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Tuesday, May 31, 2016

Betrayal Foretold by Jen Crane, #ReleaseDay

Descended of Dragons, Book 3
by Jen Crane
Publication Date: May 31, 2015          
Genre: Fantasy, Romance, New Adult, Paranormal
Digital ISBN: 978-0-9965756-4-5       
Print ISBN: 978-0-9965756-5-2

Betrayal Foretold Blurb:

A Bitter Betrayal
Stella Stonewall exposed her scaly side to save the man she loves, the soulful and sexy Ewan Bristol. But her troubles have only just begun. A treacherous betrayal at the hands of a trusted confidante leaves her running for her life.

An Impossible Choice
An unlikely savior offers Stella a way out, but it means leaving everything—and everyone—behind. Can she give up the only home, the only friends she’s ever known to save herself?

A Chance to Have It All
Stella learns of an ancient curse that, if lifted, could change everything. To alter the course of history she must trust her former lover Rowan Gresham, and she must trust the machinations of fate: that she may be the key to it all.

Betrayal Foretold is a fast-paced, emotional ride through the mesmerizing world of Thayer. This third book in the Descended of Dragons series, a new adult fantasy romance, is a can’t-put-it-down story of loss and self-invention, of survival, and of the selfless pursuit to secure the happiness of friends.
Purchase Betrayal Foretold
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Excerpt (792 words):
Time spent alone is precious.
It’s cleansing, it’s rejuvenating, it’s fortifying—until it’s not. I had soul-searched and introspected until my deficiencies clung to me like a throng of specters.
Over the last few days, the people of Thayer had learned dragons were not, in fact, wiped out hundreds of years before, and word had spread like wildfire that I was a member of the notoriously villainous species. My world turned upside down in a flash, and the capricious tide of public sentiment turned against me.
I sat, licking deep emotional wounds in the primitive cabin deserted only days before by the three Drakontos dragons—and my relatives—my Grandmother Bay, my Uncle Eiven, and my cousin Stryde. An official Radix committee and the Thayerian authorities conducted searches and quizzed my known associates to learn both my whereabouts and the extent of their knowledge.
My friends had proved faithful and generous in the days since I’d fled our magical grad school, Radix Citadel for Supernatural Learning, or The Root, as most commonly referred to it. But my friends couldn’t be expected to spend every waking moment at my cabin hideaway. Ewan, Boone and Timbra, and sometimes Layla visited when there was no risk of being followed, but it hadn’t been frequently enough to stave off my loneliness.
My arms hung at my sides as I stood in the center of the cabin, too restless to sit, to read, to think. The absence of sound was so prevalent that every tiny noise seemed to roar in contrast: the scratch of a branch against the roof, the drag-tick of an old clock, the whistle of wind through the dense forest.
“Hello,” a deep voice called from outside. “Stell?”
Ewan. Thank God. I raced through the cabin door and found him standing just beyond the front porch. Ewan Bristol rarely deviated from wearing black, and when he did, it wasn’t far. A dark blue V-neck lent contrast to his skin, which tanned easily and well.
I crashed into him, holding him close, and delighted in the solidness of him. Ewan always smelled of the forest, of juniper or fir, and I inhaled his scent while I had the opportunity; before he could leave again. I closed my eyes and absorbed the comfort of his arms, of his warm body.
It wasn’t just that I was so lonely I’d begun talking to the furniture. I missed the sexy squint his eyes took on, the uneven slide of his lips when he thought I was funny or clever. I missed the way his mouth went slack when my top slipped to reveal too much cleavage. I missed his level-headed advice and unyielding support. I missed the way people stopped and listened when he spoke. I missed Ewan.
“Hi,” I said and beamed up at him. His pleasure mirrored mine. It was there for me to see, completely unguarded in the depths of his dark eyes.
He kissed me high on the cheekbone before finding my mouth. Think me arrogant if you like, but I’ve always considered Ewan and me the best kissers ever to lay lips on one another. My mouth fit perfectly against his, his full lips complementing my smaller ones. With a groan, he pulled me so tightly into him I gasped for breath. He had missed me, too.
My Radix-issued personal interactive assistant, which I’d named Pia, chirped from the cabin just as I felt a buzz through the fabric of Ewan’s shorts.
“Stella,” Pia called, “you have received a message from Dean Livia Miles.” I shot a questioning glance at Ewan, who shrugged and fumbled in his pocket for his own device.
When I didn’t answer right away, Pia repeated the notification. “Stella, you have received a message from Dean Livia Miles.”
I hurried inside to see what Dean Miles could possibly be sending. The last I’d heard, she was on a vicious rampage to condemn and disgrace me.
When I emerged from the cabin, still scrolling to access the message, Ewan’s posture was bunched, coiled. A toy soldier wound too tight.
I dropped my arms to my sides, still clutching Pia in one hand. “Ewan? Ewan, what’s wrong?”
When he looked up, his dark eyes were black holes within his blood-drained face.
Someone died. What else could produce such a severe response?
“She…” Ewan cleared his throat. “She sent the entire school your journal entry.”
“What? Who did? What are you talking about? What journal entry?”

