Category: giveaway

Undying Witch A Dysfunctional Family of Witches Prequel by B. Austin Genre: Dark Fantasy

“I will live forever. If I could make you, my daughter, live longer than a human, I would. I do not want to be alone again.” A 97-YEAR-OLD FORTUNE-TELLER DISCOVERS THE MAGIC TO BE YOUNG AND LIVE FOREVER. DIMA seems doomed to live a life of poverty until she steals the Starostavne Books of Magical Spells and Enchantments. Monks wrote the wizardry books centuries ago. In the Tree of Life Magic and Time Spells book, Dima learns the secret of never aging. Years later, Dima’s teenage daughter resents a mother who is 112 years old but shifts into a woman young enough to be her sister. MEDEA loathes a mother who loves her 17 cats more than she does her daughter. Medea despises a mother who claims all witchcraft as her magic and treats her daughter like a slave. In secret, Medea develops her own sorcery. PLEASE NOTE: This is a standalone book in this series and does not have to be read first or in any other particular order. **Get it FREE June 22nd – 26th!!** Goodreads * AmazonComing Soon!

The Witch With Nine Lives A Dysfunctional Family of Witches Book 1

MEDEA TURNS INTO A CAT AT NIGHT, due to her mother’s curse. In Undying Witch, DIMA found a shapeshifting stone. She is 130-years-old but appears to be 18, the same age as her two daughters. Medea works in the family witchcraft business of fortune-telling, seances, and other witchery-for-hire. NIKKI works as a maid. Medea is tortured by a secret that can destroy the sisterly tie between her and Nikki. Her sister was born a Marilyn-Monroe lookalike. Despite her beauty, jealousy eats away at Nikki because her mother and sister have magic. Nor is Nikki allowed near the books of spells, enchantments, and potions Dima stole from Russian monks. Unknown to her family, Nikki, is developing a magical gift which she cannot control, a sorcery that will threaten Medea and pit two powerful sisters against each other. (Please note: This is a standalone series. The books can be read in any order.) Goodreads * Amazon

B. Austin writes Science Fiction and Fantasy, spellbinding tales filled with suspense, mystery, and unique magic. She loves creating future worlds with cool technology. B writes under two other names. BELINDA AUSTIN writes Psychological Thrillers, Suspense, and Hysterical Fiction. BELINDA V. GARCIA has written award- winning Historical Fiction and middle-grade fantasy. Before writing fiction full time, B. Austin was a Computer Programmer, Web Developer, and Software Engineer. She has a Bachelor’s Degree in Applied Mathematics. If you are still curious about Belinda, she has written a series of memoirs entitled: MEMOIRS OF A BIGAMIST’S DAUGHTER. She thanks you humbly for your interest. In her own words: “I would like to have a dinner party on Halloween with all my fans, and Edgar Allan Poe as guest of honor. I fell in love with his writing when I was a kid. We will have chocolate cake, chocolate-covered strawberries, and fudge for dessert. With bated breath, we will ask Eddie the real story of how he died. Everyone loves a good horror tale.” Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Pinterest * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Ninety-eight-year-old Dima clutched the rock, spinning like a young woman. She would die
remembering herself dancing in St. Petersburg Square.
She closed her eyes, clenching the volcanic rock, feeling the stone shudder beneath her touch.
She saw herself once more, with lush hair brushing her ankles. On a warm day, she would
dance naked in the allies, her hair covering her breasts like Lady Godiva. She would twirl,
slapping the men’s faces with her golden locks and driving them wild. “Those were the good
days.”
Dima would die singing. She sang out loud the song Those Were the Days composed by Boris
Fomin. The song was about remembered youth and romantic ideals.
She was getting dizzy and feared falling. She did not want to die in pain with broken bones.
Dima stopped spinning. What the…? How could this…be?
Are these my hands, smooth and young with no wrinkles?
Her legs were smooth, shapely, and tall.
Her back was straight and her breasts…ooh-la-la, could she attract the men with these twin
firm beauties!
There was no sagging under her arms.
She shoved her hands under her buttocks and squeezed. Her Butt was hard as a rock.
She patted a hand under her chin which was no longer almost touching her chest but was firm.
Dima ran out of the House of the Tragic Poet with the volcanic rock, no make that shape-
shifting rock, clutched in her hand. The ruins were especially eerie because the site closed at five
o-clock. All the tourists were gone.

