Cursing Angie Faust Series Book 1 by Lynne Murray Genre: Urban Fantasy

The day she killed her boss… Everything changed. She never laid a hand on him to take his life. She didn’t have to. As her boss lies on the floor with a dozen witnesses staring and paramedics working in a futile effort to save him, a mysterious stranger approaches Angie with a bizarre offer. It’s a job with the ExtraTerrestrial Protection Agency, a secret organization. Can Angie trust a group whose very existence is ultra classified? She has to decide in a hurry because her newly released power starts drawing attention from life-draining, telepathic, Mindworms and alien scientists obsessed with abducting humans. Most terrifying of all, she’s stalked by one of the most fearsome predators in the galaxy. If you loved Men in Black or Ilona Andrews’ Innkeeper Chronicles series, buckle up for a wild ride with Angie Faust in Cursing. Get it now! Goodreads * Amazon

Lynne Murray was born in Illinois, but she grew up in transit due to her father’s work with the military. She’s lived in Texas, Alaska, Florida, Washington state, and Southern California, before landing and staying in San Francisco. Lynne writes the kind of books she loves to read. Those usually feature a lot of action, quirky characters and supernatural attitude. She just might read anything that isn’t tied down, but some of the books that have to be restrained also make it onto her list. Her favorite authors include Illona Andrews, Faith Hunter, Patricia Briggs, Kim Hamilton, Terry Pratchett and T.H. White. She now lives and writes and stares out the window at the ocean with a group of rescue cats, who rescue her right back with heroic feats of purring. Website * Blog * Facebook * Facebook * TwitterPinterest * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

Chapter 1

Things changed the day I killed my boss. I was trying so hard not to.
He died quickly from cardiac arrest in front of a dozen witnesses in the glassed-in
fishbowl of a conference room at Wolfe, Savage and Steele, the law firm where we
worked. I never touched him physically. I didn’t have to. His name was Carroll Caine.
The Office Manager’s death interrupted an extended yelling session aimed at me.
Caine was a short, square-built man with small bulging, blue eyes, a permanently red face
and silver hair, cut brush short. For some reason, he had singled me out for verbal abuse
almost from his first day on the job. He retired from the Navy as a Warrant Officer. Law
firms like to hire former non-coms on the theory that they work well with a formal chain
of command. But for Caine, taking orders from civilian lawyers he didn’t respect chafed
him like a sandpaper jockstrap.
He took it out on his subordinates. I was a favorite target.
Understanding why Caine attacked me so often didn’t protect me when he did.
My other co-workers looked away in embarrassment or relief that, at least for the
moment, Caine wasn’t singling them out. Not Francine, the woman sitting next to me in
the conference room. She was petite, blonde and eager to score points with Caine by
digging up the slightest hint of an error on my part.
Caine picked a bad day to stand over me and settle in for an extended rant. My Aunt
Bess had simply disappeared six months earlier and without her, I had no one. The pain
of her loss had retreated to a dull ache most days, but sometimes it flared up into a sharp
pain of grief and confusion.
I focused all my attention on breathing slowly and letting his word roll over me.
I huddled in my chair, trying to make myself invisible, staring down at the pad of
paper in front of me, a pencil gripped in my hand.
Caine paused for breath as if savoring looking down at me. He leaned in close.
“You’d already be out of here if I didn’t suspect you might have a hidden disability and
you’d sue all our asses. Is that it, Angie?”
“Look at me!”
I slowly looked up and met his eyes. Bad idea. The urge to let loose the anger that
built in every cell of my body. I blinked when a cloud of black dots like a swarm of tiny
insects filled my vision, swirling between Caine and Francine. I glanced around. Most
people stared at the table or Caine. No one else gave any sign of seeing the whirling dots.
Great Angie, you’re hallucinating, just what I need.
“Keeping something up your sleeve, Angie? Maybe you lied on your employment
application?” His spit landed on my face. Droplets hit my glasses. I wanted to wipe them
off, but I didn’t move a muscle.
I could smell Caine’s rage under the Bay Rum aftershave and lingering cigar smoke
on his breath.
Something inside me settled. Everything seemed sharper, clearer and despite the
black cloud of dots passing between Francine and Caine. It couldn’t be real. A voice
somewhere in the mists of early life echoed in my head.
Stop the heart.