His face held such pity. “Dean Miles. She sent the entire campus a student journal entry you wrote detailing your dragon, your family…everything.” Ewan whispered the last. He walked to the fire pit and slid onto a log seat.

Book Trailer for Series:

About the Author:

Though she grew up on a working cattle ranch, Jen Crane has been into fantasy and sci-fi since seeing a bootleg tape of The Princess Bride.

Jen has a master’s degree and solid work histories in government and non-profit administration. But just in the nick of time she pronounced life too real for nonfiction. She now creates endearing characters and alternate realms filled with adventure, magic, and love.

Jen is happily living out her dream in The South with her husband and three children, striking that delicate balance between inspiration and frustration.

Book 2 in Jen's new fantasy romance series, Descended of Dragons, was selected by iTunes/iBooks as "Our Pick" in fantasy/sci-fi.

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Find Jen Crane online:

Twitter: @JenCraneBooks
Instagram: JenCraneBooks
Pinterest: JenCraneBooks

Loving The Book Presents: The Captives: Master of Malice by Cas Peace; #BookTour & #Giveaway

A city besieged by evil…

Secure in his stolen stronghold, Baron Reen continues to sow chaos in Albia’s capital. Nowhere is safe from his malice and the King’s Guard is powerless to stop him. Crucial pieces of his plan are falling into place and soon his vengeance will be complete. All he lacks is the final game piece that will force his archenemy to her knees before him.
Sullyan works frantically to solve the mystery of Reen’s newfound powers. She knows she is getting closer to the truth, but will she be too late to save the scarecrow’s captives?

~ Amazon Amazon UK

Cas lives in the lovely county of Hampshire, southern UK, where she was born. On leaving school she trained for two years before qualifying as horse-riding instructor. During this time she also learned to carriage-drive. She spent thirteen years in the British Civil Service before moving to Rome, Italy, where she and her husband, Dave, lived for three years. They enjoy returning whenever they can. Cas supports many animal charities and owns two rescue dogs. She has a large collection of cacti and loves gardening. She is also a folk singer/songwriter and is currently writing and recording nine folk-style songs to accompany each of her fantasy books. You can listen to and download all the songs from her website:
See the video of her performing live at the King’s Envoy book launch here:
Find out more at her website:

Connect with the Author here: 

Author Facebook ~ Facebook ~ Website ~

 ~ Blog ~ Amazon ~ Reverbnation ~

Character Casting
Sullyan: Bryce Dallas Howard
Robin: Hugh Dancy
High King Elias: Sean Bean
Bull: Mark Addy
Taran: Ed Speleers, or Bradley James
Jinny:  Elle Fanning.
Rienne: Katie Mcgrath.
Queen Sofira: Cate Blanchett
Baron Reen: Jackie Earle Haley

