All posts in category Author Excerpts

Maureen: A Vampire Tale by Mark Mackey

Today’s excerpt is from the Paranormal novel Maureen: A Vampire Tale by Mark Mackey

All eighteen year old Maureen Rogers wanted in her young life, to lead a happy, carefree existence with faithful boyfriend Peter Garrison, college. And then one night, she has it all taken away, delivered by an act of violence, one leaving Peter dead, and Maureen heading down this road. Little does she know, a predator on two legs, dead since before she was born has been watching this whole thing go down, gifting Maureen with the ability to obtain a measure of revenge for Peter and herself. Thus begins a fantastic adventure stretching from Maureen and Peter’s hometown or Black River, to the streets of New York, and back.

Biking. That’s how Sylvia Downford opted to spend mornings before hustling herself over to local public state Northstone College. With her morning’s plan already laid out before her, Sylvia wasted no time throwing on a light blue biking jacket and black biking pants conforming nicely against the thin, slenderness of her body frame. In addition, she connected a red and silver hard plastic helmet onto her head, a sandy brown ponytail snaking out from behind it, granting allowance for Sylvia to make an escape from the small studio apartment she called home.

Prompt arrival down in the basement with hurried steps, the pleasant smell of dried laundry strongly filling her nostrils, allowed Sylvia to unchain her blue ten-speed bike from the green rusting bike rack down in the basement with incredible haste. It, considered her blue pride and joy, inserted between a large row of the other tenants bikes.

Sylvia’s emergence into the outside world minutes later brought her out onto a still starry, comfortable night, not a hint of sun or blue morning sky peeking out anywhere. Of course this was how she liked it each and every morning with doing it.

Except for today of course, not with just last Saturday, Joyce Zelders, age 20, brutally murdered as she stumbled towards home from a college party in a drunken stupor. Not good old, could do no wrong Northstone of course, but the other college Black River Illinois offered, Dyerson women’s college.

Initially Sylvia felt uncomfortable travelling out at this hour, what with Joyce getting her life cut short not even a week ago, and possibly end up suffering the same fate. But then she realized, Joyce had been killed in the late evening, not in the morning. Of course there was still a strong chance she could get killed by whoever did in Joyce, but, perhaps due to bravery setting in, Sylvia decided to go forth biking any old way.

What was so strange about Joyce’s murder, the attacker had not left a single drop of blood in her body. Like whoever, whatever decided to commit this horrendous act, was after it and nothing more. All her personal belongings intact, the only mark on her body, or rather her right shoulder, the Black River Times reporting her murderer had left a pair of teeth bites as his or her calling card. This gave Sylvia the idea that, well, a vampire might have been the one to do Joyce in. But then she realized, just like the majority of the whole world, vampires preferred big city life filled with bustling life as opposed to dinky small towns such as Black River. Climbing on her bike, she began her early morning routine.

Tiredness grew within Sylvia after a long while of her racing at an alarming fast rate of speed down a long stretch of road. This caused her to bring herself screeching to a stop just outside old abandoned Forest Cemetery.

Leaning her bike up against a section of stone wall rising up five feet from the ground, Sylvia hurriedly opened her red and white thermos and started pouring water, still holding some degree of coldness down her throat.

And that was when her ears became filled with footsteps in the cemetery.

“Is someone there?” Sylvia called out in a concerned voice, bringing herself to stare out onto the ancient cemetery, first signs of blue finally starting to creep into the sky, but yet, all she got was a heavy dose of big, empty nothingness. It was as if whoever was there had come down with a sudden case of incredible disinterest answering her.

Curiosity gripping her, Sylvia moved forward a few feet, now feeling desire to discover the source of the noise. But arrival at the entrance, wheeling her bike right along with her, setting it off to the side, given it was shaped into a perfect semi-circle, the fate of Joyce once again infiltrated her mind. What if the person behind the footsteps was in fact the same sick, twisted individual who did her in? No that just couldn’t be possible, whoever killed her had drained Joyce of blood. Only someone utterly demented and deranged would take delight in committing that sort of hideousness. And there hadn’t been any news reports of any inmates locked up tight in the Fordman nut house located downstate managing an escape. With that in mind, Sylvia ventured forth, heading further into the cemetery.

“Hey, hello?” Sylvia called out in a nervous voice, hazel eyes darting about furiously, trying frantically to spot the perpetrator behind the footsteps she had just heard not even five minutes ago, but nothing. And then like a shot in the arm, once again they commenced. From the sound of them, coming from far off. Sylvia’s curiosity snagged so much so, possibly receiving the same treatment as Joyce had, was pushed to the back of her mind for the time being.

