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text 2017-10-17 12:35
Blog Tour: Wehr Wolff Castle by Bentley Summers with Excerpt and Giveaway

Today’s stop is for Bentley Summers’s Wehr Wolff Castle. We will have info about the books and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway. Happy Reading :) 


 

During the rise of Nazi Germany, Hagen Messer joins the Royal Air Force as an American soldier who specializes in tracking. He’s attached to British commandos and given a seemingly simple mission—to find a captive and destroy a dam—but everything goes awry. Hagen’s plane crashes into Germany’s Wehr Forest and he has to use his extrasensory abilities to track the captive to nearby Wehr Wolff Castle, a secret Nazi base where vile experiments are being conducted.   Hagen and his surviving team members must sneak into the castle and devise a way to destroy the experimental labs creating diabolical creatures. Hagen is horrified to find Nazis and scientists with no scruples, and at the most inconvenient time, he learns that he may be in love with one of his teammates, an Irishman named Liam. In order to protect his love and his friends, Hagen must feign nonchalance amidst pure degeneracy and suspicion. Hagen soon discovers, though, that he is in over his head.   What may not only redeem him, but also save his lover and friends, is a childhood past and a darkness lurking deep inside him, just waiting to be engaged.

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After a morning of grueling physical training, Hagen and Liam were given a brief period of free time. The Irishman took Hagen on a hike from the airfield to a local hole-in-the-wall Irish pub as promised and bought both of them a Guinness, along with fish and chips. Hagen bought them a second round. Liam got them a third. Hagen and Liam returned from their beer and meal, both of them tipsy from one too many pints. They walked close to one another as Liam spoke of his home and the girls he'd slept with or turned away. The Irishman was a natural storyteller, and Hagen laughed several times at the clever turn of words he chose. Liam's thick accent had a calming rhythm though Hagen did get distracted when he used peculiar words for commonplace items. Hagen had to explain that Americans referred to breakfast pork as sausages, not bangers; and that it was kiss, not snog; nude rather than nip; and Americans said trunk, not boot. Reaching the edge of the airbase, Liam suggested they climb up onto a hangar that was in disuse and watch the planes fly overhead. On the rooftop Liam pulled his shirt over his head and Hagen gazed at his flat stomach with a trail of light colored hair extending from his waistline to his chest. Hagen looked away as Liam glanced towards and he followed Liam's lead by removing his top as well. Liam had lay down and his attention was fixed on Hagen; he patted the surface next to him. "Come on boyo." Liam did not have the pale white skin like the English. It was olive, and he'd tanned recently. He had a well-formed chest; his hands were under his head and his biceps bulged. Hagen laid down next to him and the Irishman turned to him, and his emerald eyes met Hagen’s. A crooked smile formed and Liam said, "I'm zonked after that beer. You?" Hagen chuckled and gazed up in the sky. "I have no idea what zonked is, but if it means anything like being sleepy, then yes." Liam did not say anything so Hagen glanced over. Liam stared at him with intensity, and some emotion lurked deeper. What, Hagen did not know. But it reminded him of a hungry man who just spied a fragrant pot roast. The corners of Liam's mouth curled up. "Your eyes. They're peculiar." "How's that?" He rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, speaking in a soft voice. "They're like the Irish Sea on a stormy night. An ocean-green one moment, then blue the next. Very peculiar." He then fell asleep, and Hagen stared at him for a few more moments before lying on his back and taking his own afternoon nap. Upon waking, they went to dinner. Hagen was surprised by the uncertain new feelings that he’d noticed during the afternoon. He wanted to spend more time with the animated young Irishman and listen to that soothing accent. He didn't want the time to end, and wished to postpone whatever mission was coming. After dinner, Liam said it was time, so they grabbed their gear from their bunks and headed to the hangar to be briefed on their mission. It occurred to Hagen that, within a few hours, he would be flying over the English Channel and on to some mission that would take him into Germany. The hangar was vacant when they arrived, and the Night Angel faced them with the belly gun turret having been completely installed. Liam took a cigarette from his pack and offered Hagen one, but he hesitated. Father would disapprove. He looked at Liam's face and took one, though, and Liam lit both. "You have any girls back home?" Liam asked, his jade gaze aimed at him, his lips pursed over his cigarette. Hagen drew in smoke, coughed, and shook his head; his eyes watered and he said, "Dated a couple. But no takers." Hagen put his arm up to his mouth, feeling another fit of coughs coming. Liam leaned against the hangar door and stared up into the sky. The sun was starting to set. "Broke a couple lasses' hearts meself. A couple of them had some knockers." Liam looked over to Hagen and laughed. "Oh, right, you call them boobs." He inhaled and spoke after exhaling. "And please, Jaysus, I hope I never put one up the pole." The ends of Hagen's mouth turned down, and he slid his hand through his blond hair. "The what?" Liam chuckled and took a drag on his cigarette. "Oh, you Yanks say pregnant." "Oh, right."  
 