The Captives
Chapter One
Princess Seline woke to the sound of the servant delivering the overloaded breakfast tray. Bessie did not stir, so she got out of bed and went to collect her own plate, wrinkling her nose at her nursemaid’s mountain of food. Seline liked to take a walk in the castle park after breakfast, the earlier the better. Bessie knew this very well, yet always lingered over her extravagant meal and interminable morning ablutions. Sometimes Seline suspected Bessie of deliberately dallying, especially after Seline had given her a difficult time.
Seline had had enough. She was not a child anymore, unable to dress herself or find her way about. She did not need a chaperone, certainly not within the bounds of her own house. She finished her fruit and bread, drank the milk, washed quickly in water heated over the nursery fire, and dressed in simple, warm clothing. It might be gray and dismal outside, but she still wanted her walk. She did not see why she should wait for the sloth-like Bessie, who had only just fetched the breakfast tray to her own room to eat. With the noise of her exit concealed by Bessie’s clinking cutlery, Seline emerged into the hallway and made her way toward the stairs.
She passed the east wing door and wondered what the vagrant was doing. She was still annoyed he had refused her help. Surely he would need food and drink? What she had taken him the previous evening would not last more than a day. He would find no sustenance in the deserted east wing.
She had half decided to ignore his refusal and smuggle him more food when she remembered she had given him the only key to the east wing. One of her favorite curse words nearly escaped her lips, but she bit it back just in time. She would have to be careful of that. Bessie would inform the King if she ever heard her charge uttering obscenities.
Seline stamped past the doorway, irritation growing as she realized she had lost her only refuge. Until the vagrant returned the key, she had no bolt-hole. She sighed. That would teach her to offer her help so quickly. The prospect of helping her mother had excited her, and she had not thought things through. She ought to have kept the key or ordered the vagrant to have a copy made.
Feeling petulant, she decided to stay outside as long as she could. Let Bessie come and search for her, although the lazy maid would likely send some lesser servant instead. Well, the Princess was under no obligation to obey servants.
Holding her head at an arrogant angle, Seline stalked past the guards, ignoring their greetings, and emerged into the morning chill.
“What the hell’s going on, Brynne? What can have happened to Jinny?”
Taran had gone through elation, fear, anger, puzzlement, terror, and confusion after Sullyan’s startling statement that the burned skeleton in the ruins was not Jinella. At first Taran’s soul had swelled with hope and gladness. But then his memory of her frantic mental contact intruded, and the terror or pain that must have engendered it plunged him back into fearing what had become of her. Knowing he had lain insensate for twenty-four hours, useless both to her and his King, ate away at him, and he completely missed the thing that most troubled Sullyan.
Sullyan could hardly blame him. He was looking at the personal danger and terror, thinking only of his love and what had become of her. Sullyan, worried though she was for Jinella’s safety, was much more concerned by the murder and elaborate subterfuge perpetrated here: the killing of a woman who superficially resembled the Baroness and the planting of her body, dressed in Jinny’s jewels and clothing, in order to … what? Throw them off the scent long enough to spirit her away? But the fire alone did that. By the time the conflagration had burned itself out, whoever had taken Jinny was long gone.
No. This elaborate charade had an entirely different purpose. There was a pattern here, a clue, she was certain. She just was not sure yet what it was.
She turned to regard Taran, her heart lurching with pity. He burned to do something to help Jinny, yet he was helpless, bound by his commitment to Elias and without any clue as to who might have taken her or where she might be. Sullyan could only imagine how she would feel if it were Robin. She would be climbing the walls to find him.
“I cannot say, Taran. I am as confused and fearful as you. But I will pledge you this: once I have attended the duties that await me, we will sit together and reach for Jinella’s mind. If she was able to overcome her lack of talent once, she might do so again. You and I together might be able to sense her. I will stand for you; you can use my strength and skill, along with your intimate knowledge of her, to seek her out. More than that, I cannot offer you.”
Taran squeezed her shoulder, too full of fear and hope to express what he felt.
They arrived back at the castle just before mid-morning and rode into a garrison courtyard strangely devoid of people save for a lone swordsman on patrol. Sullyan shot Taran a look as she slid from Drum’s back, leaving him to dismount as best he could with his injured leg. She yelled for a groom to take Drum’s reins as the patrolman caught sight of them. He raced to meet them, panting as he threw Sullyan a hurried salute, but she gave him no time to catch his breath. “Where is everyone? Why is no one else patrolling the garrison?”
“They’re all inside the castle, Colonel. Something’s happened …”
Sullyan sprinted for the side door leaving Taran to hobble after her. Fear knotted her stomach—not more bad news! She pounded up the stairs, calling urgently for information.
On the upper floor, Sullyan accosted a servant who appeared flustered and confused. He gabbled an incoherent message in which the only clear words were “dying” and “Levant.” Sullyan took off at a trot and Taran followed more slowly as she made for Levant’s suite.
She ignored the quick, soft footsteps on the carpet behind her, her attention riveted on the tight knot of people gathered outside Levant’s door. She wheeled to face Taran as he reached her, but then stared angrily past his shoulder at someone behind him.
“Princess. What are you doing here? Why are you alone? Where is your maid?”
Her tone was sharp. Seline drew herself up to deliver a proud retort, but Sullyan was in no mood for the young girl’s pertness. Whatever had happened was one strange occurrence too many, and her duty to her King overrode the sensibilities of anyone who got in the way of her execution of that duty.
