Category: giveaway

Logan
Farmer is the local sheriff. Small town boy who went to the big city
and joined the police force. Then he came home where he belonged. He
is deeply rooted in his Native American heritage.

 

Both
had grown up knowing that there was more to the world that could be
explained or seen. But neither of them knew that their peaceful lives
could be disrupted in an instant by a legend long buried. A tale that
had been told to them by Logan’s grandmother when they were young
along with a warning that the ancient legend could replay during
their lifetime.

But
was it really an ancient paranormal evil come to roost or were the
recent events merely the doings of a warped human mind? Or had the
human’s events shaped the return of the evil?

TeaganSummers has a secret that she thought she had tucked away forever.
That is, until she was summoned to her home town of Lakewood to help
with banishing an ancient evil that had come to pay a visit to the
sleepy town. Then, she was faced with another woman whose secret
wasn’t so secret anymore.

Devon
Brock knew he had to help his friend, Logan Farmer. Logan had helped
him out too many times to turn his back and say no. However, he
didn’t realize that he would be called upon to pull out his law
license to defend a poor woman who had killed and mutilated her
husband on Halloween night. And he sure never expected to have to
deal with spoiled Teagan Summers as part of it.

Devon
and Teagan join forces as they work valiantly to not only defend a
murderess, but to help Teagan’s sisters and Logan Farmer as they
battle an unseen evil that threatens to destroy the small town of
Lakewood. And as they work together, they also form a tentative truce
that they both know could lead to more.

Eric
Michaels had been born and raised to be a farmer. It was what he did
best. So, when the opportunity to be the foreman at a farm near a
place called Lakeview, he had jumped at the chance. What he hadn’t
planned on was getting sucked into a paranormal nightmare. Things he
couldn’t even begin to fathom. Including finding himself deeply
attracted to a woman who could create magic with the tips of her
fingers.

As
the conclusion of the Summer Sisters trilogy comes to an end, will
they be able to destroy the force that had unearthed itself from its
deep dark grave to destroy them?