“Anyone, here?” Sylvia stammered out, moving at a steady pace past antiquarian tombstones, not hearing anymore of the footsteps. Moving even further into the cemetery, a couple possums scurrying around, taking the liberty of stopping and revealing their displeasure at her being there and hissing, a new idea projected itself into her mind. What if the culprit behind the footsteps was some infantile juvenile prankster, or idiot brained retard? Or worse, a gang of sex starved high school guys out of their minds with desperate eagerness to force a pretty twenty year old woman such as herself down onto the ground, where they would proceed to rape the living daylights out of her.

With Black River being a hairs breath away from hell town USA, AKA Burveton, the thought was once again pushed to the forefront of her mind, Joyce’s untimely demise. The decision hitting Sylvia the heck with it, discovering the source behind the footsteps wasn’t so important after all.

As she began closing back in on the entrance to the cemetery, the rampant sound of the footsteps once again started up. This time they sounded much closer, causing Sylvia to put fire in her steps. This didn’t put a cease to the footsteps, filling her full blast with the idea she needed to get the heck out of there and fast, less she wanted to become the second Joyce that week.

Just as Sylvia was filled with tremendous relief she was going to be cut a break and escape whatever force was behind them, jump on her bike and speed off to safety, the source behind the footsteps was finally revealed to her. Whatever the heck it was grabbed her powerfully from behind, forcing her to the ground, smashing her face into the grass, still a bit wet with early morning dew. A sharp sensation like a pair of needles were forced into her right shoulder blade, and then unconsciousness overtook Sylvia.

************

A lifelong resident of Chicago, Mark currently attends Columbia College Chicago as a senior, and has thus far, taken third place in the Indie Gathering short screenplay contest 2009, and fourth place in the Indie Gathering Feature screenplay contest. Maureen is his seventh book written, and first to be published.

You can buy Maureen: A Vampire Tale on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Maureen-A-Vampire-Tale-ebook/dp/B0054JI1RG/r

2 Comments
by Joleene Naylor on June 17, 2011  •  Permalink
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Posted by Joleene Naylor on June 17, 2011

http://joleenenaylor.wordpress.com/2011/06/17/maureen-a-vampire-tale-by-mark-mackey/

Target Identified by Lindsay Downs

Today’s excerpt comes from the Mystery/Thriller Target Identified by Lindsay Downs

The body count continues to rise. Unexplained stock transfers persist. Is there any connection between the two, or is it coincidence?

Ezra Swanson receives a mysterious note. Far more cryptic than the one he’d received the year before.

On the anniversary of her brothers funeral Alison Swanson observes a soldier place something by his headstone. Could this person hold a clue to what’s been going on, or is he the stranger she’d met twice before?

When she returns to Myrtle Beach, Sergeant Richard Bosch, the soldier from the funeral, is also staying there along with his collie.

Alison and Richard return to her parents’ home in DC only to find someone has kidnapped her father.

During their attempts to rescue her father, Alison and Richard confront a possible suspect, Shane Goodrich. Unfortunately, he has the perfect alibi.

Richard is captured when he sets out, with the help of several special ops friends, to rescue her father.

Now it falls on Alison, her feminine logic and planning to save not only her father but also Richard.

Identified and cornered will the perpetrator of the murders, kidnapping and stock thefts escape; or will they get what is coming to them?

“-Let’s put it this way, she’s suppose to be mine and was,” Richard stared daggers at Alison, “until she came along. Now I can barely get her to do anything. Like swimming. Before her, she’d never go near the water even at Aunt Maddie’s, now, she loves it. Either that or she does it to annoy the hell out of me.”

Janice didn’t have to think on how to answer that particular question. Since she’d done it so many times in the past. “Alison,” she beamed a loving motherly smile to her daughter. “has always been like that. Even as a child. For some reason, dogs, in particular collies, seem to respond to her. For example, several years ago we, Ezra, Alison and I were down at ‘Mother Rucker’. We saw a guard dog, leashed. Course you know how they behave, all bark and threatening. Well, Alison looked down at the dog and said, ‘why don’t you sit down and stop talking’ in that calming tone she has. Well, wouldn’t you know it, the guard dog did just that, much to the consternation, anger, frustration and embarrassment of the MP. She then walked right up to the dog, gave him a pat on the head.”