Deadly calm washed over me. I felt myself starting to shake as if there was an
earthquake. There was not. Yet an inner vibration shook me physically like the roars I
heard when my aunt took me to the Lion House at the San Francisco Zoo at feeding time.
I focused on Caine. Not on his face, on his chest. Every sound in the room fell away.
I found his heart. I raised my hand to point at him, still holding the pencil.
He straightened up. A slow smile on his face told me he was hoping he had made me
mad enough to do something stupid. He had.
“Ya gonna hit me, Angie?” he asked.
“No.” I couldn’t remember ever feeling so calm.
Now.
I snapped my arm a few inches back as if I meant to throw the pencil at him. Caine
instinctively rocked back on his heels, but there was no escape for him. Energy tore
through me. My fingers tingled as I completed the short gesture toward his chest. I sensed
the familiar but unknown force piercing him like a tool. It reached for his heart and
grabbed it. And squeezed.
The pencil broke in half. The eraser end bounced off the table and fell on the rug. I
lowered my arm, feeling his heart, frozen in a spasm as if my hand really was squeezing
it. The inner shaking stopped and I took a deep breath, suddenly, oddly at peace.
Caine’s knees gave way and he crumpled to the floor. He twitched a few times. I
don’t know how, but I could feel his life leave his body. He wasn’t coming back.
I stood up and backed away as two co-workers rushed past me to attempt CPR. They
knelt beside him, but I knew they wouldn’t be able to revive him. I jammed my hands
into my pockets and finally let go of the top half of the pencil. I kept my head down
because I couldn’t help myself from smiling. The roaring inside me was gone. The swarm
of black particles was gone too.
I took my hands out of my pockets and saw a couple of wood slivers had pierced my
skin. I was bleeding. It didn’t even hurt. I didn’t feel anything but relief at the sudden
quiet when Caine shut up.
Then the fear hit.
Everything I learned growing up told me I should go home, grab my getaway pack
and leave town. It would be hard to run without my aunt organizing our escape.
I didn’t want to move again. I loved San Francisco. The rent-controlled apartment
was my true refuge with my grandfather’s books lining almost every wall.
Maybe I wouldn’t have to run. Maybe no one noticed how Caine had died. People
drew back to the edges of the room while efforts to revive him got more frantic. No one
paid the slightest bit of attention to me. It wasn’t as if I’d physically touched the old man.
Maybe no one would blame me.
Scratch that.
As I surreptitiously dabbed Caine’s saliva off my face and glasses with the cuff of
my long-sleeved blouse, I raised my head and looked straight into the eyes of the most
gorgeous man I’d ever seen. He twirled a pair of sunglasses in his hand and continued to
stare right at me.
He had a tousled mop of sun-streaked light brown hair. He wore a tan suit about the
same shade as his hair and a light blue shirt and gold and darker blue striped tie. His
angelic face, even features and sensual lips seemed familiar. Maybe I’d seen him in one
of those semi-porn underwear ads—the kind where you don’t look closely at the model’s

face because you’re too busy checking out that impossibly lithe and muscular body. He
leaned against the receptionist’s desk as if he owned it, as if he owned any place he stood
simply by standing there.
He stowed his glasses in his jacket pocket and raised a blond eyebrow at me as if
asking a question with luminous blue eyes.
The receptionist, a sixty-something retired airline stewardess with a British accent,
had already called 911. Now she leaned over her counter at the perfect angle to check out
Underwear Model Man’s ass at the same time that she watched the drama around our co-
workers struggling to revive Caine.
Underwear Model Man held my gaze and nodded at me. I flinched in surprise. He
didn’t quite smile, but his eyes crinkled as if we had a secret understanding. A deep
feeling of dread settled like lead in my gut. This couldn’t be good.
I made it past the reception desk and nearly to the elevator when Underwear Model
Man fell into step beside me. He was taller than me. I’m five ten, he must have been
around six feet.
“Meet me for coffee after work,” he whispered, leaning close. He smelled of Irish
Spring soap. “There’s someone you need to talk to. Someone you have a lot in common
with. You won’t regret it.”
I kept moving without answering. Every woman in the place stared at this guy. He
was that magnetic. The last thing I wanted at this particular moment was anyone paying
attention to me.
But the stranger followed me and held the elevator door while I got in. “Seriously,
you owe it to yourself to listen to an offer that would get you out of this…place.” He
didn’t have to say “This hellhole,” it was implicit in his tone. I couldn’t disagree with
him. The only thing I liked about Wolfe, Savage and Steele was the paycheck.
“An offer I can’t refuse, huh?” I snapped at him. “That turned out so well for the guy
who found the horse’s head in his bed.”
The man chuckled. “No dead horses, I promise. But your skills deserve better.”
“You know nothing about my skills,” I kept my voice low.
“Don’t I?”
Francine and three other women slipped past Underwear Model Man into the
elevator with me. They all stared at and me, then back at him again.
He let go of the door and it closed before I could say another word.
An older woman whose name I didn’t know commented on how fine that young man
was. Then the elevator bell dinged for our floor and we all filed out in silence. No one
mentioned Caine.
Underwear Model Man was leaning against the building waiting for me when I went out
the front door. He’d taken off his tie and it was hard not to look at the tanned skin and a
curl of golden chest hair showing where the top button of his shirt was open.
“Hi, I’m Chad Falconer.”
At least I didn’t have to keep calling him Underwear Model Man. Automatically, I
responded, “Angie Faust.” I instantly regretted that. Now he knew my name.
I needed to get away fast. Men like him don’t follow women like me home from
work without some agenda. Whatever his reason it didn’t involve flowers, dinner dates