BLESSED BE

Alana sat gazing into the fire she built earlier in the day to drive off the chill from the rain that fell
steadily down and battered against the tin roof of her little cabin. Normally, she would have enjoyed
the music created by the rain. It was normally a soothing sound to her. But tonight, something kept
sending chills up her spine as if in warning of some impending crisis. She shivered then, as the chill
became more pronounced when she thought about it. Pulling the heavy crocheted afghan around her
more tightly, she scooted her chair closer to the fire and rested her feet on the thick, tri-colored fur of
her mixed breed dog, Buddy. The big animal was laying on the rag rug by the hearth. He snorted in his
sleep and rolled on his back to expose his belly. Part bloodhound, part St. Bernard, and part God only
knew what, he still played like a puppy even though he was nearing six years old this winter.
“You’re such a silly dog, you even want your belly rubbed in your sleep.” She laughed and ran her
stocking foot along his chest. The big dog was a comfort to her on nights like this. Alana wasn’t afraid to
be out here, in the middle of nowhere, alone. It was just that tonight, something troubling was brewing
and it was pricking at the edges of her peace.
The day had started out like most of her early autumn days. Getting up well before the sun came up, she
had done some yoga, meditated and gave thanks for the many blessings life had given her. Breakfast
had been a healthy combination of fruit, yogurt and granola with a cup of Irish breakfast tea sweetened
with honey from the local beekeeper. After Buddy and Anastasia, her cross-eyed white Siamese cat had
been fed, she spent some time cutting lavender and collecting ripe vegetables from her garden. Since
the day had been sunny, she decided to leave the truck in the barn and ride her bicycle the three miles
into town where she had her shop, Blessed Be.
Blessed Be was her pride and joy. A little bit of everything that Alana loved. She carried candles,
potpourri and soaps made in her kitchen, herbs she grew in her own garden, used and new books, music
CDs, and handmade crafts. Occasionally she would do the occasional spell or reading when it felt right to
do so.
This morning the shop had been especially busy for a week day and she didn’t notice when the clouds
started gathering off to the west, filtering out the sun. She did some accounting work while she ate her
lunch, vegetable soup brought to her by her friend Bessie at the little diner opposite her shop, and
caught up on her internet orders. When the delivery man pulled up out front to collect her shipments,
he shook his head.
“Sure is a long winded storm brewing on the other side of the lake. I hope you drove to work this
morning.” She looked up from her work, a calligraphy piece with an Irish blessing on recycled paper, she
noticed through the front window the dark clouds that appeared to be boiling in the sky. By the time she
closed the shop at five, the clouds were still hanging angrily in the sky but had not moved any closer to
Lakeview, the small town that sat on the northern bank of Victory Lake.
The main street of town ended at the public access beach which boasted a smattering of guest cabins
that were generally full the entire summer. As she rode her bicycle home, she kept a close watch over
her left shoulder and noticed that the clouds were moving along the same path as her own. She got the
first chill up her spine as she rode the bicycle down the lane to her little farm.Sitting here now, she had a feeling something was about to usurp the peacefulness of their small town.
She had circled her cabin and barn with salt, reciting the protection spell her mother taught her and her
sisters many years ago while they were mere children. “It is the most important spell you must learn.”
She could hear her as if she were right in front of her today, even though Rowena was tucked away in
County Kildare in Ireland with Alana’s stepfather Niall Fitzgerald.
Rowena decided when the last of her daughters had turned twenty-one, it was time for her to go in
search of her heritage which led her to Ireland. Alana, being the oldest of the three sisters probably
remembered her father the most. Hobart Summers was a somber man, the exact opposite of their
mother who was always filled with light, laughter and good spirit. He had been a good provider and
when he passed from a sudden brain aneurism at thirty-five, he had left them with enough to live
comfortably until they were all grown.
With her husband gone, Rowena was tired of living in the city and felt drawn to move all of them to
Lakeview where she had worked as the manager to the lake cabins during the tourist season and part
time at the small, local library during the off season.
Alana loved the peaceful solitude here in the country on her farm, and she relished the familiarity of
small town life. Her sisters had chosen entirely different lives. Teagan was the materialistic one of the
three and she had gone to college with the intent of learning something that would land her a wealthy
husband and lifestyle. Not faring well on the first with a messy divorce behind her, she was a travel
agent in Miami, Florida. Riana was the youngest of them, she was still finding her way in life, living like a
modern-day gypsy moving every few months and doing whatever job appealed to her at the moment.
The last Alana knew, she was working as a black jack dealer in Las Vegas.
Alana smiled to herself as she thought of her sisters. She missed them when they weren’t here and
when they were both here for a visit, she spent most of her time and patience mediating between the
younger two. Teagan always judging Riana for her lack of direction and Riana reminding Teagan that she
was the one who had married a drunk playboy that had made sure she didn’t have ‘jackshit’ to show for
it when they got divorced. And when Alana tried to intervene, they both inevitably turned on her and
told her that she was going to live like an old maid the rest of her life if she stayed in this boring hole of a
town. Rowena called weekly to check on all of them, but most of the time the only one that she could
ever get hold of on a regular basis was Alana. “You are such a grounding force for our family, Alana.”
That was always how Rowena ended their calls. Sometimes, Alana didn’t want to be the grounding
force but it was what it was. Alana’s Wiccan element was Earth and that was what Earth did, it
grounded. She reached for her tea and took a sip, enjoying the rich flavor of Earl Grey, her favorite. The
fire crackled and Buddy groaned in his sleep, his back leg jumping as he dreamed of chasing some poor
rabbit or squirrel in the woods. Anastasia was perched on the back of the sofa, her purring so loud that
Alana could hear her from where she sat in her grandmother’s old wing chair on the opposite side of the
room. The lights flickered a bit, but Alana was well prepared after spending the first winter without
electric about half of the time. She had installed a propane powered generator the following spring
which switched on automatically if the power went completely out.
Her cabin was cozy. She didn’t know exactly when it had been built, but she guessed probably in the
early nineteen thirties when Lakeview first became a tourist spot. The property sat three miles from the
town and about three and a half from the main shoreline but in this spot there was a small inlet the size
of a large pond just a few hundred yards behind the barn. The main living area was open with thekitchen to the front on the right side of the entrance with a breakfast bar being the only thing that
separated it from the small dining area that held a round table with two ladder back chairs.
The hand hewn, pine cabinets were plentiful and she had a laundry room off the kitchen which had yet
more pantry storage. Beyond that area was her bathroom with its antique, claw foot tub and a more
recently added modern shower. The sitting area of the living room was to the back of the cabin with a
natural stone fireplace on one wall and bookcases tucked under the open staircase that led to the loft
above. A door was in the middle of the bookcases and that door led to a small guest room where the
previous owners had left twin beds.
A set of French doors faced the back, something that Alana had installed when she moved in so that she
could have a good view of the woods from the covered back porch during the summer and from her
living room in the winter. She used the space in the loft for her bedroom where she had put a king-sized
bed in the middle of the room where the peak of the roof was. Her plan was to someday have a skylight
installed in the roof above her bed so that she could see the moon and stars from her bed at night and
so that the sun shone down on her every morning.
Generally, she watched television in the evening once the sun went down while she either read a book
or did a needlecraft project. Her home was filled with things she had created herself and she loved
books, which was evident by the full shelves under the staircase. Tonight, the satellite dish had gone on
the fritz long before the rain started, so she turned on the CD player and listened to some relaxing
instrumental music while she ate her dinner. Ham and cheese sandwich between two slices of
homemade bread and a handful of sweet potato chips dipped in some caramel sauce.
She pondered how to fill the evening ahead. It had gotten dark early because of the approaching storm,
a stark reminder that as the coming days passed by, winter would be nearer. When she consulted the
earth spirits over the weekend during her Sunday afternoon ritual, they warned of an early winter and
urged her to finish up the harvest as quickly as possible. However, the popcorn was not nearly mature
enough to harvest and would need at least another month. The pumpkins and squash weren’t
completely ripened either and her three apple trees had not fared well this year because of a late freeze
that killed most of the early blooms. But she had heeded their warning and picked what she could,
spending most of the afternoon on Sunday roasting sunflower seeds and stringing peppers to hang in
the laundry room to dry.
The book on the table by her chair beckoned to her. It was a recent best seller by one of her favorite
authors, a romance writer who threw in a little bit of paranormal for a twist. She picked up the book
and tucked her legs up beneath her, the afghan wrapped around her lower body. Maybe reading
something romantic would ease the uncomfortable feeling that still permeated her body.
The sound of the rain on the roof, the crackle of the fire, the softly playing music combined to relax
Alana as she read and she felt her eyelids go heavy. Her breathing became shallow and the book slipped
from her hands onto her lap as she dozed off.
She was running through the woods toward the small inlet behind the barn. The full moon overhead lit
her way through the branches of the trees that had shed a portion of their leaves. Something, someone
was compelling her to come.
Help. Help me. Please help me.

