdered, Catherine, a bard of the Ealdoth Temple, sets out to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. With only the help of a traveling group of minstrels and a retired fae investigator, Catherine must solve the mystery before more people are killed.

So saddle up your clockwork mount, buckle on your electro-dagger, and join Catherine as she finds herself pitted against members of her own Temple, rogue members of the Seelie Court, and a seemingly unstoppable army of undead.

In Chiaroscuro it’s important to keep the faith.



EXCERPT
Services were scheduled to commence in an hour, and Ernest needed to be ready. He struck a match and lit the first gaslight, watching the flame take hold and flare up. The light pushed back the shadows so parishioners were able to find their way to the pews without stumbling. He would extinguish the artificial lights right before the service so the effect of the sunlight illuminating the darkness hit with maximum impact as it flooded through the skylights.

The parishioners would marvel at how the Temple filled with the Goddess’s Holy Light just in time for the service. Ernest would marvel at the fact that none of them were smart enough to realize he flipped a switch on back of the altar to swing open mechanical shutters.

There was a religious stirring in Grand Marsh more powerful than anything Ernest had experienced in his ten years as a Sacerd. The services at dawn, noon, and sundown were packed. Few of the farmers went out to the fields. They worked in town on community projects or sat drinking at the tavern. Their wives remained in the town square, full of chatter, instead of staying on their farmsteads. Their thin voices filled the air. The youngest children were kept close while the teens clustered in protective packs far enough away to keep their discussions out of reach of their parents’ ears. But close enough to be in sight at all times. None of them wandered off.

Three times a day they filled the Temple, ready to hear his words. Faces tilted up to him. Man and woman, young and old. And none of his parishioners would confess why they were so filled with the Holy Spirit that they were neglecting their farms. They were afraid of speaking blasphemy. But he knew the reason, and it caused a lift in his heart that was not due to religious inspiration. They were scared, plain and simple, and it gave him hope.

Since being assigned to the far parish almost five years ago, a posting he saw as an end to the upward progress of his career in the Temple, he struggled daily to swallow his disappointment. It wouldn’t leave, and it was bitter. Bitter.

In this remote village, far from the bustle and industry of Chiaroscuro, the quality of his life, the texture of his life, changed. He longed for life in the city. The world seemed to have shifted into two zones. The pace of life for the city dwellers increased while people living in the countryside were being left behind.

Time’s arrow struck fastest through the densest populations. Sacerds assigned to any of the major cities made more connections and accumulated more power in a single week than he did in a year. Exerting influence was impossible when the spheres of power were spinning outside of his reach, moving too fast for him to see, let alone have an impact.

The wound to his pride stung the most. The elders had hurt his feelings. To be dismissed so easily, passed along so casually—it was like the swatting of an annoying insect. The Temple elders did not treat him as if he mattered, as if his family ties were consequential. True he was a third son, but of a noble line. And they assigned him to a rustic Temple to attend to common folk far below his station.

Very little was required of him here. Or, more precisely, very little of what he did here interested him. He burned to return to the central Temple and to be part of the intrigues and power shifts. This attracted him more than caring for the simple souls of farmers and shopkeepers. Power was why he joined the Temple, and what he was now denied.

But not for long. The thought clanged in his mind with undeniable rightness. Not righteousness. It was an important distinction. Would the Goddess sanction his actions? Probably not, but he was past caring about her approval. During all of the ceremonies, all of the prayer and introspection, he had never felt any divine presence. He had never witnessed any miracles, and doubted their existence.

But power, oh he had seen the existence of power. Political. Social. Religious. Whatever you called it really didn’t matter. Get enough people to follow you. Enough people to believe in what you were selling. This was the belief that could move the world.

There was only one woman in his life he needed to please now, and she held no divinity. Merci had offered him a way out of this rural purgatory, and he had accepted. Truth be told, he had grabbed at it like a castaway might grab at a line from a passing airship. If the price were the damnation of his soul, so be it.

He glanced out the window at the transport coming down the lane. A high quality clockwork carriage with the Temple’s Crest stamped on the doors rattled over the boards strewn across the irrigation ditch and stopped, parking in the speckled light cast by the ornament trees planted along the lane. The carriage blocked traffic, but the driver did not seem to care. Elder members of the clergy, Hlytere, and above, felt they had the right of way. Others had to go around.