and happy endings. Maybe he sensed how desperately I missed my aunt. Predators can
read body language and track wounded animals.
“Whatever it is you’re selling, I can’t afford it.”
He grinned as if I’d said something terribly witty. “Fair enough,” he said, falling into
an easy pace beside me. Chad persisted, walking closer and tilting his head down to get
my attention.
“Whoever you are and whatever you want, I don’t trust you,” I said.
“The only reason you should listen to me at all is that you and I seem to be the only
two people who understood what was going on this morning.”
I stopped so fast he almost ran into me.
“My boss had a stroke or heart attack while he was yelling at me. He was an old
man. He had a strenuous day of verbally abusing people. His heart just gave out.”
“It doesn’t usually happen that way though, does it?” Chad said. “I don’t know about
you, but the people I want to see die usually go on to live a disgustingly healthy life of
making everyone miserable and die peacefully in bed at 95.”
“You can’t blame me for what happened,” I concluded, my voice wavering a little.
He seemed to understand because he stepped away a foot or so. “Believe me, Angie,
blame is the last word I would use to describe you or anything you do.” He stepped in
front of me to stop for a moment but he held out his hands out with palms up. “Would
you do me a favor?”
“Maybe. Will you let me alone if I do?”
“Absolutely. The only thing I ask is that you come with me to a coffee shop and
meet someone who understands your great gift.”
“Gift?” I snorted a small burst of laughter at that thought.
“Seriously, it’s a public place, a café not far from here. No pressure.”
I stared at him. I never admitted that I was responsible for the violent things that
happened around me. My aunt and I rarely spoke about it. “Where is this place?”
“It’s an easy walk. Come on, it will only take half an hour of your time.”
I admit I was curious and absurdly relieved that he didn’t seem to be selling anything or
whipping out a chloroformed rag and forcing me into a car. But mainly I agreed because
of a vain hope that there might actually be a way to cope with whatever the hell it was
that I had been fighting my whole life.

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Lovecarnation: The Promise Lovecarnation Trilogy Book 1 by RKC Puthran Genre: Contemporary Romance

Emotionally complex and gripping, author RKC Puthran brings you an unforgettable story of the transcendental power of love. Fresh out of college with an MBA and a job at a prestigious bank in the US, Rohan Rai seemingly has more than any twenty-five-year old Indian could have. But he has a different dream for his life, and a clear-cut plan to get there. A cocky workaholic determined to climb the corporate ladder as fast as possible in order to achieve his goals, he doesn’t care who he alienates on his meteoric rise to the top. Then he meets Shona. She’s everything Rohan’s not—an easy-going Irish girl who lives in the moment, loves Whitney Houston, and enjoys life to the fullest. Although there’s no room for any love in Rohan’s three-year plan, he finds himself increasingly drawn to her. As their relationship blossoms, Rohan slowly finds himself viewing life differently, until a past grudge escalates and his inner demons resurface. Torn between his ambition, his responsibilities, and love, he must now re-examine everything he believes in…or risk losing it all. Lovecarnation – The Promise is the heart-wrenching first book of the Lovecarnation trilogy, a thought-provoking series about fate, destiny, and the timelessness of true love. Goodreads * Amazon

RKC Puthran lives in Dublin, Ireland along with his wife Rashmi and 7 year old daughter Natasha. Born and brought up in India, RKC started working as a teenager to support his family while pursuing his studies. His first job was that of a salesman for a sewing machine company. Unable to sell even a single machine even after 2 months of hard work in the hot sun, the company refused to pay him his salary and he quit. He then took up several jobs from working as a cashier in a 5 star hotel to working for a diamond merchant and in the share market. Post-graduation, RKC joined a company in the banking and finance sector as a junior officer. Through sheer dedication and hard work, RKC rose through the ranks and managed to get an assignment in London. He later managed to move over to London on a temporary contract banking job along with his wife for a short period before finally settling down in Dublin, Ireland with a full time job in a bank. RKC’s intense passion for writing made him write short stories during his spare time though he never submitted any of them for publication. He however wrote articles of general interest which were published in the newspapers. He co-authored 2 non-fiction books but he did not credit himself on the cover as he wanted his name to be on the cover of a novel first. ‘LOVECARNATION – THE PROMISE’ is RKC Puthran’s debut novel and the first book in the LOVECARNATION TRILOGY Series. Website * Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads

Prologue
May 25, 1996
In the beautiful countryside of Missoula, Montana, on a lonely street in the afternoon, a car
came to a
screeching halt.
“Please be careful, Hugo. We are parents now!” cried the lady sitting in the back seat of the car
next to a baby who was crying incessantly, strapped in the car seat.
“I am sorry,” the father apologized, feeling very guilty.
“Can you please pick him up and see if you can calm him down?”
The baby was crying even more loudly now. The mother unstrapped the car seat belt and
picked him
up. Unable to calm the baby down, she got out of the car with him in her arms and walked
around caressing his back. The road was vacant, and the cries of the baby filled the air. There
were a few shops a short distance away, but most of them were closed, and the place looked
deserted. The cries became louder and louder. The mother kept walking slowly, worried, not
knowing what to do. The baby was born two days ago, and the parents were going back home
from the hospital. The little one had been crying continuously for the last two days. When they
were still at the hospital, Grandma said on the phone that it must be colic or gas. The worried
parents had gotten all the medical checks done, but doctors were not able to find anything
abnormal with the baby. The mother, however, knew that something was definitely wrong. She
did not sleep even a little since the baby was born, wondering why the baby was behaving that
way.
There was pain in the way the baby cried, as though his little heart was breaking and his soul
was being torn out of his body. The only quiet time in the last two days was when the baby fell
asleep tired of crying.
With sweat trickling down her neck and the baby simply refusing to stop crying, the frustrated
mother
turned around to get back into the car. Suddenly she came face-to-face with a middle-aged
woman wearing a red bandana on her head and a long, flowing, colorful maxi dress in blue,
black, and red. Her thick, long, bushy hair had beads tied all over, and both her wrists were
covered with beautiful bracelets. The woman, who most probably was a traveling gypsy, looked
at the crying baby very attentively.
“Lovecarnation,” she said, and looked at the mother, who by now was even more worried and
stepped back a bit. “Don’t worry; he will stop crying when he goes through all his memories. He
will smile when he sees new hope, in this new life,” the woman said. This time she was looking
straight into the eyes of the mother.
“What memories? What are you saying?” The mother was a bit shocked and stepped back
further, clutching the baby tighter.
The woman smiled, looked at the baby, turned around, and walked away. The terrified mother
ran
toward the car.
“Who was that?” asked the father as the mother hurriedly threw herself and the crying baby into
the
car.
“Let’s go quickly. This place is weird,” she said while strapping the baby into the seat.
As the car moved, the mother looked out of the window and noticed the mysterious woman at a
distance walking through a small door into a corner shop. A nicely crafted wooden board on the
door of the shop read – Irish Fortune Teller.

CHAPTER 1
Around two and a half years ago – February 5, 1994—Bombay, India
I was at the Bombay International Airport surrounded by my entire family. A young MBA, twenty-

five years old, chasing the America dream, I was all suited and booted, ready to say goodbye to
everyone to fly off to America—for the second time. Last time it was for my studies just two
years ago to get an MBA degree. But this time, it was for a job that I had landed with a
multinational bank. It was the stuff dreams were made of. There was not a single person in
Bombay who did not tell me how lucky I was. They weren’t wrong though. I was lucky, as not
everyone who finished college got a job right after, and at a bank in America, at that! I had every
reason to be excited.
However, this was not exactly what I had wanted to do in life. I wanted to be an entrepreneur
and have my own business. While pursuing my MBA, during my spare time, I had drawn
ambitious plans on how to set up a software start-up company. I then wanted to venture into the
food industry by starting a chain of fast-food restaurants serving baked chicken dishes. I loved
chicken. The idea was to create a very different brand of fast food which would be not only
healthy but also very tasty. I had decided to complete my MBA, and unlike others, who
immediately start looking for a corporate job, my plan was to go back to Bombay and start
working on my business—by first looking for investors.
But as the saying goes, “Man proposes, God disposes.”
Just before the last term, we had companies visiting the campus for recruitment. Though I had
prepared myself not to get into the corporate world, it seemed a bit unwise not to go to the
campus interviews. If nothing else, it was at least an opportunity to learn something new. So I
went, totally unprepared. But on that day I had answers to every question thrown at me.
Somehow my subconscious mind had prepared me for the day, and I was selected for the job.
Even to this day I don’t know how it happened. I got something I never wanted and something I
didn’t know how to say no to. Only sixteen others from a batch of almost two hundred were
selected along with me. I informed my dad and the family, and it was celebration time back
home. How would I tell them what I wanted to do in life?

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