  Bryce is a psychologist, author, and the founder of Queer Sense Theory.   Bryce writes popular fiction genres meant for all audiences under Bryce Bentley Summers, and pens gay fiction under B. Bentley Summers, although he'd argue that anyone would enjoy his gay fiction pieces.   Bryce's full time work is at the Veteran Affairs where he has been employed for five years. He has extensive history of working with people diagnosed with PTSD and he used these experiences when writing Fresh Meat.   The novel, Fresh Meat, recently won Dan Poynter's Global eBook Awards for best gay fiction. This piece is more than just a book, but embraces gay identity while deploring the hateful violence that happens in the U.S. prison system, and across the world. The book parallels the vicious Man-Punk prison system to the long ago abolished American Slavery System. However, Fresh Meat is not non-fiction, but fiction, and it's genre is best described as Supernatural Horror.   Rotville and The Zombie Squad, are two of Bryce's recent completions. The Zombie Squad is a teen Post-Apocalyptic Thriller that recently received Reader's Favorite 5-Stars. This novel has humor and is fast pace, that follows four teens in New Orleans who find themselves not only chased by psycho gangsters, but in the middle of zombocalypse. Rotville is a new adult/ adult Sci-Fi Post-Apocalyptic Horror that takes place in the near future, in a city called Rotville where people with a rot disease are quarantined. Inside this city is the mega prison Colleseo, where inhumane experiments are carried out on inmates. It's also the birthplace of Dylan, a super soldier who must fight his way out, save a couple of youths from the new deadly mutants, and keep from being re-caught by the greedy director.   Bryce is also the author of the fiction Young Adult Dark Fantasy/ Sci-Fi series AMEN TO ROT. The novel NYTE GOD is the conclusion to this series. The Amen to Rot series and Nyte God pit Ace and his friends against alien invaders who are turning humans into mutant creatures.   Bryce authors popular fiction with a style that entices readers of all backgrounds to consume, and makes every attempt to make his characters diverse.   As noted, Bryce does dabble in gay fiction, and pens it under B. Bentley Summers, though in truth, these works are meant for everyone to read. Bryce is the founder of Queer Sense, a theory that describes how people form attitudes. The theory provides insight into how specific components in cultural contexts shape our beliefs and values, which ultimately form our attitudes. The nonfiction book, QUEER SENSE: How Are Attitudes Formed? A Revolutionary Guide for Teens, Parents, Mental Health Professionals and Anyone Interested in Queer Theory, is due out by 2016.   Links
 
 
 
 
 

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Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-wehr-wolff-castle-bentley-summers-excerpt-giveaway
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text 2017-10-16 12:40
Blog Tour: The Bends by Bart Hopkins with Excerpt and Giveaway

 

Today’s stop is for Bart Hopkins’s The Bends. We will have info about the books and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway. Happy Reading :) 


Marathon is a quiet little Texas town, and it’s getting quieter. Kids are vanishing, disappearing like tumbleweeds in the desert wind. Somebody—or something—is taking them. Action. Adventure. Romance. Suspense. The Bends is a supernatural thriller rollercoaster ride!   Recommended for Fans of Blake Crouch, Stephen King, J.A. Konrath, and Dean Koontz   **.99 cents 09/26-10/02 **

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“Sheriff, look at this,” Deputy Tom Slidell called out. He reached down and checked the body for a pulse. It was purely force of habit—no life could possibly remain in the bloated corpse in front of him. “Rattlers, Tom?” “Yeah, Sheriff … looks like she stumbled on a whole nest of ‘em.” “Hmm.” Sheriff Bigsby eyed her body—puncture marks riddled the exposed flesh. He’d seen plenty of snakebites in his time—it was Southwest Texas after all—but this was the most vicious attack in his memory. “Sons-of-bitches were really ornery with her,” he remarked, pushing his mustache down thoughtfully with his thumb and forefinger. Tom knew that meant he was deep in thought and stood patiently at his side. The two of them wandered over to the truck in a comfortable silence. They’d been working with each other for a couple of decades, and Sheriff Bigsby had been friends with Tom’s father. They were, in their way, like an old married couple. An old married couple with matching mustaches and uniforms. “That’s a mess,” Tom said, looking inside the cab. Internal organs were splashed around the dashboard and seat like an abstract mural. “Yep,” Bigsby replied. “Hmph,” Tom grunted. “Don’t smell too nice, either.” “Nope,” Bigsby agreed. They stood together, each man lost in thought. The sheriff stroked his mustache again. “That’s the third one this year,” Tom remarked. “Yep.” “Same area, too,” Tom added. “Maybe there’s a connection.” Sheriff Bigsby raised an eyebrow and looked sideways at Tom. He’d been thinking the same thing. “Two times could have been a coincidence…” “But three—” “Three doesn’t smell right,” the sheriff finished for him. He squatted down and pulled a telescoping rod from his shirt pocket. Extending it, he poked around the inside of the truck. A flicker caught his eye. He reached in further, leaning the edge of his hand against the doorframe for support. Pushing from side to side, he was able to wiggle the object over without touching it.” “GPS,” Tom said. “Yep.” “Hmph,” Tom grunted. While they watched, the screen flickered to life … then turned off again. “Never trusted them things,” Tom said. “Me either,” Bigsby agreed. He brushed his fingers across his mustache again and thought about the three accidents they’d had along that part of Big Bend. He looked at the GPS. Then he looked at the truck again. For a second, he wondered if … maybe… “Oh, hell…” He shook the thought out of his head. “Let’s get our guys out here and get this stuff collected up for the next of kin. After the forensics guys get done with it.” He squinted and looked at the GPS—felt drawn to it—sort of wanted to touch it. “You got it, boss.” He radioed in the sheriff’s request to the dispatcher, who arranged everything. The sheriff shook his head yet again. “Let’s get back to the SUV, Tom. We’ll wait for the forensics boys there.”

 

Bart Hopkins is originally from Galveston, Texas, but has lived all over the world during his 22 years in the Air Force.   He was born in the middle of the 1970s, owned an Atari, and loves 80s music. He can use a card catalog like nobody's business.   Now, Bart likes to travel, enjoys pretending he's a photographer, and shares as much time as possible with his beautiful wife and three awesome children. They own a Westie Yorkie named Lulu ... or maybe Lulu owns them.   Subscribe to Bart's newsletter for updates on new releases and giveaways. For a limited time, you can download a copy of DEAD ENDS free when you subscribe!

