Author: Angie

Alpha Bully Wolf Ridge High, Book 1 by Renee Rose Genre: New Adult Paranormal Romance

SHE RUINED EVERYTHING… I WILL MAKE HER PAY. Her mom robbed my dad of his job. Destroyed his life. Now I have to look at her every day. The girl next door. A human. A hot little nerd. She doesn’t belong here—not in Wolf Ridge,not at our high school, definitely not in my life. She doesn’t know what I am. Which makes it all the easier to take revenge. I will bring her to her knees. Pierce her heart.Make her bleed. For me.All for me. NOTE: This New Adult book features steamy scenes with characters over eighteen and is for an audience that is also over eighteen. Goodreads * AmazonFreebie alert! Alpha’s Bane, the book that inspired this spin off series will be free Set 4th– 8th!! Get it FREE here!

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR RENEE ROSE loves a dominant, dirty-talking alpha hero! She’s sold over a half million copies of steamy romance with varying levels of kink. Her books have been featured in USA Today’s Happily Ever After and Popsugar. Named Eroticon USA’s Next Top Erotic Author in 2013, she has also won Spunky and Sassy’s Favorite Sci-Fi and Anthology author, The Romance Reviews Best Historical Romance, and Spanking Romance Reviews’ Best Sci-fi, Paranormal, Historical, Erotic, Ageplay and favorite couple and author. She’s hit the USA Today list five times with various anthologies Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

I think about Pink. What I know about her now. The scent of her tears. The taste of her skin. The
way her ass feels in my hands.
She gave me her vulnerability yesterday.
Robbed me of mine.
I want to still hate her. Especially after what she witnessed in front of my house.
But I don’t.
We’re in this together now. We’ve shared each other’s nightmares.
And when I took from her, she gave.
Let me kiss those swollen lips. Let me dry fuck her against a wall.
I woke up this morning thinking I needed space. Get this human off my mind before she gets even
further under my skin.
I planned on pretending she didn’t exist when I saw her today. Reasoned she probably needed the
space, too.
But it didn’t last. The minute I saw her, I tumbled back to where we were last night, standing
between our houses under the moon.
And now I’m already itchy for more.
I need to finish this thing I started with her.
I can’t stop until I fully own Bailey Sanchez. Until she’s given me every secret, every lie, every tear.
I crave the moment I take everything from her.
Crave it like my next breath.

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Tasmanian Special Forces Group: Welcome to Hell by C.R. Daems Genre: SciFi Military Action

Jolie was three when she found she was ugly and deformed. She was five when she found she was a sub- human and an outcast. She was seven when five boys and two girls dragged her out of the orphanage and beat her unconscious, leaving her lying bleeding and broken in the street. She was content to lie there and die, tired of being hated and abused. But a frail old man with wispy white hair and a long beard wasn’t content to let her die. He not only saved her, but he adopted her and passed on his unique martial art to her. She was twenty when she headed to Delphi, the center of the United Systems of Perileos (USP) and the planet of her birth-father to find her place in his society. Based on her unique upbringing, she decides to join the USP military, requesting to be assigned to the Tasmanians SFG, an elite all male unit. The military brass is reluctant to deny her request and admit their enlistment contract permits bait-and-switch assignments. Instead, they agree to let her enter the school, thinking she couldn’t possibly succeed–a Chihuahua competing against Rottweilers–and plan to make an example of her when she fails. Although Jolie is small, she is not what she appears. But can her adopted father’s art enable her to survive the treachery of the military brass, the grueling of the school, the prejudices of the instructors, and the testosterone of an all-male class? And if she succeeds, can she thrive in the high-octane and all male environment of the Tasmanians? Goodreads * Amazon

Clem Daems is a native of Chicago, Illinois and a graduate of the University of Arizona. He served twenty-two years in the US Air Force. Since then, he has worked as a software engineer, course developer, and adjunct professor, teaching mathematics and Computer Science. He has always been an avid reader of Science Fiction/Fantasy but never had an interest in writing or being an author. So, it was surprising when he began his first novel, several years after his retirement, at age seventy. His first novel, co-authored with Jeanne Tomlin, “The Talon of the Raptor Clan”–recently reissued as the “Talon of the Unnamed Goddess”–was a 2010 EPPIE finalist in Fiction/Fantasy. Clem is an award winning author and an active member of the Science Fiction Writers of America. His hobby–a life-long one–has been Kung Fu and Tai Chi. Clem is currently retired and living in Tucson, Arizona. He would enjoy hearing from you at clemd@comcast.net on any topic: his books, the characters, writing with a co-author, Kung Fu, his website (http://clemd.home.comcast.net/~clemd/JC/Index.html), life after retirement, or… Website * Facebook * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