Richard shook his head, first looking at Janice then her daughter in total disbelief.

Alison could tell from the look Richard flashed at her that he didn’t believe a word her mother had said. She did her best to suppress the urge to bite his head off, but she pushed her chair back almost knocking it over. “Fine if you think it’s bull shit, sorry Mom, then I’ll prove it.” Intentionally she left out ‘I hope.’ “Go stand in front of the pool,” In anger, some at herself, but mostly at him she growled the words.

With a smug, ‘yeah, good luck’ expression in his eyes he followed her direction but made sure he grabbed his beer. “I’m waiting, for what I don’t know, probably nothing, is my guess.”

Alison, fought to keep her anger down which would only be counterproductive and walked over to Kebi. Getting down on her hands and knees she whispered in her ear, “Kebi, push daddy in the pool.”

Before Richard had a chance to blink, he went flying backwards into the pool.

Kebi, overly pleased with herself, lay down at the pool edge, ears perked up and cocked her head side to side. She watched as Richard struggled to the surface. A distinctly unhappy look on his face, which pleased Kebi so much she looked back at Alison for a reward. Food, which she got.

Alison watched the water glisten off his deeply tanned, lovely muscled chest. Her gaze slipped down to his damp stomach. The muscles now more pronounced from the mix of water and sun. She felt a dampness form between her thighs. She could feel her nipples pebble with the want of his chest pressed against her. His mouth suckling them. A desire to feel his naked skin on hers was growing. But, a cough from behind her quickly deflated any and all ideas of they could do if left alone. And in the dark, or light for that matter. She wasn’t particular.

********************

About Lindsay Downs:

I live in Connecticut and am the product of a dysfunctional family. Dad was Navy. Mom Army. If you know anything about the military that’s almost as bad as having one parent in the Army, the other a Marine. Since I never really took to the water, when I started writing my stories tended to have Army slant to them. But that wasn’t enough. I knew that the best stories, don’t forget I write mystery/thriller and suspense, had to have a little humor in them and since I have a collie I thought that including one in the story would be the perfect foil. So that’s how, in this case, Dakota, a tri-color rough collie, and Emily ended up together. One smart. One smarter. Some of Dakota’s personality comes from the collie that owns me.

You can get your own copy of Target Identified from:

Smashwords- http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/61903

Amazon- http://www.amazon.com/Target-Identified-ebook/dp/B0052LG84E/

5 Comments
by Joleene Naylor on June 11, 2011  •  Permalink
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Posted by Joleene Naylor on June 11, 2011

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Taking Over Reena’s Blog!

Okay, I haven;t really taken it over, but Reena Jacobs, author of the intriguing Shadow Cat, has been kind enough to feature and excerpt from Legacy of Ghosts on her blog.

pooling blood

By me

“It was a nightmare.

Blood; there was blood everywhere -”

To read the rest check out her blog and be sure to leave a comment! 

Also, look for an interview with yours truly on the fifth of this month!

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by Joleene Naylor on May 3, 2011  •  Permalink
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Posted by Joleene Naylor on May 3, 2011

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Bid Not For My Love by Darcee Tana

Today’s excerpt comes from the Historical Romance Bid Not, for My Love by Darcee Tana

When Baron Raul of Kinsborough won a woman at a sale, he never knew, he would enter his castle with her as his bride.When Emma of Rosemund, fled from home, she never expected, she had commenced her journey to love. The first had wanted to become a Templar Knight, the second was on her way to the Abbey. But destiny had other ideas

“What happened at yer fathers?” Peter queried.

“My father wishes to see me wed. Nothing has changed much where that is concerned” Raul answered, once again bereft of emotion.

“I heard, there was disagreement” Peter remarked

“How is it, the news has reached before I did?” Raul grinned.

“Ye left yer squire behind when ye left in a rage. Yer father delivered him, just moments ago. We were about to set off with the others, when the guard saw ye both riding in. We worried a mishap had occurred to cause yer delay” Rowan filled in.

“Aye! My father, it is a wonder he did not get the bride delivered as well” Raul scoffed

“I must be getting old, Raul” Peter smiled “Ye bride is with yer father, yet yer betrothed is here with ye? What brings about this strange situation?”

“We will talk inside. For now, make sure all the guards know, that the lady is not to leave the castle. She is to be kept in sight, always. If she leaves, is taken or if anything happens to her, it will be at the cost of their lives” Raul was stern in his command. He then made his way towards the great hall.

