24 January 2017

Smoldering Ashes by Annie Anderson Release Blitz!

 
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Kyle Brennan needs a break.
After scouring the earth for his mate, he finally found her in the least convenient place possible. Then she was ripped away from him by forces neither of them could control. But the woman who came back to him isn’t the one who left. Kyle doesn’t know this woman, and he’s not so sure he wants to.
Nicola Miller has a big problem.
She can’t remember a single second of her life before she woke up in a hospital bed in Knoxville, Tennessee. Not just that, but she has a huge, hulking man in her hospital room claiming to be her husband – a man she obviously doesn’t remember – who looks at her as if she’ll strike like a snake at any given moment. She’s not sure how things could get any worse.
But the last shards of Nicola’s life are about to be burned to the ground. Because someone has to pay for the sins of the past, and she's wearing the face of the woman who committed them.
It looks like the last of their luck has just run out.
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Excerpt One:
NICOLA – AFTER
Shivering in a towel. No, shivering in a goddamn towel, sitting on a toilet seat in a hospital bathroom when I should be getting as far from Kyle as humanly possible.
Oh, that’s right. You’re not human, a snide voice in my head reminded me. Not that I had any frame of reference on what being human meant, but I bet my lily-pale ass it didn’t mean watching my quasi-husband being gutted by a fucking werewolf. Or having visions about said gutting that made my eyes literally bleed.
I needed clothes. I needed a plan. I needed to not be a brainless fucking idiot and get a damn clue.
Preferably in that order.
A soft knock on the door proceeds Kyle poking his head in, a stack of clothes in his arms. Fabulous, one problem down, five million to go.
“I had clothes here for you just in case you woke up,” he says as he offers the small pile of cloth in his hands to me. “You can get other clothes if you don’t like these – just say the word.”
I try to study the bundle in his arms but can’t seem to tear my eyes away from his hands. I don’t know what it is about them that catches my interest. Is it the rough but long-fingered grace to them? Is it the way they seem to have seen the sun and wind and earth of this world and yet seem so gentle?
I know what it is. It’s the way his hand pressed to his belly in my vision. It’s the way the blood oozed in between the gaps in his fingers, staining the webbings red. It’s the way they laid lifeless on the pavement as that fucking wolf ripped into him, only moving with the force from the jerks of its teeth tearing his body apart.
It takes effort to tear my eyes from them and grab the bundle from his hands, mumbling a quick thank you as I turn away. I have to take deep breaths to quell the nausea in my stomach and the bile coming up my throat.
I am the reason. It will be my fault. I have to go, I have to go, I have to go…
Before he leaves me to it, he asks, “You okay, Shortcake?”
Am I okay? Did he not see me cry fucking blood not ten minutes ago?
“I’m bloody fucking super, alright?” I snap and immediately feel bad for it. He doesn’t know what I saw, and if I have any say at all, he won’t know ever.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, “I’m… not dealing very well, okay?”
I wait for him to yell at me and I assume he might or leave me to my bitchy temper tantrum, but he doesn’t. Kyle heaves a sigh before his heat meets my back and his lips brush the top of my hair. “I can understand that. Get dressed, babe, and we’ll work it out, okay?”

