Labels

Wednesday, August 31, 2016

Blitz Audiobook Release of Mudman by James A Hunter



MudMan
The Golem Chronicles
Book 1
James A. Hunter

Genre: Adult Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Shadow Alley Press

Audiobook Date of Publication: August 10, 2016

ASIN: B01BX7PT7M

Number of pages: 415
Word Count: 111,000

Cover Artist: Lou Harper

Book Description:

Levi Adams is a soft spoken, middle-aged Mennonite man—at least he tries to be when he’s not murdering people.

Levi’s a golem, a Mudman, crafted from the muck, mire, and corpses of a World War II concentration camp—killing is just a part of his DNA. He doesn’t like it, but unfortunately he’s been saddled with a divine commission to dole out judgment on those who shed innocent blood. After seventy years as a cold-blooded murder machine, however, Levi’s trying to change his grisly nature. And the AA meetings and church services are helping. A little. But when he runs across a wounded girl, Sally Ryder, during one of his “hunting expeditions,” he realizes self-help may have to go on the back burner.

Someone is attempting to revive a pre-Babylonian murder god, and the road to rebirth is paved with dead bodies. Lots and lots of them.

Now, Levi must protect Ryder—the key to an unspeakable resurrection—and defeat a Nazi mage from Levi’s murky past. But the shadowy mage holds a terrible secret about the Mudman’s unorthodox birth, one offering insight into Levi’s morbid compulsion for bloodshed. It’s a secret Levi would pay anything to uncover: maybe even Ryder’s life. If Levi isn’t careful, he may end up turning into the monster he always imagined himself to be.

ZERO:
Awakening
June, 1943
He blinked his eyes open for the first time: a newborn stealing his first look at the world, which, in a way, is exactly what he was. Except no squealing, rosy-cheeked infant had ever been so big, so ugly, or so filled with blood-boiling rage. Never had a child been so appalling. He squinted at first, letting in only the merest trickle of light because even the wan illumination from the moon, which loitered over the world like a fat thumbnail, was harsh to his virgin eyes.
Smells came next: the scent of musky earth, the harsh tang of powdery slaked lime—used to mask the reek of decay—and buried beneath that, the sour stink of rotten flesh and burnt hair.
The sky spit down a misty drizzle, fine droplets of cool water that turned his gray skin slick. After a few moments more his eyes adjusted fully, allowing him, at last, to survey his surroundings. Mud and muck, deep brown and goopy, lined everything. It squished beneath his shoulder blades, clung to his arms and legs, and liberally coated the corpses crudely piled to his right. Despite the mud, the bodies appeared almost white, like angry specters waiting for him, welcoming him to this new hell with silent screams and vacant eyes.
How he knew anything was beyond him, since this was the first day of his life, the day—or rather night—of his unnatural birth. Surely, no baby pushed and fought its way into the world with dark and grisly thoughts of murder and death lingering in its mind, with knowledge of mass graves, heinous experimentation, and hasty executions. But he knew such things. Fragments of memories floated and swirled inside his skull, dancing a slow funeral dirge, parading incoherent snatches of imagery through his head.
The Wehrmacht march through the streets in their black spit-shined boots and high-collared, gray wool uniforms. Smart and dashing, those uniforms, dressing up the face of murder in civility and pageantry …
The Luftwaffe soars overhead. The buzz of the single-prop Focke-Wulf and the thunderous roar of the colossal Messerschmitt transport planes fill the air with their racket …
He clutches a small boy to his chest, his body trembling as he hides, holding his breath for fear of being heard. Terror and panic wriggle in his guts as the black-garbed Schutzstaffel—the SS—make their way from door to door, fists rapping on wood, rifle buttstocks smashing out windows, booted feet kicking their way inside …
Then, train cars, loaded to capacity, roll through his thoughts. Bodies press up against one another so tightly he can’t breathe—except he isn’t a he, but a she. And she is searching for her sister. They’d been separated in all the chaos …
So many images, circling around, each screaming more loudly than the last, each demanding he lend them an ear or an eye or a hand. He clutched at either side of his head. Broad, fleshy palms pressed in as though he could simply pulverize the images and send them back to whatever nightmare they’d come from. But they kept coming, and as they came—faster and faster, like a hail of automatic machine gunfire—his chest began to itch and burn. It felt like someone had taken a cherry-red fire iron and jabbed it into the meat covering his breastbone.
A huge hand flew to the pain, his fingers finding crude markings etched directly into the skin, cut deep into the muscle below. As he touched the mark, the jagged wound, the voices and visions coalesced into a single demand. A demand for retribution. The anger came next, flowing from the brand like gasoline pumping through his veins, scorching his insides and propelling him to action. He lumbered to his feet, the muck squishing around his thick toes, and made for the muddy wall of his earthen womb. In reality, an open grave. He dug his digits in and used his flabby, though powerfully built, arms to pull himself upward and free.
He lay on the edge of the pit for a long beat, charting the lay of the land, eyes scanning the dark, which covered everything like a velvety blanket. In the distance, not so far off, he saw a squat building. Some sort of bunker, outlined by the faint glow of light bulbs. He wasn’t surewhat he was. Where he was. Or how he’d gotten there. But, as the brand burned in his chest, he was certain of one thing: someone—or, perhaps, lots of someones—had quite the butcher’s bill to account for, and he was ready to collect.