She swung round on the nearest guard. “You. Take the Princess back to the nursery and give her to her maid. Do not leave her alone. See that they both remain there, do you hear?”
Seline drew an outraged breath, gray eyes snapping with haughty pride. “I don’t have to do what you say. You’re not my father; you can’t order me about like that!”
Sullyan stared at her coldly. “Colonel Vassa and I are responsible for your safety while your father is away, and you will follow any order we give you. Protest to the King when he returns, if you wish. Until then, Madam, you will obey me. Now go to your rooms.”
She waved her hand and the guard led the spluttering Princess away, her angry protestations loud in the hushed hallway. Sullyan ignored her, reserving her pity for the hapless guard, who had to endure Seline’s spleen all the way to the nursery.
Sullyan entered Levant’s suite, nearly gagging as a dreadful smell hit her like a sledgehammer. She covered her mouth, trying to hold on to the contents of her stomach.
This was more than Rendan Levant had managed, judging by the carpet by his bed. And it was not the only indignity his body had suffered.
He lay on his left side, breathing harshly through a slack mouth, his skin a ghastly shade of green. His eyes were open but unseeing, glazed over by a strange milky film. His nightgown was drenched in sweat and bunched around his legs, tangled with the bedclothes when his body convulsed. Urine and excrement soaked and covered everything. The remains of a half-eaten meal lay on the floor, scattered by the suffering man’s uncontrollable spasms.
Sullyan crossed to his side, laying her hand on the clammy brow. She struggled to draw breath through the fug of sickness and stench of vomit. “Who found him?”
“I did.”
Colonel Vassa entered the room, followed by two healers. He stood back, a hand to his mouth, as they approached the sick man to examine him. “When I did not find him in his office, I looked first in the garrison and then in the dining hall. One of the servants told me he had brought a tray in at dawn, so I came back to see if he was still here. I found him like this.”
A yell sounded in the hallway and the guard who had escorted Seline pelted into the room. “She’s dead! The nursemaid is dead! There’s blood and vomit and—”
Sullyan let out a curse. “Where is the Princess, man?”
“I left one of the other guards with her, Colonel.”
Sullyan nodded. “Get back there and make sure there are two guards with her at all times. Touch nothing in the room—nothing, do you understand? Your lives may depend on it.”
The guard ran off and Sullyan turned back to the healers. “Has he been poisoned, Endor?”
The older of the two men nodded, his broken-nosed face nearly as green as Levant’s, whose breathing was growing shallower by the moment. “Someone fetch water, lots of water. And salt. Hurry!”
One of the hovering servants dashed to carry out his orders as Sullyan turned to Vassa. “Jerrim, these are not random cases of poisoning due to bad food, these are deliberate acts. The person responsible will be long gone, but I recommend we close down the castle. I also suggest we turn out the garrison and check every one of the castle’s inhabitants, in case anyone else is affected. Do you agree?”
Though Vassa was technically the senior officer as he was Blaine’s second-in-command, and it was his tour of duty at the castle, he did not begrudge Sullyan taking command in this crisis. He simply nodded his assent and left to give the orders.
Sullyan knelt by Levant’s side, addressing Healer Endor. “We need a purgative, and quickly.”
The master healer was already reaching for his medical bag. “We do not know which poison was used, Colonel. Bringing it back up may do more harm than good.” He produced a packet of purging herbs. “And he’s not a young man.”
She held his gaze. “He will most certainly die if we do nothing.”
Endor opened the packet, shaking his head. “Someone fetch me that jug on the table. And the cup.”
Taran did so, and the healer mixed the strong smelling herbs into the water. There was only about a cupful in the jug. Levant must have drunk some before the fever came upon him. The purgative brew would be very strong.
“Turn him on his back and then stand away,” Endor instructed. “You should all stand away.”
He placed a hand under Levant’s head, tilting it back, causing him to open his mouth. Trusting his reflexes to seal off his airway, Endor poured the liquid down Levant’s throat, the heavy aroma of purging herbs masked by the vile smell issuing from the sick man’s gullet.
When the liquid hit Levant’s stomach, he convulsed violently, lurching over the side of the bed, bringing it all up again. Most in the room avoided the splatters, but not all. Those who had not slipped away for a hasty wash and change of clothes.
A servant arrived with water, another with salt. The second healer mixed the two in the water jug and then passed it to Endor. He poured the biting fluid down Levant’s helpless throat, heedless of the consequences.
With every infusion, the sick man convulsed, vomiting wretchedly. What came up smelled vile and turned the water murky brown. The convulsions and the effort required to expel the fluids exhausted the stricken man. After the third time, Sullyan stepped in to support Levant’s failing strength with her own.
The First Minister was no Artesan, but he knew Sullyan well and offered no resistance to her probing psyche. With the way thus left open for her, she managed to bolster his energy before it gave out completely. Her face was as pale and clammy as his by the time his response to their treatment eased.
She glanced up at Endor, who was looking to her for guidance. Artesan healing was still new to him and he was unsure how to proceed. “Keep giving him the salt water until what comes back up runs clear. I think he is over the worst. He did not eat all of his meal, if that is where the poison was, so perhaps he did not receive a lethal dose. But the drain on his body has been severe, and as you so kindly pointed out, Endor, he is not a young man.” She glanced at Taran. “If you can find a way to support him, Taran, do so.”
Endor flushed. “I have never known so old a man recover from such virulent poison.”
Sullyan smiled grimly. “Ah, but then you have never seen one attended by Artesans before, have you?”
She swept from the room, leaving the healers to their work and Taran to concentrate on trying to reach the stricken man’s inner resources.