Links

Website *** Newsletter *** Facebook *** Twitter *** Pinterest *** Amazon *** Goodreads

 

 

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Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-bends-bart-hopkins-excerpt-giveaway
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text 2017-10-16 12:30
Blog Tour: The Permesis Magician by Bentley Summers with Excerpt and Giveaway

 

Today’s stop is for Bentley Summers’s The Permesis Magician. We will have info about the books and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway. Happy Reading :) 


Pretty boy Devon has no idea his week of midterms at a Kansas university is about to go from arduous studying to meeting four magicians who call themselves Merlin's Rogues. He's about to be even more surprised to discover that he's a magician, too, and sought out by dark forces--for what, however, he does not know. But he will soon discover why.Devon's sexbuddy kidnaps him and, using powers bestowed on him by evil forces, curses Devon into becoming his sex slave. Devon is taken to a mysterious suite in London where he gratefully does his master's bidding. Devon's exertions, though pleasing, are grueling, and it's clear this sexual coupling is feeding a dark entity, resurrecting something wicked. Merlin's Rogues, including Devon's crush, Cedric, are in hot pursuit and must battle evil dark forces that stand in between them and Devon. Even if they save the enslaved magician, Cedric will need to use his passion for Devon to break the atrocious Master-Slave spell. Then, maybe they stand a chance against the new odious powers that have risen. Note: This book contains forced seduction. ** A Siren Erotic Romance

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At the end of one bookshelf section, a free-floating dark apparition clutched the throat of the young woman who’d just told him the library was closed. Its clawed fingers were wrapped tight over her throat, lifting her off her feet. The thing’s unhinged jaw showed off rows of fangs, and a misty white energy drifted from the woman’s mouth—into the creature’s fanged hole. The woman’s body convulsed, her jaw stretched far down in an open, silent scream. A retching sound escaped from her. Run. Run. Devon stepped backwards. His back hit a shelf, knocking off books that thudded onto the coarse carpet. The black specter started at the noise, releasing the girl who fell to the floor like a rag doll, and it turned to him with crimson eyes. The thing sped towards him, and Devon wheeled around and fled between two aisles of books. A shelf on his side exploded, an acrid scent filled his nose, and debris peppered him. At the aisle’s end, he took a sharp left. He peeked over his shoulder and the specter moved quickly around the corner, its body changing. Devon slowed. Dark gooey slime oozed off of it, and legs and arms solidified as it glided through the air. Its shoulder hit a shelf’s edge and the force toppled the massive piece of furniture over. A series of concussive bangs rang out in the room with shelves colliding into one after another. He made a straightaway sprint to the nearby railing that overlooked the lobby. I just need to vault over to the open staircase. He jumped. His toe clipped the upper railing and he plunged straight down to the lobby’s tile floor. He shielded his face with his arms and closed his eyes in the moment before he’d smash headfirst into a mobile cart of books, but his body jerked to a stop in midair, a ruckus of noise erupting below him. His arms came away from his eyes. His suspended body hung a foot over the now overturned cart of books. He glanced up. A young man with black hair, a narrow handsome face, and a slender nose stepped through the foyer, his hand extended towards Devon. Devon dropped onto the scattered books and rolled up on his butt. Close to the check-out counter, an Asian woman and man stared at him with their mouths open in shock. Something roared high above them. Devon and the couple brought their eyes up to the terror above them on the third floor. The Asian woman put her hands over her mouth and shrieked. The man bolted away and headed through a turnstile, towards the front doors. A brunette young woman with a beautiful, chiseled face came through the front door. Devon stood up in a daze. The slender nosed young man grabbed the shoulders of the still screaming Asian woman and ushered her towards the front door as the black haired woman stepped towards Devon, looking up. She said, “Tristan. It’s coming down.” Devon brought his head back. The black specter came down the stairs. Not a specter. Now it’s flesh. Tristan said, “Sevil, watch him.” He pointed to Devon. “It almost got him.” “Devon,” Sevil said with an English accent, and she reached out to him. “Get behind me.” Devon clasped her hand and allowed himself to be shielded by the woman. Tristan blocked his path, dryly remarking, “Jesus. A dorocha. It must have just transmuted and somehow got through our defenses.” Sevil cracked her neck. “Well, I’ve been irking for a fight the last couple of days.” A dorocha? Sevil squared her shoulders off to the bottom of the staircase. The dorocha reached the base of the stairs and sauntered forward. Over the space of a couple minutes, the thing’s face had shifted, and was now pitted with pockmarks and slime. A row of fangs extended from its smiling mouth. Its facial features rippled, forming brown skin, long eyelashes, and long black hair before returning to its hideous mask. Oh my God. It’s trying to transform into that Indian girl it just killed. The creature regarded Tristan and Sevil and its clawed fists extended out. Coal black golf ball sized orbs launched out from the tips of its nails. Tristan tensed and held up his hand. The projectiles exploded in midair, one after the other, hitting a bluish force field. The thing brought its arms down, cocked its head and grinned. Devon recoiled from the smile, the back of his knees hitting the edge of a chair, and he plopped down in a seat. The creature mewled, “Morgan and the dark wizard are back, and soon you’ll be ruins.” Sevil stepped up and snarled, “Return to the putrid bowels from where you came.” White lightning bolts burst out from her fingertips and the creature flew off its clawed feet and crashed into a bank of computers. The fallen creature lunged out from the smashed electronic equipment, tendrils of smoke rising from its body. Tristan held up his palm and a sphere of white energy streaked out towards it. At the same time, Sevil unleashed her white lightning bolts again. The creature blew up at the peak of its jump, pieces of fleshy debris showering over the entire lobby’s tile floor. Tristan looked around to Devon. “Were there any others?” “W-what?” Sevil took Devon’s arm, “Creatures like that.” “N-No.” Sevil pulled on his arm. “Come on. Let’s go. Check upstairs, Tristan.” “Wait,” Devon said, and pointed to the third floor. “There was a girl up there. It was doing something to her.” Tristan said over his shoulder, “Go. Call Cedric and let him know we’re on the way. I’ll meet you at Merlin’s.” Sevil led Devon out of the building. Police cars were racing over the lawns and they stopped up on the sidewalks, a few parking by the water fountain with artwork rising from the middle. A couple of officers came up to them and asked them if they were okay. Sevil told them, “There’s some crazy son-of-a-bitch inside.” The officers ran forward, speaking loud into their handheld radios. Sevil towed Devon around the building at a jog and only then released his hand. Devon stopped in place and held up his hands in front of him. “W-wait. Tell me what’s going on?” Sevil pushed her dark bangs from her face and said, “I’ll answer your questions, Devon. Very soon. But we need to go.” She clutched both of his shoulders. “We were going to induct you later. You’re a Magician, Devon. Welcome to Merlin’s Rogues.”  
 
