First and Ten: Let the Games Begin Now Available for Pre-Orders

A new series of sports romances will leave you hungry for more

Destiny Blaine and Champagne Book Group 

Present

First and Ten: Let the Games Begin

Coming to Carnal Passions on September 2, 2013

Available for Pre-Orders Today-Follow the Link Below

More Passion

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More Romance

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More Smoldering Love Scenes

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In football and romance, true winners are only determined by how long their hearts stay invested in the game

Available for pre-orders now at All Romance Ebooks

Spotlight on Graeme Brown and The Pact

I'm thrilled to welcome fellow author Graeme Brown to my house today. Dark epic fantasy readers will fall in love with Graeme's new book, The Pact--available now at Burst Books! 

Welcome Graeme!

 Check out this cover for THE PACT. Isn't it gorgeous?

BLURB

Enter the world of Will Lesterall, a boy who’s grown up in the safety of his father’s castle.

Tales of the outside world ruled by warring kings and creatures of nightmare have never seemed a threat, yet on the night celebrating the two hundredth year of the sacred Pact that has kept Fort Lesterall safe, a secret intrigue ripens, and in the course of a few hours Will is confronted with a choice greater than he can comprehend.

Join an unlikely hero as destiny pulls him into the middle of an ancient conflict between fallen gods and ambitious women, one that demands blood, both holy and wicked, and the power of an ancient fire bound in steel. As swords clash below a watching wood, hope and betrayal war as fiercely as fear and valor.

Whether he lives or dies, Will Lesterall will never be the same.

Excerpt

The Stablehouse climbed three stories, a narrow building just twenty feet shy from touching the top of the double outer wall that surrounded the castle’s north flank. Lights shone in the top floor windows and a few others at ground level, where the horses were kept. Will hurried across the dark stones. The soft tap of his shoes against the cobbles echoed in the empty Square. In the middle, where the ground sloped down toward the sewer drains, the statue of Amarr the Barbarian cast a long shadow. Will passed into it and stopped. He heard voices.

Two men spoke in hushed tones, but their words carried when the wind wasn’t gusting.

“It’s that hag, I tell ya,” came one voice. “She’s roundin’ them up, preparing one of her big spells, she is. I heards there’s a sacrifice comin’, and she means to raise the dead.”

“Don’t be stupid, Roth.” Will recognized the raspy tone at once. It belonged to Mern, the whitesmith, whose half-slashed throat had never fully healed. Will squinted, but couldn’t see where the voices came from, other than realizing they drifted over from the dark, walled yard outside Hellistead’s Tavern.

“I’ll not have ya callin’ me stupid. Oh no. I know what this is about an’hoo. You’re just afraids, justs protectin’ yurself. Ya know whatcha got in it, ands I don’t blame you for bitin’ your tongue.”

“Quiet, you hay-brained crofter,” Mern spat. “Tonight’s not a night to whisper about such treacheries. The Lord Ham will cut your tongue out, and the world’ll be a better place for it if he does.”

“Old Cren will put it back, if he do, but I says he’d best act quick, or he’ll be lacking for the parts as fits him proper. The night’s black, Mern, and it’s gettin’ blacker yet.”

There was a hollow clatter, then sharp hisses. The man who spoke improperly cursed in words that would have made Grandma Mae gasp then Will heard quick footsteps and a series of clunks. He looked back to the castle, to where father gathered his fighters, then the other way, to the Stablehouse. If father’s in trouble, I have to warn him. Will knew his words wouldn’t be taken seriously, though.

He began to run across the stone expanse. Fort Lesterall won’t fall. Mern’s a wicked man, and whoever that other one is, he’s got no wits. Cren’s just an old woman who lives in the woods. She probably doesn’t even exist.

The side door to the Stablehouse opened as Will arrived, revealing a long labyrinth of stalls lit by rows of hanging lanterns. Jak peeked from behind the door, and Will slipped inside. When the older boy closed it, the dangerous night seemed far away. They were alone, Jak peering at Will, a curry comb still clasped in his hand. He was broad-limbed and of average height, with tousled hair the color of wet earth and eyes like onyx. As usual, he smelled of straw and horse manure, but that only made him all the more inviting.

Jak grinned. “I thought you’d hurry over after the feast proper. Too many clouds tonight, though. I’m afraid we won’t be spying Hell’s Cap, but I’ve another surprise for you. Found it myself, last night.”

“We won’t be going to the groves, Jak.” Will lowered his voice. “The Unborns are going to attack. Alter Dun showed the Red Token. That means the Unborns have challenged us. The Pact is broken. Even as we speak, my father’s gathering an army.”

