Title: When the Black Roses Grow
Author: Angela Christina Archer
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing
Date of Publication: December 2, 2015
Genre: Historical Romance with Paranormal Elements
Twenty-five men and women were accused. Nineteen hung to their death on Gallow Hills. One suffocated under bone-crushing stones. All believed to possess the power of witchcraft. In 1692 the fear of witchcraft is spreading around Salem Village. While those who are accused and sentenced face death, everyone else faces the risk of accusations placed upon them. As Emmalynn Hawthorne, the daughter of a woman hung for witchcraft, places a bouquet of flowers upon her mother’s grave, a circle of black roses sprouts out of thin air. Dark magic, the roses strike fear through her heart when Mary Pruett and the handsome newcomer, James DeKane, spy upon her as they pass along the traveling road. Emmalynn flees and her panic soon turns into terror as another vine of black roses sprouts and grows throughout the inside of her home. Is she a witch? Will she be the next accused? James DeKane has secrets of his own—ones that could prove deadly for him and anyone he holds dear. At fault for the untimely death of his parents, he must protect his hidden brother and dying sister, all while fearing that the haunting prophecy bestowed upon him at birth will come to pass. Desperate and fighting the monster deep inside of him, he’s searching for the one love who can alter his destiny.
Out of the corner of my eye, a dark green vine whispered for my attention. It appeared in the corner—the stem grew quickly from my floorboards, growing a few inches every passing second. Smaller vines sprouted from the first, curling in all directions. A few leaves grew from the stems, popping outward and bouncing a little from their sudden burst of movement.
I flung my arms—the sudden jerk of my body sent my rump slamming hard onto the floor. My hand slapped across my mouth to hide my scream. The dark magic fluttered through the air in a teasing and taunting dance, waving its leaves as if to scold me for my sins.
I scrambled to my feet, and grabbed the handle of the pot, not caring that the hot piece of the wire burned the palm of my hand. I shoved the back door open. It collided with the outside wall of the house as I shoved the pot through the doorway and cast the iron flying through the air. It plunged to the grass, landing with a loud bong.
I slammed the door, raced to my chopping block, and grabbed the large knife laying on the cutting board.
If I cut it, it will wither and die. Tis nothing more than a weed, a simple weed, and if I cut it, it will wither and die.
My heels slid across the floor slowly. Hesitation stirred in my blood, and my hands trembled as I hovered over the vine.
The familiar green vine I had seen before...floating over my mother's grave.
In a bold, swift swipe, I slashed the stem. The green color turned into a deep black, and the vine shriveled and vanished.
My rump hit the floor, and curled my legs up into my chest. My heart pounded in panic. My lungs heaved. The thought of moving, even an inch, overwhelmed me.
Please do not return. Please do not return.
I sat upon the floor, trying desperately to control my breathing and slow my rapid heartbeat. The anxiety of needing to calm myself immediately only made me want to crawl out of my own skin even more.
Please, Lord, do not allow it to return. Please.
I finally heaved myself up off the floor onto my knees, and slowly placed one foot on the floor, rose, and placed the other foot down.
Please, Lord, plea--
Another vine sprouted before my eyes.
The knife slipped from my fingers, landing on the floor with a thud and bounced a couple of times. The green vine reappeared, curling through the air once again. Leaves sprung from the stem, waving just as the others had don. The vine's growth as short-lived as it sprouted, although larger than before.
My mind whirled out of control, lost in a sea of unexplainable reasons and sheer terror. Shadows closed in all around me with one single wave of panic I did not know if I could withstand.
A knock gently rapped against by back door. I spun on my heel, and covered my mouth. Surely, twas nightfall, surely, the sun had set, giving way to the darkness for its evening slumber. The only expected visitors were the ones invited, and I certainly did not invite anyone over to my home.
Another knock rapped, this time a little harder than the first, and I tiptoed over to the door.
“Who is there?” My voice cracked on the last word.
“Tis James DeKane.”
About the Author:
Growing up in Nevada, reading was always a pastime that took second place to trail riding and showing horses. When she did find the time in her youth to curl up with a book, she found enjoyment in the Saddle Club Series, the Sweet Valley High series, and the classics of Anne of Green Gables, The Box Car Children, and Little House on the Prairie. Although, writing always piqued her curiosity, it wasn’t until September 2009 that she worked up the courage to put her passion to paper and started her debut novel.
When she’s not writing, Angela spends her days from dawn to dusk as a stay at home, homeschooling mom. She also works in her garden and takes care of her many farm animals, as well as loves to bake and cook from scratch. She doesn't show horses anymore, but she still loves to trail ride her paint horse, Honky, as well as enjoys teaching her daughters how to ride their horses, Sunny and Cowboy.