A cloud drifted across the moon and the woods was dark for a moment but it didn’t matter, she knew
these woods like the back of her hand. One of the gifts of having Earth as her own element. Her bare
feet touched the damp ground, the recent rain leaving puddles in some parts of the path that weren’t
covered by the trees.
Why am I here? Oh, yes, the compelling subconscious knowledge that she was needed to help someone.
Suddenly, the woods closed up and the path disappeared. How could this be? This was a familiar path.
Where was Buddy? He had been ahead of me. She tried to call out to him but nothing came out of her
mouth. Had she remembered to ground and protect herself before rushing out of the cabin in the middle
of the night? She couldn’t remember. The moon disappeared completely, only it wasn’t the clouds that
were covering the moon. What is it? It feels bad. Evil. Wicked. She tripped over a root that shouldn’t
have been in her path and felt herself falling. Falling. Falling.
The wind picked up outside the cabin and a branch banged against the window, causing Anastasia to
come off her perch on the back of the sofa and hiss. It was a chain reaction then, with Buddy stiffening
up under her feet and sending out a warning growl. Anastasia growled low in her throat, a warning
growl, then arched her back with the hair standing up. Buddy came to his feet and ran toward the door,
barking vigorously, the sound echoing throughout the cabin.
Alana awoke with a start and took a relaxing breath when she realized she had fallen asleep and was
dreaming. But something was wrong, she could sense it. Buddy was still barking furiously at the door
and as she got up, his tail started wagging and he let out a whine about the same time a knock sounded
at her door. Buddy whined again and pawed at the door.
She blinked the last remnants of sleep out of her eyes and got up from the chair, crossing the wood floor
in her stocking feet. Reaching for the door knob she pushed gently at Buddy with her foot. “Move, you
big lug. I can’t open the door with you in front of it.” The dog complied, his whole body wagging now
and his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth, ready to give a serious tongue bath to whomever was
on the other side of the door.
When she pulled the door open, a tall, familiar form was standing on her porch under the yellowish
light. His back was to her, but she recognized the jeans clad figure with the holster at his side. Logan
Farmer, the county sheriff, turned to face her and the look on his face was a grim one. “Alana. It’s not
good.” He took a breath, his shoulders lifting and falling with the action. “Old Herman Monroe. I got
the call about an hour ago.” He looked down at his feet for a moment and Alana followed his gaze.
The boots were covered with mud and something else. Blood. She put a hand out to touch his arm.
She and Logan had been friends since they were kids and he had even dated her sister, Teagan, briefly.
Very briefly. “What is it, Logan?”
When he looked up at her, his dark eyes were glistening with unshed tears. “He’s dead, Alana. His wife
went to search for him when he didn’t come in for dinner and she found him in the barnyard. She
thought maybe he slipped in the mud when he was feeding the livestock but when she looked closer, it
looked…” His words trailed off and he appeared to be trying to compose himself before he continued.
This time, when Alana touched his arm she closed her eyes and the image came into her mind as clearly
as if she had seen it herself. The old man lying in the muddy barnyard with his dead eyes staring up in

fear and his throat ripped out. She pulled away, her stomach roiling and tears coming to her eyes. “An
animal? How can that be, Logan?”
He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “You know how as well as I do. We all knew this was going to happen.”