 
 
  Bryce is a psychologist, author, and the founder of Queer Sense Theory.   Bryce writes popular fiction genres meant for all audiences under Bryce Bentley Summers, and pens gay fiction under B. Bentley Summers, although he'd argue that anyone would enjoy his gay fiction pieces.   Bryce's full time work is at the Veteran Affairs where he has been employed for five years. He has extensive history of working with people diagnosed with PTSD and he used these experiences when writing Fresh Meat.   The novel, Fresh Meat, recently won Dan Poynter's Global eBook Awards for best gay fiction. This piece is more than just a book, but embraces gay identity while deploring the hateful violence that happens in the U.S. prison system, and across the world. The book parallels the vicious Man-Punk prison system to the long ago abolished American Slavery System. However, Fresh Meat is not non-fiction, but fiction, and it's genre is best described as Supernatural Horror.   Rotville and The Zombie Squad, are two of Bryce's recent completions. The Zombie Squad is a teen Post-Apocalyptic Thriller that recently received Reader's Favorite 5-Stars. This novel has humor and is fast pace, that follows four teens in New Orleans who find themselves not only chased by psycho gangsters, but in the middle of zombocalypse. Rotville is a new adult/ adult Sci-Fi Post-Apocalyptic Horror that takes place in the near future, in a city called Rotville where people with a rot disease are quarantined. Inside this city is the mega prison Colleseo, where inhumane experiments are carried out on inmates. It's also the birthplace of Dylan, a super soldier who must fight his way out, save a couple of youths from the new deadly mutants, and keep from being re-caught by the greedy director.   Bryce is also the author of the fiction Young Adult Dark Fantasy/ Sci-Fi series AMEN TO ROT. The novel NYTE GOD is the conclusion to this series. The Amen to Rot series and Nyte God pit Ace and his friends against alien invaders who are turning humans into mutant creatures.   Bryce authors popular fiction with a style that entices readers of all backgrounds to consume, and makes every attempt to make his characters diverse.   As noted, Bryce does dabble in gay fiction, and pens it under B. Bentley Summers, though in truth, these works are meant for everyone to read. Bryce is the founder of Queer Sense, a theory that describes how people form attitudes. The theory provides insight into how specific components in cultural contexts shape our beliefs and values, which ultimately form our attitudes. The nonfiction book, QUEER SENSE: How Are Attitudes Formed? A Revolutionary Guide for Teens, Parents, Mental Health Professionals and Anyone Interested in Queer Theory, is due out by 2016.   Links
 
 
 
 

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
 
 
Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/blog-tour-permesis-magician-bentley-summers-excerpt-giveaway
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text 2017-10-13 14:05
Feature Friday for Camilla Ochlan & Bonita Gutierrez's The Werewolf Whisperer with Interview and Excerpt

 

Today for “Feature Friday” let us welcome the wonderful Camilla Ochlan & Bonita Gutierrez with their book The Werewolf Whisperer.The first book in The Werewolf Whisperer Series. 

We will have info about the book and authors. Plus we have a interview and a great excerpt from the book.

 

Make sure to check everything out and go and show them some love and add their book to your TBR ;) 

Happy Reading :) 


23399756

 

Lucy Lowell, The Werewolf Whisperer, and her partner Xochitl Magaña are thrown into chaos when the Kyon Virus turns a disturbing number of Angelenos into werewolf-like creatures. As the outbreak expands to epidemic proportions, Lucy’s uncanny ability to control the creatures makes her “the silver lining in our werewolf apocalypse.” Battling their own personal demons born of family history and bad choices, the women join together in the pursuit of helping those afflicted. But all is not as it seems. Not for Lucy. Not for Xochitl. And not for a society just coming to grips with the new world order.

 

 

 

 

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Hello Camilla & Bonita. Thank you for taking the time to stop in and chat with us, it is lovely to have you. 

 

How do you balance making demands on the reader with taking care of the reader?

First and foremost, story is the most important thing. Everything we write has a purpose, but we also love leaving the reader little crumbs that will pay off along the way. The Werewolf Whisperer is filled with a diverse cast of characters, struggling through the chaos of a world teetering on the edge, which gives the reader a lot to sink their teeth into.

 

What’s the best way to market your books?

We are mostly interested in connecting with readers that love Urban Fantasy. So we use social media to reach our audience. Facebook and Twitter have been good for us. And we've started experimenting with Instagram now that they allow ads. We're also working on building our readership through our BEASTY BITES newsletter.

 

What are your hardest scenes to write? And what are what are the easiest to write for you?

It varies. Sometimes the thing you think will be the hardest to write comes easiest. And vice versa. For example, the choreography of a fight scene is more straightforward to plan, but then, you have to layer in the emotional consequences of the fight — and that's where things get tricky…and time consuming.

 

Do you read your book reviews? How do you deal with bad or good ones?

Yes, we read our book reviews. As indie author/publishers, we have to. Reviews give us insights into what the readers are feeling and thinking about our work, which we can learn from. That being said, we try to keep in mind that reviews are subjective. What one person likes, another may not. But what's important to us is the story, and we have to write the story as we see it.

How do you select the names of your characters?

Names come to us in a variety of ways. Sometimes a name has lived with us for a while. Sometimes a name suggests character. Sometimes the name comes from people in our lives. In the case of our heroines, Lucy Lowell and Xochitl Magaña, Lucy is a tribute to Lucy Lawless and Camilla's dad Lowell. And Xochitl is a unique Aztec name, which Camilla really liked for years. And Magaña is Bonita's grandmother's maiden name.

 

This was fun, again thank you so much for taking the time to chat.

