Friday, June 9, 2017

book blitz for Little Miss Tress by Tressa Rabbit

This is my stop during the book blitz for Little Miss Tress by Tressa Rabbit. This book blitz is organized by Lola's Blog Tours. The book blitz runs from 4 till 10 June. See the tour schedule here.

Little Miss Tress (Daddy and Me series #1)

By Tressa Rabbit

Genre: Erotica/ contemporary/ quirky/ kinky romance

Age category: Adult

Publisher: Smoke and Mirrors Ink

Release Date: 10 June, 2017

Blurb:

Little Miss Tress: Diary of a Submissive Switch

It all began with this personal ad: “Dominant woman seeks submissive, ‘not whiny,’ male submissive.” The rules were simple. She would earn his trust and he would submit completely—his mind, body and soul—to her every fantasy. He called it a “normal fetish.” She laughed, because she knew better. She also knew to go slow. They would of course have all the time in the world to discover endless moments of pleasure and pain. Normal? Most certainly not. He would learn. She would be sure of it.

She told him to pull out a marker. What she didn’t anticipate was August Sundry pulling out a few tricks of his own. And so, after a failed attempt at “love” with submissive August, Tress Rabbit has come to accept that both her Master and her own dominant side are forever lost. And so, it begins again with another ad. But Tress isn’t the kind of girl to give up so easily. This time, she will seek a man with whom she can explore the best of both worlds.

It begins with another ad, for a ‘forever Daddy.’ The deal is simple. He will earn her trust and she will submit completely—her mind, body and soul—to his every fantasy. He promised to be gentle. He said he wasn’t sure he knew what he was doing. She giggled, because she could see it in him; the Daddy Dom. She agreed to be patient, but failed miserably. After all, it’s hard for little girls to sit still for forty-seven minutes, let alone a lifetime. But she’d try: For her happy ending. For Daddy.

Little Miss Tress is a (mostly) true to life, living document capturing an age play relationship from its first encounter through to total submission. It offers readers a rare glimpse into the dynamic of a Daddy Dom/little girl relationship – giving insight into what drives age- play preferences and needs. Written entirely uncensored, Little Miss Tress and the "Daddy & Me" series turns on both the sugar and the spice.

You can find Little Miss Tress on Goodreads

You can buy Little Miss Tress here on Amazon

Excerpt #2:

I pull into the Vermont State Men’s House of Corrections parking lot. I don’t pay attention to signs that tell me where to park and rules of what is and isn’t allowed in the visitors’ waiting area. I’m here every week, mostly for supervised visitations between children and their incarcerated fathers. The barbed wire around the building reminds me to take the myriad of sterling and white gold bracelets off my wrist. I place them, along with my lucky turquoise ring, into the center console. I don’t bother to look in the rearview mirror. I’m not here to impress anyone. I’m here to take a punishment, with no complaints, and no whining, just like I’ll one day ask of August.

August asked, how will I punish myself? I texted, NYOB. Not a sub’s area. Of course, it’s not a sub’s concern, how a dominant corrects his or her own mistakes. But the truth is more than that. I knew I couldn’t tell August my plan because he would try to stop me. This is where August is green and doesn’t know enough to understand what I need to do. This is where I protect him; us. This is how I’ll be able to drop my insecurities and go about keeping my promise to him.

It’s not visiting normal visiting hours. They ended an hour ago. Yet, guards remain behind plexi- glass; scanning cameras and talking New Year’s Eve plans. I ask to see Duke, a man who spit in my face only a day ago. A man I allowed to humiliate me in public because I had to, because I’d helped put him away for abusing his teenage daughter. Bob, a corrections officer I recognize from a particularly memorable visit two years’ prior, greets me.

“Tress! How have you been?”

“I’ve had better days, Bob.”

“Oh? I’m sorry to hear that. How were your holidays?”

“Fine Bob. And yours?”