To view our blog schedule and follow along with this tour visit our Official Event page 

Monday, May 30, 2016

Bridging the Gap Promotions presents: Lost in Wonderland by Nicky Peacock; #BlogTour, #Spotlight

Lost in Wonderland
The Twisted and the Brave #1
Nicky Peacock
Evernight Teen Publishing, 31k words
Suspense, Paranormal, Urban Fantasy, Horror
14+ due to violence and adult situations

serial killers, and imaginary friends—

being a Wonderlander can be murder...

Once upon a time, Kayla was lost. Then she found Wonderland, but not the one you know. Run by ex-government agents and funded by an eccentric Silicon Valley billionaire, this Wonderland is the name of a collective of highly trained vigilantes who hunt serial killers. Now Kayla, aka Mouse, works tirelessly alongside her fellow Wonderlanders, Rabbit and Cheshire, baiting dangerous murderers. But even her extensive training hasn’t prepared her for the return of her older brother…

Shilo has spent most of his life in an insane asylum, convinced his mother was abducted by a sinister Alaskan monster who lures the lost away to feast upon their flesh. And now he’s certain that his sister
is in the same monster’s crosshairs. But if Shilo is going to save what’s left of his family, he’ll have to convince his sister that maybe, just maybe, we’re all a little mad.

Buy Links:  

Evernight Teen     Amazon      B&N


Before I can scream, he stuffs me in his trunk. It is dark, smelly, and contains an empty plain black plastic bag and a dirty shovel; these are not good signs. I put my hands to the top of the trunk and push. It is locked. I wasn’t getting out till he wanted me to. I resign myself to curl into a ball, the acidic-smelling sweat of his palms still imprinted on my bare, narrow shoulders. I should be listening out for the car engine, hearing when it slows for corners or revs on open roads. I should be testing the resilience of all the sides of the black space around me. I should be doing all the things they tell you to do, but I don’t. I simply stay in my
little ball, quiet and patient.