 

 

 

K-Day 24 months ago

 

Lucy Lowell tucked into the shadows behind the white cinder block wall of Xochitl's Cantina and listened. Coarse Spanglish curses pierced the night, accompanied by loud cheers and snatches of Tijuana narco-pop. Vicious barking and short, pained shrieks lacerated the seedy revelry. Through holes in the camouflage canvas stretched over the parking lot's chain- link fence, Lucy counted thirty East Los Locos gangbangers crowding around a shallow dogfight pit. Strewn around, discarded like trash, lay lumps of fur and flesh Lucy didn't have the stomach to focus on. Through the wall of men, Lucy caught a glimpse of a blue nose pit bull turning away from its opponent, a muscular pit mastiff mix. "Handle your dog, güey!" a paunchy man yelled from just outside the ring. Accompanied by loud taunts, men from each side of the pit dragged their dogs back to the scratch lines. The mastiff's handler fussed at the dog's mouth, unfanging the dog's lip from its teeth. Clearly dead tired and hurt, the blue nose pit bull started toward the line of cages against the opposite fence. "Whoa, Puta." A young man with a baseball cap turned backwards yanked the dog's collar hard, causing the pit to drop to the ground as if taking cover. From her hiding place, Lucy could see deep scratches on the pit bull's face, bite wounds bleeding on the shoulder and old burn marks seared into the fur. Lucy's stomach cramped. The dollar tacos she and her partner Gabe had devoured on their way to Echo Park threatened a hasty exit. Cabra Blanca, their favorite late night food truck, had been parked close to the raid at Montana and Alvarado. Eddie, the owner, always included extra mango guacamole with Lucy's order. Guacamole! Shouldna eaten. The dogfighting makes me sick enough. Why'd I chance it with the cabeza quesadilla on top of those goat tacos? Lucy breathed in slowly and directed her gaze from the hurt dog to the few stars blinking in the murky L.A. sky. The lights of an airplane outshone the sliver of the waning crescent moon. She could make out the distant roar of jet engines. "Bitch won't fight no more, jefe." The young man with the cap delivered a kick to the blue nose pit's side. An ugly curse cut through the tumult as a man in a formfitting white T-shirt and dark designer jeans parted the crowd. Memo Morales, cock of the walk. Nice of you to join us. Teeth clenched, Lucy drew her sidearm and looked back down the alley. Officer Gabe Torres of the LAPD Animal Cruelty Task Force quietly crouched down next to Lucy, indicating with a nod that he too had spotted "El Gallo." Her partner for five years, Gabe was as fierce an animal rights protector as Lucy had ever met. Both she and Gabe had risked both badge and incarceration many times, as they rescued dogs from backyard dogfighting with or without departmental approval. Tonight's raid was another point of contention with their ACTF lieutenant. When the confidential informant had approached Lucy and Gabe about dogfighting behind her cantina, it had been just the break they'd been looking for. These East Los Locos had been brokering dogfights for years, but their slippery leader Memo Morales, a.k.a. "El Gallo,"always managed to ensconce the events with aggravating efficiency. Distressingly the CI, Xochitl Magaña, had given Lucy and Gabe much more than they'd hoped for. El Gallo and his Los Locos were running guns. The dogfights, while generating tens of thousands of dollars on their own, were a mere front. Lucy and Gabe's supervisor Lieutenant Heckman had turned their information over to her superior, Captain Burch. Burch had taken the lead on the raid, called in SWAT and only allowed the ACTF along as a courtesy after Lucy had begged to be involved. Lucy and Gabe had been virtually cut out of the planning despite their relentless pursuit of the East Los Locos dogfighting ring. "Get rid of it, Tuti!" El Gallo spat, prompting Lucy to inch forward. She could see El Gallo throw a fistful of cash at another man and stalk into the cantina through the backdoor. The gangbangers laughed and joked as more money changed hands. Pushing the baseball-capped banger away, the man named Tuti threw a chain around the bloodied pit bull's neck and dragged her clear of the wall of men. The exhausted dog cowered from Tuti as he tightened the chain around her neck. Small whimpers reached Lucy's ears. "Just shoot it." A thin teenage boy in baggy jeans and an oversized white T-shirt approached Tuti with what looked like a Hi-Power Browning 9mm. Nice gun. A detached part of Lucy's brain noted the semi-automatic. "¡Cállate, Flaco! Let's have some fun." Tuti yanked the chain, smashing the pit's chin into the asphalt. The sharp yowl caught the attention of the other attending Locos who turned to watch Tuti's show. Gabe's hand settled on Lucy's arm and held tight. She would have bruises in the morning. "Wait," he hissed. Lucy tilted her head to look directly into her partner's dark brown eyes. In a split second a struggle resolved between them. Burch's words, "You two hotheads are on thin ice," echoed in her memory. She knew Gabe remembered it too. "X the bitch, Tuti!" Drunken hysteria pitched the Locos' voices higher. "¡Fuego! ¡Fuego! ¡Fuego!" Her eyes still locked on Gabe, Lucy knew what was happening in the parking lot. Having investigated the sad aftermath of the East Los Locos games, she knew what inevitably came next. Slowly she nodded her head, and Gabe released his grip. It wasn't the plan. It wasn't even smart. Lucy rose to her full height. Her Beretta clutched firmly, Lucy shot a quick smile to Gabe. Easily on the taller side of six feet, muscled like a professional bodybuilder, Gabe Torres looked scary as hell. Glad you're on my side, good buddy. Lucy felt calm wash down from her head to her toes. This was what she was made for. * Xochitl Magaña paced nervously behind the bar of her cantina, anxiously waiting for the cops to arrive. ¡Santa Maria, reza por mí! Turning in her gangbanger boyfriend Memo was dangerous at best. I'm gonna be in deep shit if this doesn't go down right...And Miguel, Memo'll... "No," Xochitl hissed, squashing the sprouting thought before it could ripen. "This'll work." She snatched a towel from its hook and began wiping down the individual liquor bottles that lined the shelves behind the bar. El Gallo's done. Memo Morales preferred the moniker "El Gallo" and fancied himself Tony Montana. ¡Híjole! What's with vatos and Scarface? And like an over-glorified, self-obsessed crime lord, El Gallo had exploited his relationship with Xochi, using her bar as his headquarters — his command center for the gang's illegal operation. And I let him. But El Gallo gave her protection — something Xochitl desperately needed after her papa had died. And she had to admit, just as Memo liked having the only fair- skinned, light-eyed, natural blond ruca in the neighborhood, she'd initially liked the attention he'd given her. It had been hard growing up a "güera" in the barrio — a place, despite being Mexicana, Xochitl had never felt she truly belonged. School had been her refuge, and she'd even won an academic scholarship to UCLA. I was so close to getting out. Then everything changed. Her father had a stroke. His health rapidly deteriorated. She dropped all her classes. Moved back home. Took over the bar. Took over care of Miguel. Back in the hood, back in the life — with Memo. But Memo went too far. Gun running. There was no way Xochitl could live with herself knowing she had let this thug take over the business her papa had worked so hard to build. God, what would Papa think of me now? I just wanted to keep the bar going and Miguel safe. Xochitl hated all of it: the dogfights, the guns, the East Los Locos — Memo. She shook off the flutter of nerves vibrating up and down her spine and noticed she'd been wiping off the same fifth of tequila. As she carefully placed the Cuervo Gold in its proper slot between the Don Julio and Patrón bottles, she caught the reflection of her cantina in the mirrored glass that backed the liquor racks lining the wall. Wood and leather tables filled the space. A '50s style jukebox, her papa's pride and joy, played only vinyl from the '60s and '70s. "Mija, there's no other music." He would tell her whenever she'd begged him to update the playlist. Various paintings of matadors and bullfights attempted to lend a Spanish flavor to the rugged bar. Xochitl's Cantina had been Xochi's home since she was six when her father, Carlos, had left the Marine Corps, following her mother's death. And in its heyday, her papa's bar had been the favorite local hangout. The barrio Cheers. By the time she was eleven, Xochitl had a stepmother she couldn't stand and a new baby brother she adored. ¡Híjole! In one shot, Anita went from barfly to mother. What was Papa thinking? But Xochitl remembered how sad and lonely her papa had been after her mom had died. He was honorable and would never have considered not marrying the mother of his child. Carlos Magaña was the finest man Xochi had ever known. Biting back tears, Xochitl clenched her eyes. Her papa's warm and inviting spirit echoed within every element of the cantina. I miss you Papa. For what seemed like the millionth time, Xochi looked up to the neon DOS EQUIS clock hanging over the bar. 2:37 A.M.? They're late. The fights'll be over and Memo'll leave soon. He's gonna wonder why I'm still here and not waiting for him upstairs. "Where the hell are they?" she mumbled. "Where the hell's who?" Memo Morales asked. Startled, Xochitl whipped around, knocking over several liquor bottles. She barely registered the clamoring rattle of glass hitting glass as Memo, who had come in from the back without her noticing, stood behind her. Shit! Despite the frozen crush of heart-stomping anxiety, Xochi couldn't help admire Memo's movie star looks and how his white T-shirt and jeans emphasized his strong, lean build. His big, hazel eyes always took her breath away. Tonight was no different. Still the best-looking guy in the neighborhood. "Who's late?" Memo asked again, grabbing a beer from the cooler under the bar. "Huh, what?...Uh...no one. I mean, Miguel. He's late." Memo wrapped his arms around Xochi and tugged at her rose embroidered peasant blouse. "¡Ay, mamí! Let the boy be. He's almost eighteen. A man." He began kissing her neck. "Why don't you go upstairs, put on that sexy slip thing I got you? I'm all wound up. You can help me relax." Wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale beer and dog, Xochi shrugged Memo off her. "What do you know about it? He's not one of your boys." Xochitl knew she shouldn't be flippant with Memo. He had a short temper and could be aggressive with her when he didn't get his way. But she couldn't help herself when it came to her little brother Miguel. She hated it when Memo thought he had any say in how Miguel was raised. She wanted to yell in Memo's face, "Stay away cabrón! He's mine!" Instead she whispered, "I'm tired." Xochitl walked around to the front of the counter, trying to put distance between herself and Memo. She could see in his eyes he was losing his patience. Where's la chota already? Undeterred, Memo closed the gap between them and grabbed her arm, yanking her to him. "I said go upstairs and get in that pinche slip, bitch." Xochitl pulled her arm back and without thinking threw a right hook to his jaw. Instantly, she felt pain shoot from her fist straight up her arm. "¡Ay carajo!" Shaking out the sting from her hand, Xochi looked up and saw Memo stunned, holding the left side of his face. Oh, fuck! What did I do? Instinctively, she began backing up toward the bar's front door to make her escape. As she turned from Memo, Xochi heard a menacing laugh and the distinctive clicking sound of a gun being cocked. "Not bad for a little güera bitch. Daddy teach you that?" Xochitl grabbed for the door. "Don't you fucking move, puta." Naked fear blasted through Xochitl's body, leaving her feet bolted to the floor. She had nowhere to go. If she moved, Memo would shoot her. He's gonna shoot you anyway. Taking a chance, she slowly turned back to face Memo. He stood at close range, his gun pointed at her chest. Oh, God. Xochi raised her hands in the air. "Please, Memo," she tried to placate him. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—" "¡Cállate!" Memo growled, pacing back and forth in front of her like a wild beast about to pounce on his prey. An odd bubble of calm enveloped Xochi, and — as if locked in stasis, she stood immobile, waiting, contemplating her next move. "You think you can do this to me and not pay, bitch? I'm El Gallo!" Xochitl stole a glance at the bar. Behind the counter. Papa's shotgun. If I'm quick enough... "I run this—" Memo raged on only to suddenly cut himself off. Xochitl brought her attention back to El Gallo. He stared past her at the frosted glass window. She slowly craned her neck to follow his line of sight. A shadow moved swiftly by the front of the bar. ¡Híjole! About damn time! She turned back to Memo. His eyes again fixed on her. Xochitl could see by the amazed and — hurt? — look on his face that he'd puzzled out she had betrayed him. Why Memo hadn't made a move on her yet she didn't understand. She wasn't about to ask. Keeping him in her sights, she began inching her way to the bar. Xochitl had almost reached the end of the counter when Manny, a fourteen-year- old boy, one of Memo's lookouts, sprinted into the cantina from the kitchen. "¡Jefe! ¡La chota! ¡Afuera!" Memo regained his senses. "¿Dónde?" "Everywhere. I came from the dumpsters out back," the boy answered. ¡Carajo! The cops didn't find the kitchen entrance! The side alley door was hidden by the dumpster enclosure. Xochitl's produce vendors constantly complained about the difficult access. If I get out of this alive, I'm gonna move those pinche dumpsters. "Did anyone see you?" El Gallo asked the boy as he moved toward the kitchen and peeked through the swinging door. "No, Jefe," the boy replied, pulling out a 9mm handgun stuffed in his pants like a gangster out of a movie he'd probably watched a million times. "The cops will find the kitchen door soon." Memo stepped back into the bar. Xochitl eyed El Gallo, as he searched the room for another way out, revulsion churning her guts. How did I ever get mixed up with this monster? What am I gonna do if he gets away? Memo glanced down the hall toward the restrooms. His mouth turned up into a sly grin, and Xochi knew he had figured out his escape. ¡Hijo de puta! Where's pinche Xena warrior cop? Unsure, Manny took a tentative step closer to El Gallo. Memo put up his hand, halting the boy. "Stay here, homes. Pinche cops can't touch you." The gang leader beat his chest with his fist and shouted in salute, "¡Órale! East