“My Lord!” Sir Rowan called after him

“What is it, Rowan?” Raul inquired

“Does ‘our lady’ know that she is yer betrothed or have ye forgotten to inform her of it?” The question was serious, but the grin on Sir Rowan’s face could not be held back.

Raul was silent a moment and then he said “She will”

“And does she know to who she is to be betrothed to?” Sir Rowan asked

“She will” he repeated and with that reply he marched inside.

*********

You can get Bid Not for my Love on Smashwords

by Joleene Naylor on March 12, 2011  •  Permalink
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Posted by Joleene Naylor on March 12, 2011

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A WIP by Thomas Drinkard

This is an excerpt from  a work in progress by Thomas Drinkard

**************

Before she could answer, I saw that ahead of me, a tractor-trailer rig was in the right lane, brake lights flaring, slowing down. I looked in the left rearview mirror, to pull into the left lane and pass, but a blue and white pickup was there and pulling even with me and crowding me toward the rail. As I slowed, he slowed. It looked at first like the normal stupid driving one sees on the bridge every day, until I glanced in the rearview and saw an identical pickup on my rear… much too close to my bumper.

Damn! I had been distracted by Rita and let myself get boxed in! There was a quick tight feeling in my stomach… this did not look good.

I started bumping the brake to keep the guy behind me off the back bumper. We were all still moving at about twenty or twenty-five mph. Where were we on the bridge? Yes, up there ahead. Just about a half-mile lay the last U-turn.
Rita started to speak.

“Mack, what’s…?”

I waved her to silence—had to concentrate.

The pickup behind me tapped the Jeep’s rear bumper, the rig in front slowed even more. The pickup in the left lane had pulled alongside, then slightly ahead. These damned pickups looked like the ones I had seen at the turnarounds with trailers to haul off vehicles that have broken down. But these were sure as hell not driven by the Causeway emergency crews.
I had always idly wondered, and never knew, what those small trapdoors about sixteen inches square, on both sides of the large rear doors on some tractor-trailer rigs were for. Just then the one of them opened, and I saw one use. The door on the right side dropped down and the ugly nose of something that looked like an assault rifle poked out and pointed down at us.

I hit the brakes, still going about fifteen mph and was rewarded with hard smack on the rear bumper from the truck behind me. I simultaneously yelled at Rita to get down under the dash and snatched the Desert Eagle from its holster from under the seat.

The windshield exploded as two rounds slammed through. Either the bastard shooting was a lousy marksman, or the moving target and strange lighting on the windshield threw him off. He missed both of us.
Then the back window blew out. We were stopped. Surrounded. I slammed the Jeep into park. The engine was still running. I flipped the safety to the “fire” position on the pistol.

As always, in the haze that envelops me in battle, I remember tiny, insignificant detail; like how the glass from the windshield had shattered into such tiny pieces and sparkled on the dashboard. The rig ahead was silver, and needed washing. The guy in the rig was swinging the barrel of the weapon for a carefully aimed shot. He had evidently figured the angle.

I had loaded the big pistol’s magazines with alternating jacketed hollow points for knock down and expansion and full metal jacket rounds for penetration. If one is going to shoot a small cannon, get the greatest possible effect.

I put two quick rounds just below the trapdoor, about a foot apart, blowing neat holes through the thin skin of the trailer and probably out the other end of the rig. The “double tap,” handgun instructors call it. The rifle barrel disappeared.

The passenger door to the pickup on the left was opening. I couldn’t see who was exiting yet, but there was a weapon preceding him. I shot through the door of the truck twice. A man with a stubby assault weapon fell out to the pavement. I was about to put another shot through the cab at the driver, when I felt and heard the whip-snap of a bullet nearly taking off the top of my right ear.

The truck behind! Brinson, you dumbshit!

I was damned nearly deaf from the big .50’s roar inside the jeep, and had been totally involved in those who I could see ahead and to the left of me. I opened my door to drop out just as a round hit the left rearview mirror. As my door swung open, two rounds went through it. I pushed it to the full open position then spun across the seat to the passenger door, raised up quickly, shot through the windshield of the pickup behind us; left and right. The shooter was hanging out the passenger door with what looked like an AK-47. He dropped behind the door, apparently not hit.

I had two rounds left in the pistol and one more seven-round magazine. I shot one of those remaining in the pistol through the radiator of the truck behind me, ducked down, changed magazines and quickly popped up to see what was in front of me.