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Until the End Final Hour Book 3 by Juno Rushdan Genre: Romantic Thriller

He’s strong. Fierce. Relentless. And he may be her only chance of surviving the night. Gray Box operative Castle Kinkade always gets the job done, no matter how tough the assignment. But when he agrees to protect white-hat hacker Kit Westcott, Castle’s loyalty is tested like never before. Trapped in the closest of quarters, protective instincts flaring, he can feel the ice surrounding his heart melt…and he knows he’d do anything to keep Kit safe. Even defy the rules that shaped his life. Castle is the last person Kit should confide in, let alone be attracted to, but he’s the only ally she has left. Under threat of imminent attack—and a chilling conspiracy that hits too close to home—Castle and Kit are forced to put their hearts and lives on the line…and stop at nothing to face the greatest danger the world has ever known. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo

Nothing to Fear Final Hour Book 2

The clock is ticking Fearsome Gray Box operative Gideon Stone is devoted to his work and his team. He’s never given reason to doubt his loyalty…until he’s tasked with investigating Willow Harper, a beguiling cryptologist suspected of selling deadly bio-agents on the black market. He knows she’s innocent. He knows she’s being framed. And he knows that without him, Willow will be dead before sunrise. Thrust into the crossfire of an insidious international conspiracy, Gideon will do anything to keep Willow safe…even if that means waging war against his own. With time running out, an unlikely bond pushes limits—and forges loyalties. Every move they make counts. And the real traitor is always watching…
**On Sale for only $1.99 June 9th-22nd!! **

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Every Last Breath Final Hour Book 1

An Amazon Best Book of 2019 So Far! “Juno Rushdan is the real deal. Every Last Breath is an electric combination of heart-stopping thriller and swoon-worthy romance.”—LEXI BLAKE, New York Times bestselling author 48 hours, 2 covert operatives, 1 chance to get it right Maddox Kinkade is an expert at managing the impossible. Tasked with neutralizing a lethal bioweapon, she turns to the one person capable of helping her stop the threat of pandemic in time: the love of her life, back from the dead and mad as hell at her supposed betrayal. Recruiting Cole to save millions of lives may be harder than resisting the attraction still burning between them, but Maddox will do whatever it takes…even if it destroys her. When Maddox crashes back into Cole Matthews’ life, he wants to fight back. He wants to hate her. But the crisis is too strong to ignore, and soon the two former lovers find themselves working side-by-side in a breakneck race to stop a world-class killer with a secret that could end everything. The clock is ticking. A race-against-time romantic thriller, perfect for fans of JD Robb and Mary Burton!
**Get it FREE June 9th-22nd!!**