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Albert leaned back, though he might as well have tried to move a brick wall. The ornate chair
gave no quarter. His lower back remained a knot of muscle, a remnant from his flying days,
whenever he sat still. Overhead chandeliers cascaded fifteen feet above the tables, laid for a
three-course meal. Oyster forks. Albert unbuttoned his jacket. The schedule read four hours – at
the rate they were going, this ceremony would be slower than the Oscars. At the opposite table, a
blonde bombshell flashed the valley of her breasts while bending forward for her napkin. Frigid
aircon blew on the top of his head though most of the women wore one-shouldered gowns, if
they had straps at all. Simpering glances from the others on either side of the blonde came his
way. As they had done since he was old enough to register women’s interest. When had that
been? When he was five? Shuttled from his mother’s side into boarding school and then the
army; his family worked to keep him as far from women as they could. Or was it women as far
from the century’s most eligible bachelor? In either case, the women themselves couldn’t be
stopped. Like father, like son the tabloid captions read, as Albert worked his way through a
stream of interchangeable blonde girlfriends while at university. He shuddered at the
comparison.
Tonight no one of fuckable age sat in any of the eight seats at his table or at the one
immediately to his right. Two women out of the hundreds scattered in rows throughout the
ballroom were at his table and these were matronly types. Normally this would irk him. Torie
never missed a moment to remind him that, as the keeper of the family crown, her duty was to
ensure he stayed in line. Her darling little brother. The heir meant to be the spare.
Tonight, however, Albert could use a break after his weekend in the American city of Las
Vegas. Like they say, detox. He smirked at the gent in the tuxedo to his left. Seventy if he was a
day. Earl… Lord… something. Cufflinks glinted in the dimmed lights. There was a crest there,
he could make it out if he squinted a bit longer. Albert lost the summary card with the event
details and hadn’t listened while his aide, Edward, gave him the run-down of those seated at his
table. Albert shuffled through the notes tucked inside his jacket. Thank everyone for their time.
Recognize how important the events are.
“Sir.” A waiter, his face filled with wrinkles pulling at deflated cheeks, harrumphed on
Albert’s left.
“Yes, what is it?”
“I present Miss Heather Sparkle.”
“Spark—” Albert forgot his caustic remark as an olive-skinned woman slid into the seat
on his right. Her high-necked, black lace dress hugged a trim figure. Other than the men in
tuxedos, she wore the most fabric of anyone in the room.
The tuxedo on the other side of her rumbled about no one being seated after all the royals
were in the room. “Most unorthodox,” he said. The waiter looked down a long nose.
“I’m sorry, the studio’s helicopter was late.” Sparkle’s eyes darted around the room. Her
hands tugged at the ends of long, straight black hair. “Mixed up landing times or something.”
She pulled a napkin onto her lap. “Am I a course behind?” In her agitation, she picked up the
butter knife, to do what exactly with the empty charger, Albert couldn’t have guessed.
“Oh, Miss Sparkle, you made it.” Edward pushed aside the waiter who remained still as a
pillar.Albert leaned on one elbow – a sight Torie would have frowned on disapprovingly – to
take in the unusual occurrence of a breathless Edward. Normally his dour equerry, inherited from
his mother’s staff, would have nudged Albert’s chin off his palm. Except at the moment the
unflappable Edward focused entirely on the late arriving guest.
“They gave me a hard time at the door,” she said. Slender fingers tapped the bun at her
neck before flitting to the check the tear shaped necklace in the hollow of her throat. “No one is
allowed in after the prince.” Now she craned her neck as if looking for another prince, one other
than he seated next to her. “They didn’t say where he was.”
“Oh, he’s–” Edward coughed.
“I hope he didn’t see.” Sparkle dropped the knife back onto the plate with a clang.
“Those pesky rules.” Albert gave her a wink that the three hundred strong paparazzi
would have loved had they been allowed in the ceremony itself, not panting at the entrance for a
chance at a close up. “Surely he’s too busy to notice.”
“Yes, hopefully no one will notice,” she repeated to herself in a whisper. A fringe of dark
lashes lowered. The effect was – alluring. Albert toyed with his butter knife. She in no way fit
his type – or the type his sister accused him of having. Blonde, billionaire, party girl.
Edward stepped aside as a bevy of waiters approached with warm plates. They elbowed
him out of the way in order to set Albert’s dinner on the gold rimmed charger.
“The ladies first, please,” he said, in a deeper voice since the vision beside him still
hadn’t registered she was in fact sitting by the prince of her concern.
“Of course, sir.”
That got her attention, he noticed with satisfaction.
“Hello,” she said pointedly to Lord-what’s-his-name.
A mild shiver ran through Albert. He couldn’t place it as mirth or the sudden onset of a
cold from the continued blast of the aircon. She thought the tuxedo was him. No, surely no.
Surely everyone knew about the red-headed prince. They had television in America. Didn’t they?
The girls he invited to his suite during the last night on the Strip certainly had.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Duke.” She repeated this several times because the
tuxedo – Earl of Nottingham, yes that was him, Louis, – couldn’t hear her.
Albert let out a cough at the twisted expression on the older man’s face as he tried to
make sense of what she was saying. “Young lady,” he began.
Albert raised his hand to stem whatever withering tirade would otherwise ensue. These
were the types of lecture he grew up; good deportment, paying attention, protocol, blah, blah,
blah. “Actually,” Albert interjected. “I believe you’re looking for me.”
A pair of deep brown eyes rounded on in him in growing horror. She sized him up, from
his hairline to his cufflinks. “You’re too young.”
“I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” He chuckled at the red flush creeping up her
cheeks.
“You are.” She closed her eyes in mortification. “Your Highness!”
“The only time a guest may enter at whatever time she chooses, is when she’s the guest
of honor,” Albert explained to the Earl. “Ms. Sparkle here is receiving recognition for her charity
work with children living with AIDS. You might recognize her from her work on – Sport of
Kings?”
“Game of Royals,” she corrected in a murmur.
“Yes, that’s the one.” Albert snapped his fingers. “Haven’t seen it yet,” he said by way of
apology. “Didn’t realize these period dramas now had people worth watching.”Despite her clear agitation, Sparkle gave a giggle. She tucked into the steak with that
peculiar habit Americans had of holding her fork in the right hand.
“Young lady,” the Duke began, aghast that the late arrival would eat before the head of
the table.
“Enjoy your meal,” Albert said. He shook his head at this peer of the realm, someone
Torie had placed here to stymie her brother’s evening. At least the gods sent him this paean of
beauty and earnestness.
“I usually don’t eat at these things,” Sparkle said, the first bite tucked into the side of her
cheek like a chipmunk in order to make conversation possible. “But I’ve been running around all
day.”
“By all means,” Albert said. He folded his arms on the table, eliciting another round of
frowns of disapproval from the Duke. “I know how that is.” This had the opposite effect of
warming her up – Sparkle froze with the fork halfway to her mouth. A cello played,
unaccompanied, a mournful string of notes competing with the click and clang of cutlery at
tables all over the ballroom.
“Oh God, I didn’t read the briefing card.” She gulped down the sizeable piece of meat
garnished with an orangy cream sauce. “It was in the bottom of my bag and it got wet when –”
“Your Highness.” Edward returned, sidestepping the departing waiter with the grace of a
dancer. “Your sister wishes to see you.” He said the second part into his ear.
“I’m at the table,” Albert hissed back. For the first time in months and months he sat next
to someone remotely interesting. How had Torie sniffed it out? He scanned the room for one of
her well-intentioned spies. No Thomas around to steady him if the waters got murky.
“Most urgent,” Edward whispered.
“I’ll have my meal first.” Albert reached for his napkin.
“Code jewels.”
Albert froze. They hadn’t ever used that word. This was their pact, a word that meant
they needed to discuss something big. Something on the level of your-mother-is-dead big. “I’ll
be right back,” he said to the downturned head of the woman attacking the mozzarella and
tomato accompaniment with vigor. He smiled tersely at everyone else at the table, British enough
to know they should stand when a senior royal left the table. She rushed to her feet at the last
minute, bumping her water glass. Canadian he mused as they led him out a side door into a
private lounge. Hadn’t picked that up in the accent.
They walked out of the side exit to the ballroom as the full orchestra filled the room with
the sound of popular concertos at least several hundred years old. The cement hallway magnified
their steps. As the music faded behind them, Edward passed him an oversize iPad. He led them
into a private event room, used for meet and greets with the musicians, with a white baby grand
in the center, and a marble topped bar.
“Can you get me the show? I’ll watch whatever episodes you can stream to me, on the
phone,” Albert called after Edward. “Game of Royals.” His long-time staffer said nothing and
pulled the doors closed, sealing him away from the glamour of the evening a few hundred meters
away. “In any order,” he added, confident of Edward’s excellent hearing. “Any chance of a
drink?” he muttered to himself, eyeing the bar. Albert hoisted himself onto a leather topped stool.
The iPad beeped an in-coming call.
Torie’s face filled the screen, her brow creased in the middle like a folded bedsheet.
“You’re alright.” He let out a whoosh of breath. Then his heart set to racing again.
“Granny?” His panicked mind tried to come up with the family agenda. “Thomas?” His panic