“Of course he is.” Will turned toward the metal spiral stair. Barrik, a wiry man with salt-and-pepper hair and a bushy moustache, bent his impressive height as he descended from the second floor serving quarters. “I’ve a hundred retainers to see to and that’s lots of horseshit, my little prince. A good thing they’ve taken to the barracks. I’m full, and there’s a thousand more coming, twenty companies marching under you uncle’s banner knight, Telliken. If we hold the night, then there will be others, and we’ll feed the Unborns hell like they haven’t seen in centuries. But if what I’ve heard’s true, then they have hell to feed us first, before we can draw breath.”

Will gaped at the Master of Stables then shook his head fiercely. “Fort Lesterall cannot fall.”

Barrik grunted, though it sounded like a laugh. He picked up a pail and carried it to a nearby stall. “I wish I believed that, lad, but this world’s not run on luck, I’m afraid. A man forges his own blade then learns to use it, or he gets cut by everyone around him. This world’s a fierce battlefield, a bitch with a thousand teeth.”

“We can fight with them,” Jak insisted. “I’ve practiced with the sword you gave me lots of times in the groves. I’m not bad.”

“You would be with armor on.” Barrik came out of the stall with a pail full of black dung. He looked at Will, at Jak, his expression grave. “No, you boys have another errand...

Author Bio

Graeme Brown is has been enchanted by the epic fantasy genre since he was a child, and consequently he started creating his own world with its stories at the age of thirteen. Influenced by writers like J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert Jordan, and George R. R. Martin, he has finally brought the first of those stories to life with his debut title, a short story called The Pact—48 pages that will whisk you away to a dark, medieval fantasy world with gritty realism. When he’s not writing, he can be found exploring number theory problems or writing computer programs, training for a marathon, or unwinding in a yoga hot room. He has also explored other facets of art, both as a hobby and a profession, including vector graphics, pen and ink, classical piano, and web design. He is busy working on the first of many sequels to The Pact, A Thousand Roads.

Links

Website: http://www.graemebrownart.com/the_pact.html

Twitter: https://twitter.com/GraemeBrownWpg

Purchase: http://burstbooks.ca/product.php?id_product=95

Author Spotlight and Book of the Month: Blood Money by Erika Mitchell

I’m thrilled to welcome author Erika Mitchell. An award-winning author published by Champagne Books, Erika is here today by invitation to help us kick off a new regular feature here at my blog.

Each month I’ll write a review for a book of the month and post a feature for the author behind the novel. Some features will showcase books outside the romance genre. Erika’s book, Blood Money, is classified as a suspense or thriller.

I hope you enjoy our showcase for Erika Mitchell.
Pick up your copy of Blood Money by following the links below.
You don't want to miss this fantastic suspense novel!

Destiny Blaine

Blurb:

On the surface, Iraqi-born Azzam Abdullah is nothing more than the unremarkable head of accounting for what is, by all appearances, an innocuous global conglomerate. What’s not so innocuous is the fact that Sun Corp is one of the biggest terrorism financiers in the world.

After years of informing on Sun Corp’s secret deals to the CIA, an unfortunate confluence of events brings Azzam’s covert treachery to light. When Azzam is forced to flee London for America, Sun Corp’s ruthless CEO decides to use a woman from Azzam’s past to flush him out.

In a furious race against a heartless zealot’s deadline, Azzam is forced to decide what he values more: His newfound freedom, or the life of an innocent woman.

Excerpt from Blood Money:

He imagined homemade meals awaiting him after work, amiable companionship as they walked around Hampstead Heath in the evenings. He did not think that forty was too old to start a family, so he imagined adding to their little family until weekends were filled with football games and picnics, the mornings chaotic and the evenings relaxed.

There he stopped and forced himself to remember the real reason he was single. It was enough to dispel the happy fantasies entirely.

The car headed toward the Thames, then turned down a poorly lit side street lined with grungy warehouses. Glooming shadows swallowed the feeble light of sparse streetlights, turning the car’s headlights into searchlights. Their driver pulled up in front of a one-story warehouse sided by corrugated aluminum, the front of which was painted with a large number faded beyond easy recognition.

“This should only take a minute,” Omar said as he followed Azzam out of the car. Their footsteps crunched against the gravel, both of them stepping lightly so as to avoid scuffing their dress shoes. “Do you remember the deal you were working on three weeks ago?”

Azzam riffled through his memory. “Yes. You wanted me to siphon off one hundred fifty thousand pounds and deposit it by small increments into an offshore Swiss account.”

“That’s the one,” Omar said, prying the warehouse door’s handle up, then sliding the door open. “I thought you might enjoy seeing the fruits of your labor.”

Azzam followed him into a tidy warehouse. As his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lights, he could see looming stacks of crated materials lining the walkway, each accompanied by travel documents and marked by a serial number. At the end of the walkway was an open space where a dozen men chatted and congregated around a tall, open crate. The men took note of Omar’s arrival by falling into a respectful silence.