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Juno is a veteran Air Force Intelligence Officer who writes romantic thrillers with sizzle, pulse-pounding suspense, and plenty of action. Her stories are about strong heroes and gutsy heroines fighting for their lives as well as their happily-ever-after. Expect an intense emotional journey and a thrill ride to keep you turning the pages. A native New Yorker, she currently lives in the Washington, DC area with her patient husband, two vivacious kids, and a spoiled rescue dog. Juno loves hanging out with readers and anyone friendly over a great glass of wine. The Final Hour series features a covert, off-the-books unit sanctioned to operate beyond the black and white constraints of other intelligence agencies. They work in the shadows safeguarding national security. When a horrifying conspiracy hits too close to home, they’re the last line of defense. They’ll do anything to keep their country safe and sacrifice everything for the ones they love. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Castle’s blood pressure was so high he could hear the rush of it.
Kit was a liar. A habitual, no, pathological, no, no, compulsive liar! His gut churned with white-
hot anger, but the sucker punch of betrayal was worse.
She was innocent of collusion with terrorists. That much he believed. But he could only buy
stock in eighty percent of what came out of her mouth. And it wouldn’t be so bad if the
remaining twenty percent wasn’t going to get them killed.
He sharpened his focus on the task at hand. They were going to get through this, alive, so he
could strangle her later.
Castle held on to her waist as he guided her to swing one leg over the side, followed by the other.
The breeze blew her dress up higher than appropriate and he caught an indecent glimpse of her
ass. Sweeter than he’d imagined.
She stared up at him with those crazy-beautiful eyes, trying to suck him back in.
Damn it to hell, why did he enjoy touching her so much? Why had it taken every ounce of
strength in him not to kiss her back earlier when she was shivering in his bed, pressed up against
him, wearing nothing but his T-shirt?
Why did he still want to kiss her?
“Put your toes on the tiny lip,” he said, referring to the barely-there ledge, keeping his voice
controlled, low.
“Tiny is an overstatement.” She struggled to get her footing stable, her thin-soled shoes slipping
around with no treads, but he held onto her.
“I won’t let you fall, Kit.”
Her anxious gaze locked onto his and narrowed. “I know. You want the pleasure of killing me
yourself.”
And why oh why did her sassy remarks not only torque him tighter and tighter but also turn him
on brighter than a popped flare in the pitch-black night?
“You probably want to use your bare hands around my throat,” she said.
“So you’re a psychic liar. I was trying to pinpoint how to classify you, but I don’t think that one
is listed in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders.”
“Whatev—” She swallowed the rest of the word, controlling her tongue before she pushed him
from peeved to righteously pissed.
About time she advanced to Go and collected a clue.
“Those shoes are a problem,” he said. She’d be better off barefoot out here. He took another look
at the six-inch thick wall separating her bedroom balcony from the main one and sized up the
length of her arm span.
Holding on to one balcony and reaching over to grasp the other might prove tricky for her. Doing
it at night in those slippery shoes was suicide.
He gestured for her to come back and helped lift her over the rail.

“Climb on.” He knelt. “I’ll piggyback you over.”
For once, she simply did as he told her. No smart-ass remark, no protests. No questions. Maybe
she did trust him, at least in this.
Standing upright, he adjusted her weight on his back, getting it balanced. “Hold on tight.”
She wrapped her legs around his hips and clamped her arms around his neck in a choke hold.
“Not that tight,” he hissed, shooting a quick glance over his shoulder at the door. The curtain was
in place, giving them precious minutes—perhaps only seconds—that might mean the difference
between success and death.
He swung his leg over the side and shimmied across the ledge.
The curtain rustled. Their time just ran out.
He stepped up the pace, reaching across the wall to the other side as the drapes were drawn.
Castle stared at a man wearing glasses. His gaze was hard and pitiless. He matched Kit’s
description of Bravo.
Castle wouldn’t be able to draw his weapon until they were on the other side and he had a free
hand. “Kit, reach into my holster and grab my gun?”
“Wh-what? I’ll fall.”
“You won’t.”
“Oh God. I’m going to be sick. I can’t.”
“You can. Trust me. They’re coming. Do it!”
She fumbled inside his jacket, her body plastered to his, legs in a death grip around his waist, and
drew his Maxim 9.
The safety was already off.
“Aim at the other balcony,” he said, “finger on the trigger, squeeze, and shoot at anything that
moves.”
A swish echoed in the wind as the balcony door opened.
Kit screamed, ducking her head, cheek pressed against his neck, and started shooting, wild and
erratic.
For fuck’s sake. Were her eyes even open?
Silencers on both sides softened the pop of the shots. Bits of stone from the concrete wall
sprayed in the air. Bullets cracked by his head, too close for comfort.
Castle hooked his leg on the rail of the living room balcony and rolled over, nearly knocking
against the steel staircase that went up to the roof. He tucked Kit beneath him, using his body as
a shield. “Please tell me your eyes were open when you fired?”
“You said nothing about my eyes.”
Wasn’t it implicit in the bit about aiming?