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Excerpt Two:
KYLE – AFTER
I need to hit something – a face, a wall, anything. I just slipped into bed with her, let her warmth wrap around me and I forgot she doesn’t remember me. Her half-Sasquatch comment cemented that fact.
She doesn’t remember I’m half-Witch. She doesn’t remember the first time we made love. She doesn’t remember what she sacrificed or what Iva did while wearing her skin. She doesn’t know what Iva herself did to me. She has no idea and I don’t want to be the one to tell her.
So I did what I do best. I left her there in that room to heal up while I scoured the house for a dojo or a workout room or something so I didn’t start ripping apart furniture. I found myself in the living room wondering how mad Mena would be if I ripped apart an overstuffed armchair with my talons.
“I have a bone to pick with you,” Mena calls from the kitchen, her back to me as she kneads bread at the counter. What is with the Constantine women and cooking all the goddamn time?
“What did I do now?” I ask, flippant when I probably shouldn’t be.
“You’re lucky I have flour all over my hands, dipshit, or I’d illustrate just how pissed off I am. Sit your big ass down,” she scolds, her back still to me.
 Deciding it was better to sit than risk my hide, I pull a barstool away from the island and plunk down, crossing my arms in defiance.
“I saw the scar on Nicola’s hand. Did you or did you not bind her, Ky?” she asks but it isn’t a question so much as a threat. She already knows the answer; she just wants to see if I’ll admit it. 
I’m not ashamed of what I did. I’d do it again.
“I did.”
“Did you actually ask her, or did you just do it on your own? I’d venture a guess you bit her when she couldn’t answer you. Why else would she have a bite on her hand instead of her neck?” she asks, finally looking up at me, her eyes flicking back and forth between green and amber.
“I did it while she was unconscious. I did it when I thought she would either die or never wake up. I would have spent the rest of my life sitting in that hospital chair waiting for her. So you can be pissed at me all you like, I’m still not sorry.”
Defiance suits me best, so I stick with it, unapologetically staring her down. If I hadn’t held her eyes, I wouldn’t know how worried she is.
“What happens when she never remembers? What if this Nicola never loves you? What then?” she asks softly.
I hate that she asks this. I hate that she takes the one fucking thing I’m insecure about and needles it until I want to punch a hole in every single wall I can find.
“Then I have the rest of forever to change her mind. Either way, she’s still mine,” my voice a rumble of possession.
“Good answer.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
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Author Bio:
Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, and old man of a dog.
In her past lives, Annie has been a lifeguard, retail manager, dental lab technician, accountant, and now she writes fast-paced paranormal thrillers with some serious heat.

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Altar of Resistance by Samuel Marquis Book Feature!


ALTAR OF RESISTANCE
In this second thriller in the bestselling WWII Trilogy, the Eternal City of Rome during the Nazi Occupation of 1943-1944 is a besieged city. In this perilous wartime setting, Rome is a tinderbox of four conflicting parties: 
  • The Allies—represented by Major John Bridger of the American-Canadian First Special Service Force—trying to capture Rome as the first Axis prize of war but encountering stiff opposition
  • The Germans—represented by Waffen-SS Colonel Wilhelm Hollmann, the German father of John Bridger—trying to throw the Allies back into the sea while holding Rome hostage and using it as a staging ground and supply line to the front
  • Pope Pius XII, deeply involved in the plot to remove Hitler from power while struggling to maintain Vatican impartiality, mediate between the West and Nazi Germany, save Rome from destruction, and protect the city’s Jews and others from extermination
  • And finally, the Partisans represented by Teresa Kruger, daughter of Hollmann and half-sister of John Bridger, who during the German Occupation is transformed from a passive member of Rome’s aristocracy to an active Resistance fighter. 
Based on actual historical events and newly released OSS/CIA and KGB documents, Altar of Resistance recounts in detail the long, hard road that led to the Allied liberation of Rome. War is about simple survival, and Bridger and Teresa must battle their father and the Nazi occupiers in the name of freedom; while the Allies’ secret agent—the Supreme Pontiff and leader of the Vatican’s Church of Spies, Roman-born Pope Pius XII—orchestrates events behind the scenes in an effort to thwart German oppression, ensure the overthrow of the Führer, and usher in a viable post-Hitler government.



SAMUEL MARQUIS is the bestselling, award-winning author of The Slush Pile Brigade, Blind Thrust, The Coalition, Bodyguardof Deception, and Cluster of Lies. He is a vice-president and hydrogeologist with a national environmental consulting firm. He lives in Colorado with his wife and three children. Learn more at www.samuelmarquisbooks.com.

23 January 2017

@deliciouslysavv @hamswan @SMGurusNetwork 2017 Perfect Pairings Valentine’s Day Gift Guide HAMSWAN Wooden Essential Oil Aroma Diffuser Giveaway!

HAMSWAN Wooden Essential Oil Aroma Diffuser Giveaway (Ends 2/14)

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Celticlady's Reviews welcomes you to the 2017 Perfect Pairings Valentine’s Day Gift Guide HAMSWAN Wooden Essential Oil Aroma Diffuser Giveaway!

