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Kryssie Fortune’s Heroes of Westhorpe Ridge Holiday Series Boxed Set Launch & Giveaway

 

 

Kryssie is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate and 3 ebooks of Submission, Secrets, and the Soldier to lucky winners during the tour. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter. Remember there is a chance to enter every day, so please follow us along on the tour. You may find the tour locations here.

 

 

About the Boxed Set:

 

Kryssie Fortune’s holiday series, Heroes of Westhorpe Ridge, is now available in a convenient e-boxed set!

 

 

Marriage, Mobsters, and the Marine:

 

 

Abigail Montgomery, a small town schoolteacher with zero self-confidence, dreams of the Dickensian Christmas her family never enjoyed. Each month she attends a masked BDSM club, but her next visit will be her last. If she doesn’t marry within the next year, her brother won’t inherit Montgomery Hall. Desperate, she advertises for a husband.

 

Jared Armstrong, a former Marine sharpshooter and occasional Dom needs $125,000 to get his family out of a hole. His solution–to marry Abigail Montgomery for her money. His only regret is his wife won’t accept his spanking lifestyle.

 

Gradually, Abigail comes to dream of making their marriage real, but she promised Jared a divorce two years after their wedding. Can they share some Christmas magic as their relationship faces extortion threats, a kidnapping, and an attempted murder? Or will Jared break her heart when he walks away?

 

 

 

Sex, Scandal, and the Sheriff:

 

 

Jasmine Stewart (Jazz to her friends) falls for the blond stranger when he spanks and seduces her at a Washington soiree. Later, when she discovers her flatmate is trying to draw her into a spy ring, she goes to the authorities. The ensuing publicity costs her her job, her security, and her future. Starting over in Westhorpe Ridge is her only option.

 

Sean Mathews, former SEAL and Westhorpe Ridge’s sheriff, can’t forget the woman he spanked when he visited Washington, but he thinks she’s a spy. When she turns up in Westhorpe Ridge, he tries everything to make her leave town. Despite their misunderstandings, though, they can’t keep their hands off each other.

 

As Year’s Eve looms, the spy ring resurfaces. Jazz will need all of Sean’s SEAL prowess to survive. But because his wounded leg cost him his speed in the water, will it be enough?

 

 

 

Desire, Deceit, and the Doctor:

 

 

Twelve years ago, Mandy Devlin moved away from her friends and family–under threat. If she returned in the next ten years or told anyone who fathered her baby, her boyfriend’s great-aunt would bankrupt her family. She’s a single mom who dreams of her lost love and a good spanking. When she’s finally free to return to Westhorpe Ridge, the last person she expects to see is Adam–the man she loved and lost so long ago.

 

Dr. Adam Montgomery doesn’t know he has a son. Thanks to his great-aunt’s will, he has nine months to find a bride or he loses Montgomery Hall and the fifteen million dollars she left him. Although he seduces Mandy on his first night home, he still believes she betrayed him twelve years ago. No way would he marry a woman like her.

 

As Valentine’s Day looms, someone tries to kill Mandy. Is Adam trying to get rid of her? Or can Mandy trust him to protect them?

 

Note: All of the books in this set were previously released as single titles.

 

Buy Links:

Amazon UK | Amazon US | Loose id | Kobo | B&N

 

 

 

 

Excerpt from Sex, Scandal, and the Sheriff:

He held her close and breathed in her essence. “I’m a moron, okay. Jazz Stewart, please will you come to the New Year’s party with me? I’ve already bought us tickets, and like a fool, I assumed you’d come with me. If you say no, then I’m staying here with you even if I have to pitch a tent in the parking lot. No way am I seeing in the New Year with anyone but you.”

She sniffed. “Really? But you hate it when I touch you. I’m going crazy trying to work out what’s going on between us.”

He kissed her so hard her toes curled. Finally, keeping his arms around her, he smiled down at her. “I’m making a real mess of courting you, that’s what. I decided to take things slow and win your friendship, but keeping my hands to myself has left me on edge. I can’t go a minute without thinking how much I love you. Jazz, I can’t live without you, and I’ve made some real special plans for you and me tomorrow night. Every tear I’ve made you cry twists my gut until I want to curl up on the ground and bellow like a castrated bull. Understand one thing, Jazz. You’re my best and only girl.”