escalated at the thought that after all this, on the eve of his sister’s engagement, her fiancé might
be in peril. No she’s fine. No tears. She’s fine. In searching for relief, flashes of the edges of their
mother’s coffin came into focus. Oppressive summer heat as they walked behind her – behind
her body – through the streets of London.
“We’re all fine,” Torie said in muted tones. The camera focused on her aquiline nose, her
blue eyes glittering with something – not grief – an emotion he hadn’t seen before. “Your tie is
crooked, Albie.”
“I’m in the middle of dinner,” Albert snapped. “Did you really use Mum’s code to correct
my attire?”
“I didn’t,” she sighed. She swiveled, the camera sweeping across their mother’s desk, the
one that they had climbed across as children. Newspapers littered the wide expanse.
Albert’s mirror image in the insert fidgeted with his bow tie in the circle in the lower
right. “What is it, then? Stop frowning. You’re going to ruin that perfect forehead.”
“You’re going to send me to an early grave,” Torie said. She rubbed at her forehead, the
lines still tight around her mouth. Their childhood ribbing hadn’t worked to ease the tension.
“I’m not going to another event tonight.” His mind churned through the reasons she
might have called. “I’m only back from America a few hours and –”
“About that.”
Albert halted in fidgeting with his tie. “I don’t know what they told you but I kept a low
profile as you asked. No paparazzi, hats all the way, no one knew I was there.”
“No one besides the girls in your private party.” Torie paced across the room, scanning
her camera across a set of glossy shots, spread across the coffee table. They showed a panorama
of his suite in the Bellagio; several thousand pounds spent in alcohol and food. A few select
party guests. Women. Blondes.
“Now just a minute. What I do in the suite stays in the suite.”
“Not when your guests share it with the world.” One week, the bags under his sister’s
eyes accused. You couldn’t behave for one week?
Albert flopped into a brocade covered wingback as the camera steadied on an image of
him. Edward wasn’t the only one regretting his week’s vacation. Torie would be furious. Her
brother, nude, save for a pair of hands covering his nether region, kneeling on the bed. Head
thrown back in mirth. No mistaking who it was. Flaming red hair and all.
“Everywhere,” Torie said in the crisp tones of their family. “Twitter. Facebook.
Instagram. All the tabloids. Top of the ticker on the 24-hour cycle.”
“Cousin Torie!” Sophia’s twins burst into the room behind Torie. His sister scrambled to
gather the photos. “Nanny,” Torie called, not quite a shout, ever the lady. “Someone please bring
the nanny.”
“Cousin Bertie!” Andy’s chin filled the screen with Alice clamoring behind him.
“Listen, it’s easy enough to explain,” Albert said, waving to their cousin’s children. “A
game of strip billiards. I mean, I lost. You know I’m crap at games.”
Torie flashed an image at him. Full length of Albert hugging a woman from behind, her
also nude. Thankfully her long hair hid her face. “She’s not great at them either.” Not even a
laugh.
A woman with a thick waist and heavy-soled shoes came in to take each of the protesting
children out, holding their hands. “Come now, let’s see if we can find some biscuits.”
“Head home now,” Torie called from off screen. “We’re handling it.”