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THE GIVEAWAY

This giveaway is in no way endorsed, affiliated, or associated with Facebook, Twitter or any other Social Media Networking Site. This Giveaway is valid in the United States Only and Entrants must be 18+ years of age to enter. This giveaway event will end at 11:59 PM (EST) 2/14/17. The winner will have 48 hours to email their information back to mcushing7 at hotmail dot com or a new winner will be drawn, you may want to put this email address as safe as it could go to spam. The sponsors are each responsible for shipping of the above prizes. No blog associated with this contests are responsible for prize fulfillment. If you would like to be a sponsor in a giveaway like this please email Melissa Cushing at mcushing7 (at)hotmail (dot) com. If you take an entry you must stay following for the entire contest or you will be disqualified.

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You Shook Me All Night Long Series: Scorned Lovers #1 By: Simone Harlow Blog Tour!

  Title: You Shook Me All Night Long Series: Scorned Lovers #1
By: Simone Harlow
Publication Date: January, 2017
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations
Genre: NA Romance
Scorned rhythm guitarist Travis Rexford is lost. After the unexpected death of his best friend and fellow band member he can’t find his music anymore. His band is on the verge of breaking up. Then one night a beautiful, mysterious, seductive woman steps into his life. The next morning- she’s gone. Determined to find her, woo her, and claim her again, he is a man on mission. Charlotte Lambert is still reeling from the tragic death of her twin sister. The last gift her sister gave her is a to do list to get her back into the business of living. Tell a lie, steal something, climb a mountain... sleep with a rock star? Determined to get out of the rut of mourning, she finds a sexy bad boy rocker and takes him to bed. Then she slips quietly into the morning light not looking back. But life has a funny way of turning on you. Travis finds his enigmatic siren and under the sex kitten veneer he saw on their one night stand is a sweet, kind, gentle woman who is in just as much pain as he is. He brings her home and they begin the process of healing. Their losses brought them together, but can they heal each other and find the will to go on? The only way you can find what you want is to get lost.
Once upon a time Simone Harlow decided to write a book. She never understood why she had to write a book she just did. She has a great life. A family that loves her. Friends she can mother. And a dog who thinks she’s his reason for living. (No, really, he told her so.) She should be content. But alas she still had to write that book. So she did, and it was the beginning of an excellent adventure.

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A Secondhand Life By Pamela Crane Book Tour and Giveaway!


A Secondhand Life:
(The Killer Thriller Series Book 1)
by Pamela Crane
Genre: A compelling serial killer thriller


**"A Secondhand Life" is a standalone psychological thriller featuring characters also found in the companion novella, "A Secondhand Lie."**

2016 New Apple Literary Award in Psychological Thrillers, First Place Winner

2016 Reader's Favorite Award in Thrillers, First Place Winner
2015 Library Journal selection
2016 Chanticleer Clue Awards nominee
2016 Silver Falchion Best Fiction nominee
A heart never forgets its last beat...
In a freak collision when she was twelve, Mia Germaine faced death and the loss of her father. A heart transplant from a young murder victim saved her life, but not without a price. Twenty years later, chilling nightmares about an unresolved homicide begin to plague Mia. Compelled by these lost memories, she forms a complicated connection to the victim—the girl killed the night of Mia’s accident—due to a scientific phenomenon called “organ memory.”
Now suffocating beneath the weight of avenging a dead girl and catching a serial killer on the loose dubbed the “Triangle Terror,” Mia must dodge her own demons while unimaginable truths torment her—along with a killer set on making her his next victim.
As Mia tries to determine if her dreams are clues or disturbing phantasms, uninvited specters lead her further into danger’s path, costing her the one person who can save her from herself. More than a page-turning thriller, "A Secondhand Life" weaves a tale of second chances and reclaimed dreams as this taut, refreshing story ensnares and penetrates you. 