“Lovely imagery you got going on there.” She giggled and rested her head against his chest. Being back in his arms made the moon seem bigger and the stars brighter, more twinkling diamonds than pinpricks of light, but they paled alongside her handsome sheriff. “Yes. I’d like to go to the party with you, but I’ll have to drive into Polka Springs again tomorrow to find a new dress. I’m not wearing my red one, not after I wore it for Jones. I might call Abigail and ask her to come with me. Oh God, Abigail and Jared. I ran out on them. What must they think of me?”

He kissed her again. “Probably that you’re a beautiful woman who deserves better than an idiot like me. I’m an ass for hurting you, but can we continue this inside?”

She smiled but shook her head. “We should stick to your plan. Being friends counts for a lot, and while I’m already buzzing with anticipation for tomorrow night, I’ve had a strange day. Kiss me good night, and I’ll see you after I’ve been shopping for the party. Sean, now I know what’s happening, I like how you’ve taken the time to court me.”

Sean’s kiss sent Jazz’s hormones dancing, but when they finally broke apart, she walked to her door and watched him until he vanished from view. Waiting until tomorrow left her frustrated, but she’d let him organize his surprise. Her body burned at his every touch, and, once they’d seen in the New Year, she planned to drag him into bed. Humming under her breath, she decided that sounded like a plan.

Not taking her eyes off his car as he drove off, she reached behind her for the light switch. Before she found it, a man’s hand clamped around her wrist, and he dragged her inside. Something sharp stuck into her arm. Her body went limp and her brain turned dormant as the drugs knocked her out.

 

 

 

 

 

About Kryssie:

 

 

 

Kryssie Fortune writes the sort of hot sexy books she loves to read. If she can sneak a dragon into her paranormal books she will. Her paranormal heroes are muscular werewolves, arrogant Fae, or BDSM loving dragons.

 

Kryssie likes her contemporary heroes ex-military and dominant. Her heroines are kick ass females who can hold their own against whatever life – or Kryssie – throws at them.

 

Kryssie’s pet hates are unhappy endings, and a series that end on a cliff hanger.

 

Her books are all stand alone even when part of series. Plot always comes before sex, but when her heroines and heroes get together, the sex is explosive and explicit. One review called it downright sensual.

 

Kryssie’s Social Links:

Facebook | Twitter | Blog | Website

 

 

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Is Sex the Journey or the Destination? – A Guest Post by JL Peridot (@jlperidot) #giveaway

In stories and in life, sex can be an exciting driver for change. Desire stokes your energy and pushes you forward, waking you up, forcing you to appreciate what’s around you instead of sticking to the status quo.

When a friend of mine left her first husband, we were all shocked. To us, she was the heroine of a beautiful college romance that turned into the perfect life.

I tell her story with permission: one day, she met someone. She wanted him. She’d never felt this way before. Suddenly, she found she couldn’t settle for the first answer that came up when she wondered if Happily Ever After existed.

Whether or not this new guy was her hero, her desire for him thrust her marriage under a microscope. For the first time, she saw the stark incompatibilities, the lack of respect, the micro-aggressions and passive-aggressions that over the years told her to shut up and just be a good wife. She realised her husband had been antagonist material this whole time, and she was just too blind to see it.

Months after her marriage ended, I asked why she never hooked up with the new guy. She said even though her desire for him was “the beginning of the end”, she realised it was never really about getting together with him. She’d been deeply unhappy in her relationship for so long that it had become normal. She was sleepwalking through it, and figured that’s just what happiness must be like.

Yet somehow, her body knew that her head and her heart were out of synch. Every fibre of her being was determined to put it right. It tried letting her know through anxiety, through depression, through chronic illness, but nothing worked. Finally, it tried sexual desire — the beast that grows stronger, the more you try to ignore it.

A year later, she was a divorcee and the happiest I’d ever seen her, starting a new relationship with guy who later proved that heroes aren’t just found in storybooks.

In my novel, Chasing Sisyphus, my heroine and hero are undoubtedly attracted to each other. It’s no traditional romance novel attraction. They’re two good-looking adults who’ve been around the block enough to know there’s something there. The problem is there’s no way a wanted criminal and a cop can hook up. Not even in a corrupt city like Basilica.