Home? What about Sparkle – the screen went blank in his hands. The silence in the
empty sitting room rang in his ears after the commotion of the last few minutes. They were
handling it. Albert pulled off his tie in frustration.
True to form, Edward opened the double doors at the far end of the room. “This way,
sir.”
“I’m not leaving,” Albert protested. “I have an award to give out.”
“All arranged,” Edward said. He persisted in holding the door open. “The Earl of
Nottingham was happy to be of service.”
“What, old Louis?” Albert’s voice rose. “For a cinema honor.” He had no one to be mad
at but himself.
“They wanted someone from the peerage,” Edward said. “The car is here.”
“Peerage? They asked for me,” Albert growled. This man had seen him through far
worse. From the dark days of his parents’ divorce into the oblivion afterward.
“Someone. Anyone.” Edward flicked a hand. “This way sir.”
You couldn’t reason with them that you might need to blow off a little steam. Not that
there was any way to justify his romp. Those girls assured them they knew how to keep a secret.
“A prince! I can’t believe I’m with a real life prince,” they squealed throughout the night,
kicking the phrases back and forth like footballs. At the time, their chorus washed over him, like
a soundtrack to his life. The spare was exciting enough for some – particularly Americans. He
scrolled through the headlines, searching for the worst as a preparatory strategy.
Sexy Soldier!
Private Prince.
Grainy photos, backlit by a floor lamp, him kneeling in rumpled white sheets. Thank God
for those hands he thought, a second time, albeit for completely different reasons. The woman
who held his genitals left him a shred of dignity. From Sandhurst to this. His grandfather’s ire
would be inescapable. Albert recoiled at the questions that awaited him from his family and the
paparazzi. He flung the iPad away and stormed out of the room, winding his way through a
series of hallways to the back of the Victoria and Albert hall. Edward ushered him into the back
seat of a tinted SUV, murmuring, “I’ll follow.”