A Secondhand Lie:
A gripping short story thriller
(The Killer Thriller Series Book 0)
**"A Secondhand Lie" is the companion novella featuring characters also found in the full-length standalone thriller, "A Secondhand Life."**
Sometimes you know things you’re not supposed to know. Things that you can never un-know. Things that will change the course of your life…and the fate of the ones you love.
I found her in our living room, bleeding and close to death, but alive. Barely. Until morning stole her last breath. The media called her killer the “Triangle Terror” … and then forgot about her. But I never forgot—my murdered sister, and an investigation that led to my own resurrection from the dead.
Twenty-two years ago, on a cold February night, Landon Worthington lost his father for the last time. After an armed robbery gone wrong, evidence and witness testimony pointed a shaky finger at Dan Worthington—deadbeat dad and alcoholic husband. But before the dust could settle over the conviction, Landon’s preteen sister, Alexis, is murdered in their home, plunging Landon’s life into further despair.
Two decades and a cold case later, Landon is dogged by guilt over their estranged relationship and decides to confront his incarcerated father-of-the-year about what really happened the night of the robbery. But the years of lies are hard to unravel. And the biggest question of all haunts him: How does everything tie into his sister’s murder?
And so begins Landon’s journey to piece together the puzzle of secrets, lies, and truths that can free his father, avenge his sister, and perhaps save himself. 
Pamela Crane is a professional juggler. Not the type of juggler who can toss flaming torches in the air, but a juggler of four kids, a writing addiction, a horse rescuer, and a book editor by trade. She lives on the edge (ask her Arabian horse about that—he’ll tell you all about their wild adventures while trying to train him!) and she writes on the edge. Her characters and plots are her escape from the real world of dirty diapers and cleaning horse stalls, and she thrives off of an entertaining tale.
She is the author of the best-selling psychological thriller "The Admirer’s Secret," Amazon top 20 short story "A Fatal Affair," and her latest releases "A Secondhand Life" and "A Secondhand Lie."
To pick up a copy of a FREE book, or to find out more about her chaotic existence, visit her website at www.pamelacrane.com.















Beyond Every Mirror Anachronistic Dimensions Book 1 by Christine Church Book Tour and Giveaway!


Beyond Every Mirror
Anachronistic Dimensions Book 1
by Christine Church
Genre: Paranormal Romance, Fantasy
His death is the only thing that can save the life of the woman he loves.

Diana Gabaldon meets Anne Rice in this fast-paced time dimension paranormal romance that will blow your mind.


Beside his own image, Dane Bainbridge sees another; a ginger haired beauty--behind her, red mountains and clouds as if from another world. He's seen her his entire life, a life filled with glamour and fame... and loneliness. For the woman in the mirror is his one true love. But, this he does not know, not until he is dragged into her world--one of beasts and lands beyond imagination. One where his sacrifice is the only thing keeping her and the world in which she resides alive.

Once they are together, he remembers it all, and that knowledge means his doom for all eternity. But if he escapes her world, she will perish as will all others behind the looking glass. He is the key that keeps her alive, and she is the key that gives him hope. Can they break the curse that keeps them separated by torture and death? Can they escape together from a world that exists beyond every mirror?