He snatched the gun from her, hopped to his feet, and aimed for the master bedroom
balcony—with his eyes open.
No sign of Bravo or any from his band of merry hitmen.
Shit. “Change of plan.” Gripping her elbow, he hoisted her up. “They’re about to rush us, coming
in through the living room doors. Can you swim?”
She gulped and looked over the balcony. “Oh, sweet Lord. You want us to jump?”
“Yes.”
“What if we miss the pool?”
“Push off from the railing when you jump. You won’t miss. Take off your shoes first so you
don’t slip.”
“Stop making everything sound so flipping easy. There’s four hundred feet between us and going
splat.” She shoved the flats in her bag.
“It’s more like forty feet.” He helped her stand up on the top of the balustrade. “Grip the handrail
of the staircase.” He gestured to the metal bar right beside her. “Steady yourself.”
“If we don’t die, we’ll break bones.”
A distinct possibility. “Who’s the crybaby now? If we don’t jump, we don’t make it.”
Once she was in place with stable footing, Castle trained the gun on the French doors, ready to
lay waste to anyone who dared set foot on the balcony.
“This plan sucks!”
“Did I neglect to mention I have a degree in sucky planning?”

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Focus by Holly Bargo Genre: Romance

Professional photographer Dana Secrest has a secret and doesn’t even know it. When she storms from her best friend’s home on Christmas Eve-not the wisest decision she’s ever made – security contractor Sam Galdicar follows her to save her from her own hot temper and impulsive action. Upon arriving home, Dana discovers her apartment has been ransacked. Then an attempt is made on her life. She doesn’t know who’s trying to kill her or why, but Sam is determined to protect the woman whose eyes don’t need a camera to see the truth. This enemies-to-lovers, billionaire romance contains some explicit content that may be unsuitable for readers under 18 years old. Goodreads * Amazon

Holly Bargo never outgrew a love of fairy tales, legends, and myths. Or horses. However, one foot must remain firmly planted in the real world where Holly makes her living as a freelance writer and editor. She and her husband have two grown children and live on a southwest Ohio hobby farm with a menagerie indoor and outdoor animals. Holly enjoys hearing from readers and other authors and may be contacted via the Hen House Publishing website: www.henhousepublishing.com. When she’s not working on other people’s documents or reading, Holly finds time to transfer the voices in her head to paper … er … computer. If she doesn’t, there’s a definite possibility her mind will explode. And for those who might wonder from where the pseudonym of Holly Bargo came, it’s quite simple really. Horses. Namely an elegant and temperamental Appaloosa mare who has long since crossed the Rainbow Bridge and is fondly remembered for guarding toddler children and crushing a brand-new pager. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Not for the first time, I regretted the choice to move to Chicago. I ruminated over my freelance business
and thought that I’d managed to accumulate enough in savings to tide me over for a few lean months. I
was earning enough to move back home to St. Paris, a minute speck of a village in southwest Ohio. I’d
grown up in St. Paris, where the still-depressed economy hadn’t recovered like most of the nation and
property values were low. I could buy or rent a place for less than I paid for my cheap apartment in the
big city.
And breathe clean air.
A hand landed on my shoulder and spun me around. I gasped, shrieked, and struck out with both fists.
Unfortunately, I’d never learned how to fight properly, so my assailant had little trouble avoiding my
wild blows and restraining me.
“Where in the hell do you think you’re going?” Sam Galdicar growled as I struggled against his grip.
“Let me go, you goon,” I growled back at the big, burly bodyguard to handsome, occasionally charming,
and always domineering gazillionaire Bradley Vermont. His hands tightened and I sneered, “Or are you
going to beat me like Brad beats Sonya?”
Either the words or the withering tone had the desired effect and he released me. I stumbled a step,
turned around, and resumed walking.
“He doesn’t beat her,” Sam said as he fell into step beside me.
“Like hell, he doesn’t,” I retorted and muttered a profanity that insulted the man’s parentage and
character and would have resulted in my mouth being washed out with soap if Dad were around to hear
the vile words.
“He doesn’t isolate her from her friends and family,” he added, trying to soften my harsh opinion
without success. “If he did, you’d never see her.”
We stopped at a crosswalk. I glanced at him. With his butter colored hair, square jaw, and cleft chin, he
didn’t offend a woman’s eyes. His masculinity was rugged rather than pretty.