Nothing. Both the tractor-trailer rig and pickup truck to the left had gone. I left the door open, leaned left and looking at the road between the door hinge and body of the Jeep, snatched the gear selector into drive floored the gas pedal. I nearly jolted myself out of the seat, but managed to hang on to the steering wheel. A round from the truck behind us hit the left front roof column, and I swerved back and forth a little to screw up his aim. Screaming down the road with wind tearing at my eyes, my ears ringing I managed a glance back.

The truck wasn’t following. We were alone on the bridge.

I sat upright with the wind still in my face from the shattered windshield and glass blowing into my lap and the seat, and then slowed enough to look back again. I had passed the last U-turn on the bridge several hundred yards back without realizing it. The pickup that had been behind us must have swung around and headed back toward Metairie, blown radiator and all.
The tractor-trailer rig had evidently gone straight ahead. One of those pickups must have been towing an emergency hitch and trailer—probably for my jeep.

I reached out to check Rita. She had not moved or made any sound since she had crouched in the well under the dash. I didn’t think she could have been hit, but a cold, immediate fear blanketed me. As I touched her back, she uncoiled to face me, her face white and eyes glittering. She held a small automatic. Then, understanding she was safe, shrunk back into her seat gulping for air.

“Keep your pistol ready and your head down.” I spoke to her as if she were a fellow trooper in combat, which was true enough at the moment. I paused long enough to make sure my pistol was on “safe,” and headed the Jeep toward home.

I shook like a drenched man standing in a cold wind.

*****************

Thomas Drinkard is a former Green Beret soldier and a former teacher/writer in the securities exam prep business. Now he’s  full-time writer and freelance editor.  You can find more info and his published works at:   http://www.thomasdrinkardwrites.com.

4 Comments
by Joleene Naylor on February 18, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in Author Excerpts, Daily Samples

Posted by Joleene Naylor on February 18, 2011

http://joleenenaylor.wordpress.com/2011/02/18/a-wip-by-thomas-drinkard/

Cattitude by Edie Ramer

This is from Cattitude the Paranormal Romance by Edie Ramer available at: Amazon Barnes & Noble, Smashwords

“You’re reading Harry Potter?”

Belle started, Max’s voice shocking her head up, her jaw open, her heart hammering. The only other time she’d been surprised by a human was the day Caroline grabbed her. Caroline had snuck in, but Max didn’t sneak anywhere. He always strode in boldly.

“Harry Potter is wonderful,” she said. “He had a bedroom in a room beneath the stairs. The Dursleys are mean to him.”

“You learned how to read that well already?” He frowned, and she wondered if he thought she was faking, like Annette on The Love Chronicles.

“I’m not faking anything.” She scowled at him. Yes, she was lying, but he should still believe her. He should believe everything she told him.

He remained standing over her, his expression hard instead of soft. She liked soft much better than hard. “Your memory could be coming back.”

“Or it could be that I’m very smart.” Or brilliant. She’d always suspected she was brilliant.  Or perhaps she was tapping into the body’s brain cells. Though Sorcha had vacated the body, maybe some of her knowledge remained. Maybe that was why she was catching on so quickly.

She shifted in her chair, then shifted back. She wanted her own knowledge, not Sorcha’s.

He grinned and she sucked in her breath, feeling as if she’d been kicked in the heart.

His smile never made her feel this way when she’d been a cat.

Bending down, he grabbed one of the books she’d set apart. “Did you read this?” He showed her the cover, a cartoon cat in a hat, tall with stripes.

She made a face, though she was glad to talk instead of think. “It’s a silly book, the worst ever.”

His eyebrows climbed up his forehead and his body relaxed, an odd look on his face that she couldn’t place. A good one, not bad. “Sure it’s silly, but everyone loves The Cat in the Hat.”

She waved her hand in the air. She didn’t care what everyone liked. Everyone was human and didn’t know better.  “Cats don’t wear hats,” she said.

He laughed harder than she’d ever heard him in all the years she’d lived with him. Looking at him, she felt the kick in her heart again. She swallowed a scream that said, No, no, no! I should not feel this way about him.

“What about a book about a dog?” he asked.

The horror made it easy for her to ignore the kick and remind her that Max was not perfect, though this stupid body seemed to disagree.

“I don’t like dogs.”

“You remember that too?”