December 20, 2014
He remained perfectly still as the chains were wrapped around his body. The metal cooled the heated flesh of his bare chest. All around him echoed a cacophony of screams, bellows and stomping of feet that almost crushed him beneath its weight. The air tightened with the chains and a rush of collective exhilaration and nervousness swirled through his senses. He glanced quickly at the red-faced, muscular man standing beside him, who finished fastening the chains and stepped away.
He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. And then he waited, anxiety pounding in his breast. The air was thick with heat and sweat and smoke, but he'd grown accustomed to it through the years, as with the rest of the ritual. The one thing he could never get used to, however, was the flip-flop in the pit of his stomach that occurred as the platform he stood on slowly lifted into the air, revealing him to the anxiously awaiting crowd that crushed nearer. Starving animals before a feast. He looked straight out, refused to look down, lest the vertigo take him.
How he hated heights.
He listened for the eerie orchestration of strings and organ that marked the beginning of his leisurely descent back to earth. The notes began with a rhythmic resonance that was almost conquered by impatient bellows that quickly turned to a roar of frenzied excitement. As the platform lowered, a muzzy sensation circled Dane’s mind and his throat felt as though his stomach had been hoisted up into it.
He held his breath in anticipation.
An amplified voice echoed over the din. “Ladies and Gentlemen. Through the misty storm they come. Battles rage and blood is spilled and tonight you will feel…the rage of the... Dark Myst!”
The crescendo of notes rose with the screams and soon the vast crowd, shrouded in the mist of machine smoke and lighting from the trusses above, came into view. The platform touched the stage simultaneously with a deafening blast of canon fire, blinding light and searing heat from the pyrotechnics.
Dane thrust his arms outward in an ostentatious display of feigned strength and released his long held breath as the chains fell free of his body. As he leaped forward the crowd crushed against the stage, nearly 20,000 screaming fans all at once a serried mass swarming towards him.
Tingles of excitement clawed at his spine, a feeling that never waned with the years. He ran to the front of the stage and grabbed up the microphone as Bruce struck the first hard note on his Strat. The music pounded out its heavy rhythm and the audience's cries warred with its volume. Sharp beams of laser light cut a zigzag through the haze. Dane twirled around and his heart jumped.
Oh what fresh hell!
He was staring at himself!
The stage had been set up like a room in a lover's palace; giant mirrors everywhere—behind, to the sides, even above, stretching as high as the trusses. Due to a severe snow squall the truck carrying an important part of the band’s stage set had gone off the road and gotten stuck. No one was injured, but the set had not arrived in time to be set up in the sold-out Target Center. Someone had decided the light show would look better reflected. Dane, however, was aghast. Not only was their stage set designed to coincide with most of their songs, but the effects of the colored lights continuously bouncing from mirror to mirror would inevitably result in the whole band plagued with a throbbing headache by concert’s end.
Their manager had to have approved this—someone had to have approved it. No one had told Dane! The mirrors must have been erected last moment. Everyone associated with the band knew how Dane hated mirrors. But now, no matter which direction he turned, he saw himself in his black costume and ragged-edged cloak; which portrayed him as the yin to the band's yang. They were the mist, and he the dark storm.
To keep his attention from the mirrors, Dane fixed his gaze on the audience and the speckled glow from thousands of cell phone flashes, resembling a sparkling star-filled evening that stretched out before him. But he knew he would eventually have to turn around.
By the third song it became maddening, not able to dance around as he normally would for fear of what might be hidden in those mirrors. But, thankfully, half way through the song he spotted one of the girls he'd met the last time he was in town. At last, something to keep his mind and eyes busy. In the front row she stood, arms raised toward him. The bulldozing horde had her pressed against the stage, long auburn hair flittering about as she bobbed her head to the beat of the music. He smiled in her direction, despite his sudden dread at remembering the promise he'd made to her the year before. A promise—ashamedly—he had no intention of keeping.
He had never seen her before that night a year ago, so she hadn’t been a regular. Conquering new territory was always fun. She’d displayed the looks normally reserved by the group of girls who always seem to know just how to be chosen above others and handed backstage passes. This one, however, had taken a different approach. She had approached him on the floor of his hotel as he made his way to his room. Fortunately he had been alone—a rarity. He had invited her in. Ample breasts and a nice round bottom offset by a perfectly slender waist. Dane knew he would be having a good time that night.
She had wanted too much, however, a commitment he couldn't give. Teasing him and denying him her favors until he'd made the vow. What else was there to do? And so he had said exactly what she wanted to hear. And, as naïve as she was, she had believed him. He couldn’t, after all, say no. Not when she lay there in his hotel bed displaying all her luscious charms. But he couldn't keep his promise, either. There were plenty of women in countless towns, women the band’s crew knew were his type. Women who would be offered passes just so he could meet them, drink with them, bed them. And there would be more waiting in the next town after that.
Now, a pass with the name of a local radio as sponsor dangled around her neck. So, she had won backstage passes this time. There would be no avoiding her tonight. What would he say to her? He could not even recall her name. As her fiery glare burned through him, he absentmindedly turned away, catching Bruce’s smug grin as he looked from the girl to Dane. He mouthed the words “there she is,” as he switched guitars with an assistant for the next set of songs.
Dane smirked, shook his head at his friend, then strutted to the other side of the stage as the next song began—one of the band’s trademark tunes that he wrote about a medieval land of lords and knights. He wielded a sword, one of many from his collection, and proceeded to dance around in choreographed mock swordplay as the hired orchestra played their bit.
At this point, his disappointment surged that the integral element of their regular stage set had not arrived. The video wall depiction of a castle and rolling green hills was installed. However, mirrors now replaced the large faux-stone steps that were to lead to the balcony above the stage, giving Dane the appearance of riding atop one of two red-eyed dragons that should, at that moment, be gazing menacingly down at the crowd, smoke, laser and fire effects erupting from the eyes and fanged mouths. Those that came for the show would be fervently disappointed.
During Bruce’s brief guitar solo near mid-song, Dane closed his eyes for a moment and raised the sword high, drawing in the deep odor of sweat and heat. Machine-created fog crept along the stage and curled around his feet like a chill mist in a graveyard. The lights were so dim he could scarce see even the front row of the audience as the laser lights sliced through the stadium and across his body like sharp-edged blades.
In accordance with his routine, and without second thought, he twirled around—and was suddenly staring right into one of the tall mirrors that littered the stage. The lights brightened. His craggy-hemmed cloak billowed as he spun from the ghastly reflection of his own sweat-soaked face only to catch the same image in the mirror beside that one. His gut wrenched and he tried to turn away, back to the front of the stage, back to the audience. But he froze as movement caught his eye and when he turned his head, she was there—the “Mirror Lady.” His illusion. His own delusion.
Onstage.
As real to him as his own reflection.