Los!" "East Los!" The dutiful boy soldier mimicked. Some day this kid's gonna get himself killed by these pendejos. That will not be my Miguel. El Gallo turned back to Xochitl, "I'll deal with you later." Then he ran down the hall toward the women's restroom. Xochi stood next to the bar, staring after Memo. There was nothing she could do now except hope the cops would nab him crawling out the bathroom window. She looked over to Manny, who appeared lost now that his leader had ditched him. Poor kid. Doesn't even know Memo could give a shit what happens to him. Shouting and gunfire blasted from the back lot. Officer Lowell. Xochi darted behind the bar, grabbed the Smith & Wesson 12 gauge, checked it was loaded and readied herself. Looking up, she watched Manny cock his gun. "Wait," she hissed. Manny smiled at her and ran for the back exit. "Shit!" Xochitl, shotgun in hand, took off after the boy. * "LAPD!" Gabe shouted as he and Lucy burst from the shadows. Tuti, tilting a red plastic gas can, hunched over the injured pit bull. "Down on the ground!" Gabe followed up. Tuti froze. An incredulous roar rose from the surprised Locos as Lucy rammed her full force into Tuti, taking him down and knocking the gas can from his hands. She jumped to her feet and buried her boot in Tuti's midsection. He gasped and curled in on himself. The crowd of Locos reacted with indecent speed, scrambling down the alley, climbing fences, grabbing dogs and cash as they fled. A few took in the fact that all that was threatening them were two cops — alone, and one of them was a woman. Like pack predators they closed in, toothy smiles flashing in the glow of the streetlights. The back door of the bar flew open. A skinny teenage boy wildly waving a handgun ran toward Gabe in a straight line. "Manny! No!" A screech Lucy barely recognized as belonging to Xochitl Magaña rang out from inside the hallway. Gabe clotheslined Manny effortlessly and sent his gun flying through the air. Hitting the ground it went off, prompting other frenzied Los Locos to fire blindly in return. The sound of feet running from both sides of the alley, the whirring sound of helicopter blades overhead, the sudden warning shouts of police and ACTF overlapped with the howling and barking of dogs and hollers from Los Locos escaping over the fence. Bodies in flight and pursuit, knocked over cages, men crashing or being thrown into the chain-link — the chaos all around made Lucy feel a weird calm. She noticed Flaco holding up his phone, filming the entire scene, turning his narco-pop to full blast while tears flowed freely down his scrunched up face. Freak. Near her, Gabe scooped up the injured pit bull and bolted towards the safety of the door propped open by Xochitl Magaña. "You idiots weren't supposed to grab the dog!" Xochitl sounded furious. Men came at him from all sides, shouting and flailing. Gabe barreled through them as if they were nothing. Screeching, Flaco raised his Browning to take aim at Gabe's back. Lucy clocked the boy in the face with her Beretta. He went straight to the ground. "You fucking weasel!" she spat and bent down to scoop up his gun. Someone grabbed her from behind, but she twisted out of the way, losing her grip on Flaco's 9mm. There was nowhere to go now but to follow Gabe and the pit bull through the open back entrance to Xochitl's Cantina. Lucy sprinted ahead, tripped over the stoop and gracelessly crashed onto the cantina floor, cutting her hands and bruising her pride. Crap! A shot rang out, and for a moment everything seemed to slow down. Lucy saw Gabe, who'd been in front of her and was already in the room, go to his knees on the blue linoleum. He bent forward unnaturally, releasing the pit bull who scrambled under a wooden table. Lucy lurched forward on the floor to half push and half drag Gabe out of range of the shots that were continuing through the backdoor. From behind the bar, Lucy heard Xochitl scream, "Stop shooting, you assholes!" The gunfire stopped. "Lucy." The deep rumble of Gabe's voice took her complete focus. Something was very wrong. Gabe's face had turned pasty white and glistened with sweat. Lucy locked onto Gabe's eyes — normally deep chocolate brown, they now glowed a mesmerizing amber. Before she could react, five Locos burst into the room, shouting and waving their guns. Gabe sprang up, knocking Lucy on her back, and crashed into the Locos with breathtaking force and speed. Gabe's already large frame now appeared monstrous, the muscles of his back and arms bulging and pulsing, his bones lengthening and cracking. Clean-shaven a moment ago, his face looked dirty with dark stubble. His hair, always cut high and tight — a remnant of his time in the service, now brushed his shoulders and rolled down his back like a messy lion's mane. Gabe roared like an animal in agony and ripped through one of the men's throats with the startling long, curved claws of his bare hand. He grabbed a gangbanger with the other hand, dangling the man off the floor and shaking him by the face like a rag doll. Lucy started to black out as what felt like a massive shockwave rocked through her body. She fought to keep her eyes open. The small coherent part of her brain observed that Gabe's Kevlar vest had a small rip in the back. Even if the vest had stopped a bullet from going through, it couldn't have saved his ribs from being broken. Yet Gabe moved unencumbered, with the power of ten men. She fixated on the shaggy black layer of fur that covered her partner's head and arms. Just then he turned in profile; large pointed, fur-covered ears swiveled back like those of an aggressive dog. Razor-sharp teeth flashed in a tapered lupine jaw, and he bit down on the last gangbanger. My partner's a werewolf? Lucy convulsed as hysteria shot through her like an electric shock. "SWAT! Drop your weapons! Nobody move!" At that moment, the SWAT team burst through the front door of the cantina. Gabe spun on the armed men, ready to attack. "No, Gabe! Stop!" Lucy screamed the command, instinct trumping fear. Gabe hesitated and looked at her with curiosity. Holy shit! He's listening to me. "SWAT! Get on the floor!" an officer roared as the team closed in. "LAPD. Don't shoot," Lucy yelled out and lurched ahead to put her body between Gabe and the SWAT officers. "Don't shoot. Don't shoot. Don't shoot." Lucy's voice gave out. Tears streamed down her face as she tried to squeeze sound from her throat, but her vocal chords wouldn't obey anymore and violent coughs shook her. She felt Gabe's hot breath on her neck and turned to face him, slowly and deliberately. "Down, Gabe." She pointed to the floor. "Down." For a split second, everyone in the room stood still and watched Gabe. The massive man swayed briefly and then dropped to the floor like a puppet that had had its strings cut. "Officer down. Code 33. Echo Park. North Alvarado and Clinton. Officer down. Start me additional units and medical. Code 3. Officer shot. Approach from northwest." "On their way." Lucy heard the shouting but didn't comprehend the words. She crouched down beside her partner, holding him tight as convulsions wracked his body. She saw blood drip to the floor. Gabe had been hit despite the Kevlar. "Don't die. Don't die. You can't die." Lucy's words ran together in an incessant chant. She was lost in his pain, unable to focus, oblivious to the pandemonium all around her.