She glared at him. She supposed it wouldn’t be appropriate to give him a warning nip. “I don’t remember anything.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up. “You look so offended.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant but she nodded. From his face, offended was a good thing to look like.

“If you change your mind, I saved one of my favorite dog books.” His mouth straightened, and his mood changed. “I wish I could forget I’d read it, so I could read it all over again.”

His eyes darkened, touching a spot within her heart, making her ache for him and want to say something that would warm his eyes and curl up his mouth again.

“Why?” Her voice sounded funny to her own ears, and she couldn’t think of one thing to say that would make him smile. “Why does it make you sad?”

He shook his head and backed up, his face closing. “Just thinking. It was a favorite of my dad’s. I’d better get back to work. I have a lot to do.” He gave a sharp nod and left.

She watched him turn into the hall, the ache still heavy in her chest. Frowning, she sat and returned back to reading Harry. It stopped her from thinking about what had just happened. It stopped her feeling sad because Max was sad. It stopped her from thinking of the kick in the heart because he laughed.

Most of all, it stopped her from thinking how un-catlike she felt when Max was around.

This was not good, not good at all.

***********

Bio:

I live in southeastern Wisconsin with my husband, two dogs, and the original Belle the cat. I started writing in the 1990’s, selling short stories in the mystery genre to National magazines and two Women Sleuth books. In addition to non-fiction articles, I wrote verses for greeting cards, and I possess a drawer filled with cards for any occasion. I’m co-founder of Write Attitude, an inspirational website for writers. I’ve won RWA writing contests with four different books (including CATTITUDE and her upcoming book, DEAD PEOPLE), and I was an American Title V finalist. You can read about my journey as an independent author on my blog. I also blog at Magical Musings, along with 8 amazing and brilliant writers.

you can find more of Edie at:

6 Comments
by Joleene Naylor on February 11, 2011  •  Permalink
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Posted by Joleene Naylor on February 11, 2011

http://joleenenaylor.wordpress.com/2011/02/11/cattitude-by-edie-ramer/

Shadow Cat – Reena Jacobs

This is an excerpt of Shadow Cat, the Fantasy Romance by Reena Jacobs. Available at Amazon.com

Eric knelt on both knees and leaned over the plant, careful to “look but don’t touch,”as his friend had warned. An insect floated in the fluid, thrashing its thin legs in a frenzied fight for life. Not a minute passed and the insect stilled, tipping to the side.
Eric sat on his heels and reflected on the gruesome finality of living in the jungles. Interesting to visit but not a place he’d choose to live. Already he tired of the forest scene. He’d leave the role of nature lover to the researchers. As for him, one typical day in the office provided more than enough excitement.

Still, the fluid might have medicinal properties or the entire plant for that matter. Just one breakthrough and it’d make the money invested in the Malaysian venture worth all the effort, bringing his company back in the black.

A movement caught his eyes as he stood. He stared at the flowers of a yellow tree, hoping to catch the motion again. He’d learned the rainforest was full of wonders if he kept his eyes opened and remained patient. There! Hidden in the tree, a black and orange corded object waved, the colors camouflaged by the profuse foliage.

He squinted and followed the thick line to its source, but lost track of it behind a concentrated stretch of leaves. He did a double take. Where did she come from?

The faint light flickering through the tree cast a glow on the exquisite bronze skin of a woman lounging on a limb, while the dense leaves concealed her legs completely. She licked her full lips, a pinkish brown, which were made for kissing. Malaysian characteristics dominated her face—high cheekbones with a slight blush. Thick, untamed brows arched high. Beautiful. Straight tresses lifted in the breeze—strawberry blond with streaks of dark brown and copper, as well as a shade so light it appeared white. Her features combined with her distinctive hair hinted to a mixed ancestry. The contrast was spectacular against her honey-colored skin. A light brown, halter-like bra covered her full breasts, allowing just a hint of the fleshy mounds to peak over the top. The yellow flowers provided the perfect disguise for her.

She rose from her recline and stood on the branch, balancing on bare and dainty feet with cute, kissable toes. He traced the shape of her legs, toned and lithe, which seemed to travel forever before disappearing behind an obtrusive bit of vegetation.

She dropped from the tree.

“No.” He reached out as his stomach plummeted with her fall.

The woman landed ten feet below in a crouch, a pitiful scrap of loincloth brushing the ground between her legs.
His brain cranked into gear. She’s okay. His heart beat so hard, it threatened to jump out of his chest. Even his run had not gotten him so excited.