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It’s a Wonderful Midlife Crisis Good To the Last Death Book 1 by Robyn Peterman Genre: Paranormal Women’s Fiction

A Paranormal Women’s Fiction with a bit of class, and a lot of sass, for anyone who feels like age is just a number! Whoever said life begins at forty must have been heavily medicated, drunk, or delusional. Thirty-nine was a fantastic year. I was married to the man I loved. I had a body that worked without creaking. My grandma, who raised me, was still healthy, and life was pretty damned good. But as they say, all good things come to an end. I’d honestly love to know who ’they’ are and rip them a new one. One year later, I’m a widow. My joints are starting to ache. Gram is in the nursing home, and dead people think my home is some kind of supernatural bed and breakfast. Gluing body parts onto semi-transparent people has become a side job—deceased people I’m not even sure are actually there. I think they need my help, but since I don’t speak dead, we’re having a few issues. To add to the heap of trouble, there’s a new dangerously smokin’ hot lawyer at the firm who won’t stop giving me the eye. My BFF is thrilled with her new frozen face, thanks to her plastic surgeon, her alimony check, and the miracle of Botox. And then there’s the little conundrum that I’m becoming way too attached to my ghostly squatters… Like Cher, I’d like to turn back time. Now. No can do. Whatever. I have wine, good friends, and an industrial sized box of superglue. What could possibly go wrong? Everything, apparently. All in all, it’s shaping up to be a wonderful midlife crisis… Goodreads * Amazon

Whose Midlife Crisis Is It Anyway? Good to the Last Death Book 2

Midlife’s a journey. Enjoy the ride. Crisis included. Never knew that life after death was far more dangerous than real life. Never in my forty years did I think my new normal would be gluing body parts back onto ghosts and hosting a houseful of dead squatters. Thank God for superglue and a strong stomach. Never thought I’d date the Grim Reaper and that I would be the one to blow it. I mean, how idiotic does one have to be to get dumped by a dude who lives in Hell? Going about business as usual is not usual in any way. No one is who they seem to be… and to be honest, neither am I. What I’d known to be true has turned out to be myth. The Angels are frightening and the Demons are hot. Wait. I mean not. Who am I kidding? The Grim Reaper is very hot—like a freaking pre-menopausal hot flash hot. Now I’m in a race against time and all sorts of unsavory supernatural horrors to save my deceased gay husband’s afterlife. And that was a sentence I never thought would leave my lips. Whatever. I’ll yank up my big girl panties, stock up on wine and lean on my girlfriends as needed. As they say, when the going gets tough, the tough get inebriated… or something like that. With everything to lose, I have no choice but to grow some lady balls. That I can do. I just hope balls will be enough. I had planned to live midlife in peace, not in pieces. Good luck to me… Goodreads * Amazon

A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis Good to the Last Death Book 3

Midlife’s a bumpy journey. The ride is a freaking rollercoaster. The crisis is real. With my life back to normal–normal being a very relative word–one would think I’d catch a break. One would be very wrong. With an Angel gunning for me and a Demon in my bed, life couldn’t be more complicated. Not to mention, I’m going to have to make a rather large life choice. Do I want to live forever? Does anyone? Forever is a very long time. Whatever. I’ll think about it tomorrow… or next week… or next month. As long as I have my girlfriends, my dogs, a super-sized case of merlot and my deceased squatters, I’m good to go. My midlife crisis. My rules. If it doesn’t kill me dead first, I plan to have a most excellent midlife crisis. Goodreads * Amazon

NYT and USA Today best selling author, Robyn Peterman writes because the people inside her head won’t leave her alone until she gives them life on paper. She writes snarky, sexy, funny paranormal and snarky, sexy, funny contemporaries. Her addictions include laughing really hard with friends, shoes (the expensive kind), Target, Coke with extra ice in a Yeti cup, bejeweled reading glasses, her kids, her super-hot hubby and collecting stray animals. A former professional actress, with Broadway, film and T.V. credits, she now lives in the south with her family and too many animals to count. Writing gives her peace and makes her whole, plus having a job where she can work in her sweatpants works really well for her. Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Pinterest * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads * Newsletter * YouTube