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If Taine survives,popping the question should be a breeze.

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Malum
is deeply in love with Jade and is only agenda is to give her the
world… Or so he claims. Blindly followed by his people, the Luxans,
he works tirelessly to keep them safe from the Rebels, with Jade by
his side. Surely his motives are pure… yet, the more time Jade
spends with him, the further she seems to fall from herself.

All
the while, Jade is plagued by vivid dreams of another life… one she
struggles to understand while Malum works to make her forget. As Jade
struggles to hold onto her soul and discover her past, Malum seeks to
possess all that she is.

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Inbetween writing, MJ enjoys reading, collecting music and attending
concerts. Lux is the first installment in the Veritas series which is
MJ’s first published work.

I sense Malum before he speaks, and I can’t help stiffening at his presence. Despite my best efforts, my
dreams still cling to me like spider webs — a most unwelcome feeling. “I am relieved to see you awake,
Pet,” his voice rumbles from the far side of the bed. His tone matches the floor: icy. I keep my focus on
the windowpane opposite me. I am too far away to truly see my reflection or his. But I don’t need to see
him to picture the expression on his face —an arrogant mask of indifference. His eyes are always his tell.
They will be flashing periodically with anger, lightning to match the thunder in his speech. I let the
seconds tick by to see if he continues his lecture, but he says no more. Without warning, he appears out
of thin air, before me. From where I sit, my eyes rest on his sculpted chest, but I can see that he is
dressed in form-fitting black pants and nothing else. Malum’s bronzed skin glistens with sweat, which is
another surprise. We hadn’t been having sex. At least not that I remember. Why on earth is he
sweating? Running and training aren’t things he participates in. I allow my crawl up, tracing the lines of
his muscles, until I meet his eyes. As expected, his expression is haughty and tight. Anger crackles about
him, and I know I must tread carefully. The problem is that I don’t know the exact reason for his anger.
My failed mission? Losing to Jager? Visiting the dream reality? I highly doubted he was concerned for my
wellbeing. I train my features to stay as neutral as I can make them and wait for the tirade to begin.
Hindsight is twenty-twenty, but little good that does me. Looking back on the situation, I realize it
wouldn’t have mattered how I looked at my master.
My punishment is at hand either way. Malum is going to teach me a lesson, a painful one. A lesson I’d
never recover from. If I’d just said that one word sooner, I could have avoided the entire situation. But
stubbornness and pride got the better of me. Sinner to the core, in more ways than one.
“You failed, Pet.” A clawed hand reaches and gently tucks a stray strand behind my ear. My breath
catches in my throat. A clawed hand? My eyes slide sideways to look at the unnatural black claws that
are protruding out of my lover’s fingers. I rack my brain for any memory of claws, and none present
themselves. Black eyes? Yes. Knives for hands? No. I plead with my heart to calm its frantic pumping, but
it does not listen.
“I told you to bring Jager to me. I told you exactly where he would be and how many would be there. I
provided you with everything, and yet you come back to me poisoned and delirious. I sucked your
poison out, Jade, took it into myself.” Malum hisses the last words, and I dare to glance back at his face.
The demon’s eyes are black as I’d seen them while we came together, but now thin lines of crimson
trickle throughout. They resemble a field of lava that has partially cooled and hardened. The surface is
black, but cracks show where the boiling magma still lies, waiting to be released. I know that once the
inferno bubbling within Malum is released, I will be incinerated. Only this time, there will be no pleasure
with it. Malum trails his index claw along the side of my face. Applying slight pressure, he forces me to
lift my chin as high as I can to keep from being sliced by the razor-sharp talon.
“You’ve ruined my plans and allowed the Rebels to go unscathed with their charge. I needed it killed,
Pet. We needed it killed.” He allows his dagger like appendage to rest just under my jaw, at the softest
point, where it could sever my flesh easily. “I cannot allow this to go unpunished, Jade, unless you will
finally accept my offer.” There it is, the crux of his irritation with me lately. I’d denied him at every turn,
and thus far, Malum had been forgiving. I can tell he won’t be any longer.