I was three when I found out I was ugly and deformed.
I was four when I found out I was an outcast.
I was five when I found out the reason—I was sub-human.
There were other children like me but only a few. Most of the other children were
beautiful and normal. Us ugly, deformed, sub-humans were ridiculed, abused, and shunned. The
others similar to me banded together for protection and comfort, but for some reason, I wasn’t
included. I guessed they thought me uglier, more deformed, or less human. Whatever the reason,
that made me alone and vulnerable.
I fought back—and lost.
Over the years I fought back harder, learning to ignore the pain—and lost.
As I grew older and stronger, the attacks grew fewer but more vicious because my
attackers paid a price—but I still lost.
Eventually, they would have killed me and one night nearly succeeded. Five boys and
two girls dragged me out of the orphanage compound and beat me unconscious using sticks and
rocks and left me lying bleeding and broken in the street. The message was clear—don’t come
back. I was seven.

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Tears of a Heart Kan Savasci Cycle Book 1 by Chase Blackwood Genre: Epic Fantasy

Winner of John E Weaver Excellent Reads Award#50 of 100 Best Fantasy Series Ever– reedsydiscovery He’s been called the Scourge of Bodig, the Bane of Verold, but most know him as the Kan Savasci. He’s one of the most feared men alive. Chaos and war have followed him like an angry shadow. The one problem, as the world faces the wrath of forgotten gods, Kan Savasci is nowhere to be found. The annalist, a man trained in the ancient arts of the arkein, has been tasked to uncover the whereabouts of the Kan Savasci at any cost. In order to find the man, one must unmask the depths of his reclusive history. The clock is ticking as Verold descends into darkness. Delve into an award-winning fantasy novel described as “epic,” “beautiful,” and “reminiscent of Rothfuss’ work.”Goodreads * Amazon

Tower of the Arkein Kan Savasci Cycle Book 2

2017Royal Dragonfly E-Book Award Winner, 1st PlaceBeverley Hills Book Award Finalist: Fantasy2017 Best Book Awards Finalist: Fantasy#50 of 100 Best Fantasy Series Ever– reedsydiscoveryTrapped as a slave, facing an impossible decision, Aeden must choose between his friends and his soul… The clock is ticking as the world descends into darkness. He’s been called the Scourge of Bodig, the Bane of Verold, but most know him as the Kan Savasci. He’s one of the most feared men alive. Chaos and war have followed him like an angry shadow. The one problem, as the world faces the wrath of forgotten gods, Kan Savasci is nowhere to be found. The annalist, a man trained in the ancient arts of the arkein, has been tasked to uncover the whereabouts of the Kan Savasci at any cost. In order to find the man, one must unmask the depths of his reclusive history. Goodreads * Amazon

Into the Fold Kan Savasci Cycle Book 3

Continue the Award Winning Saga… For over a millennium The Fold has been a carefully guarded secret, shrouded in mystery. Within its shadowy depths the greatest of the old gods had carved a world unto himself. A place unrivaled in its beauty, obscurity, and danger. Trapped within The Fold, under the tutelage of the last arkeinists, Aeden must overcome his greatest obstacle, or die trying. Goodreads * Amazon

Welcome to Chase Blackwood’s author bio, where he’ll try to write something interesting about his life that captures your attention. Chase Blackwood’s life has been defined by struggle the way a moth battles an insect zapping light. He’s studied martial arts since childhood in an effort to overcome fear. He’s lived in a half dozen countries in an effort to “find himself,” traveled to over 60 countries in an effort to “find humanity,” lived in nine states just for the hell of it, oh… and the military has had something to do with that too. Chase has enjoyed combating terrorism, working as a federal agent, and also really likes puppies. His most recent passion, puppies aside, has been working on the Kan Savasci Cycle, a series of fantasy novels that pulls from his life experiences to make the most vivid world imaginable. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads

SAMPLES FROM: “TOWER OF THE ARKEIN” by Chase Blackwood
The cliffs that rose to either side of the River Lif were sheer walls of immense beauty. They had the
appearance of having been sculpted and smoothed over the centuries. Veins of marble colored the walls,
creating patterns that the mind struggled to understand.
The cliffs were highlighted in rays of light under a still and quiet sun. A startling blue sky watched over thick
puffs of white clouds that billowed about lazily. The morning air was cool, and the subtle texture of history
weighed upon the gentle breeze.
“We’re getting close,” the archduchess said, approaching Aeden.
Aeden looked up, surprised she had ventured out into the sunlight.
Alina had spent the entire prior day and night in the shelter of her cabin. Perhaps she had simply come for

some fresh air. He didn’t care the reason. She was out, and he was happy.
“Close to what, my lady?” Aeden asked.
She pointed ahead to the gentle curve in the river. The cliff walls on either side grew narrower and even taller
still.
“Godsend’s Pass,” she said reverently.
Aeden nodded his head, as if he knew what she was talking about. Verold was huge. In the last couple of
years, he had seen more of it than he had ever imagined, yet he knew that he had only scratched the surface.
There still lay vast continents unexplored, unclaimed islands beckoning the adventurous, and places that lay
uncharted and unseen by human eyes.
He had read about The Great Mysteries of Winter’s Bind, The Forbidden Forests of Varna, the wild tribes of
Dimutia, and only a scattering on the great empire that once was Templas, yet the more he read, the more
ignorant he felt on the vast span of history that was Verold.
Aeden’s revere on the breadth of his ignorance was interrupted by movement. He noticed one of the crewmen
join the other at the front of the barge. He then glanced out along the portion of water before them. They were
alone. No other rivercraft was within sight. The waters were moving quicker as the river narrowed, but never
dangerously so.
As they rounded the great bend, the clouds parted and shafts of light fell upon the rock sculptures of
Godsend’s Pass. There, stood immense carvings of each member of the Scapan, the Old Gods; Anat, Ansuz,
Baal, Balder, Bellas, Enlil, Gauri, Ghut, Huta, Kegal, Kurat, Marduk, and Zhov.
They stood proudly on the southern side of the River Lif. Each crafted in such detail, one would have thought
the sculptor had just finished yesterday.
Aeden studied each in open-mouthed awe. Here they were. Here were the gods of his people, The Thirteen.

Here was a reminder of his failure to avenge the fallen villagers of S’Vothe and free them from their semi-
mortal coils.

“They’re amazing aren’t they,” Alina whispered.
Aeden looked over. She was closer now, studying his expression. She seemed amused by his amazement. He
closed his mouth, his face turning slightly red. He normally masked his emotion the way a fire gecko masked
its scent.
“We had something similar back home, the Sacred Pools we called them, but,” Aeden paused, taking a
moment to study every lovely line that made up Alina’s face, “they were nothing so large and impressive as
this,” he broke his gaze and gestured to the statues.
“You see that one there,” Alina pointed to the tallest in the center, “that’s Magis, many believed him to be the
most powerful of the old gods.”
“We called him Ansuz,” Aeden said quietly.
Alina turned to look at him. Her face oddly passive.
“What did you say?”
Aeden stood on the deck of the Tempest, as he watched the shores of the Imperium fade away. Adel stood
by his side, silent as a willow.
A gentle wind spread the salty spray from the bow across the stern of the ship. The sun was warm and the sky
free of clouds. It felt like nature was working to bring peace to Aeden. He closed his eyes and felt the warmth
of the sun and the soft touch of the sea air.
He smiled.
It was a new start. He would find answers and purpose on the Isle of Galdor.
Aeden then looked to Adel and nodded to himself.
“You got the letter,” he said quietly to his friend.
Adel looked up at his adopted brother and clapped a hand upon his shoulder. He didn’t need to say anything.
Adel could tell Aeden was hurting.
Adel had been surprised to receive a letter from the First House of Bodig, from the archduchess herself.
Several of the monks had been curious, teased him, and gossiped. The letter had been an invitation to join
Aeden. It was a letter releasing him from the bonds of the Holy Order of Salvare and allowing him to
experience Verold.
“You remembered,” Adel replied.
Aeden merely nodded, remembering his promise to let Adel know if he left Bodig.
“I couldn’t stay at the monastery anymore,” Adel said quietly, “not after everything I had seen on the