About the Author:
Hey all, my name is James Hunter and I’m a writer, among other things. So just a little about me: I’m a former Marine Corps Sergeant, combat veteran, and pirate hunter (seriously). I’m also a member of The Royal Order of the Shellback—’cause that’s a real thing. I’ve also been a missionary and international aid worker in Bangkok, Thiland. And, a space-ship captain, can’t forget that.

Okay … the last one is only in my imagination.

Currently, I’m a stay at home Dad—taking care of my two kids—while also writing full time, making up absurd stories that I hope people will continue to buy. When I’m not working, writing, or spending time with family, I occasionally eat and sleep.

You can visit me to find out more at www.JamesAHunter.wordpress.com




Tuesday, August 30, 2016

VBT: Solitary Horseman by Deborah Camp


Solitary Horseman
by Deborah Camp

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GENRE:  Historical Romance (Western)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLURB:

The Civil War is over, but the battles continue.
 
Callum Latimer returned from the war to a life he didn’t want and with inner battle scars he can’t heal. 

Banner Payne clutched desperately to the remaining shreds of the life she’d known, but she is losing her grip. 

Brought together by bad luck and cruel twists of fate, Callum and Banner forge a partnership they hope will keep them afloat even as neighboring Texas ranchers go under and their land is snapped up by opportunists. 

Fate smiles on them and Callum and Banner find the missing pieces of themselves in each other. 
Healing begins as their hearts are awakened. Now they must remain strong in their determination to forge a more peaceful existence and not be poisoned by the bitterness of a country still divided.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt Two:

Topping a small ridge, he caught sight of the two cowhands, who were now with Eller and Hollis. Just as well. He didn’t mind that audience for what he was about to do. They needed to know what he would and wouldn’t put up with. As Butter approached them at a lazy trot, they all turned in their saddles to face him. Shadows played across them, but Callum was fairly certain that Johnson and Baines shared a quick and telling eyeball to eyeball exchange.

Yes, boys, time to reap what you’ve sown. Callum slowed Butter to a walk and then reined her to a stop near the semi-circle of cowpokes. He looked toward the mooing herd, some grazing and some lying down to chew their cud. They were all Payne cattle. He could tell because they were underweight by his standards.

“They’re sure on the puny side,” he said, swinging his gaze back to the men and zeroing in on Johnson. He figured that Jeb Johnson was the ringleader and Russell Baines followed along like a faithful hound. “Long way from bringing top dollar at market.”

“We’ll get them fattened up by market time,” Eller said, all puffed up with confidence he sure as hell hadn’t earned.

“We will, huh? That’s good to hear. I’ll hold you to that, Eller. If they’re not, maybe you’d be so kind as to let me dock your pay.”

Eller grinned. “I ain’t that kind, cousin.”

“Didn’t think so.”

“But we will get these cattle up to a decent weight.” Eller gave him a wink.

Callum switched his attention to Johnson again. “Any of you know what happened to the heifer that birthed the calf we found this morning?”

They all exchanged befuddled glances, shaking their heads.