A pale, dark-haired woman emerged and stood for a moment looking around. She pulled the hood of her dark cloak over her hair and walked through the yard toward the Temple. Ernest’s gaze followed her, trying to imagine who this stranger was.

Her footsteps sounded in the aisle and, when he turned from window, she was almost upon him. Her speed startled him. When he saw her face to face he realized she was younger than he had supposed. Too young to be a Hlytere, but her use of the carriage meant she was favored by the Temple elders. The seed of jealousy radiated through him. He felt it in his chest and the pit of his stomach. He struggled to keep the emotion off his face.

“Greetings.” He shook her hand with a firm grasp. Her hands were small and smooth and white. “Will you come in for a moment?” He led her to the small reception room off the main area that contained a round table and several wooden chairs. He lit a cheroot, offered her one, which she declined, and they sat down.

“Please forgive me for calling on you so close to mid-day Services, Sacerd Ernest.” She paused. “You are Sacerd Ernest, correct? It’s not like me to presume.”

“Of course. I’m glad you came. I watched you drive up, you know, and I wondered who you were. We don’t get many visitors from the Temple here.”

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize me, cousin. Of course, I didn’t recognize you. So perhaps it’s not so surprising.”

“I’m sorry. I …”

“I’m from the cadet line of our family tree. My father is the elder son of the younger son of our line.”

His brow creased in thought. “Grace?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile, reaching out to touch his hand. Her fingers rested there for a moment too long. Lingered. And then she leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, which were slim and bare beneath her robe.

Sacerd Ernest regarded his guest, wondering that her physical presence should suddenly dawn upon him so. She was more beautiful than he had thought at first. Her skin was clear and lovely, and her eyes and mouth were made up carefully and well.

What’s her game? He licked at the perspiration that appeared upon his upper lip.

“I would like your help in a small matter. And of course I wanted to meet you.”

“You did?”

“Our sponsor has spoken of you with such affection.”

“Our superior?” He used the wrong word to see if she would correct him.
“Technically, I suppose, she may be yours. I’ve never thought much of the rules of hierarchy in the Temple.” She cocked her head, listening to noises from the other room. Some of his parishioners had started to file in for the service. “It’s such a mercy, isn’t it?’

Ah, code words.

She must think she’s being clever, although he had no idea who could possibly overhear their conversation. It was only just dawning on him why she must be here. In his town. In his Temple. But he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was get out of Grand Marsh. Get back to Chiaroscuro. It didn’t bother him that people, his parishioners, may die, or suffer a fate worse than death. He just wanted to get out.

It’s not my fault if I’m following orders.

But that was a poor excuse, wasn’t it? Guilt flared, hot and strong.

Do you want to stay in Grand Marsh forever? Ministering to the townsfolk? Do you?

No … but he didn’t want to hurt people. Those conflicting thoughts pulled at him. There was the question of right and wrong. What was right for him might go wrong for others. But that was the way it had to be.

Thus he banished the guilt. When something inside of him tried to protest again, tried to tell him to think before he did this, he smothered it.

“When?” He didn’t have any time for nonsense. The quicker it occurred, the quicker he resumed his rightful place.

“In two days. I have some items in my transport that need to be set up in the Temple, but kept out of view.” She smiled and spoke a little louder so that the earliest arrivals overheard her. “I wish I could stay to help with the Mass, but I am needed back in Chiaroscuro.” She lowered her voice. “Officially I never left the city.”

“Of course.” He guessed that she had no desire to partake in the service. “I will help you with whatever you need.” Whatever may come of it, he had gone too far to stop now.

AMAZON LINK

Chris Pavesic is a fantasy author who lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, steampunk, fairy tales, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends.

Learn more about Chris on her website and blog.

Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and her Amazon Author Page.

COVER REVEAL for NEW STEAMPUNK

Coming March 5 from Chris Pavesic, the author of Starter Zone: The Revelation Chronicles, the first book in a new steampunk mystery series. Looks like another best seller for this fine author. But you be the judge.