pilgrimage. Not without Odilo, and Thomas, and you.”
Aeden looked over to Adel and managed a smile.
“We’re starting a new life,” Aeden said.
He looked across the cold waters to the distant shores of the Imperium. Aeden felt a pang of sadness as he was
carried farther from his old life, swept away from the sweet touch of the archduchess.
“What happened?” Adel asked.
Aeden continued to stare across the open ocean. Somehow, he felt unable to answer. If he spoke, everything
he was feeling would come spilling out. Instead, he simply stared at the ever-changing pattern of the sea.
“I’m here my friend,” Adel said in a whisper, “and I’m not going anywhere.”
Aeden closed his eyes.
There were the obvious physical indicators of Aeden’s encounter at Water’s Gate. In fact, when Adel had
found Aeden, blood was running down Aeden’s face, blood flowed from a cut in his arm, and a gash in his leg.
Adel helped treat the wounds, cleaning, sewing them shut and wrapping them as best as he could.
It was the emotional pain that lingered. It shrouded Aeden the way mist clung to a mountain peak. So, Adel
did what any true friend would do. He remained by Aeden’s side. He didn’t talk much. He didn’t need to.
Adel let his own questions dissolve into silence.
The continental landmass faded to nothing but a line upon the horizon as the ship drew away. Sailors rigged
sails, tied knots, and busied themselves with the activities of sailing. Aeden hardly noticed.
He didn’t notice as the sun slowly traveled through the horizon. He didn’t pay any attention to the other
passenger, a female from the north. He hardly even paid attention to Adel, the one friend he now had in all of
Verold.
Instead, Aeden sat on the ship consumed by thought. The gentle rocking of the caravel, the soft caress of the
salty air, and the warm touch of the sun only served to transport him further from the setting.
The ship’s sails billowed under the prevailing wind, and the Tempest cut a white swath through the azure
waters.
Memories of Aeden’s last sea voyage drifted languidly into his mind.
He saw the nearly toothless captain, Nawfel Murad Q’Bala, covering the Bocian, the holy book of Ghut,
written by the prophet Beccid. He remembered the boatswain Hamal Badi Agir and their bout beneath the
unrelenting sun of the Gulf of Galdor. That’s when Aeden’s thoughts

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A Parliament of Crows by Alan M. Clark Genre: Southern Gothic Crime, Horror

In A Parliament of Crows, the three Mortlow sisters are prominent American educators of the nineteenth century, considered authorities in teaching social graces to young women. They also pursue a career of fraud and murder. Their loyalty to one another and their need to keep their secrets is a bond that tightens with each crime, forcing them closer together and isolating them from the outside world. Their ever tightening triangle suffers from madness, religious zealotry and a sense of duty warped by trauma they experienced as teenagers in Georgia during Sherman’s March to the Sea. As their crimes come back to haunt them and a long history of resentments toward each other boils to the surface, their bond of loyalty begins to fray. Will duty to family hold or will they turn on each other like ravening crows? Add to GoodreadsAmazon * IFD Publishing

Alan M. Clark grew up in Tennessee in a house full of bones and old medical books. As a writer and illustrator, he is the author of sixteen published books, including 11 novels, a lavishly illustrated novella, four collections of fiction, and a nonfiction full-color book of his artwork. His illustrations have appeared in books of fiction, non-fiction, textbooks, young adult fiction and children’s books. Awards for his work include the World Fantasy Award and four Chesley Awards. Mr. Clark’s company, IFD Publishing, has released 42 titles of various editions, including traditional books, both paperback and hardcover, audio books, and ebooks by such authors as F. Paul Wilson, Elizabeth Engstrom, and Jeremy Robert Johnson. Website * Facebook * Facebook * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads

Chapter 1: Vertiline—Loss of Life
Newark, New Jersey 1908

The shame of Vertiline’s incarceration had abated little in the eighteen months since her
arrest. Believing herself nearly helpless against the forces controlling her fate, she expressed the
slight power that remained to her in a simple reminder spoken aloud each morning while sitting
on the bunk in her jail cell: “After what they did during the war, they have no right to judge us.
Maintain a sense of personal dignity, for you are useless to your sisters without it.”
The state of New Jersey had indicted jointly Miss Vertiline Mortlow, sixty-one years of age,
and her fifty-nine-year-old twin sisters, Mrs. Mary Mortlow Sneed, and Mrs. Carolee Mortlow
Marshall. They were charged them with insurance fraud and the murder of Carolee’s daughter,
Orphia Marshall Sneed. The young woman had been found dead in the bathtub of the sisters’
East Orange apartment, lying in a few inches of cold water, her head below the faucet, and her
feet hanging over the back of the tub. Although suspicious, her death was at first seen as suicide.
When Vertiline and her sisters tried to collect on several insurance policies they had taken out on
Orphia, the police began an investigation and the sisters were arrested.
In the long delay before the trial, during which the sisters were kept in separate jail cells, the
twins had perhaps suffered the most. Based on what her attorney said of his visits with them,
Vertiline feared that Mary intentionally starved herself and that Carolee had gone mad from the
isolation.

As the time drew near for the sisters to appear in court, Vertiline felt an unaccountable
excitement despite her dread. After endless days of boredom spent in her lonely cell, she
anticipated that the trial would provide intellectual and emotional stimulation. She hated herself
for looking forward to the event.
On the first day of trial—the first time she’d seen the twins in over a month—while riding in
the police van to the courthouse, Vertiline tried to make eye contact with her sisters. Carolee’s
eyes darted about warily. When spoken to, she appeared startled, even frightened at times. Mary,
her eyes downcast, was emaciated and uncommunicative. She flinched and cringed whenever
Carolee became agitated.
“Are you well?” Vertiline asked them several times in different ways and with increasing
urgency. Their answers held little information.
As the trial commenced in the courtroom with the prosecution presenting its case, Vertiline
struggled to put her fears aside and look for ways to aid in her own defense. Torn between the
urgency of concern for her sisters, and the need to maintain awareness of the proceedings, her
head ached, her heart beat uncomfortably in her chest, and she struggled to take deep breaths.
In defense of her own sanity, her mind turned briefly to pleasant recollection.

~ ~ ~

Vertiline had spent a childhood of privilege in a home on Spring Street in Milledgeville,
Georgia. Having recalled innumerable times the magical summer parties her mother, Abigale
Sobearn Mortlow, hosted in the garden behind the house, Vertiline easily found vivid memories
of the events within her mind. She could see the beautiful guests, their eyes cheerful, movements
graceful and gracious, their clothing exquisite. She heard their happy voices, full of charm and
wit. The exotic decorations and extravagant tables of food and drink were there, filled with

dishes prepared from Ducy’s delicious recipes by the cook. Vertiline could almost taste the
buttered spoonbread, the fried fish, and chess pie. As dusk approached amidst the gentle murmur
of the guests, Abigale move about, a silent white bell in her crinoline, lighting colorful Chinese
paper lanterns strung on cane poles. Lightning bugs rose from the warm earth of the flower beds,
their soft greenish yellow glow competing with the warm flickering orange flames within the
lanterns.
Bitter-sweet, the magic light inevitably faded from the garden with the memory of loosing
Abigale to pneumonia brought on by influenza. Vertiline had been seven years old when her
mother died. For all the crisp memories of the garden parties, her recollections of Abigale had
wilted, her lovely features having faded from memory.
Thankfully, the warmth and love of her father, Georgia Supreme Court Justice Horace G.
Mortlow, always remained in full bloom. Though he had long ago passed away, her memories of
him were clear. He was truly the only authority to whom she must answer. Surely, he would
understand what she and her sisters had done and why, and would not judge them too harshly.

~ ~ ~

Her breath more even, her heart calmed somewhat, Vertiline’s awareness returned to the
courtroom.
The judge, a tall, lean man with a bushy brow named Tolland, spoke from the bench to Mary,
“Mrs. Sneed, please sit upright and show the court due respect.”
Vertiline wanted to say that her sister wasn’t a child to be reprimanded for her behavior, but
held her tongue.
Within moments, Mary had slumped forward in her chair again. Judge Tolland seemed to
notice, but said nothing until her head fell forward, lolling upon the table.

Then discussions began concerning the poor condition of Mrs. Mary Mortlow Sneed, and
Judge Tolland adjourned the trial for the day.
To stave off despair, Vertiline tried to believe in what her father had always called “the hope
of tomorrow.”

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