Twenty minutes of chit chat, begging the kind I’d never want August to know about, and a few professional, well, favors—not sexual—later and I’m sitting face to face across from Duke. He has no handcuffs. At any moment, I know, he could leap over the plastic chairs and choke me. My stomach is in my throat.

“…the fuck do you want? Happy now?” he growls.

“I want you to spit in my face. Again. Like yesterday.”

He smiles.

I feel sick.

“I want you to spit in my face. Like yesterday.” I repeat myself in a firm, strong whisper.

“You want me to what? Are you serious?”

“Listen you fucking pussy. I told you what I wanted. You know you want to do it, so do it.”

“Is this a trick? I’m not going to segregation for you,” he says.

I’d feared this. I remind myself that I’m no one’s sub. I remind myself that I’m in control, despite being afraid, despite being unsure. I repeat, over and over: Calm. Gentle. Control.

His hands form tight balls and I tell myself not to flinch. If he hits me, I’ll just delay August. If he hits me, he gets more time—something his daughter won’t mind—and I get exactly what I deserve. And never, ever, will I be able to forget what dominance and guts are.

He doesn’t hit me.

It takes me ten minutes of goading, insults, and even mocking him to get what I came for.

He spits. Right in my face.

I let it run down my cheek. I don’t look away. I take it.

“Again.”

He looks around. But shakes his head, staring at the plastic tables.

I rise, wiping it with the back of my palm.

Never, again. For you, August.

About the Author:

Tressa Rabbit is a freelance writer with a taste for all things sugar and spice. She’s been published in numerous erotic anthologies, including “Penthouse Forums.” Little Miss Tress is her first full erotic age play BDSM novel. She is currently working on the last book in the “Daddy & Me” series, Mrs. Daddy. She is also author to several mainstream, vanilla novels under a different pen name.

A self-defined little brat and submissive switch, Tress is always open to new experiences and challenges in D/s power play relationships. She always kisses and tells. For now, when not occupied teasing Daddy, she’s busy thinking up ways to glitter bomb him and get his attention. She often still keeps him up all hours of the night. Usually, it works.

You can find and contact Tressa Rabbit here:

- Facebook

- Goodreads

Giveaway

There is a tour wide giveaway for the book blitz of Little Miss Tress. One winner will win a signed copy of Little Miss Tress by Tress Rabbit (US Only).

For a chance to win, enter the rafflecopter below:

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Release Day Blitz Beautiful Corpse by eden Hudson

Beautiful
Corpse

A
Jubal Van Zandt Novel

Book
Two

eden
Hudson

Genre: Fantasy – Cyberpunk /
Dystopian / Post-Apocalyptic

Publisher: Shadow Alley Press Inc

Date of Publication: June 9, 2017

ASIN: B072M1HVRG

Number of pages: 167

Word Count: 52,000

Cover Artist: Katherine Kalymniou

Book Description:

The best thief in the history of
the Revived Earth is back, and this time it's personal.

A deadly plague is ravaging the
world's population and threatening to kill the only person Jubal Van Zandt
cares about—himself. If he doesn't find a cure soon, he's dead.

The most promising lead is buried
in the ruins of an ancient sunken city stalked by savage predators, cunning
parasites, and the twisted souls of long-dead mages. It would take an army to
get Jubal inside ... or just one of the most renowned knights in Guild history.
The one Jubal betrayed and left for dead eighteen months ago.

First Jubal has to convince her
not to kill him. Then he has to convince her to help save him.

Amazon

EXCERPT
FROM CHAPTER ONE

I motored
the Mangshan between
a pair of
thorny locust trees that
served as the
end posts for
the fence marking
the southern boundary of
the Xiao family’s
ancestral holdings.

Carina thought
she could avoid
me by ignoring
my messages and staying
holed up out
here in the
middle of nowhere.
Pretty ridiculous
considering how well
she knew me.

At the
end of the
driveway, the trees
pulled back to
reveal a traditional wet-country
house—long and low,
enclosed by a weathered
wooden porch complete
with steel sliding-panel
storm walls. Today the
storm walls had
been thrown open
wide, letting the meager
sunlight shine onto
the house’s creamy
parchglass and wood exterior
walls.