So, what can they do? They can’t stop at the first answer that comes to mind: turning on each other and getting on with their lives. That’s what you’d settle for if it were with any old Joe. But when you want someone — really want someone — you look for a different answer. You can’t help it. Every fibre of your being pushes you towards it.

It doesn’t have to be about the sex, really. Sex, the act or just the mere idea of it, is there to wake you up. And with your eyes open, you can finally see the chapters of your life for what they are, and get back to creating your story.

Thank you, KD, for having me on your blog.

*****

Chasing Sisyphus excerpt:

Adria took a deep breath. Then another. The air was too thick in here. Shadows and sparks crept over her vision. Why was the floor moving?

She fumbled for the doorknob. No dice. Dried her hand on the towel and tried again. Cool air flooded in. Sweat prickled her skin. She blinked hard and rubbed water from her eyes. The dull carpet beneath her seemed to stretch on forever, a giant tilting landscape meeting a worn wallpaper horizon.

Detective Carver stepped toward her. He held out a cup and motioned for her to take it. She tucked a finger in the handle and clutched it in both hands. A dark crack streaked the rim like a wrinkle in a knuckle. Meanwhile, her own knuckles were pale.

“I guess I should thank you”—he smiled—“you know, for saving my life.”

“Don’t mention it,” she whispered, vision clearing as she sucked in a breath of fresh motel air.

The detective’s shirt hung, still wet, on the back of a chair. The contours of his chest and abdomen showed through his dark undershirt, accentuated by the sheen of composite fabric under lamplight. A shallow dimple creased the edge of his smile.

Details.

Anchors.

They’d come so close to not making it. But he’d cuffed her round the front. He was the sort of cop who’d do a thing like that. And the few seconds it bought made all the difference.

That’s why she went back.

He stood in front of her and knocked back his shot, the muscles in his wrist and arm flexing and twisting with the motion.

“Hey”—he looked at her—“something the matter?”

Heart racing, she downed her drink without a word and reached for him. She pulled his face to hers. His skin was warm. His breath was warm. Beneath the smell of liquor and earthy river water lurked the aroma of another person. A breathing person who caught her as she fell into him, as she kissed him, fumbling for something to hold onto.

The detective let go of his cup. It landed next to hers on the carpet. She kicked them both away. Her lips recognised him, recognised the sensation of life breathing between them both. Only this time, he was alive, too, hot and moving. His arms gripped her, holding her as she pushed her body toward him, against the growing need under his clothes. She was a buoy, slammed into him by waves in a storm. He clung to her, seizing fistfuls of her hair.

“What are we doing?” he gasped.

“We almost died tonight.”

She kissed him again, seeking his tongue where their lips met. Her nimble fingers worked the clasp of his belt. When it was undone, she peeled his undershirt from his muscular torso. His skin was cold beneath her touch, or were her hands hot from the shower? She looked at him. Right in the eye. She guided his hands up her waist and watched him intently.

“Fuck that, right?”

“Yeah”—he nodded—“fuck that.”

*****

Chasing Sisyphus blurb:

Bounty hunter Adria Yuan is hot on the trail of her final hit: a notorious hacker wanted by the city’s elite. With the reward, she can pay for her brother’s surgery and finally get out of Basilica City. Trouble is, her line of work’s not exactly legal, and she’s barely staying ahead of the cops who want her target, too.

Detective Rhys Carver may be a little unorthodox, but he’s a good cop. Born and bred in Basilica, he does his part to keep his city clean. As clean as it gets, at least. And with Adria suddenly in his sights, it’s going to take more than falling in love for him to let her go.

As the pair close in on their mark, they are unwittingly drawn into a high profile conspiracy that could thrust the whole of Basilica into chaos. Can Adria and Rhys set aside their differences, and their desires, to save the only home they know?

*****

About JL Peridot

JL Peridot never expected to write romance. She likes her stories with a little danger and only realised in her 30s that falling in love is one of the most dangerous things we do. From her home in Western Australia, she writes erotic romance, erotica, shopping lists and long-winded walls of text to her very patient friends.

*****

GIVEAWAY!