 

 

 

 

Camilla Ochlan

 

Camilla Ochlan Separate of The Werewolf Whisperer series, Camilla has written The Seventh Lane, a mythpunk fantasy short, and the YA fantasy series Of Cats And Dragons (with Carol E. Leever). In collaboration with her husband, Camilla has written and produced a number of short films, including the suburban ghost story Dog Breath and the recent 20/ 20 Hindsight. A dog mom and cat servant, Camilla shares the house with three sweet rescue dogs and a rascally Abyssinian cat.

 

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Bonita Gutierrez

 

Bonita Gutierrez

Bonita found her way to the stage at the early age of five. After college, she moved to Los Angeles to get into "The Biz." Over the years, she's played many roles from actor to producer, screenwriter to filmmaker — and now novelist. A mixed martial artist, Bonita has a background in Jeet Kune Do Kung Fu (Bruce Lee's art), Kenpo Karate MMA and Kali Escrima (stick and knife fighting). An avid runner, student of film and lover of music, Bonita is a self-proclaimed hamburger connoisseur with a passion for all things Star Wars and Buffy.

 

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Source: snoopydoosbookreviews.com/feature-friday-ochlan-bonita-gutierrezs-werewolf-whisperer-interview-excerpt
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text 2017-10-12 12:35
Blog Tour: Demon Rising by DeAnna Browne with Excerpt and Giveaway

 

Today’s stop is for DeAnna Browne’s Demon Rising. We will have info about the books and author, and a great excerpt from the book, plus a great giveaway. Make sure to check everything out and enter the giveaway.

Happy Reading :) 


Some sacrifices cost more than death… Thirty years ago, dark magicians unleashed new power on the earth fueled by demons. Governments toppled, millions died and magicians ended up on top of the food chain. Twenty-four-year-old Becca survives these dangerous times by relying on her wits, her fists, and the limited goodwill of her boss, a local crime lord. When news comes of a fire back home and the family she left behind dead, she realizes her dark past has finally caught up to her. On the hunt for her missing sister, she must rely on Darion, a treacherous ex-boyfriend with ties to the local coven for back-up. Problem is he’s a pyromancer that can’t be trusted, especially with her heart. Will she escape the sticky web of treachery and deceit with her sister and her heart, or will she sacrifice it all to save another? Becca’s forced to navigate a dangerous web of deceit and must decide what she’s willing to sacrifice to save her sister.     “An enthralling new voice gives us a magical world where love leads to dark decisions.” ~ Jami Gray, award winning author   “…extremely well written, filled with wonderful characters, strange happenings, and face paced action. I, for one, found it very hard to put down. I can’t wait for the next book in the series.” ~Taylor Jones, reviewer

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The tattoo on Becca’s neck prickled as she walked the crowded path to work. Searching for the possible source of magic, she continued forward, with coffee in one hand and the other resting by the knife at her waist. She moved amid a throng of people, shuffling along the worn walkways. Heavy clouds were scattered across the sky, while dilapidated buildings surrounded them, a haunting reminder of what once was. A young man pushed past Becca, dressed in blue coveralls. He must be heading to the line. The tattoo on Becca’s neck prickled as she walked the crowded path to work. Searching for the possible source of magic, she continued forward, with coffee in one hand and the other resting by the knife at her waist. The warehouse traveled up twenty stories high, the tallest building in town with a large fountain in front. It must have once been a beauty. Now the fountain, covered in graffiti, ran dry and the boarded up windows could barely keep the wind out. A familiar, lanky guard stood watch on the side of the road. Could he have been the source of the magic warming her tattoo? He scanned the crowd with a demon dog at his side, a German shepherd with unnaturally large black eyes. Turning forward, she let her dark hair fall into her face, not wanting to draw his attention. She stepped past the guard undisturbed. She could handle herself with the guards, but her boss, Nikko, constantly nagged her about keeping a low profile. The crowds pressed together, and a large man knocked into Becca’s side, tripping her. She stumbled, spilling the remains of her coffee all over her black jeans. Someone swore as the crowd surged forward, and she stepped to the side. At five-foot-five, she was on the small side, but strong enough to cause pain and scrappy enough to avoid it when she could. The crowds weren’t her problem, though. That would be the presence behind her, causing her tattoo to burn.

 

 

DeAnna Browne graduated from Arizona State University with her BS in Psychology. She finds it helps to corral those voices in her mind and put them to paper. Her debut novel, A DEMON RISING, came out in August 2017 with Black Opal Books and book two in the series, UNHOLY SUNDERING, is due out 2018. An avid reader and writer, she has a soft spot for fantasy with a touch of romance. Despite her love for food and traveling, she always finds her way back to Phoenix, Arizona with her husband, children, and pet dog.

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Follow the tour HERE for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

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