I parked
the ’Shan at
the end of
an ancient stone
walkway that had been
buckled by the
unpredictable water table,
and hooked my helmet
and ventilator over
the handlebars. It had
taken me
almost an hour
to get way the hell
out here from
Taern— and that was
running the ’Shan
wide open, without
any traffic.

Why Carina
would want to
live so far
out in the soggies that
she could smell the fishshit, I
couldn’t fathom.

Fire threw
open blast doors
all through my
body. Heat, the most
perfect heat, swirled
in my veins,
warming me inside
out. There was even
a taste, sweet
and spicy and
a little ashy,
like ember dust mixed
with wrackrath smoke.

My eyes flew open
and I sucked
in a damp
lungful of country air,
trying to catch
up on the oxygen I’d
missed while I was
out. I
checked my wristpiece.
The attack had
only lasted a few
seconds. Less than
a minute, definitely.
The PCM fits
were getting more frequent,
but they weren’t
getting longer. Yet.
If Carina had been
watching me out
one of her windows or
via a security feed,
she would think
I’d just been
taking in the scenery.

I headed
up the walk,
careful not to
trip over the
uneven stones, and stepped
onto the porch.
One very handsome
devil with sculpted stubble,
perfect skin, and
dark, piercing eyes
looked back at me
from the reflection
in the house’s
parchglass walls. I admired
his striking features
as I knocked.

Not that
I needed to
knock with the
number of early
warning systems Carina probably
had set up
around her house.
But I’m nothing if
not polite. Especially
when I want
something.

From inside
came the unmistakable
sound of someone
kicking something heavy across
the room.

“You better
pray to God
I never make
it to this
door, Van Zandt,” Carina
yelled from inside.

Paperinas flitted
around my stomach,
and a crazy
grin stretched across my
face. I hadn’t
felt much of
anything but the PCM
attacks in such
a long time
that the excitement
was making me giddy.

“Are you
seriously still mad?”
I’m not always
great with time, but it felt
like centuries had
passed since I’d
last seen Carina. I
took a guess.
“Soam was like…a
year ago?”

There was
another crash inside.
Then the house’s
door roared open on
its track and
I was staring
down the business
end of Carina’s well-worn
knuckgun. She grabbed
me by the
jacket collar and slammed
me against one
of the porch’s
thick wooden columns, then
jammed the knuckgun
up under my
jaw.

“Eighteen months,”
she said. A
muscle in her
mahogany- colored cheek ticked.
If the symmetrical
muscle under her
other cheek hadn’t been
trapped in all
that shiny pink
scar tissue, it probably
would’ve tocked.

Our time
apart had not
been good to
Carina. Since the
last time I’d seen
her, crow’s feet
had etched themselves
into the dark skin
at the outside
corners of her
green eyes. She’d
been athletic and sleek
before, a very
successful feline predator.

Now shadows
stood out below
her high cheekbones.
Where her long sleeves
rode up, I
could see the
veins in her
wrists and thin straps
of muscle in her forearms.
The past eighteen
months had whittled her
curves and soft
places down to
hard angles and razorblades. She
looked sharp. Painfully
so.

Apparently, in
spite of Soam’s nationwide
obesity epidemic, good eats
were not a part of
their prison system.

“It took
you eighteen months
to break out
of a prison
pit?” I squinted at
her in disbelief.
“In Soam?”

“My femur
was shattered,” she
said. “Two of
my vertebra had to
be replaced.”

“Pretty convenient
excuses,” I said.

Carina thumbed
the knuckgun’s switch
from SAFETY to
BURST, effectively changing its
purpose from SCARE
JUBAL to TURN JUBAL’S
SKULL INTO A
BRAIN GEYSER.

I tried
to jerk away from
the deadly weapon—I
love myself and I
don’t fucking like
anything that has
the potential to
kill that self—but Carina’s
grip on my
collar just tightened.
She had me pinned
to the column.