“I’ve looked for her off and on all morning,” Hollis said. “I found a trail, but it got washed out.”

“Over that rise, out by the Pitchfork foothills?” Callum asked, and Hollis nodded. “I saw that, too. Did you notice that it was the tracks of more than one cow?”

“Yep. Looked like maybe three or four.”

Callum nodded, all the while keeping his gaze shifting from Johnson to Baines and back to Johnson. “Mama cows with newborns don’t wander off with a couple of other heifers and leave their calves behind them.”

“Maybe a coyote was after her,” Baines said.

“No coyote tracks. Just cattle and horses.”

“Horses?” Hollis echoed with a scowl.

“They were mostly rubbed out by someone trailing a branch, making them hard to see. I had to get down off my horse and look real close to find a few of them.”

“Well, hell.” Eller crossed his wrists on his saddle horn. “I don’t like the sound of that, cousin.”

“Only one conclusion to make from it,” Callum said, staring hard at Johnson and watching the sweat bead on the man’s forehead under his hat’s brim and dampen his droopy black mustache. “We have some cattle thieves in our ranks.” From his periphery vision, he saw Hollis and Eller glance at each other and then direct their attention to Johnson and Baines.

“I’ve heard about Yanks roaming in these parts and stealing cattle,” Baines piped up, his dark eyes widening.

“I’ve heard that, too, but I don’t have any Yanks on my payroll.” Callum squinted one eye, taking a sharper bead on Johnson. “You took the Payne’s market money last season, didn’t you?”

“No!” Baines blurted, his eyes growing even bigger, bugging out even.

“We was robbed,” Johnson said, quietly, his face tightening.

“Yeah, I heard that story.” Callum rested his hand on the butt of his gun. “Since then Payne cattle have gone missing every few weeks – a few here and a few there. I reckon you’re in cahoots with another rancher or just hiding the stolen cattle in the brush land by the river. Letting them get fat before you drive them to market. Of course, you plan to hightail it from here before then.”

“You surely ain’t accusing us of stealing,” Johnson snarled.

“No.” Callum leaned closer. “I’m calling you thieving sonsofbitches outright and to your cowardly faces. Men are hung for what you’ve done, but I don’t have the time to catch you at your thieving and turn you over to the sheriff to be hanged. So, I’m telling you to get the hell off this land and don’t ever show yourselves to me again or I’ll put a bullet in your brain pans and not lose a wink’s sleep over it.” He stared hard at Baines and then at Johnson. “Either one of you doubt me? Say so now and I’ll demonstrate on one of you.” He tightened the ivory grip on his revolver and pulled it ever so slowly from the holster.

He could see that he’d made an instant believer out of Baines, but it took Johnson a few seconds.

“You’re plumb loco!” Baines said. “You can’t just shoot a man and get away with it.”

“I don’t see anyone who would say that what I do or don’t do isn’t right and proper.” He glanced at Hollis and Eller. Hollis looked off to the horizon and Eller gave a shrug and another grin.

Johnson stared at him before the blood slowly seeped from his face until he was pasty white. He looked away from Callum’s steady gaze and stared at Eller.

“You got anything to say about this, Hawkins?” Johnson asked.

Eller’s brows shot up. “Seems that Cal’s doing all the talking here. I’m just a bystander.”

Johnson glowered at him for a moment and then spit at the ground near Eller’s horse. “We don’t stay where we ain’t wanted. Where do we pick up our pay?”

Callum had to smirk at that. “You can pick it up in cow dung on your way off the ranch.”

Johnson’s head angled back as if he’d been socked. “You’ve made an enemy, Latimer.” He reined his horse around and gave it his spurs. Baines was right behind him, his copper colored mustang throwing up dirt clods.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:


Author of more than 45 novels, Deborah lives in Oklahoma. She has been a full-time writer since she graduated from the University of Tulsa. She worked for a few years as a reporter for newspapers before becoming a freelance writer. Deborah's first novel was published in the late 1970s and her books have been published by Jove, New American Library, Harlequin, Silhouette, and Avon. She has been inducted into the Oklahoma Authors Hall of Fame and she is a charter member of the Romance Writers of America. She is also a member of the Author's Guild.