She rose from her squat and approached. Her bare hips flared and narrowed toward the contours of her waist, while the indentation of her belly-button tantalized him.

Already working overtime, his heart rushed blood straight to his groin as it pulsated to the rhythm of her swaying breasts. Entranced, he wondered if the nipples creating points in the thin fabric corresponded with the color of her lips. His jeans tightened, and he resisted the urge to adjust himself as the woman sauntered ever closer, stalking him like prey, assessing him with eyes the color of an amber sunrise.

He smiled at the sultry advance of the curvaceous female. I can definitely work with this. She appeared fearless as she came within arm’s reach, and her feminine scent washed over him, a combination of cool mint and fresh rain. Enticing. Quite tall for Malaysian standards or any woman in general for that matter, she stood about a half foot shorter than Eric. No doubt she’d mold seamlessly to him.

She cocked her head to the side. As if in a dream, time slowed. The wind teased her hair, and the silky strands floated and caressed her shoulders.

Spellbound by the fascinating colors, he lifted his hand. A simple touch. Nothing more. So close. “Heavenly.”

With lightning speed, she batted him away.

He jerked back and gritted his teeth against the pain. A throbbing sensation gave way to a stinging burn, and he cringed at the four deep gashes lining the back of his hand. If the damned thing weren’t attached to his wrist, he wouldn’t recognize it as his own.

“Stupid, stupid—what was I thinking? Damn it,” he said between clenched teeth. “Look but don’t touch, Eric. Look. But don’t touch.”

**********

Bio: Reena Jacobs is just your typical writer who loves to see her words in print. As an avid reader, she’s known to hoard books and begs her husband regularly for “just one more purchase.” Her home life is filled with days chasing her preschooler and nights harassing her husband. Between it all, she squeezes in time for writing and growling at the dog. You can find Reena on Ramblings of an Amateur Writer, Amazon, Goodreads, and Smashwords.

Website: http://www.reenajacobs.com
Blog: http://www.reenajacobs.com/blog
Twitter http://twitter.com/ReenaJacobs

6 Comments
by Joleene Naylor on February 8, 2011  •  Permalink
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Posted by Joleene Naylor on February 8, 2011

http://joleenenaylor.wordpress.com/2011/02/08/shadow-cat-reena-jacobs/

Love is in the Air!

From sweet to steamy, but always romantic! Why not get in the mood for love with IAU? Stop by and Read some romantic excerpts!

(whatcha’ think of the trailer? It’s the answer to what I did with my morning.)

4 Comments
by Joleene Naylor on February 5, 2011  •  Permalink
Posted in Author Excerpts, Legacy of Ghosts, Sample Chapters, Vampires, videos
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Posted by Joleene Naylor on February 5, 2011

http://joleenenaylor.wordpress.com/2011/02/05/love-is-in-the-air/

Sylvianna by Keryl Raist

Sarah Metz just got to Sylvianna College. She went in search of a biology degree. She found a group of wizards on the run from their past. They remember her. She doesn’t remember them. Over the next year, she’ll help them fight off the creatures trying to kill them, fall back into love with the man who used to be her husband, break the heart of her best friend while doing it, and maybe, if they’re very, very lucky, not remember who she used to be.

Sylvianna is a modern day fantasy with a scorching hot romance and a deeply layered plot. Angels, demons, magic, sword fights, free will, destiny, and true love all weave into a complex tale of the search for redemption.

“Any idea of the local layout here?”

“Nope.  We’ve got to get in, scout it out, and take it down.  This ghost has a reputation for being mean, but I wasn’t able to find anyone who knew of it doing anything other than scaring people.  No physical attacks.”

“Good.  I don’t think there’s a ghost that can scare me anymore.”

“Let’s hope.”  They drove for a few more minutes.  When Chuck slowed down the car, Chris asked, “This the spot?”

“I think so.”  He pulled down a long, overgrown driveway toward a rotting hulk of a building.  The first floor doors and windows had tape over them reading ‘Condemned.’

“I think we’re doing this in the open,” Chris said.

“I’m fine with not going in there.”

“Go find it.  I’ll set up the trap.”  It wasn’t the best location for his sort of magic.  He could feel two tiny, far away ley lines.  The ground, a soft, deep loam, while great for farming, wasn’t great for a mage with an affinity for fire or stone.  He spent a few minutes continuing to look around.  No neighbors.  The closest building was a good four miles away.  The forest was three hundred yards from the house.  The house was mostly old, dry wood.  The first time he did this he had wanted fire.