I grunted.
“You’re awfully strong
for a stick
figure.” “It was a
miracle I wasn’t
killed on impact.”

“Exactly, so
what are you
yelling at me
for?” I said.
“It’s not like you
didn’t know what
you were getting
into ahead of time,
hiring me. You’re
just mad that
I saw through
your manipulation in time
to save my
own skin.”

Carina’s dark
eyebrows twitched together,
and her head cocked
a fraction of
a fraction. “Manipulation?”

“Don’t play
dumb with me,
Bloodslinger, it looks
terrible on you.” I
tried again to
squirm away from
the knuckgun. “Will you
put that piece
away already? We
both know you’re
not going to use
it on me.
It’s served its purpose—I’m
very intimidated and a little bit
aroused.”

Carina made
a disgusted sound
in her throat
and shoved away from
me, lowering the
knuckgun to her
side. “What are
you doing here, Van
Zandt?”

“What kind
of stupid question
is that?” I
straightened my jacket. “You
know why I’m
here. You’ve opened
every message I sent
you since you
got back to
Emden.”

“You hacked
my wristpiece?!”

About
the Author:

I am invincible. I am a mutant. I
have 3 hearts and was born with no eyes. I had eyes implanted later. I didn't
have hands, either, just stumps. When my eyes were implanted they asked if I would
like hands as well and I said, "Yes, I'll take those," and pointed
with my stump. But sometimes I'm a hellbender peeking out from under a rock.
When it rains, I live in a music box.

But I'm also a tattoo-addict,
coffee-junkie, drummer, and aspiring skateboarder. Jesus actually is my
homeboy.

https://whitetrashcappuccino.com/

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8023393.eden_Hudson

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Sacrificial Lam Blitz

Mystery, Suspense, Thriller

Date Published: March 2017

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

When English professor Lam Corso receives a death threat at work, he laughs it off. A liberal activist teaching at a small Southern conservative college, he's used to stirring up controversy on campus. It's just part of the give and take of life. Even when violently attacked, Lam is convinced it has to be a mistake. He can't imagine anyone who would want to kill him for his beliefs.

When his home is broken into and his wife's business vandalized, Lam is forced to face facts. The police can't find a single lead. Lam's wife—a passionate anti-gun crusader—is outraged when Lam brings a gun into the house for protection. Left to their own devices, Lam and Susan must examine their marriage, faith, and values in the face of a carefully targeted attack from an assailant spurred into action by a different set of beliefs.

What will it cost to survive?

Excerpt

In the silence immediately after Susan screamed, Simon’s high wail came from upstairs. Billy’s voice broke through, “Mom? What happened, Mom?” His voiced moved to the top of the stairs. “Mama, I’m scared. Where are you?” Simon was sobbing.

Susan grabbed the flashlight and scrambled to her feet. The darkness of the room pressed in on her, weighted with threat, the silence in the downstairs smothering her voice. She shined the flashlight toward the stairway, heading that way, and yelled, “Boys, can you see the light from the flashlight?”

She flicked the light around the room, and seeing nobody, she yelled again, with less panic this time, “Nothing to be afraid of, Billy. I’m sorry I scared you. You and Simon come on downstairs right now.” She shined the light on the stairway steps, fear crawling up her spine from the darkness behind her.

About the Author

Gary Guinn was a liberal professor at a conservative college. The idea for this book came from actual events early in his teaching career. He lives in the southern Ozark Mountains with his wife, Mary Ann, and his dogs, Seamus and Peanut. He loves to read, write, walk, sail, and brew beer (and of course drink it). His fiction has been published in literary magazines and anthologies. Sacrificial Lam is his second novel.