Make sure to follow the whole tour—the more posts you visit throughout, the more chances you’ll get to enter the giveaway. The tour dates are here: http://writermarketing.co.uk/prpromotion/blog-tours/currently-on-tour/jl-peridot/

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Forsaking Hope by Beverley Oakley: Tour and Giveaway

 

Forsaking Hope

Fair Cyprians of London

By Beverley Oakley

 

Beverley is giving away a $10 Amazon Gift Certificate to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Please use the RaffleCopter below to enter. Remember you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.

 

Forsaking Hope Blurb:

 

Two years ago, she missed their secret assignation and disappeared without a trace. Now the divine “Miss Hope” is in Felix Durham’s bed – a ‘surprise cheering-up gift’ sourced by his friends from London’s most exclusive brothel. Felix is in heaven – and he wants to stay there.

So does Hope, but she can’t.

Hope Merriweather lives by a code of honour – even if she’s a prostitute.

Having sold her soul, she’s prepared to sacrifice everything else to protect what she believes in.

Even if honour – in her eyes – comes at the cost of thieving and breaking hearts. Including her own.

 

Available for preorder here:

Amazon US | Amazon UK | iBooks | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Google Play

 

 

Excerpt:

Chapter One

 

Wilfred Hunt.

If there was a name to tip Hope into the abyss of despair she was hearing it spill from Madame Chambon’s lips now as the older woman directed Hope to take a seat in the reception room, presumably so Madame could loom oppressively over her.

With her hands on her ample, expensively padded hips, Hope’s benefactress—procuress, employer and gaoler were other monikers—sent Hope a beetling look that needed no interpreting: Regardless of Hope’s true feelings, Hope must project the required show of warmth and delight at being the chosen one.

Madame patted the side of her faux curls. Years of hot irons had reduced her hair to the texture of wool but her crowning glory these days was supplemented by the lustrous locks of those girls who dared cross her – before they were thrown back into the street from where most had come.

Nevertheless, Hope had to make her resistance clear. Surely Madame who knew her history would understand her loathing for this man, above all others. “I shan’t do it,” she whispered. There was little evidence of the willful child and wild adolescent who’d been the despair of her family. “I won’t—”

Outside, the noise of the traffic rumbling over the cobbles and the shrill calls of competing vendors settled upon the tense silence. Madame Chambon’s other girls, ranged around the sumptuously appointed room on red velvet upholstered banquettes, watched the exchange with prurient fascination. Hope knew it had been a calculated ploy of Madame’s to conduct her interview in public so that Hope would serve as an example to them.

No one crossed Madame Chambon.

The shrill cry of a fishmonger caused Madame to look pointedly out of the window. With something between a smile and a sneer, she smoothed a Marcel wave. “Is that where you plan to return, Hope? The gutter?” Her nose twitched and in the sunlight that filtered into the room, the grooves chiselled between mouth and chin were thrown into harsh relief, highlighted rather than hidden by the thick powder she used to conceal her age.

Madame Chambon’s comfort, now and into retirement, depended on obedient girls. Hope knew that as well as anyone. She’d had to bury her rebellious streak just to ensure food in her belly.

The Frenchwoman raised a chiselled brow and began to pace slowly in front of her girls. A painter with an eye for beauty would have been ecstatic at capturing such a spectacle on canvas. The discerning young man about town who visited 56 Albemarle Street was frequently rendered ecstatic by the range of delights Madame Chambon’s girls offered in addition to the visual.

“You forget yourself, Hope. I put a roof over your head and deck you out as handsomely as Mr Charles Worth ever did for his most discerning customer.” There was acid in Madame Chambon’s tone. “But for me, you’d be starving and glad of the pennies you could trade for a grubby stand-up encounter in a dark alley.” Madame Chambon thrust out her bosom and breathed through her nose, her response a calculated warning to the other girls arranged in various languid poses about the ornately decorated reception room that intransigence would not be tolerated.

“Mr Hunt has requested you.” She paused and when Hope remained silent, though her stance and expression left no one in any doubt as to her horror regarding this enforced assignation, went on. “Remember what I told you—what I tell all my girls when they first come here? The past must be forgotten the moment you step over my threshold. You are reborn, remodelled, refashioned into the most exquisite delectation of womanhood. A marquess, a prince, is well recompensed for the tidy sum he hands over in order to enjoy your sparkling wit, to converse with you in French, or if he chooses, on philosophy…to enjoy your charms…and,” she added significantly, “your gracious hospitality and tender ministrations to his needs. That is our agreement and you are no different. If Mr Hunt wishes you, Hope, to attend him at his residence then you will go.”