Lover of the west and the people who tried to tame it, Deborah likes to write about strong, independent women and the men who are their equals. She grew up on a diet of TV westerns which have served her well. Since she appreciates men with devilish twinkles in their eyes, she likes to mix laughter in with the love scenes in her books. Also widely published in non-fiction, she writes and edits for a magazine focused on small businesses. Deborah taught fiction writing for more than 10 years at a community college. She is currently working on her next historical romance set in the wild, wonderful west.

Her books have been re-issued on Amazon for Kindle Direct and have attracted tens of thousands of new fans. For a list of them, visit her website.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE

One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card.
a Rafflecopter giveaway



Her Black Heart Dark Amulet Series Book Two A.J. Norris





Her Black Heart
Dark Amulet Series
Book Two
A.J. Norris


Genre: paranormal romance


Publisher: Limitless Publishing, LLC
Date of Publication: August 23, 2016


Number of pages: 345


Cover Artist: Deranged Doctor Designs


Book Description:


Julia Dunham is a monster. Her heart has been consumed by an amulet meant to create terror…


As a young girl, Julia received an amulet tainted by Abaddon, the Supreme Demon of the Netherworld, and the sigil slowly corrupts her heart. The power of the deceptive pendant gains the attention of her former employer, Maurice. He sends thugs to murder Julia and steal the amulet.


Immediately upon her death, Abaddon traps her on Earth, leaving her obsessed with retrieving the amulet. Julia must find a way to overcome her deadly obsession or be responsible for unleashing thousands of demons on humanity.


Ra’zael the Guardian fell for the wrong girl and lost his wings. He isn’t about to let it happen again…


Ra’zael is tasked with the mission of helping Julia overcome her compulsion to locate the amulet, though he’s reluctant to get involved. But as a fallen angel, he doesn’t have much choice—it’s the only way to earn back his wings. His fall from grace is still fresh in his mind, but despite his best effort, his passion for Julia can’t be ignored. He has to save her from herself.


Julia must make her own choices. Redeem herself or condemn Earth and her soul forever…


Despite Ra’zael’s warnings, Julia tracks Maurice and the amulet to Chicago. She has every reason to kill Maurice. He murdered her. He stole from her. Spending eternity in the Netherworld might be worth watching him die.


Ra’zael knows she still has goodness left inside her…he’s seen it. Julia just has to find it and fight the evil of…  Her Black Heart.


Excerpt:
“What am I going to do with you?” he’d said.
Julia could think of a lot of things Raz could do to her. “You can do anything you want to me.”
Ra’zael smiled and looked heavenward. A heady chuckle left his throat. “Anything? You may want to reconsider that statement.”
All sorts of scenarios danced around inside her mind, things involving rope and leather. Fantasies, yes, but fun to think about. “Uhhh…”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The angel laughed quietly. She eased back into the seat and decided to change the subject; after all, he’d just taken her virginity. No sense in being greedy.
“Why are your wings gray?” she asked. “Do you have Abaddon’s poison in you?”
“Taint. I never allowed him to kiss me, and as far as I know he didn’t.” He shrugged. “Wings get dingy for lots of reasons. Probably because I was in Netherworld so long. I did bad shit.”
“Yeah, but to bad people, right?”
“Mostly.”
“Like what?”
Raz made an aggravated sounding growl. “Arghh…Julia. What’s this obsession you have with wanting to know the specifics? I thought I was a demon and acted accordingly.”
“Just curious.” She shoved her hands inside the front pouch pocket of her sweatshirt. The wad of cash from the Demon Ruler burned her palms. Julia took deep breaths as guilt panged her black heart. She focused on Raz’s chest and tried to match his breathing pattern—steady and rhythmic. Only his inhales and exhales were too long and the train car started spinning.
“You all right?”
Her head bobbled. “Hm…wha…”
“I asked if you were all right.”
“F-Fine…don’t I l-look all righ…” Julia’s words slurred and trailed off.
She woke up cradled in his arms. For someone who didn’t like to be touched, he certainly did a lot of touching. Not being able to resist, she reached up with her hand to cup his cheek. He veered his head away.
“Don’t,” he snapped.
Her bottom lip quivered. Why did she care? She was a monster.
He looked over his shoulder at the chair next to him. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“What was that…that sounded like an apology,” Julia said softly. He guided her head to his chest and she sighed.
“What’s going to happen after we find the amulet?” My amulet.
“What do you mean?” he asked and relaxed his head back on the seat. “Let’s worry about getting the necklace back first then we’ll talk afterward.”
I can’t talk later; I have to kill you.