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Guarding My Six by K.J. Porter Genre: Paranormal Romance

Wade Hamilton is an ex-Army Ranger and an accomplished tattoo artist. Now, thanks to a gift that was bestowed upon him by a grateful mother during a trip to Alaska several years ago, he is also a protector; a guardian. His gift, which he uses sparingly, allows him to infuse his art with special qualities. When a shy, young, woman and her three college roommates, walk into his studio he senses there’s something unique about Tori. After the initial interview, he comes to understand she has suffered a devastating loss and keeps her grief buried deep inside. While working on the special tattoo she’d designed herself, Wade adds a little magic to the ink that will boost her courage and, perhaps, bring a little joy and excitement to her life. And then, she and her friends walk out of his studio and out of his life. Three months later, Wade receives a call from an old Army buddy, Matthew Miller, whose baby sister is critically injured in a hit and run. Wade wastes no time heading to Savannah, Georgia to lend his support. Never having met Matt’s family, other than a brother and their father, Wade has no idea that Victoria Miller is the same woman who has been haunting his dreams since she walked out of his studio. As Tori fights for her life, Wade refuses to leave her side, believing it was his magic that had put her in front of the car that nearly killed her. To further complicate matters, he finds himself falling hard for Tori. Knowing that nothing good can come from developing a relationship with her, Wade is terrified that his secret will only put Tori in more danger. A secret he’s kept buried since he was thirteen; he believes his abusive, alcoholic, father beat Wade’s younger brother, Davey, so badly it caused the boy permanent brain damage. It was also the first time the “red-rage” took over Wade, leaving him with no memory of the event and put his father in the hospital. When Tori refuses to give up on a chance for happiness with Wade, he can no longer push her away. He realizes he must confront his demons and put them to rest before they can take the next step in their relationship. But, when an unknown, and very powerful, enemy from his parents’ past catches up with him, Tori could very well become collateral damage. Goodreads * Amazon

Kate Porter is an American writer based in South Georgia. She grew up on a small farm in central Indiana where she graduated from Owen Valley Community High School. Her first short story was published in the school newspaper when she was fifteen. Kate went on to study fiction writing at Greenville Technical College, appeared at numerous Comic Cons, book readings, author events and participated in author panels and has been featured as a guest author on a blog tour. In 2013 Kate was not only profiled in her hometown newspaper, Spencer Evening World, but she was also profiled in Woman’s Day magazine. In 2014 Kate was the recipient of the NEW APPLE BOOK AWARD for the Mystery category for her novel, BLACK HARVEST, which also received FIVE STARS from Reader’s Favorite. Kate’s writing credits range from poetry to short stories to full-length books and manuscripts, and screenwriting. When she isn’t writing, or percolating her newest story ideas, she and her best friends are cracking each other up with their silly puns and holding entire conversations using GIFs. Website * Facebook * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads * Goodreads

The next time he woke, Wade felt as though someone had gouged a hot poker into his side,
twisting it around a few times before doing the same thing to his head. “Well, it’s about time you
opened your eyes, young man,” a feminine voice said from beside him. “What happened?” His
throat was like sand paper and his voice sounded like he’d been gargling with gravel. “I’m not
sure exactly,” the woman answered. She stepped closer to the side of his bed. Her dark hair
was pinned back into a tight bun and the purple scrub shirt bagged loosely across small breasts
as she reached out to wrap a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm. “You were brought in
three days ago with a knife wound that penetrated your left kidney. You almost bled out before
they got you into surgery. You’re a lucky man; the doctor was able to save the kidney. You
should be as good as new before long.”
“The girl. Is she okay?”
“What girl?” the nurse asked as she reached for the stethoscope that hung around her neck.
“I don’t know her name . . .” The woman stared down at him with polite concern and she shook
her head. “You know what?” Wade said, closing his eyes against the harsh glare of the
florescent light above his bed. “Never mind. What about Jake and Danny? Are they here?”

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