Faith, one of the kinder girls, patted Hope’s arm in silent solidarity. Hope didn’t expect any of them to speak up in her defence. Not when they all relied on Madame Chambon as much as she did to provide them with the necessities of life. Anything more than that was part of a strict contract that indentured a girl for life unless she was able to secure a generous benefactor to settle Madame’s severance bill. The fine clothes were part of the charade, necessary to entice a more elite clientele. Hope’s exquisite wardrobe did not belong to her though she’d have forsaken all the dupion silk and Spitalfields lace for the freedom of the gutter and to be mistress of her own destiny – and her body – if she could only be sure of a plate of gravy and potatoes every second day.

Closing her eyes, she hung her head, the carefully coiffed curls that fell forwards brushing against her tear-streaked cheeks. It was as well that they not be in evidence. Tears, weakness, vulnerability were like a red rag to a bull where Madame Chambon was concerned.

“How long…do I have to prepare myself?” She was not so stupid she couldn’t admit defeat when there was no alternative. Obduracy was beaten out of one, but tears ensured a girl got the very worst next assignment. Their clients weren’t all marquesses and princes, though they did require a very fat pocket book.

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” Hope repeated it in a leaden tone, and stared at her hands, clasped in her lap; white-knuckled. As white as the rabbit-fur that edged her fashionable black-and-white striped satin cuirass. Hope had the tall, slim figure suited to the scandalously tight tie-back skirts that were all the rage, the back flowing into a train adorned with elaborate swags and trimmed with bows. She’d turned heads the length of Oxford Street as she’d promenaded along the pavement following a walk through Hyde Park earlier that afternoon. In fact, for the first time in two years, she’d almost felt happy as she’d pretended a sense of freedom in the afternoon sun, blocking her mind to the prison to which she was returning.

She drew in her breath and forced herself to be brave, knowing the punishment she’d invite for daring to speak her mind. “Please tell Mr Hunt I will see him again under sufferance.”

Madame Chambon’s voice was surprisingly caramel. “Well then, now that you have made your objection clear, Hope, you will be pleased to hear that Mr Hunt’s desires are not only motivated by fond memories of your no-doubt mutually satisfying congress. I believe he wishes to acquaint you with news of your family.”

Hope hid her shock. “I have no family.” With care, she modified her tone so it was as leaden as before though emotion roiled close to the surface.

“Not even a sister?”

Hope raised her chin. Here was the chink and Madame knew it. The woman did her research.

Aware that the other girls who surrounded her were tense with anticipation, Hope struggled not to respond. Camaraderie existed at surface level but one never knew when it might profit one to have the dirt on a fellow prostitute. It was, clearly, another reason Madame Chambon had chosen to make this conversation public.

“Mr Hunt will see you at nine tomorrow evening,” said the so-called Frenchwoman who, it was whispered, was from the gutters of Lambeth, not Paris. “At his apartments in Duke Street. Now go and prepare yourself for Lord Farrow. Married to a monolith like the venerable Lady Farrow, he likes his girls vivacious and free-spirited. There’ll be less coin in your pocket if you sully the transaction with that long face, Hope.”

 

 

About Beverley:

 

Beverley Oakley was seventeen when she bundled up her first her 500+ page romance and sent it to a publisher. Unfortunately drowning her heroine on the last page was apparently not in line with the expectations of romance readers so Beverley became a journalist.

Twenty-six years later Beverley was delighted to receive her first publishing contract from Robert Hale (UK) for a romance in which she ensured her heroine was saved from drowning in the icy North Sea.

Since 2009 Beverley has written more than thirteen historical romances, mostly set in England during the early nineteenth century. Mystery, intrigue and adventure spill from their pages and if she can pull off a thrilling race to save someone’s honour – or a worthy damsel from the noose – it’s time to celebrate with a good single malt Scotch.

Beverley lives with her husband, two daughters and a Rhodesian Ridgeback puppy the size of a pony opposite a picturesque nineteenth century lunatic asylum. She also writes Africa-set adventure-filled romances tarring handsome bush pilot heroes, and historical romances with less steam and more sexual tension, as Beverley Eikli.

 

You can get in contact with Beverley at:

 

Website | Facebook | Pinterest | Twitter | Goodreads

 

 

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Kayelle Allen Reveals Cover for Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire

 

Bringer of Chaos: Forged in Fire

The Sempervian Saga (Book 2)

by Kayelle Allen

 

 

BLURB:

Humans created the Ultras, a genetically enhanced race, to defend mankind. Instead, Ultras became their greatest
threat. With the help of traitors, humans captured half a million of the immortal warriors.

 

Exiled to an alien world with no tech, no tools, and no resources, their leader, Pietas, must protect his people, find food
and shelter and unite them. But before he can, he must regain command from a ruthless adversary he’s fought for centuries–his brutal, merciless father.

 

Ultras are immortal, and no matter how they die, they come back. Reviving after death isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Some wounds heal instantly and a few take time, but battered and broken trust? Immortals may heal, but a wound of the heart lasts forever.

 

Genre: Science Fiction with romantic elements

Rating: PG13 for violence, no profanity or explicit content

 

 

 

Excerpt:

 

 

In this scene, Pietas performs a ritual with the help of his friend, Six.

Pietas’s long hair, full of static electricity from the wind and storm, settled over his shoulders and adhered to his neck.
He could not lift his arms to gather it himself but he did not want the others to see he needed help nor did he want Six fretting over it.

The man blamed himself for the injury. Yes, Six had bound Pietas. It had been Six’s duty to do so. In truth, those who had placed Pietas inside the pod and refused to release him were to blame, but no matter how often he reminded Six of that, the ghost refused to relinquish his guilt.

Six dug into his pockets. “I think I have another strip.” They had torn several from a ragged shirt. Six wore the biggest piece around his neck. He set down his pack and opened it.

“Six,” Pietas hissed. He did not turn his head, but looked toward the others. “Leave it!”

The ghost glanced up at him, then the immortals, waiting ahead. “You want the women messing with your hair? Is that it?”

He closed his eyes, counting to ten. To a hundred would not erase this embarrassment. “No.” When he beheld Six, the man had the discourtesy to smirk. “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice.”

The man chuckled. “We should have cut your hair before we set out.” He rummaged through his kit, which held all Six owned when he’d been abandoned on this world. Little more than survival gear.

“I never cut it except in ritual.”

“I know.” Six withdrew a boning knife used for it.

Before every battle, Pietas performed the solemn rite to affirm superior strength and prowess. The ghost had been the first human to see it carried out, albeit the first half from a distance while hiding.

Six stood. “Maybe you could perform it now.”

“How like you to see the easy solution. But there are a few elements missing. No fire. No water. No mask.” He gestured toward the oncoming storm. “No time.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of pretending?”

“One cannot ‘pretend’ a ritual.”

“What a boring childhood you must’ve had. Why not?”

Pietas opened his mouth to answer. Shut it again.

Six lifted one eyebrow. “Do you want to go into that dark hole and meet up with your people without performing it?”

“No, but there’s no time.”

“Rain’s coming.” Six jerked a thumb toward the forest. “Like I said, you have to go in there or you won’t reunite with your people. Are you going to stand out here making excuses, or do this?”

“Ghost, this ritual is important. It deserves respect.”

Blah, blah, blah. That storm is bearing down on us.” A few drops of rain splattered them both. “See? Or maybe you’d rather have your sister help you with your hair every morning.”

“Fine!” With a resigned sigh, Pietas capitulated. “How do you propose we ‘pretend’ my ritual?”

Six tucked the knife into his belt and held out his cupped hands. “This is fire.”

Pietas hesitated.

“Come on, Pi.” Six wagged his cupped hands. “This stuff is hot.”

“Of course it is.” A smile slipped onto his face and refused to leave. “It’s pretend fire. That’s the hottest kind.”

“Remember, you do this naked. Unzip your robe or whatever it is you’d wear.”

Pietas mimed removing his silk robe. He plucked one hair and laid it across Six’s hands, feeding it to the fire. “As fire has victory over life, so I have victory over my enemies.” He passed a hand through the imaginary flame. As he had in the real ritual, he hissed at the scorching heat. He cupped his hands over Six’s, a symbolic end to the flames. “I am
powerful, as fire is powerful.”

“Next is air, right?”

“Yes.” He lifted both hands, made fists, and yanked them back. “I own the wind. I prevail over the breath of my enemies.”

Again, Six cupped his hands. “Water.”

“Water submits to my presence the way enemies submit to my will.” He scooped his hands into the bowl, lifted his arms and pictured the liquid dripping down them. “The blood of my enemies trickles into the pool of time, is absorbed, and forgotten.” He bent and pushed both hands through his hair. “My mind is clear. I do not waver.”

Six held his hands flat, waist high. “The pond.”

Pietas ducked as if to submerse himself, then rose, throwing back his head. “My body submits to my will. No pain defeats me. No fear touches me.” He brushed his hands down the length of his body. “My will is absolute. I am bigger than any fear. I prevail in every circumstance. I face every foe. I vanquish every enemy. I overcome. I am indomitable. I am invincible.”

“Black face paint for the mask.” Six held out his hands.

The ceremonial mask represented a splash of blood across his face received during battle. Dipping two fingers of each hand into the bowl, Pietas outlined a bandit’s mask up over his dark eyebrows to the area beneath his eyes. He brushed his fingertips over his eyelids and met Six’s gaze.

Finding a mixture of awe and respect threw him out of the moment. He faltered, unable to recall what came next.

Six offered the knife hilt first.

The man had seen the ritual performed once, from a distance, yet he’d remembered each step. Six wouldn’t have known the next part was performed by Pietas’s sister if no trusted partner or friend was at hand. The time Six had seen it done, Pietas had not yet considered him either one.

How wrong he had been. The man was more than both.

 

 

Bringer of Chaos: The Origin of Pietas

The Sempervian Saga (Book 1)

 

Why should Pietas end the war with humans?

His people are winning, yet they insist on peace talks. The Ultra people want to grant humans a seat on the Council. Pietas ap Lorectic, Chancellor of the High Council, War Leader and First Conqueror, disagrees. What’s best for mortals is oppression, control, and if necessary, elimination.

Pietas seethes with rage at the idea of human equality. Humans might have created Ultras, but the creation has far surpassed the creator. Humans die. Ultras are reborn, no matter how grievous the injury. They have no equals.

His people permit him no choice. He must attend these insipid peace talks on Enderium Six and what’s worse, be polite. To humans.

When a human special ops warrior is killed in battle, he’s resurrected in a secret process and inducted into the Ghost Corps. He’s given enough strength to perma-kill immortal Ultras. Ghosts are the most hated and feared of warriors.

When the ghost entraps and captures Pietas at the peace talks, the two begin a long journey toward Sempervia, an isolated and forgotten world. Once there, Pietas is marooned and the ghost abandoned alongside him. The two must either fight to perma-death, or join forces to survive.

As Pietas comes to trust the human, an unlikely and awkward friendship begins. Until he discovers how ghosts are resurrected…

Amazon Buy Link

 

 

Giveaway – Free Download

 

Free — download Endure, Illustrated Quotes by Pietas (as told to Kayelle Allen). Enjoy an exclusive collection of quotes on the concept of endurance by the man known to other immortals as the Bringer of Chaos. https://kayelleallen.com/media/30-days-endure.pdf

 

Download a free adult coloring book you can print and share. Relax and color with friends. It’s fun! https://kayelleallen.com/media/pietas-coloring-book.pdf

 


 

Mythic Heroes and Misbehaving Robots:

 

 

 

Kayelle Allen writes Sci Fi with mythic heroes, misbehaving robots, role playing immortal gamers, and warriors who
purr. She’s a US Navy veteran and has been married so long she’s tenured.

https://kayelleallen.com

Twitter https://twitter.com/kayelleallen

Facebook https://facebook.com/kayelleallen.author

Join the Romance Lives Forever Reader Group Download four free books and get news about books coming soon. You can unsubscribe at any time.

 

 

 

Sultry Nights Romance Collection Blog Tour and Giveaway

 

 

Sultry Nights

A Limited Edition Romance Collection

Containing Stories from: Nicole Morgan, Jocelyn Dex, Alison Foster,

Kate Richards, Linda O’Connor, Samantha Holt, Jerrie Alexander,

Whitley Cox, Krista Ames, Ursula Sinclair, Measha Stone, Tuesday Embers,

Siera London, Rachel Shane, Bonnie Phelps, Misha Elliott,

Alyson Reynolds, Jenna Bayley-Burke, Madison Michael,

Pepper Goodrich, Marcia James, Destiny Blaine

 

 

 

The authors are giving away lots of goodies with this tour. Please use the Rafflecopter below to enter. Don’t forget you may increase your chances of winning by visiting the other tour stops. You may find those locations here.

 

 

 

 

 

Sultry Nights Blurb:

Love, passion, romance and desire… No matter what your preference, this set of 22 hot and sexy reads has just what you need. From surprise love affairs to bad boys that we can’t help but fall for, and couples that were meant to be, this compilation from Romance Collections is sure to please your every single need.

 

 

 

 

 

Sultry Nights Buy Links:

Amazon

 

Featuring:

Love Unleashed, novella

By Marcia James

 

 

Love Unleashed BLURB:

 

His best laid plans…

 

DJ “Rabid Ron” Hart has a grand scheme to win back the woman he loves. It involves an animal adoption fair, a goofy hairless dog named Charlie and an offer she can’t refuse.

 

Her hidden desires…

 

Cara Wilson has fantasies she’s never admitted, and her ex-boyfriend still features in her erotic dreams. If only he didn’t keep his bad-boy urges so tightly leashed.

 

Tonight they’ll learn that winning sometimes takes losing control.

 

 

 

 

Love Unleashed Excerpt:

Cara knew this wasn’t fair to Ron. Even if he hated her afterward, he had a right to know why she’d left him. “We got
along great everywhere but in the bedroom. You’re just too…nice for me.”

“What the–? Too nice!” He gritted his teeth. “I was so careful with you–”

“Did I ask you to be careful?” Dammit, she wasn’t a bad person. Men didn’t apologize for liking kinky sex. Why should she? “You treated me like a porcelain doll, like I’d break if you looked at me cross-eyed.”

He leaned closer, his arms folded over his muscular chest. “I’m over a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than you. Was I supposed to body slam you to the floor and screw you senseless?”

“Yes!” God, it would have been wonderful if he’d been more sexually aggressive. “I loved you, Ron, but I can’t commit to a man whose lovemaking is so…”

“What? Boring?” He was being sarcastic, but his mouth dropped open as something in her eyes must have confirmed his comment. “This is crazy. I put you first every time. You want a selfish bastard who just cares about his own needs?”

He was crowding her personal space, and Cara’s anger spiked. “You can be generous in bed and still open to new things. Selfish and daring aren’t synonymous.”

“So, Cara, you want spice or kink?” His lips twisted. “Should I get a copy of the Kama Sutra?”

“I’m not ashamed of my desires.” She was tired of men scorning her for having a strong sex drive. “You’re the one who’s repressed. Ron Hart, Mr. Perfect Gentleman. Why keep such a tight leash on yourself? I’m not going to faint if you give into your urges.”

His pupils dilated and his jaw clenched, but she wasn’t afraid. Ron would never hurt her, but he might finally let his inner-caveman out. And if he threw off his good-boy manners and didn’t despise her for her fantasies, there might be a chance for them after all.

Ron’s gaze dropped to her mouth. His voice deep and sensual, he asked, “You want me to give in to my urges, Cara?”

Yes. God, yes. She’d had fantasies like this since she’d met him–Ron taking what he wanted from her, giving in to his wild side. Licking her lips in anticipation, she nodded.

 

 

 

About Marcia James:

 

Marcia James finaled in eleven Romance Writers of America contests before selling her first contemporary romance. Her releases include Sex & the Single Therapist (the first in a comic romantic mystery series) and the “Klein’s K-9s Service Dogs” contemporary romance series. A national and international ebook bestseller, she writes hot, humorous romances featuring heroines you can root for, heroes to die for, and funny dogs.

 

In her eclectic career, Marcia has shot submarine training videos, organized celebrity-filled nonprofit events, and had her wedding covered by People Magazine. After years of dealing with such sexy topics as how to safely install traffic lights, she is enjoying “researching” and plotting her novels’ steamy love scenes with her husband and hero of many years.

 

 

Find Marcia Here:

 

Website: www.MarciaJames.net

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MarciaJamesAuthor

Twitter: http://twitter.com/Marcia_James

Pinterest: http://pinterest.com/marciajames/

Amazon Author Central page: www.amazon.com/author/marciajames

 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

 

 

 

 
© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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