When the Temples north of Chiaroscuro are burned and followers of the Sun Goddess are murdered, Catherine, a bard of the Ealdoth Temple, sets out to find those responsible and to bring them to justice. With only the help of a traveling group of minstrels and a retired fae investigator, Catherine must solve the mystery before more people are killed.

So saddle up your clockwork mount, buckle on your electro-dagger, and join Catherine as she finds herself pitted against members of her own Temple, rogue members of the Seelie Court, and a seemingly unstoppable army of undead.

In Chiaroscuro it’s important to keep the faith.



EXCERPT
Services were scheduled to commence in an hour, and Ernest needed to be ready. He struck a match and lit the first gaslight, watching the flame take hold and flare up. The light pushed back the shadows so parishioners were able to find their way to the pews without stumbling. He would extinguish the artificial lights right before the service so the effect of the sunlight illuminating the darkness hit with maximum impact as it flooded through the skylights.

The parishioners would marvel at how the Temple filled with the Goddess’s Holy Light just in time for the service. Ernest would marvel at the fact that none of them were smart enough to realize he flipped a switch on back of the altar to swing open mechanical shutters.

There was a religious stirring in Grand Marsh more powerful than anything Ernest had experienced in his ten years as a Sacerd. The services at dawn, noon, and sundown were packed. Few of the farmers went out to the fields. They worked in town on community projects or sat drinking at the tavern. Their wives remained in the town square, full of chatter, instead of staying on their farmsteads. Their thin voices filled the air. The youngest children were kept close while the teens clustered in protective packs far enough away to keep their discussions out of reach of their parents’ ears. But close enough to be in sight at all times. None of them wandered off.

Three times a day they filled the Temple, ready to hear his words. Faces tilted up to him. Man and woman, young and old. And none of his parishioners would confess why they were so filled with the Holy Spirit that they were neglecting their farms. They were afraid of speaking blasphemy. But he knew the reason, and it caused a lift in his heart that was not due to religious inspiration. They were scared, plain and simple, and it gave him hope.

Since being assigned to the far parish almost five years ago, a posting he saw as an end to the upward progress of his career in the Temple, he struggled daily to swallow his disappointment. It wouldn’t leave, and it was bitter. Bitter.

In this remote village, far from the bustle and industry of Chiaroscuro, the quality of his life, the texture of his life, changed. He longed for life in the city. The world seemed to have shifted into two zones. The pace of life for the city dwellers increased while people living in the countryside were being left behind.

Time’s arrow struck fastest through the densest populations. Sacerds assigned to any of the major cities made more connections and accumulated more power in a single week than he did in a year. Exerting influence was impossible when the spheres of power were spinning outside of his reach, moving too fast for him to see, let alone have an impact.

The wound to his pride stung the most. The elders had hurt his feelings. To be dismissed so easily, passed along so casually—it was like the swatting of an annoying insect. The Temple elders did not treat him as if he mattered, as if his family ties were consequential. True he was a third son, but of a noble line. And they assigned him to a rustic Temple to attend to common folk far below his station.

Very little was required of him here. Or, more precisely, very little of what he did here interested him. He burned to return to the central Temple and to be part of the intrigues and power shifts. This attracted him more than caring for the simple souls of farmers and shopkeepers. Power was why he joined the Temple, and what he was now denied.

But not for long. The thought clanged in his mind with undeniable rightness. Not righteousness. It was an important distinction. Would the Goddess sanction his actions? Probably not, but he was past caring about her approval. During all of the ceremonies, all of the prayer and introspection, he had never felt any divine presence. He had never witnessed any miracles, and doubted their existence.

But power, oh he had seen the existence of power. Political. Social. Religious. Whatever you called it really didn’t matter. Get enough people to follow you. Enough people to believe in what you were selling. This was the belief that could move the world.

There was only one woman in his life he needed to please now, and she held no divinity. Merci had offered him a way out of this rural purgatory, and he had accepted. Truth be told, he had grabbed at it like a castaway might grab at a line from a passing airship. If the price were the damnation of his soul, so be it.