Omar approached the crate and rested his fingers against the splintered lip. “Come over here, Azzam. Take a look.”

Azzam approached the crate with reluctance. He was aware of the tang of pine from the boards of the shipping crate, the caged smell of too many men in an enclosed space. He could not make out the contents of the box until he was standing right next to Omar. What he saw was a row of eight large glass cylinders filled with amber liquid nestled in a bed of wood shavings. The fluorescent lights imbued the cylinders with a sullen glow that reflected and magnified his dread.

“What are they?” he asked.

“Ricin.”

My Interview with Erika Mitchell, Author of Blood Money

Erika Mitchell is published by:

Destiny: Erika, Thank you so much for joining us today. I want to kick off the day by asking you to tell us a little about Blood Money. Tell us where you found your inspiration for the story and what motivated you to write this novel.

Erika: I started with the idea of a housewife getting kidnapped and threatened by terrorists because of a chance meeting years ago. From there, I started wondering who she might have met, what he was doing now, and how she ended up getting drawn into it. In a way, you could say I ended up coming up with this story backwards!

Destiny: Blood Money is a clear work of talent. You obviously didn't just take an idea, slap down a few ideas and run with them. You've created a wonderful story that you spent time developing. Take us through a typical day while you were writing your novel.

Erika: Thank you! I wrote this book while my son, who was a baby at the time, took his naps. I'd spend all day thinking about my story, and then run to my computer and type like mad the minute he was asleep. I rewrote and revised this novel several times after it was finished as I took classes and learned more about the craft of writing a novel.

Destiny: Tell us about the publication process for Blood Money. When you were offered a contract, how did you celebrate?

Erika: When Ellen told me she wanted to publish my novel, I made several loud, high-pitched, fast-talking phone calls to my husband and my mother, and then I did an impromptu happy dance with my son. I was pregnant with my daughter at the time, so the dance was less a dance and more an awkward waddle.

Destiny: Believe me, I understand the waddle. I'm not pregnant and still waddle when dancing is involved! Erika, who is your favorite character in Blood Money and why? Who or what do you think drives your character?

Erika: I think Shah is my favorite because he surprised me the most. I thought I knew him when I started writing, and he kept surprising me at every turn. He's a haunted man with miles of depth. How could I not love him?

Destiny: I would definitely agree with you on Shah. Without ruining the story for others, I'll just say his redemption process added a nice touch. Tell us what we can expect from you next, Erika?

Any special projects coming soon?

Erika: I just finished the first draft of a new novel two weeks ago. It features Bai Hsu, Azzam's CIA handler, and his adventures after the events of Blood Money. It's a lot of fun and will probably be the first book of a series featuring this unflappable spy. I'm currently working on helping a friend put a book together chronicling his six year battle with cancer. It's a lot of work but a definite labor of love.

Destiny: We'd love to know more about your friend's book so keep us updated and I'm thrilled to see a series for Bai. Excellent idea.  Erika, for the new writers out there, what piece of advice would you like to offer them?

Erika: If you're not having fun writing, blow something up in the book. ... In all seriousness, my advice would be to write what makes you happy and tell the story you've been given to tell. It doesn't matter if it'll never get published. The value of being a writer is in writing, not having written. Keep moving forward, be interested in everything, and have fun.

Destiny: Great advice. Tell us about your favorite things, Erika. What hobbies do you have? What genres do you like to read? How do you unwind after a day of writing?

Erika: I'm a stay at home mother to two busy children with a busy writing career and handsome husband. Spare time is hard to come by! If I do miraculously find myself with free time, I love riding horses, hiking, reading. going to the shooting range, drinking wine with friends, and eating the things other people have cooked for me. I unwind at the end of the day with a glass of wine and a good book. I'm not picky about genre, so long as the story is interesting.

Destiny: What are your writing goals for the future?

Erika: I'd love to develop my Bai Hsu series and see my friend's cancer memoir sell like hot cakes. My biggest writing goal is to keep improving at what I do, to keep learning from other writers and making each book I write better than the last.

The Review of Blood Money by Erika Mitchell

In Blood Money, Azzam Abdullah is in a very unique position to report his employer’s acts of terrorism. Reporting to his handler on a regular basis, Azzam plans to stay in position since he has his employer’s complete trust, but that trust soon turns to doubt and Azzam's life is on the line.

Omar, Azzam’s employer, has a problem on his hands when his business associates point an accusing finger in his direction. Realizing someone on his staff betrayed him, Omar starts searching for a mole and understands the person responsible is directly under his proverbial nose.

Azzam has a longstanding history with Omar and his family. When his cover is blown, he flees to America with his handler, but his problems are far from over. 

In fact, his troubles are just beginning.