The car bounces up and down and I realize we’re not on the main road anymore. He’s taking me somewhere remote…

We come to a soft stop. The slam of a car door shivers through the metal of the vehicle. I know what is going to happen. It’s so inevitable that it’s almost laughable. Death comes to everyone at some point; what is that saying, “No one can avoid death and taxes.” Funny
the things you remember when you’re in danger. I suppose your brain tries to distract you with all sorts of useless crap, anything to keep you from shutting down and freaking the hell out. I grab at my forearm, an almost robotic reaction, feeling down it to check that my tracking chip is still there. The hard edges beneath my skin make me smile. My small, metallic friend never lets me down, never abandons me.

The lid to my dark place is pulled up and I see him. His face is blank. There’s no hint of emotion or even intent other than what can be derived through his actions. His hands are sturdy as he pulls me from the trunk and stands me up before him. Being barely five feet tall, I only stand to his chest. I look down to the ground between us and see the cheapest sneakers in the world, ones probably made by enslaved third-world children. Man this guy is pure evil.

“Don’t worry, girl.” He puts a hand on my cheek and graces me with a twitchy smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. The hand lingers longer than usual polite social circles would allow. My eyes widen. I know that I am one of many girls he has brought here—one of the many that he planned to rape and strangle, then leave used and vacant by the side of the road, a hollow tangle of floppy limbs. How do I know this? Because I know him. I was looking for him. I’m not who, and what, he thinks I am. I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl, scared by the death sentence before her. No, I am something else entirely.

I smack his palm from my cheek and use the momentum to reach over with my other hand to grab his wrist. I position myself in front of him and use his own body weight to pull him down and over my now bent back. He hits the ground so hard he cries out. I keep hold of his arm and twist it around and under. He moves his body, angling it in the same direction in an attempt to ease the tension I’m creating.

“Stop!” he yells, those crappy sneakers frantically pumping to find enough purchase to get him to his feet.  I push harder till I hear the bone snap. He screams, but thanks to the remote location he has taken us to, no one hears him. I let go of his wrist and turn to retrieve the shovel from the trunk. I take a minute to loom over him. He is trying to get up, but the weight and pain of his broken arm is putting him off-balance. Funny how fragile the human body actually is, even one that belongs to a sick serial killer.

I raise the shovel and smack it over his knees. He howls and tries to shield himself with his good arm. An arm that is not intact for long, as I turn the shovel and this time use the edge to dig into his flesh. Blood pools on the ground and he begins to crawl. I’m not sure where he’s trying to go. I think his goal is just to get away from me. I walk the few steps to where he’s managed to drag himself to then bring my weapon down hard onto his skull. The splintering sound of bone meeting metal is my cue to get on with the operation. I pull my cell phone from my pink sparkle-covered jeans and dial the only number on it. An automated message greets me. “Off with their heads.” I take a breath and look over at the mangled mess of the serial killer they knew as the Doll Maker. “Here, here,” I say. The call rings off and I know that I have to make my exit now. They will come and clean up the mess.

No one will ever know that the Doll Maker was an accountant with really bad shoes, and I mean really bad. It’s not till they’d stopped moving that I see peeling luminous go-faster stripes adorning their sides. Yeesh. The blood splatter does little to hide their ugliness.  
I stoop and check for a pulse, finding none. His skin is already clammy and I could swear slightly rubbery, but in truth it is probably just my imagination.

I throw down the shovel and begin the trek back to civilization. The night air is bitter and cruel, so I pull up my lilac hood against it. An unmarked black car zooms past me. They were quick tonight. I rub my hand up my forearm and feel the comfort of my chip. My chip
is a constant friend, albeit a chatty one; they will always be able to find me, know where I am, where I’ve been. Not that I’m complaining. I was lost once, when I was very little. And although that fear bubbles in my mind every day, I beat it back with my chip. I’ll never be lost again; or at least that is what my adoptive parents tell me. Wonderland doesn’t lose its operatives.

About the Author:

Nicky is a published author of both YA and adult urban fantasy, paranormal romance and horror fiction. She lives in the heart of the UK, where she has run a writers' group for over 4 years to help new writers find their feet on the path to publication. A member of both the
Society of Authors and the British Fantasy Society, Nicky has had over 30 stories published in various anthologies. She loves to talk to readers, so please feel free to either get in touch with her through her blog, or on any of the social media below.