He glanced out the window at the transport coming down the lane. A high quality clockwork carriage with the Temple’s Crest stamped on the doors rattled over the boards strewn across the irrigation ditch and stopped, parking in the speckled light cast by the ornament trees planted along the lane. The carriage blocked traffic, but the driver did not seem to care. Elder members of the clergy, Hlytere, and above, felt they had the right of way. Others had to go around.

A pale, dark-haired woman emerged and stood for a moment looking around. She pulled the hood of her dark cloak over her hair and walked through the yard toward the Temple. Ernest’s gaze followed her, trying to imagine who this stranger was.

Her footsteps sounded in the aisle and, when he turned from window, she was almost upon him. Her speed startled him. When he saw her face to face he realized she was younger than he had supposed. Too young to be a Hlytere, but her use of the carriage meant she was favored by the Temple elders. The seed of jealousy radiated through him. He felt it in his chest and the pit of his stomach. He struggled to keep the emotion off his face.

“Greetings.” He shook her hand with a firm grasp. Her hands were small and smooth and white. “Will you come in for a moment?” He led her to the small reception room off the main area that contained a round table and several wooden chairs. He lit a cheroot, offered her one, which she declined, and they sat down.

“Please forgive me for calling on you so close to mid-day Services, Sacerd Ernest.” She paused. “You are Sacerd Ernest, correct? It’s not like me to presume.”

“Of course. I’m glad you came. I watched you drive up, you know, and I wondered who you were. We don’t get many visitors from the Temple here.”

“I’m surprised you don’t recognize me, cousin. Of course, I didn’t recognize you. So perhaps it’s not so surprising.”

“I’m sorry. I …”

“I’m from the cadet line of our family tree. My father is the elder son of the younger son of our line.”

His brow creased in thought. “Grace?”

“Yes,” she said with a smile, reaching out to touch his hand. Her fingers rested there for a moment too long. Lingered. And then she leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, which were slim and bare beneath her robe.

Sacerd Ernest regarded his guest, wondering that her physical presence should suddenly dawn upon him so. She was more beautiful than he had thought at first. Her skin was clear and lovely, and her eyes and mouth were made up carefully and well.

What’s her game? He licked at the perspiration that appeared upon his upper lip.

“I would like your help in a small matter. And of course I wanted to meet you.”

“You did?”

“Our sponsor has spoken of you with such affection.”

“Our superior?” He used the wrong word to see if she would correct him.
“Technically, I suppose, she may be yours. I’ve never thought much of the rules of hierarchy in the Temple.” She cocked her head, listening to noises from the other room. Some of his parishioners had started to file in for the service. “It’s such a mercy, isn’t it?’

Ah, code words.

She must think she’s being clever, although he had no idea who could possibly overhear their conversation. It was only just dawning on him why she must be here. In his town. In his Temple. But he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was get out of Grand Marsh. Get back to Chiaroscuro. It didn’t bother him that people, his parishioners, may die, or suffer a fate worse than death. He just wanted to get out.

It’s not my fault if I’m following orders.

But that was a poor excuse, wasn’t it? Guilt flared, hot and strong.

Do you want to stay in Grand Marsh forever? Ministering to the townsfolk? Do you?

No … but he didn’t want to hurt people. Those conflicting thoughts pulled at him. There was the question of right and wrong. What was right for him might go wrong for others. But that was the way it had to be.

Thus he banished the guilt. When something inside of him tried to protest again, tried to tell him to think before he did this, he smothered it.

“When?” He didn’t have any time for nonsense. The quicker it occurred, the quicker he resumed his rightful place.

“In two days. I have some items in my transport that need to be set up in the Temple, but kept out of view.” She smiled and spoke a little louder so that the earliest arrivals overheard her. “I wish I could stay to help with the Mass, but I am needed back in Chiaroscuro.” She lowered her voice. “Officially I never left the city.”

“Of course.” He guessed that she had no desire to partake in the service. “I will help you with whatever you need.” Whatever may come of it, he had gone too far to stop now.

AMAZON PRE-ORDER LINK

Chris Pavesic is a fantasy author who lives in the Midwestern United States and loves Kona coffee, steampunk, fairy tales, and all types of speculative fiction. Between writing projects, Chris can most often be found reading, gaming, gardening, working on an endless list of DIY household projects, or hanging out with friends.