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‘You
NEED to read this. Your family needs to read this, your friends needto read this, your children … NEED to read this’
–
JenacideByBibliophile

Manipulators are everywhere. At first
these devious and calculating people can be hard to spot, because
that is their way. They are often masters of disguise: witty,
disarming, even charming in public – tricks to snare their prey –
but then they revert to their true self of being controlling and
angry in private. Their main aim: to dominate and use others to
satisfy their needs, with a complete lack of compassion and empathy
for their victim.

In this collection of short novellas, you
meet people like you and me, intent on living happy lives, yet each
of them, in one way or another, is caught up and damaged by a
manipulative individual.

First you meet Tess, whose past is
haunted by a wrong decision, then young, successful and well balanced
Sophie, who is drawn into the life of a little boy and his troubled
father. Next, there is teenage Holly, who is intent on making a
better life for herself, followed by a manipulator himself, trying to
make sense of his irreversible incarceration. Lastly, there is Lisa,
who has to face a parent’s biggest regret. All stories highlight to
what extent abusive manipulation can distort lives and threaten our
very feeling of self-worth.

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Helene
has a particular interest in emotional, psychological and social
well-being and this led her to write her first novel, Manipulated
Lives, a fictional collection of five novellas, each highlighting the
dangers of interacting with narcissists.

She
lives with her husband and two children in Portugal.

‘Are you playing hard to get then?’ He was right there, slumped in one of the chairs in the far
corner of the café, watching her walk through the door.Theaccusation was written all over his
face and she instantly felt guilty. She had not been able to see him through the café window but,
rather than completely give up on the possibility that he had turned up, she decided to enter and
give the place a quick scan.
He added one of his irresistible winks to his reproach and lifted his hand to indicate the empty
chair next to him. His legs were confidently spread open and for a brief moment she thought
that he looked like a younger version of Theo James.He had the same brown eyes and full lips,
thick blond hair that seemed to style easily and a lean body which looked good in any clothes.
Added to his appearance, he knew how to disarm a girl with an assertive, deep gaze and a
smile that conveyed cocky self-confidence.
Her knees felt like jelly and her heart was racing so fast now that it felt as if it was on the brink of
bursting through her chest. She grabbed the handle of her bag to settle her shaking hand. She
wondered what her friends would have to say about all of this. She had never exchanged a
single hello with this guy ever since he joined the school last year, yet a brief chat in the
morning had now meant they
were looking into each other’s eyes as if they’d always wanted to be together. This was what
falling in love at first sight must feel like, she thought. The only thing was though, she told
herself in an attempt to sober her excitement, that this was not first sight. Next, she felt his handreach out to hers, patting it gently. It made her feel like an inexperienced little girl, which she
knew she was.
Don’t spoil this Holly, pull yourself together, her voice muttered in her head.
‘What would you like to drink?’
Holly sat down on the empty seat he had kept for her, placing her bag at her feet and shrugged
her shoulders, suggesting a 7 Up.
He returned to the table with a glass and a can and she was amazed about how confident he
was at starting a conversation, talking about himself and how soon they were engaged in
general chitchat. It was when her mobile beeped with a new message that she realised the time
and that her mum would wonder where she was. It was her job to look out for her two brothers
until her parents arrived
home for dinner.
She gathered her bag, giggling with him now, already more at ease and relaxed.
‘Sorry, I’ve got to go,’ Holly said, but before she was able to get up and say good-bye, he was
by her side, leaning towards her ear and whispering.
‘Don’t ever make me wait again, babe.’ She looked up in shock, and then sighed with relief
when she saw him smiling and blowing her an air kiss and reaching his right hand to her cheek
to stroke it with his index finger. ‘Wow, I’ve never met a girl with such perfect skin.’ Her cheeks
prickled just hearing his words. Compliments did seem to come easy to him but they felt
wonderful, even though he was clearly quite full of himself. Don’t make me wait again, he’d said,
as if he was some kind of VIP.
‘Oh, and best not tell anyone we’re seeing each other. They’ll just make fun of us. OK? See you
tomorrow.’ She nodded and before she could say anything else, he winked one more time and
was out of the door.
She was almost out on the pavement herself when she heard a gruff voice coming from the
counter.
‘Oi, you’ve not paid for your drink, young lady.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I thought my friend paid for me.’ She ruffled through her bag and fished out a few
coins, handing them over the counter to the lady’s outstretched palm.
‘A right friend that is then, eh?’
‘Ah, he must have forgotten.He was in a real rush. I’m really sorry.’
Her cheeks were crimson, this time with embarrassment.
‘That’s alright, pet. You watch who you go out with.’ The lady shook her head slightly and her
forehead was still set in a frown as Holly left.
She was fuming with anger.How could he have forgotten to pay? He seemed to have made it so
clear that he’d invited her for a drink. Or had he? Maybe she had been assuming too much. He
was just a student too, and it had been their first date.

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