Contact Links

Purchase Links

Hope for Harmony Baby Makers Vs Peter Pans by D. Pichardo-Johansson

Hope for Harmony

Baby-Makers Vs Peter Pans

by D. Pichardo-Johansson
Publication Date: June 12, 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Purchase: Amazon

Two worlds collide when free-spirited, wild-hearted, eternally single, Hope Clayton meets conservative and prudish single father of three, T.J. Wagner. After one surreal night, they are brought face to face again when Hope's work as a business consultant brings her temporarily to Orlando from San Diego while his children are gone for the month. What is supposed to be a one-month agreement of mutual companionship evolves into a deep connection. Hope, who hides a dark secret behind her decision to live a life without children, will have to decide between Freedom and Love.

***

What do you do when the person you are crazy about carries a deal-breaker you can't negotiate? That is the question T.J. Wagner will have to answer when he falls for business consultant Hope Clayton. If the fact that she lives 2500 miles away was not deal-breaker enough, she has been clear that she wants nothing to do with children in her life...and he has three of them. For T.J, life has always been about self-sacrifice and the answer is obvious. But will she give up that easily? Will he be able to fight the true longings of his heart for much longer?

This is a story about people from different worlds finding common ground. A story about looking outside check lists and what to do when you find the person who makes it worthwhile to reexamine the so-called deal breakers.

About D. Pichardo-Johansson, MD

Dr. Pichardo-Johansson is a Board Certified Physician practicing in Florida. Writing romantic comedy and medical mystery started as her outlet to avoid the burnout from Medicine and eventually became her obsession.?

She is a mother of four children, including twins and a child with special needs. She lives in Melbourne Beach, Florida with them and her Soulmate-Husband, a reformed eternal bachelor turned into happy stepfather.

Dr. Pichardo-Johansson is a firm believer in the body-mind-spirit connection and the healing power of laughter. Her motto is that The Best Health Booster Is Wanting to be Alive. For that reason, she only writes uplifting, enriching stories.

Website | Amazon | Newsletter

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Gallowglass by Jennifer Allis Provost with Interview and Giveaway

Gallowglass

Book One

Jennifer Allis Provost

Genre: urban fantasy, paranormal romance

Publisher: Bellatrix Press

Date of Publication: June 6, 2017

ISBN: 978-1622510320

ASIN: B06XXQCPFB

Number of pages: 272

Word Count: 75k

Cover Artist: Deranged Doctor Design

Tagline: Karina didn’t set out to free the Seelie Queen’s gallowglass. Now she’ll do anything to keep him.

Book Description:

After Karina and her brother, Chris’s, lives fall apart in separate yet equally spectacular ways, they leave New York behind and head to the UK. Karina buries herself in research for her doctoral thesis, all the while studiously not thinking about the man who broke her heart, while Chris—who’d been a best-selling author before his ex-fiancée sued him for plagiarism—drinks his way across the British Isles.

In Scotland, they visit the grave of Robert Kirk, a seventeenth- century minister who was kidnapped by fairies. No one is more shocked than Karina when a handsome man with a Scottish brogue appears, claiming to be the Robert Kirk of legend. What’s more, he says he spent the last few hundred years as the Gallowglass, the Seelie Queen’s personal assassin. When they’re attacked by demons, Karina understands how dearly the queen wants him back.

As Karina and Robert grow closer, Chris’s attempts to drown his sorrows lead him to a pub, and a woman called Sorcha. Chris is instantly smitten with her, so much so he spends days with Sorcha and lies to his sister about his whereabouts. When Chris comes home covered in fey kisses, Karina realizes that the Seelie Queen isn’t just after Robert.

Can Karina outsmart the Seelie Queen, or is Robert doomed to forever be the Gallowglass?

Amazon BN Kobo iBooks

Excerpt:

I sped back to
the ruined kirk, my knuckles white as I gripped the wheel. The real reason I
didn’t get on Chris about his constant mooning over Olivia was that at least he
and Olivia had had something. I’d had nothing with Jared. No it hadn’t quite
been nothing, but it may as well have been. One thing that Chris and I had both
learned on this trip is that an ocean is not nearly enough distance to outrun
your past.

I parked in the
kirk’s tourist lot, leapt out of the rental and ran across the bridge and up
the fairy hill, startling some of the local wildlife along the way. When I
reached the Minister’s Pine I was panting, my heart pounding as sweat poured
down my back.