Learn more about Chris on her website and blog.

Stay connected on Facebook, Twitter, and her Amazon Author Page.

New Release for Sam Cheever

If you're into dark fantasy, magic, and erotic romance, you're going to adore Demon's Mate, a new novel from Sam Cheever.



Book 1: Royals of Sheoldris

What if real love began in the pages of a paranormal novel? And what if that love leapt off those pages, and into an avid reader’s arms?

Terra fell in love with Jacobin when he was the hero in a sexy paranormal novel, but when he showed up at her door she thought she was losing her mind. Imagine how she felt to learn her fate had been scribed onto magic pages and could just as easily be erased. Would she be willing to give up everything, just to hold onto a love she never dreamed she’d have?

~~*~~

They left her alone for hours. At some point someone brought her a meal of fruit and cheeses with a dark, sweet wine but other than that she saw nobody except the two big men wearing diapers who guarded her door.

Finally, the woman who’d put her there returned, bringing the two big men into Terra’s rooms with her. And she was demanding that Terra take a bath. With all three of them in the room. Terra of course refused.

“If you do not cooperate, I’ll have the eunuchs carry you to the bath and hold you in the water as they bathe you.”

Terra glared at the demoness she’d learned was called Gemma. “I’m not going to polish myself up like a piece of fruit for that bully.”

Gemma nodded at the two men standing behind her. They stepped forward and grasped Terra’s arms, and she shrieked in outrage.

“Leave us!”

The two eunuchs and Gemma bowed low, stepping away from Terra. “Sire. We were just trying to do as you asked.” Gemma slid Terra a look of such hatred she wondered if the woman would murder her in her sleep.

“It seems my mate needs to learn some manners. I’m the one who must handle that little chore.”

Terra gave an outraged chirp. “I need to learn manners? Me? I didn’t drag you from your house and your… planet to a strange place and turn you into a prisoner.”

The demon king glared at his three servants until they left and then turned to her, his densely muscled arms crossed over his chest. Despite her anger, Terra couldn’t help noticing how hot he looked in the tight leather pants and sheer shirt that was open to the waist, showing a perfect, golden-brown chest. “You wouldn’t be treated as a prisoner if you didn’t act like a fool.”

She gave another outraged chirp and advanced on him, her hands clenched into fists. “I’m just trying to retain some kind of freedom --”

“Freedom? By chaining yourself to a low-level demon like the lowliest concubine?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? I don’t know anything about this stupid place. They offered to help me, and I was grateful for their help. Once I got past the gate --”

Jacobin stepped closer, lowering his angry face to hers. “Once you got past the gate he would have locked you up and tried to ransom you to me. All the while enjoying your lush body for his own pleasure.”

Terra’s mouth slammed shut on an angry retort as his words sank in. “You’re lying.”

He lowered his head until his lips hovered over hers, his hot breath sweet against her face. “You know that I am not.”

Unfortunately she realized, far too late, that he was probably right. In her desperation and ignorance she’d almost put herself in greater danger. At least there, in the castle, she was under the king’s protection. But Terra was too angry to back down. “It wouldn’t be any worse than being kept prisoner here.”

His big hands came out and grasped her arms, pulling her to her toes as he stepped closer. Terra bit her lip against a wave of lust as his heat and hardness pressed against her. “Then you shouldn’t mind that I stopped you, mate.” Without warning, he gave her a gentle shove, and she fell backward into the huge, sand-bottomed pool.

She came up sputtering with outrage, her hands skimming water out of her eyes. “You ass! Now you’re trying to drown me?”

Toeing off his soft boots, the king reached to tug the shirt off his broad chest. “It appears I will need to bathe you like a babe, since you refuse to do it yourself.”

BUY LINK

Kick-Ass Chicks Are Cool

It's wonderful to make new friends and even better to share them. Today, I'm doing just that. Please allow me to introduce you to a woman with more balls than most men.

The name’s Maxie Briscoe and I am a werewolf...

