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Forged In Fire - Juliette Cross

1/21/2015

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Forged In Fire

She never knew this demon world existed. Now she just wants to survive it.

        Genevieve Drake never needed a man to come to her rescue. Not until the night of her twentieth birthday, when some dude nearly chokes her to death in an alley behind a New Orleans Goth club. And a hot stranger splits the guy in half, rips a monster from inside, and incinerates it into ash.
        The hunky rescuer? Jude Delacroix—Dominus Daemonum, Master of Demons, now her guardian, whether she likes it or not. But she’s seriously beginning to like it.
        Her would-be murderer turns out to be only the first of many minions of the demon prince, Danté, who has all kinds of lascivious and sadistic plans. Which means when the formidably beautiful Jude offers his protection, Genevieve has no problem accepting it.
        For Jude and his fellow demon hunters tell her she is a Vessel, one who is born to serve the Light, but can be corrupted into a weapon of darkness. And to survive, she must trust a man whose unearthly eyes promise heaven…but whose powers unleash hell.


Warning: Contains a dark and brooding demon hunter who harbors even darker secrets, a snarky heroine who’s being hunted by every demon in the underworld, and a sadistic demon prince with a fancy for violent sexual encounters.

Excerpt

        I’d parked illegally on the street, knowing full well I’d probably have a ticket on the windshield when I returned. Campus cops were like sharks in bloody waters, sniffing out offenders with notorious stealth. You never saw them but sure as hell felt bitten when they got you. Dreading to see that I’d been attacked by one of these predators, I rounded the corner, and my heart stopped.
        Propped beautifully against my silver 350ZX was my rescuer, R-and-B from last night. Faded jeans fit snugly on his hips, and a gray T-shirt accentuated a perfect upper body. His black hair fell just right across lovely dark eyes. With casually crossed arms, he watched me approach.
        Heart, please stop pounding that way before he notices.
        This was no accident. He’d found me somehow. Should I be afraid? He didn’t look dangerous. Well, not in a serial-killer sort of way. Hell, he looked good enough to eat. Totally faking bravado, I stopped in front of him with one hand on my waist.
        “Are you stalking me?”

        He didn’t answer, eyeing me from bottom to top. His gaze paused at my throat, then finally made its way to my eyes. Still mute. I hated awkward silences.
        “Didn’t your mother ever teach you it’s not polite to stare?”
        That seemed to jar him a bit. He straightened, his expression grim at best.
         “I apologize. I was—”
        “Checking me out. Yeah, I got that loud and clear.”

        Damn, I was brave. He cleared his throat, hiding a smile now.
        “I was going to say, examining you.” He gestured to my neck.
        “Examining? Why? Are you a doctor?”
        “Of sorts.”
        “What sort of sort?”
        “I have a doctorate.”
        No way. He seemed too young to have a PhD.
        “A doctorate in what?” I asked skeptically.
        “Philosophy.”

        “Your expertise?” I asked, noting the rather sarcastic lilt in my voice. He didn’t bat an eye.
        “My thesis was on how weapons reflect the savagery and sophistication of a culture.”
        That accent again. Definitely European. But what country?
        “Well, a PhD in weaponry may give you some idea how to inflict injuries, but it doesn’t qualify you to examine and diagnose them.”
        “True.”
        Ha! One point for me.
        “So…” I let the word hang. “How could you possibly have a PhD in anything at your age?”
        “I’m older than I appear.”
        A slow, slow devastating smile. A fluttering in my stomach felt like a frantic flock of blind birds. Re-lax, Gen. Thank God he spoke, because for the moment, my lips had completely forgotten how to form words.
        “I simply wanted to determine whether you’d recovered from last night’s attack,” he said, pushing off my car and coming closer.
        Oh no. He was going to touch me. Genevieve Elizabeth Drake, do NOT faint. He reached out and gently folded back my hoodie. He lifted my chin and angled it so that he could see the marks I knew were purpled along the left side. Why was I letting this stranger get so close? Even if he was picture-book gorgeous. I pushed his hand away and stepped around him to my car.
        “I’m fine,” I mumbled, pulling the keys from the front pocket of my backpack. “What I want to know is how you knew where to find me. And why are you following me? It’s a bit creepy, even if you did save my life last night.”

        We’d now switched places. I leaned back against my car. He stood there, examining me again, thumbs hooked in the front pockets of those yummy jeans.
        “Yesterday was your twentieth birthday, wasn’t it?”
        Okay. Double creepy.
        “How did you know?”
        My question confirmed whatever idea he had in his head. I could see it in the nod and drop of his perfect cleft chin.
        Two girls flitted by, engrossed in a conversation. One nudged the other when they caught sight of him, ogling shamelessly. They giggled. Couldn’t blame them, but it pissed me off for some reason. R-and-B gave them no real notice, turning back to me.
        “I think we should go somewhere private to talk.”
        Said the creepy man to the little girl with a lollipop and a white van waiting around the corner.

        “Um, I don’t think so.” I crossed my arms. “I don’t know you. And no matter what you did for me last night, at this point, I don’t trust you.”
        He shifted weight to his other leg. “As you wish. We’ll talk here.”
        “Not that I’m ungrateful, but why were you following me last night? Into the alley?”
        “I wasn’t following you. I was following the demon.”
        “Fair enough. How did you know it was my birthday?”
        “Last night, I wondered but thought it impossible. I had not thought to meet another like you in all my time as a…” He paused, glancing around and lowering his voice. “As a Dominus Daemonum.”
        I shook my head. “Okay, hold up. Met one what before? And what the hell is a dominus da-whatever-you-said?”
        Dark enchanting eyes kept me still, even with my saucy attitude. A face chiseled in stone regarded me with care. I would never admit it, but I was afraid to move. Something in those almost-black depths warned me what he spoke of now would change my life forever. What’s more, I knew those words. They were Latin. But the translation in my head didn’t make sense.
        “The what is a Vessel,” he finally said. “And a Dominus Daemonum is a Master of Demons.”
        “Do you mean like a…a demon hunter?”
        He nodded. No smile.
        “That is what I am,” he said.