Title: Riske and Revenge
Author: Natalie E. Wrye
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 17, 2017
SynopsisLove is the strongest emotion in the world…next to hate. I knew hate. Had known it since I was seventeen. For me, it was love turned on its head, a product of hurt and fear—twisted, tied up…and placed on the sculpted shoulders of Ethan Riske. *** Dayton, Tennessee. Home to the best cow-tipping in the world, the biggest hot dogs, and the lousiest sex. Or so I'd heard... They were right about the first two. Ethan Riske proved them wrong about the third and at seventeen, he and I spent a summer under the stars, squeezing our way out of trouble, sweating and panting among the haystacks. Until he left. Nine years later, when a huge publishing house tries to buy my small press, I storm into the office of the CEO to find him. Same cocky grin. Different name. And suddenly all I can think about is exacting revenge on Ethan Riske for breaking his contract...and my heart. But there's someone who wants revenge even more than I do. As I begin to fall for the new Ethan, will the sins of the old one come back to haunt us?
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Excerpt“I hope you taste as good as you smell.” The sound drifted through the air. A slow, sensuous melody floated with it, and as both made their way through the room, the beat of the song and the quiet statement I just heard rattled the bourbon in my hand, making the ice cubes shake. Or maybe I was the one shaking. I couldn’t help it. Griff was poking a hole in my ribs with his elbow, and as the lips that had just whispered in my ear withdrew, I could see the look on my “best man’s” face. He was essentially salivating, his tongue practically swinging as he took in the vision of the woman who was speaking in my ear… and laying a seductive path in my open lap. She stood, her long legs stretching, her bare torso twisting as she rolled the shape of an “S” in the air with her body, swaying seductively to the music. She was toned… that was obvious. A tight package with tits too big to be real, the buxom blonde in front of me was the object of every man’s wet-dream, star of every cock-swinger’s fantasy… Except mine. But she was doing her best. Clad in a piece of cloth that barely covered her clearly cleanly-waxed pussy, she ground her pretty ass two inches from my face while every other man in the room fought the urge to put their fingers all over her. My best friend, included. He nudged my side for the ninetieth time. “Fuck me, man,” he slurred. “If she was doing that to me, I’d be two seconds from putting my finger in her ass.” He smirked widely and wildly. “Good thing you aren’t me,” I shot back quietly, leaning over to look into his face. “That’d be a felony, you crazy ass.” I finally smiled. “And the last time I checked you didn’t fuck strippers because ‘and I quote… ‘Who knows how many other items have been in those goddamned holes?'" I threw Griff’s own words back at him with a silent grin. “Doesn’t matter,” he declared, staring at the stripper in front of me for the thousandth time. “For her?” He swallowed another mouthful of scotch. “I’d make an exception.” I glared at the beautiful blonde again. Because Griff was right. The exotic dancer… She might have been one of the best looking I’d ever seen. Maybe the best. She was tall, long-legged. Gorgeous… in the porn star sense, of course, with a wide, luscious mouth made for licking and sucking in only the most erotic of ways. She licked her lips at me as if she wanted to make good on the promise she’d just whispered, and I had no doubt when she looked at me, her brown doe-like eyes wide, that—if she could, she would devour me until nothing was left. Until she drained every drop. Unfortunately, for her, I wasn’t interested. She tried to drag me to my feet, her tiny fingers wrapping around my own, pulling as she walked backwards in the direction of the edge of the room. The overhead maroon lights illuminating the space in our black-curtain closed boudoir made her look as naughty as every word dripping from her blood-red mouth, and Bambi the Bimbo was putting on her best pout to entice me into joining her towards whatever dirty fun lay in the dark room beyond this one. All of the men—friend and foe—whooped as I slowly dragged myself to my feet, stumbling and fumbling over the discarded decorations that littered the floor. Streamers and “Congratulations” ribbons ran the length of the room, taking up space between the cloth-covered tables, and I staggered past them, barely holding onto my Bourbon as I followed stolidly behind the too-excited dancer who nearly bounced on her platform-covered toes. With the push of another curtain, we fell into another room, and I let my body flounce on the dark-colored couches beyond it, slumping into the padded cushions. I took a healthy swig of my drink and sank my fingers into the seat beneath, wondering how many stains these comfortable sofas had really seen. The drunker I got, the more it didn’t matter. Ignorance truly was bliss. And so was the sensation making its way down my crotch—a gentle rubbing that circled the length of my cock through the fabric of my suit pants. From the tip to the very base. I groaned, closing my eyes as I saw a vision in my mind. A vision too good to be true. A vision over ten years old. Waves of dark hair fell to a waist too tiny to be anything but touched. Shiny and soft, the beautiful brown mane swept across my chest, against my shirt, as two eyes, a crystal-clear blue, peeked from beneath the strands, as round and as large as saucers. In my mind, they met mine, saying things that couldn’t be vocalized, voicing words that need not be said. They seduced in the most innocent of ways, waylaying