I had to find
that quartz. I just had to.

I dropped to my
knees and felt around near the base of the tree. I found my brush rather
quickly, along with my hairclip and the stupidly expensive Mont Blanc pen that
my advisor had given me when I earned my masters degree. But the quartz, the
quartz wasn’t anywhere. The bits of lunch I’d had turned to lead in my stomach;
if the quartz was gone, then it was really, truly over.

“Lookin’ for
this, are ye now?”

I turned toward
the voice, blinked, and pushed my glasses up to my forehead. Yeah, he was
really there. Standing in front of me was a tall man in what I assumed was
period dress. Instead of a kilt—we American girls tend to think that all
Scotsmen run around in kilts, no matter the occasion; sadly, this is not the
case—he was wearing a padded brown leather coat topped with chain mail, along
with matching brown pants and well-worn leather boots. A helmet was tucked
under his arm, and I could see the hilt of a claymore, one of those medieval
broadswords that were so heavy you had to swing it with two hands, poking up
over his shoulder. A shield rested next to the sword’s hilt, its curved edge
just visible above the man’s shoulder.

I hadn’t
realized they did reenactments at Doon Hill, and I made a mental note to check
the brochure for show times. I also noticed that the actor had his hand
extended, with my lump of rose quartz sitting on his open palm.

“Yes!” I got to
my feet, and grabbed the stone. “Thank you,” I said once I remembered my
manners, stroking the stone with my thumb. The man looked at me intently, his
expression wavering somewhere between confusion and curiosity. “What made you
think it was mine?”

“Saw ye drop it,
I did,” he replied.

“And you’ve been
waiting here since then?”

“I knew ye would
be back for me.”

I blinked, since
I must have misunderstood his accent. What I’d heard as ‘me’ must have really
been ‘it’. Accents do tend to garble words. “I really appreciate you waiting
for me. Thank you,” I said, extending my hand.

He eyed my hand,
dark brows low over his blue eyes. Then he grasped my fingers and brought them
toward his mouth.

“What are you
doing?” I snapped, snatching my hand away.

“I thought ye
wanted me to kiss your hand,” he explained.

“I wanted to
shake your hand!” He looked befuddled rather than offended, so I attributed
this to yet another cultural misunderstanding. It was becoming quite the list.
“Well, regardless, thank you. I’m Rina.”

“Rina,” he
repeated, that Scottish brogue of his making my nickname sound positively
decadent. “’Tis quite an unusual name.”

“It’s short for
Karina,” I explained. “Karina Siobhan Stewart,” I added, wondering why I’d felt
compelled to give him my full name. Historically I’d only been called Karina
Siobhan when I was in trouble.

“And I am Robert
Kirk,” he said, extending his hand. This guy was way deep in character, like
method actor deep. I shook his hand, and we both smiled.

“Good to meet
you, Mr. Kirk.”

“Reverend Kirk,”
he corrected.

“My apologies,
Reverend Kirk.” These reenactors sure liked to stick to their roles, though I’d
never expected to see a reverend wearing chain mail. We stood there for a
moment, holding hands and grinning like a couple of fools, and I took the time
to really look at him. He was older than me, probably a bit older than Chris
too, with dark, tousled hair, chiseled features, and a roguish glint in his
blue eyes. They had obviously picked reenactors that would appeal to the
ladies.

“Do no’ fash,
Karina lass, no offense was taken,” he murmured, and my cheeks were suddenly
hot. I took back my hand, barely resisting the urge to fan myself.

“I should be
going,” I said. “My brother’s waiting for me.” I scanned the area around the
Minister’s Pine, ascertained that I’d left nothing else of import behind, and
turned toward the path. A hand on my arm stopped me.

“Ye canna leave
me here,” the reenactor said. “Ye must take me with ye.”