That’s right, a real live, full moon-loving, Halloween icon. It’s hard out here for a girl like me. To survive, I hide my true self and act the part of a normal human, all while discreetly indulging the Beast within. Talk about walking a narrow ledge. And that’s not even the worst part. Sex is. You see I can bench press a pick-up truck and that spells disaster in the bedroom. You can’t have any real fun knowing you might accidentally crush a lover while in the throes. Kind of kills the mood.

MAXIE BRISCO: WEREWOLF
Melissa Bradley
ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-650-5 (Electronic)
ISBN-13: 978-1-60272-806-6 (Paperback)
Amber Allure

When a friend’s murder shatters the careful existence Maxie has carved out for herself, she comes face to face with Damien and Noah, two of the hottest men she’s ever laid eyes on. And it only stirs her Beast and turns her on more when she realizes they’re hot for each other. They’re also the first werewolves she’s run across since her own conversion. The attraction between the three of them is instant, but complicated, and the sex...explosive.

Too bad there’s a killer out there with his sights set on her...

EXCERPT:
Maxie meets Damien and Noah for the first time…

They materialize from the darkness, hunters intent on their prey. Me.

My breath hitches, the animal inside rippling beneath my skin. I’m nervous, but I refuse to let them see. This bitch rolls belly-up for no one. I stride onto my front porch, prepared to defend my territory. Dressed in loungewear, I am hardly the picture of a strong alpha female, but you go with what you got. I look them both dead on.

I fold my arms over my breasts. “What do you want?” I growl, my voice a low rumble.

“We’ve come for you, little one.” With a voice like muffled thunder, the taller of the two moves forward onto my lawn. Twisted steel with sex appeal about sums him up. His dark hair is pulled back in a tail, tee-shirt molded to his cut frame.

My nostrils flare, catching his scent, fresh like a mountain spring at first thaw; my female parts quiver in anticipation. I want to coil myself around him like a python on a Kapok tree, hugging
every hard inch of flesh. Ruthlessly, I shove down the urge. It’s dangerous. Ulterior motives are written all over the two of them, and I just know one of those motives is to dominate me.

“It took us a long time to find you, Maxie.”

The whisky baritone draws my attention, and I watch the other one emerge, lean and graceful, his muscles liquid precision. Definite hotness is woven into the male half of the werewolf
genetic code. His scent is warm and dark, like night in a jungle. My nipples bead with excitement as he lopes toward me, brushing past the larger wolf. He stops at the base of my stairs, conqueror
etched in every line of his body. This is definitely the alpha of the pair.

“Didn’t know I was lost.” I widen my stance, ready to spring. If he’s looking for a challenge, he’s got one.

He smiles, teeth bared, the faint light from the scimitar moon exposing the predatory glint in his eyes.

I can feel the hunger resonating through them, matching my own deep desire.

“We can smell your craving, little one,” the taller one rumbles as he joins his partner.

I hate arrogant assholes. “Is this the part where I’m supposed lie back, spread my legs and say, ‘Do me like Red Riding Hood, you Big Bad Wolf’?”

They chuckle in that knowing, masculine way, the sound like tropical waves lapping along my insides, teasing and inviting.

“She’s more than we imagined, my friend.” The dominant wolf smiles over his shoulder at the other one as he starts up the first step.

“Hold it right there, Romeo,” I snap.

He stops, huffs out a breath and moves back to his original position. “The name is Damien Black. And this is Noah Rayburn.” He jerks a thumb toward the larger guy who inclines his head with a gleaming look in his eyes.

They stand there, watching me, probably wondering when I’m going to quit being so difficult and invite them inside. Maybe I will and maybe I won’t. All depends on their explanations.

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Melissa Bradley grew up in a book-loving, storytelling family on Chicago’s southeast side. Some of her fondest memories are of her father regaling her with tales of giants and goblins. She has a passion for stories of history, romance, adventure, fantasy, science fiction and horror. Melissa's favorite places include bookstores, libraries and movie theatres. You can find out more about Melissa and her writing by visiting Melissa's Imaginarium, Facebook and Twitter.

I'll be back Wednesday with a new menu. Until then...

Happy Reading!

Sloane Taylor