me, pulling at a possessiveness in me I didn’t know existed. The blue eyes smiled. The smile beneath them was even better—wicked, as it dipped to my abdomen and pressed there, making me ache, causing my cock to strain against the inconvenient zipper located there. How many times had I imagined those lips doing exactly that? That tongue licking out beneath those straight white teeth to lap at my skin, the edge of her mouth nipping at the most sensitive parts of me? It was torture—letting her tease me, taking me to the brink and back again as she swept that sheet of auburn locks over my body as she bent to her knees. I sucked in a breath soaked in desire as I waited for her to place her mouth where it mattered most. And then it stopped. The teasing. She stopped. And before I knew it, she was pulling—no, ripping—at my pants. The top button popped, and suddenly my cock was between her hands, her lips. She sank her mouth around it with a sigh, sucking with delight. The sexiest slurp ever made to man escaped from between her teeth, and I nearly lost it, grinding my own teeth as I gripped the back of her head, my eyelids squeezing tight enough to ache. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I muttered. Over and over and over again. It was fucking amazing. Something so simple--someone so simple, sweet and secretly naughty could bring a stubborn fucker like me—CEO and all—to his Giorgio Armani-covered knees. I came… with my cock in her mouth and her name on my mind. I leaned back even further, letting my head fall into the cushions. “Fuck, Kat…” I mumbled, feeling way too fucked up to move, the liquor coursing through my veins as I came down from my high, my fingers reaching out to touch her once more. But she backed away. “Kat?” she said, rising to her feet. “Who the fuck is Kat?” I opened my eyes, staring at the figure fumbling around in front of me. It was the blonde vixen—the stripper. Standing on shaky legs, she wobbled between my legs, locking me with a stare, her eyes hard and unblinking. She placed her hands on her tiny hips. “Who the hell is Kat?” As if she was outraged. As if she had any right to question whatever the fuck I was doing anyway. I ignored her with a shrug, stowing my dick back in my pants with a loud zip! I finished my drink and sat it down. “Ohhhh… I get it,” the blonde blower hissed. “She must be your fiancé. Well… I guarantee you that she’s never made you come like that. That was epic, baby,” she sighed, trying to straddle me. Her pussy was peeking completely out of her barely-there panties this time, and she tried to rub it across me, sliding her pink slit across the front of my pants with a slow grind. I almost pushed her off. I stood. “There is no fiance,” I rumbled. “But I thought…” “My friends,” I interrupted, “thought it’d be funny to celebrate my new position. They said it was fitting… seeing as how I’m now married to my job. This isn’t a real bachelor party. And that wasn’t a real blow-job…” She raised an eyebrow. “Certainly felt real to me.” I pulled out my wallet, taking out a couple hundred dollar bills and putting them in the palm of her hand. I folded her fingers around them, looking into her eyes. “Can’t be real… Not when you’re thinking about someone else the entire time.” I turned just as the fair-haired, breathing blow-up doll gaped. I pulled the black curtain aside, exiting, attempting to avoid the curious gaze of every onlooking employee that came to the party to usher me into my new executive role. My smile was weak, as I tried to shake off what just happened to me in the other room… and who I was imagining it happening with. Somehow, it was the brunette in my head, and not the blonde on my lap, that felt as if she were still on my skin. I was in so much fucking trouble.
About The Author
Natalie Wrye is a tequila connoisseur, Game of Thrones addict and author best known for writing page-turning Contemporary Romance and Romantic Suspense.
A fan of the beautifully polarizing anti-hero, she crafts sexy stories about hard-bodied, complex men and the strong-willed women who crave them.
Pre Order Your Copy Today Dark Hunter (Zeta Cartel #4) By AJ Adams #WORDSTURNNEONDHPO Standalone read, Regular price: $3.99 Pre-order special: $2.99
(¸.•´Pre Order Your Copy Today
By AJ Adams
Standalone read, approx 100,000 words
Pre-order special: $2.99
Regular price: $3.99
Rip Marston is a merciless killing machine. After a decade of hunting his prey, Rip joins the Zetas. The job offers protection as he practices his dark arts, but the Cartel are wary of the monster in their midst.
Finding a badly beaten unconscious girl, Rip sees an opportunity. Posing as her saviour will please the cartel - and provide him with his very own helpless captive.
Isabella Maria Franco is beautiful, wilful and used to making hard choices. Having grown up in the comfortable but lethal embrace of the Gulf cartel, she rejected a life of violence. But when a dark presence from her past returns, her world falls apart.
Betrayed and beaten, she escapes, only to find herself in a living nightmare. Surrounded by her enemies, one man stands between her and death. Terrified by her sadistic captor, she has little choice but to submit.
But embracing his darkness leads to consequences neither anticipated.
WARNING: This bad boy dark romance contains explicit scenes of dubious consent, graphic violence, sex and probably every trigger you can think of.
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About The Author
AJ Adams is a Scottish-Dutch author currently living in Malaysia. In her regular life she is a columnist and feature writer. She works from home, where she is closely snoopervised by cats, Target, Guido and Swooner.
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