About the Author:
A.J. Norris is a romantic suspense and paranormal romance novelist.  She began writing as a way to dim down the voices inside her head. She enjoys being able to get inside someone else's head, even a fictional one, and see what they see. Watching how her characters deal with difficult situations or squirm with the uncomfortable ones make the hard work of writing all worth it. She is a movie buff, especially book adaptations, loves watching her son play baseball and communing with other writers.  She lives with her family who are extremely tolerant (at least most of the time) of all her late nights behind the computer.









Tour giveaway


2 autographed paperback of Her Black Heart (US and Canada only)


3 Ebook Kindle edition of Her Black Wings or Her Black Heart (winner’s choice to Kindle addresses only)

1 $25.00 Amazon Gift Card



Book Blast for When a Marquis Chooses a Bride by Ella Quinn


When a Marquis Chooses a Bride
by Ella Quinn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GENRE: Historical Romance

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLURB:

Thanks to their large extended family and unconventional courtship, the Worthingtons have seen their share of scandal and excitement. But nothing has prepared them for this...


The Dowager Lady Worthington isn’t quite sure what to make of country-girl Dorothea Stern. As the granddaughter of the Duke of Bristol, Dotty is schooled in the ways and means of the nobility. But her sharp wit and outspoken nature has everyone in a tizzy. Especially their cousin, Dominic, the Marquis of Merton.


Prematurely stuffy, Dom was raised by his cheerless uncle to be wary of a host of things, including innovation, waltzing, and most perilous of all: true love. Still, there’s something about Dotty, beyond her beauty, that Dom cannot resist. But the odds are against him if he intends to win her as his bride. Will he choose loyalty to his family—or risk everything for the one woman he believes is his perfect match…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Excerpt One:

Dominic, Marquis of Merton, settled into his apartment at the Pulteney Hotel. His pride still stung at having been ejected from his cousin, Matt Worthington’s, town house. Blowing a cloud was the latest thing. Not that Dom would attempt to smoke in White’s, that was not allowed, but he outranked Worthington and should have been treated as an honored guest, not summarily told to leave. Still, it was probably convenient that Dom did not actually enjoy smoking, as he was sure the Pulteney would not allow it either.

He should have gone on his Grand Tour instead of taking a bolt to Town. But his mother had received a letter informing her of his cousin’s plans to wed, and he decided starting his own nursery would be the most responsible course. After all, the succession would not look after itself, and he had a duty to his family and dependents. Perhaps he would travel after he married.

Not that Dom truly wished to leave England. He liked an ordered life and travel was sure to disrupt the structure with which he was comfortable. He did not wish to visit France at all. Any land where the inhabitants would murder their betters held little interest for him. It all came back to the proper order of things. Life was much better when everyone followed the rules and knew their places.

He reconsidered opening up Merton House for the Season, but there was really no point when his mother was not here as well. Without her to act as his hostess, he would not be able to plan any entertainments other than for his friends. The hotel would suit for the short time he planned to spend in Town. It should not take him that long to find a wife. He was a marquis. Even without his considerable fortune, he would have been a desirable parti.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:




Bestselling author Ella Quinn’s studies and other jobs have always been on the serious side. Reading historical romances, especially Regencies, were her escape. Eventually her love of historical novels led her to start writing them. She has just finished her first series, The Marriage Game, and her new series, The Worthingtons, began in April 2016.

She is married to her wonderful husband of over thirty years. They have a son and two beautiful granddaughters, and a dog. After living in the South Pacific, Central America, North Africa, England and Europe, she and her husband decided to make their dreams come true and are now living on a sailboat cruising the Caribbean and North America. Europe is next!

Buy Links:








~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION


Ella will be awarding a Signed ARC of When A Marquis Chooses a Bride (US ONLY) to 5 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour.