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Blindsided Launch Day!

 

It’s launch day for Blindsided! I could have never imagined, six years ago when I wrote the short story, Stones, for the wonderful anthology, Seducing the Myth edited by Lucy Felthouse that I would fall so completely and totally in love with Medusa. Nor could I have known just what an exciting, convoluted epic of a tale she would whisper in my ear. While the Magda Gardener in the Medusa’s Consortium novels and stories is quite different from the original character in that first short story, she and the members of her consortium, as well as the monsters they’re up against are endlessly fascinating.

 

One of the things I discovered about Magda early on is that she prefers I showcase her consortium members in my stories rather that the lady herself. So far, I’ve complied, but as you’ll see when you read Blindsided, it’s getting harder and harder for her to stay out of the limelight. I’m not the only one who wants more of her. Her team needs her, and while she may not be willing to admit it, she need them too. They’re her family. Oh, and the enemy wants her big time!

 

Magda is a female Nick Fury and the Consortium is her deliciously monstrous, paranormal, sexy, scary version of the Avengers. They get the job done in a chilling, thrilling sexy way.

 

And there’s more!

 

With Blindsided launching today, you’ll be happy to know that if you haven’t yet read In The Flesh, book one of Medusa’s Consortium, now is the time. It’s available at all outlets for 99c/p.

 

And to help celebrate, I’m offering the prequel Consortium novella, Landscapes, for FREE. Just follow the link. So you can now officially binge read the first two novels.

 

Blindsided Blurb:

In New York City, away from those she loves, living with the enigmatic vampire, Desiree Fielding, Susan Innes struggles to come to terms with life as a vampire whose body serves as the prison for a deadly demon.

When Reese Chambers arrives unexpectedly from England, desperate for her help, she discovers that Alonso Darlington, his lover and her maker, has been taken captive and Reese has been warned to tell no one but her. Before the two can make a plan, Susan receives her own message from a man calling himself just Cyrus. He not only holds her maker prisoner, but also her lover, the angel Michael. If she wishes to see either of them alive, she’ll come to him and not tell Magda Gardener, the woman they all work for and fear.

With no help coming from Magda or her Consortium, Susan and Reese must turn to the Guardian – the terrifying demon now imprisoned in her body. He alone can help them, but how can she possibly trust him after all he’s done?

 

An Inside Takeover — Blindsided Excerpt:

As Susan remembered the stories from Greek mythology of sirens luring sailors onto the rocks to their deaths, she wondered what else the woman was capable of. She was just about to text Magda Gardener when another presence captured her full attention. This presence she hadn’t heard from since he was first imprisoned inside her and had made it clear that while this demon, the Guardian, as they called him, might be captive inside the body of a fledgling vampire, he would not live in darkness. He was no more subtle now than he had been that morning at High View in the English Lake District. His essence exploded behind her ribcage with such power that she nearly dropped her phone.

“Susan, we need to leave now.

Before the shock of the Guardian’s surprise visit could wear off enough for her to respond, another voice spoke next to her ear, so softly that it disturbed no one but her, and it disturbed her deeply. “A vampire with something extra, if I’m not mistaken.” A cool hand came to rest on her shoulder and gave it a gentle knead.

“Susan, we need to leave now,” the voice inside her repeated, and the pressure in her chest made her feel like she might be about to have an Alien moment.

Ignoring the voice of the demon hammering on the inside of her ribcage, she turned to find herself face to face with a dark-haired man who could have passed for either a hero in a cheap billionaire novel or a prince from a fairytale. While the man might possibly be wealthy, he was no prince. She was certain from the way his touch made her skin crawl, and the way the Guardian inside her felt like he was taking a sledgehammer to her sternum, that he was no man either. “A great deal of something extra it would seem,” he said, a purr of a chuckle raising the hairs on the back of her neck. “A vampire and a scribe. Such an intriguing combination. I had no idea such a thing existed in all the world, but then the world is a very big place, isn’t it, my darling?”

“Susan! Now! I mean it!” The demon’s voice was loud enough to drown out the gorgeous sound of Flame still wafting from the stage, where the siren kept herself well and truly disguised behind the piano.

But even the Guardian’s voice couldn’t drown out the soft whisper of Prince Scary-ass, all but making love to her ear. “Tonight I’m here for the entertainment.” He nodded to the stage. “Sadly business before pleasure, but there’ll be another time.” He folded a card into her hand, his fingers lingering in a near caress.

She wasn’t certain if he meant there would be another time to listen to Flame or another time to talk to her.

Before she could contemplate further, before she could think what to do, she found herself jerked from the chair, stumbling and twitching toward the door like a marionette with a drunken puppeteer.

“What are you doing? What the hell are you doing?” It might have begun as a silent conversation, but it became quite vocal in a wave of panic as she recalled the last time the demon had used her this way. She elicited several glares from the punters closest to her, and the bartender gave her the evil eye. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” She hissed a whisper between gritted teeth. “You told me you couldn’t control me. You told me that you were mine to command. Stop it! You’re drawing attention to us.”

“You are the one drawing attention to us, Susan,” the voice inside her spoke again. “Just do as I tell you and all will be made clear once we’re safe.”

That got her full attention.

“Now then, that’s better. Listen very carefully. Walk to the subway and get on the train. Then get off at the next stop.”

As she calmed enough to relax the tiniest bit, she found herself once again in control of her arms and legs.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” the Guardian said. “That man in there, the one who sat down next to us, Darian Fox, I believe his card says.

“That’s right,” she replied, forgetting that she didn’t need to speak out loud. It didn’t matter, though. This was New York City. No one really paid too much attention when someone talked to themselves. People just assumed they either had a Bluetooth earpiece or were a little loopy. That was all right too, as long as they kept their loopiness to themselves.

“Do you know who he is?” This time she spoke only in her head.

“I know he means us no good, and I fear he would mean our siren even less good, if he knew of her existence. Fortunately his main interest, as with most males of your species, is for the beautiful singer and what she can do for his cock. As long as he looks to serve his libido, and our little siren continues to keep a low profile, she should be all right. You, however, or should I say us—he was more than a little intrigued by us. We don’t need that kind of attention. He could hurt us. He could hurt the people we love.”

 

 

 

Beverley Oakley Launch and Giveaway for Devil’s Run

 

 

 

 Be sure to enter the Giveaway:

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.

 

Devil’s Run Blurb:

A rigged horserace and a marriage offer riding on the outcome. When Miss Eliza Montrose unexpectedly becomes legal owner of the horse tipped to win the East Anglia Cup, her future is finally in her hands – but at what cost?

 

George Bramley, nephew to the Earl of Quamby, will wager anything. Even his future bride.

 

Miss Eliza Montrose will accept any wager to be reunited with the child she was forced to relinquish after an indiscretion — even if it means marrying a man she does not love.

 

But with her heart suddenly engaged by handsome, charming Rufus Patmore who has just bought a horse from her betrothed George Bramley in whose household her son lives as a pauper child, the outcome of the wager is suddenly fraught with peril.

 

 

**This is book 3 in the Scandalous Miss Brightwells series, though it can be read as a stand-alone.

Amazon US | All other retailers

 

 

Devil’s Run Excerpt:

Chapter One

 

“And there’s nothing else you’d like, my dear? No?” Straightening after receiving a polite rebuff, George Bramley found
it an effort to keep the syrup in his tone. His bride-to-be had not even looked at him as she’d declined the piece of marchpane he’d been certain would win him at least a smile.

Hovering at her side, he weighed up the advantages of a gentle rebuke, then decided against it. Until yesterday, he’d thought her quiet demeanour suggested a charmingly pliant nature. Now he was not so sure. In fact, suddenly, he was not sure of anything.

“A glass of lemonade, perhaps, my angel? Or a gentle stroll?”

“I would prefer to be left alone.” Miss Montrose waved a languid hand in his general direction, while she continued to gaze at the still lake beside which their picnic party had situated itself.

The languid arm-wave had not even been accompanied by a demure thank you as subtle acknowledgement of her gratitude that not only had Mr Bramley, heir to a viscountcy, stepped in to rescue Miss Eliza Montrose from impoverishment, he was prepared to treat her publicly as if she were as fine a catch as he could have made.

A soft titter brought his head round sharply, but the ladies behind him, bent over the latest Ackerman’s Repository, appeared occupied with their own gossip as they lounged on cushions beneath the canopy that had been erected to protect them from the sun.

Awkwardly, he looked for occupation as he continued to eye his intended with a mixture of irritation and desire—both lustful desire, and the desire to put her in her place.

The idea of the latter made him harden. She was beautiful, this quiet, apparently retiring, young woman who said so little, but whose eyes spoke such volumes. The afternoon sun glinted on her honey-gold hair and imbued her porcelain skin with a warm glow. The skin that he could see, at any rate.

He pushed back his shoulders. On their wedding night in six weeks, when he’d at last take possession of her, he’d rip that modesty to shreds. The skin she was so at pains to hide would be his, not only to see, but to caress and taste. When she was his wife, the beautiful, distant Miss Eliza Montrose would no longer get away with paying George Bramley so little attention. No, he’d have her screaming and writhing at his command. He would make her like the things he did to her; or at least, show him she did if she enjoyed harmony as much as she appeared to. None of this languid reclining like a half-drugged princess in his presence. He’d keep her on her toes, ready to leap to his bidding at the sound of his footstep. She’d learn to be grateful.

Feeling ignored and superfluous, he turned to his uncle’s detestable wife, Lady Quamby, and said with a smile, “Perhaps you and Miss Montrose would like to accompany me to the turret. Since you appear to have enjoyed this new novel, Northanger Abbey, so much, you might be interested to know there is an excellent view of the ruined monastery not far from here.”

He was just priding himself on being so attuned to the feminine inclination for pleasure, when Lady Quamby half turned and sent him a desultory smile. “Oh, I think Miss Eliza looks perfectly comfortable, and Fanny and I are having such a lovely little coze.” As if imitating Miss Montrose, she waved a languid hand in his general direction. “Why don’t you take Mr Patmore off to see it? The two of you can tell us all about it when you return.”

The fact that Miss Montrose didn’t deign to even speak for herself, much less glance in his direction, sent the blood surging to Bramley’s brain. By God, when he was married to Eliza Montrose, the limpid look of love so lacking now would be pasted onto her face every time he crossed her line of vision. She’d soon learn what was good for her.

He inclined his head, hiding his fury, and was on the point of leaving when Lady Quamby’s sister, Fanny —for he’d be damned if he’d accord the little strumpet the title of Lady Fenton—leapt up from her chair. She’d been poring over the latest fashions, but now she smiled brightly up at him.

“I’ll come with you, Cousin George. We’ll have an excellent view of the children learning to row from the battlements. I told Nanny Brown she could take them in the two boats if they’d been good.”

Bramley stared down her liveliness. In fact, he was about to give up the idea of going up to the battlements altogether when his other guest, Rufus Patmore, suddenly rose and joined Fanny’s side with a late and unexpected show of enthusiasm.

“Capital idea!” declared Rufus.

George flashed them both a dispassionate look. He’d chosen to invite his betrothed, Miss Montrose—whose chaperone was currently tucked up in the green bed chamber nursing a head cold—to be his guest at his uncle’s estate, Quamby House, after receiving intelligence that Ladies Quamby and Fenton would be safely in London with their husbands and children. Instead, the brazen Brightwell sisters—as they’d infamously been called when he’d first made their acquaintance—had altered their plans, and were now in dogged attendance, reminding him as they always had, of some awful tenacious climbing plant, determined to find a foothold wherever they could in order to rise in the world.

Rufus, a last-minute addition and acquaintance from his club, Boodles, was here because he’d just purchased a horse from Bramley the night before. Now, Rufus was gazing at Lady Fenton, with the same dewy-eyed fondness George was used to seeing reflected in the eye of his uncle, the Earl of Quamby, who called the Brightwell sisters his precious rose-buds. To George, they were common dandelions! And now they had overridden Quamby House, the rambling Queen Anne manor house and estate that would have passed to George the moment his uncle quit this mortal coil, were it not for the snotty-nosed infant Lady Quamby had borne far too early in her marriage to George’s uncle.

George shook his head. He’d changed his mind. Only, there was Rufus striding across the lawn, skirting the lake with Fanny at his side, and George didn’t want to be seen as petulant for having offered the suggestion in the first place. Or have his snubbed and ignored status so much on parade, since the two remaining ladies—Miss Montrose and Lady Quamby—had their heads bent together in deep discussion, with no apparent interest in seeking his company.

By God, he thought, clenching his fists as he set off after them at a brisk trot, they’d all rue the day they showed George Bramley so little respect.

 

 

 

 

Other Books in the Series:

Book 1: Rake’s Honour

Book 2: Rogue’s Kiss

Book 3: Devil’s Run

 

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:

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© 2017 K D Grace
The Romance Reviews

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