Erika Mitchell’s Blood Money is a novel suspense fans won't want to miss.  While Blood Money didn’t pack a massive punch until well into Chapter Two, I kept reading because the author clearly had a command of the written word and her talent shines through on every page.

Once I reached the second chapter, I was not only invested in Blood Money, but I was certainly an Erika Mitchell fan. With interesting plot points and a gradual curve to the suspense building, Blood Money does not disappoint the reader who craves action and thrills. Morever, the author has an interesting writing voice that simply captivates her readers.

I love thrillers and suspense novels, with or without the romantic elements. I'm also a very hard sale in the genre. By the end of the novel, Ms. Mitchell was on my must-read list
right there at the top with Patterson and Baldacci.

In Blood Money, the author creates a strong sense of place, drawing the reader into the action in each scene with well written and quite vivid descriptions.

Details are never spared and the story moves at a great pace.

I recommend Blood Money by Erika Mitchell and I'm confident you'll love Erika's novel, too.

Check out Erika's Blog
Visit Erika on Twitter

Welcome Blog Guest Stacey Coverstone!!!

A huge wave hello and welcome to our blog guest Stacey Coverstone. Stacey is the author Tularosa Moon, Big Sky, Outlaw Trail-Wild West Adventures, and many other cherished favorites. Today, we're lucky enough to take a trip inside Secrets of Seacliff House, a contemporary gothic romance.

Be sure to leave your comments for Stacey. She'll stop by later today to answer any questions you may have. In the meantime, visit Stacey on the web at http://staceycoverstone.com.

Book Blurb:

For the past twenty-seven years, Kayla Grayson’s mother has refused to discuss Kayla’s absent father or explain why the two of them have been alone in the world without relatives. A mysterious email sends Kayla to a Maryland beach town and her grandmother’s home, Seacliff House. There, Kayla hopes to discover who she is and why her past has been shrouded in mystery.

When Tanner Bishop discovers an old diary among his grandfather’s possessions, his interest is piqued. Some of the entries speak of Pearl, a young woman who abandoned her son and fled Maine for Maryland in 1958. The journalist in Tanner wants to know what became of Pearl once she found her way to Seacliff House. But as the woman’s great-grandson, he needs to know.

Kayla quickly learns the whereabouts of her father and meets her formidable grandmother, while Tanner investigates his own connection to Seacliff House. Through a mutual interest in searching out their roots, romance blossoms. But events that cannot be stopped are quickly set in motion—including murder and a ghost sighting—to reveal secrets of the past that threaten the couple’s hopeful future.



Excerpt:

After driving through an open gate flanked by brick pedestals with lion statues on top, Kayla parked her car in front of the house. She and Tanner got out and looked around.

In the center of the circular driveway was a lawn of flowers and manicured grass. The feature that drew Kayla’s attention was the magnificent sandstone fountain in the middle of the grass. The beautiful design was elaborate, with its bottom half shaped like a huge Greek urn, and the top part sculpted into five fish that looked to be leaping out of the urn. Water trickled from their open mouths. Kayla wondered if the fountain had been carved out of the stone from the cliffs.

“After you,” Tanner said, gesturing her toward a swinging gate and wrought iron fence that separated the driveway from the front garden. A long sidewalk made of stone pavers cut through the yard, leading to the front door of the Gothic-style home.

“It’s more foreboding in person than from a distance, isn’t it?” he said.

“Imagine living here in winter,” Kayla replied. “It would be so isolated. It’s hard to believe my mother grew up here. I had no idea.”

Before she stepped through the gate, her ears pricked at the sound of ocean waves breaking and pounding upon the rocks below the cliff. She craned her neck over her shoulder. The edge of the cliff wasn’t far from the house. This rocky piece of real estate would be perilous for a sleepwalker.

“I feel like we’ve been thrust into a Gothic novel,” she said, silently admitting she was glad Tanner was with her. Her nerves jumped under her skin.

As they strolled along the path to the door, her gaze perused the exterior of the house. With its wrap-around porch, steeply pitched roof, pointed arched windows, board and batten siding, widow’s walk, and a tall lighthouse-like tower jutting out from one side of the house on the second level, the place reminded her of the haunted houses she’d seen in horror movies.

Seeming to read her mind, Tanner smiled and said, “Do you think this place could be haunted?”


“Don’t be silly.” She playfully slapped his arm and told herself that was nonsense. At the same time, she found herself trailing behind and letting him lead the way up the steps.

When her feet touched the porch, something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. A curtain moved slightly in one window, and she knew someone had seen them approach. Before Tanner could ring the doorbell, an elderly woman opened the door and stood staring at them, her expression anything but welcoming. She wore a straight black dress that hung like a sack on her bone-thin body. Her gray hair was pulled into a bun at her nape, and her deep-set eyes were as vacant as a doll’s.