No! Not here!
Her thigh-length ginger hair was loose, rather than pulled back in the usual braid. The shining tresses poured over her shoulders like a rushing waterfall and cascaded down a beautiful gown of burgundy velvet that hugged her slim form. The tears in her golden eyes told a tale of sadness that wrenched at his heart, and he felt himself take an involuntary step forward. More familiar to him than Martha or Lance or Sir Kori, the sight of the “Mirror Lady” twisted his gut, a tornado rampaging through him, a tangled enrapture of perplexity and fear, love and pain—as if he had known her for more years than his life was long. And that familiarity drove him somewhere beyond her presence in some glass.
His dilemma with the redhead in the front row disappeared. The girls he’d met in the past or would meet in the future no longer mattered. It was this stranger, this illusion. She alone meant everything—and she scared the hell out of him. But deeper than fear lie an unbearable urge to leap into the mirror and gather her into his arms.
Protective impulses tugged at him relentlessly and he was suddenly frightened not of her but for her. Terror seized his heart, and refused to let go, pounding through him harder than the music that continued to fill the stadium, confusing him profoundly. Passionate emotions thrashed at his brain and his head ached with the need to bring them to the surface. But he couldn’t. A mental barrier walled off the needs screaming for release. Why couldn’t he just go to her; feel for her the love he’d been missing his entire life?
Behind him, the glass’ surface reflected a flurry of activity; lambent light bounced from one mirror to the next, heightening the pain in his head. The small section of audience visible moved and swayed, their images like dancing ghosts in the dark mist of the stadium. Stephan’s long strawberry hair swayed as he bobbed his head up and down while he plucked away at his bass. He hadn’t seen her. At the time Dane didn’t think anyone else saw her, but her form was as solid in the mirror as was his own, as she had been in every mirror throughout his life.
Concentration became impossible. He faltered, his voice cracked and he missed the chorus altogether. Familiar with the music, the mistake must have been quite obvious to the crowd. But he couldn't turn from that damn mirror.
Dane tried to force his mind back to the song when a searing bolt of pain sliced through his head. The clank of the sword and the microphone sounded loud to his ears, even above the music, as they dropped from his hands and crashed to the stage. Feedback screeched from the monitors and the music stopped. The burden of emotion and conflict pressed him downward and, like Alice, he found himself falling. Down. Down. The spotlights swirled like shooting stars and agony screamed through his shoulder as he hit the hard stage floor.
The fog consumed him.
The stadium went dead silent. Bruce and Stephan rushed towards him. Adrian leapt from behind his drums. Road crew members and strangers circled above. The audience pressed closer to the stage, security guards frantically tried to hold them back. Their lips moved, their hands pounded the stage. He saw them all, yet he heard nothing. And then he was forced into a vacuum of darkness.

Christine Church has been writing since she was 9 years old. As a kid, she wrote and drew her own picture books, then moved on to short stories as a teen. By her 20's, she was writing full-length novels, but her first success in publication was a nonfiction book about the care of indoor cats, Housecat, published by Howell Book House in 1998. Several more nonfiction books followed, including the major award winning book, Indoor Cats (TFH publications), which won the Iams Responsible Cat Ownership in 2001. After a broken hand, she took a hiatus from writing for quite some time, then returned to find everything had changed and her world turned upside down. She decided then to take a stab at self publishing. Her first novella, Sands of Time, Fate of the True Vampires won Finalist status in the 2016 Next Generation Indie Book Awards. Her second book, as well as Beyond Every Mirror, have won five-star status on Reader's favorite.















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