“What? No!” I
faced him, planting my feet before him and whipping out my cell phone. “I don’t
know what goes on here in Scotland, but I’m an American citizen. Stay back, or
I’ll call 911.” I didn’t even know if they had 911 in Scotland. Would I have to
call Scotland Yard instead? I hoped my phone had some kind of app for
international emergencies. I waved my phone in what I hoped was a menacing
manner, and Robert—or whatever his name was—eyed it as if it would bite him.

“Put away your
tricks, lass,” he said. “It was ye what called me here in the first place.”

I shook my head.
“This is an act, right? Reverend Kirk, freed at long last from the Minister’s
Pine?”

“’Tis no act,
lass. Would that it were.” He stepped closer, and took my hands in both of his.
Robert’s hands were warm and callused, and, despite all this nonsense,
comforting. “I am Robert Kirk himself, and ye have freed me no from just a
tree, but from Elphame, and the Seelie Queen herself.”

“Elphame?” I
asked.

“Aye,” he
replied. “Some refer to it as the Fairy Realm.”

I leaned against
the Minister’s Pine. He claimed he was from Elphame. Of course he was. How did
I always attract the weirdos?

It was generally
agreed that when magic left the world, it was because the fairy realm had
closed its doors to humans. Some claimed that human industrialization, and its
rampant use of iron, had caused the fae to retreat, while others claimed the
global shift from pagan to monotheistic faiths was the culprit. No matter which
theory you favored, the end result was the same; there was no new magic. For
hundreds of years humans had made do with a few crumbling artifacts and
enchanted items, but those items were wearing out too. It was as if magic had a
half-life, and we’d long since passed the middle point.

“You can’t be
from Elphame,” I said. “It’s closed. It’s been closed for centuries.”

“Has it, now? I
will say this, when I was a boy the land was thick with magic. Ye could hardly
walk the roads without encountering one o’ the Good People.”

“When you were a
boy,” I repeated, then I remembered that Robert Kirk had lived in the
seventeenth century. Magic hadn’t started disappearing until a century later.
“Still, it’s closed now.”

“Just because a
door has been closed, does no’ mean it canna be reopened.”

I slid down to
the ground and Robert sat beside me, both of us leaning against the tree he’d
recently emerged from.

Wait, when did I
start believing him?

“So, um, you
think all of this is real?” I ventured, gesturing around the clearing. “The
legend and all?”

Robert smiled
wanly. “Ye have heard o’ me, then?”

“They say you
told the world of the fairies’ secrets, so they imprisoned you in a tree.”

“That is no the
whole of the tale.” Robert closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against
the trunk. “I did have dealings with the Good People, but it was no them who
abducted me.”

“Then who did?”

“’Twas Nicnevin,
the Seelie Queen herself.”

My jaw dropped,
and if I hadn’t already been on the ground I would have fallen. As it was, my
arm went out from under me, and my shoulder bumped into Robert. “Are ye all
right, lass?” Robert asked.

“Yes,” I lied.
There was nothing all right about this. “Why did the queen take you?”

“She fancied
me,” he replied. “Offered me an apple, ye ken. I said no, it angered her, she
cursed me. And here we are today.”

I looked up at
him. He still had his head tipped back against the tree, his eyes closed. “That
sounds like the ridiculously oversimplified version.”

At that, he
opened his eyes and speared me with his gaze. “Would ye be likin’ all the
details, then, lass?”

I swallowed.
“Um, maybe not just yet.” My gaze moved from Robert’s face to the quartz in my
hand. “What makes you think I freed you?”

“Ye made contact
wi’ the tree, wishin’ to rescue me. Wishes are powerful things, ye ken.” Robert
leaned over and touched the quartz. “Then ye dropped your stone, and a door
opened for me. I ha’ been waitin’ for ye ever since.”

“Wishes are
powerful things,” I repeated. “Why do you want to leave with me? You don’t even
know me.”

“I know ye freed
me, and that is no small thing,” Robert replied. “I also know that as soon as
Nicneven kens I’ve left me post, she will send her creatures to retrieve me.”

“Creatures?”

“Aye. And I do
no’ want to be here when they arrive.”