“Can you do double duty for me?”

“What do you want me to do?”

“There’s not enough local energy here to do this, and we didn’t eat properly ahead of time.  If you think you can keep it in check, I’ll set the house on fire and pull off of that.”

“Give me a few minutes.  I want to get a good feeling for how much energy it’ll take to keep this thing reined in before we add a raging fire to the mix.”

“Okay.  Let me know when you know.  Give me your keys.”

Chuck tossed Chris the keys to the car.  Chris pulled the car away from the house, almost to the street.  When he walked back, Chuck was waiting for him.  “I can do both.  It’s not too much of a big deal.  Mostly just an obnoxious teenager with more power than any teenager should have.”

“Great.”

“Want me to light it for you?”

“Nah.  I got this.  Get far enough back not to get burned.  Once I’ve got the circle set, chase it to me.”

“Sure.”

Setting the trap was easier this time.  He nodded at Chuck.  Soon a sulky looking ghost stared at him.  He set the trap spinning and called down the fire.  He hadn’t done it in a long time, but it was one of his favorite tricks.  He let the power gather in his hands, felt the lovely, warm glow of flames fill his mind, and shot it at the house.  In a minute there was smoke.  A minute after that they could see the flames spreading.  He grinned and got to work, pulling energy off the fire and feeding it into the ghost.

In a matter of minutes he was sweating, and the ghost cast a shadow while the condemned building behind them roared with flames.  He loved this kind of magic.  It was clean and beautiful.  In the end there would be nothing but light, cool ashes.

The ghost seemed intent on watching the house burn.  It wasn’t even paying attention to what Chris was doing to it.  The flames roared, and the ghost became opaque.  Chris felt it get past the point he had gotten the last one to.

He kept feeding it energy from the fire.  His focus wavered for a few seconds when the house collapsed in on itself, but Chuck kept the fire away from them.

One last burst of magic flowed into the ghost while the newly fallen timbers cracked and popped as the fire found new fuel.  It looked solid to him.  He found a stick and poked it.

“Hey,” the ghost said as it noticed him for the first time.  Chris grinned at it.  Its eyes went wide.  It knew that grin didn’t bode well for it.

It was solid.  Now what to do with it? He let his mind go blank and slid into the trancelike state he needed to really know what was in front of him.  It had human anatomy again.  Beautiful.  He gracefully drew a little more energy off of the burning house and carefully pulsed it into the brain of the ghost.  One little burst here.  One there.  Another just to make sure the job was really done.  It shrieked and collapsed.

You can find Sylvianna at:

http://www.amazon.com/Sylvianna-ebook/dp/B004H1T98C/
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/34284
http://search.barnesandnoble.com/Sylvianna/Keryl-Raist/e/2940011982194/?itm=1&USRI=sylvianna

Keryl Raist is a part-time writer, part-time blogger, part-time book reviewer, and full-time mom. When not balancing babies with books, she likes to sleep. She lives in Charleston, SC, with two little boys; the “Number One, All-Star, Son-In-Law Of The Year Champion” (according to a discerning panel of her mom and mom’s best friends); and a remarkably unflusterable cat.

Check out Keryl’s blog at www.topublishornotto.blogspot.com

3 Comments
by Joleene Naylor on February 3, 2011  •  Permalink
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Posted by Joleene Naylor on February 3, 2011

http://joleenenaylor.wordpress.com/2011/02/03/sylvianna-by-keryl-raist/

Author Excerpts

because I enjoyed them so much, I’ve decided to continue the author excerpts year round.  So, in the spirit of spreading the indie author love, I’ll occasionally post excerpts of other authors work. If you’re interested in being featured then please send an excerpt between 500 – 1,000 words, an author bio, links where readers can buy your book, your website or blog link and, if you like, a book cover and/or short blurb about your book to Joleene (at) JoleeneNaylor.com.  Excerpts will be posted on a first come, first serve basis.

If you need some advice about how to choose your excerpt, Edie Ramer has a great article with plenty of advice that you should check out!

What genres am I accepting? Any genre, really. Though I write primarily paranormal romance/thrillers, I have a varied audience. Strong language, hot scenes, and violence are all accepted.

9 Comments
by Joleene Naylor on February 1, 2011  •  Permalink
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Posted by Joleene Naylor on February 1, 2011

http://joleenenaylor.wordpress.com/2011/02/01/author-excerpts-2/

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