I took a deep
breath and got to my feet, Robert following suit. Once we were standing I
looked into his clear blue eyes, his guileless face, and sighed. He was either
telling the truth, or he was the greatest actor in the world. Or I was the
world’s biggest idiot; the jury was still out on that.

“Well, let’s
go.”

“Go?” he
repeated hopefully.

“If you’re
telling the truth—and I’m not saying that you are—I can’t just leave you here.
And, if you’re not telling the truth, I’ll drop you at the nearest police
station,” I added, trying to act tough in front of the armored man with the
sword.

Robert inclined
his head, and took both of my hands in his. “Lass, soon enough ye will ken that
I only speak what’s true.” He once again brought my knuckles to his lips; this
time, I let him kiss me. It was nice, having one’s hand kissed by a dark,
handsome man. “Karina Siobhan Stewart, I am now your charge, and I shall follow
your every command.”

“Okay. Um.” I
looked him over and issued my first command. “First of all, you can’t tromp
around Aberfoyle wearing chain mail. You’re going to have to take off your
armor.”

About the Author:

Jennifer Allis Provost writes books about faeries, orcs and elves. Zombies too. She grew up in the wilds of Western Massachusetts and had read every book in the local library by age twelve. (It was a small library). An early love of mythology and folklore led to her epic fantasy series, The Chronicles of Parthalan, and her day job as a cubicle monkey helped shape her urban fantasy, Copper Girl. When she’s not writing about things that go bump in the night (and sometimes during the day) she’s working on her MFA in Creative Nonfiction.

Web and blog: https://authorjenniferallisprovost.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/copperraven

Twitter: https://twitter.com/parthalan

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2975887.Jennifer_Allis_Provost

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Jennifer-Allis-Provost/e/B003LXSUFU/

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/jennallis/

Interview with Jennifer Allis Provost

Where do you get inspiration for your stories?

For Gallowglass, my inspiration all goes back to Shakespeare. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream Puck puts an ointment on the characters’ eyes while they sleep, resulting in a few rather humorous situations. That reminded me of the old folk tales about fairy ointment, which allowed humans to see fairies. I was searching for mentions of fairy ointment when I came across a book written in the seventeenth century by a man who was not only purported to have the second sight, but who was eventually captured by fairies. That man was Robert Kirk, and he became my titular gallowglass.

How did you do research for your book?

I tapped a variety of sources. I watched You Tube videos of native Scottish speakers to learn the accent and cadence of their speech. I went to several libraries (I even sent emails to the Library of Congress) searching for primary sources about Scottish life in the seventeenth century; even though this story takes place in modern times, Robert was born then, and I wanted to know what he would know. Also, the main character is a geologist, so I spent almost a year reading geology texts, and learning about the bedrock composition of the UK. Fun stuff.

Do you have another profession besides writing?

Yep, I have a day job at an insurance company.

If you could go back in time, where would you go?

Honestly, going back in time has never appealed to me. I like indoor plumbing and central air conditioning.

What is your next project?

I’m finishing up the sequel to Gallowglass, Walker, and working on my fourth epic fantasy, Golem. Both should be available by the end of the year. After that, I’ve got the third gallowglass book, and a YA fantasy on deck.

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Pen Scratching Poets by Marilyn Benjamin Wassmann

Pen
Scratching Poets

Marilyn
Benjamin Wassmann

Genre: Poetry

Publisher: Author House

Date of Publication: November 1,
2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0448-6

Number of pages: 149

Word Count: 22,634

Cover Artist: Marilyn Benjamin
Wassmann

Book Description:

Pen Scratching Poets has been
described as a delightful book in which the author shares her family’s collection
of creative poems.

The poems compilation and art
work are by Marilyn B. Wassmann with contributions by members of the Benjamin
family and their descendants, with the technical assistance of Paul A.
Wassmann.

The book is divided into two
sections. The first section, Pen Scratching consists of the poems by Ethel T.
Benjamin and her descendants and the second section is Marilyn’s poems.

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