        “And what’s a Vessel?”
        “That is what you are.”



The author... Juliette Cross

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Juliette calls lush, moss-laden Louisiana home where the landscape curls into her imagination, creating mystical settings for her stories. She has a B.A. in creative writing from Louisiana State University, a M.Ed. in gifted education, and was privileged to study under the award-winning author Ernest J. Gaines in grad school. Her love of mythology, legends, and art serve as constant inspiration for her works. From the moment she read JANE EYRE as a teenager, she fell in love with the Gothic romance--brooding characters, mysterious settings, persevering heroines, and dark, sexy heroes. Even then, she not only longed to read more novels set in Gothic worlds, she wanted to create her own.


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Ascension - A. S. Fenichel

1/14/2015

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Ascension
The Demon Hunters, #1


When demons threaten London, Lady Belinda answers the call.

Lord Gabriel Thurston returns home from war to find his fiancée is not the sweet young girl he left behind. She’s grown into a mysterious woman who guards her dark secrets well. When he sees her sneaking away from a ball, he’s convinced it’s for a lover’s rendezvous. Following her to London’s slums, Gabriel watches in horror as his fiancée ruthlessly slays a man.

Lady Belinda Carlisle’s only concern was her dress for the next ball—until demons nearly killed her and changed everything. A lady by day, and a demon hunter by night, she knows where her duty lies. Ending her betrothal is the best way to protect Gabriel from death by a demon’s hand.

Gabriel soon realizes, like him, Belinda has been fighting for her country. He joins in the fight, determined to show her that their love can endure, stronger than ever.



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Excerpt

        Lady Belinda Clayton grappled with the creaking iron gate, which led to the back garden of her family’s London townhouse. It was not the first time she had used the unconventional route to make her way back home in the predawn hours. Nor was it the first time her dress had been ruined or her hair tousled in her rush to make her way through the streets without becoming a number on the death toll in the city’s records.
        Pushing the gate closed, the rough, cold metal scratched her gloved palm. Once the latch was secured she ran her finger along the jagged tear in her left glove. “Too bad,” she said. She shook her head at the ruined garment. “I really did like this pair.”
        “What pair is that, Lady Belinda?” Gabriel’s deep, seductive voice cut through the still night.
        His blue eyes were the color of the sea just before a storm and their depths burned into her.
        Her stomach did a flip before she had time to control herself. She was sure she looked flustered and she could have kicked herself for not steeling her nerves before facing Lord Gabriel Thurston, the Earl of Tullering.
        She was pleased with the sound of cold detachment in her voice. “Tullering, what on earth are you doing in my garden in the middle of the night?”
        “One might ask you the same question, Lady Belinda.” He ran his hand through his dark hair, loosening it from the ribbon. His cravat had come loose and his evening clothes were crushed. There was something dangerous about an unkempt Gabriel. The gesture was a sign of frustration from the earl. She’d seen it many times.
        Her heart raced and she swallowed the panic welling in her gut. “This is my home, my lord. You do not live here. If I am not mistaken you have a home in London where you should be at this late hour.”
        “You are my fiancée.” Even in the moonlight, his face and neck burned red.
        “There is no need to remind me.”
        He stepped from the terrace onto the cobbled path where she stood. He loomed over her and filled the air with a mixture of soap, spice and something else male and formidable. The scent was intrinsically Gabriel and entirely delicious.
        She was tempted to back away, but forced herself to hold her ground. Her stubbornness did not stop her heart from racing or her skin from tingling at his nearness.
        “Oh, but I think there is a need.” He circled behind her, his mouth inches from her ear.
        She set her teeth. “I am well aware of the contract signed between you and my father four years ago, my lord. I was there when it was signed and I was also there when you left for the continent.” The day he left for the war came flooding back, and so did the memories of her unanswered letters, and the tears she had cried over him. Well, there would be no tears tonight.
        “You are angry with me for fighting for our country?” He took a step back.
        “No.”
        “But you are angry.”
        “You might have written since your concern for our relationship is so evident.” She’d wanted to sound flippant, but she sounded brooding. She’d been hurt by his silence, and had little hope of hiding the fact.
        “I wrote,” he said.
        She was pleased the subject had changed to something more defensible. “Three letters in four years can hardly be considered correspondence, my lord.”
        “You use to call me Gabriel.” He murmured.
        She stepped away in spite of the pleasant shiver his voice produced. “That was a long time ago.” She made to climb the terrace steps away from him.
        “There is still the question of why my fiancée is sneaking through the garden at four in the morning.”
        She turned ready to blast him about having no right to ask her anything. Her words stuck in her throat.
        In the full moonlight, he took her breath away. He was tall and broad and his hair hung loose around his face.
        In spite of her anger, she wanted desperately to touch his hair and see if it was still as soft as it looked. “I come and go as I please.”
        “So I see,” he said. “Perhaps then, you would be willing to explain why your dress is six inches deep with mud, why your hair looks as if you’ve been tossing in the sheets, how you got that smudge of dirt on your lovely face, or the hole in those gloves you were just lamenting?”
        She wiped some dried mud from her cheek. The resulting dull pain told her she had revealed a bruise beneath.
        His eyes widened and he flew up the steps.
        She stepped back. She couldn’t harm Gabriel so she lifted one arm as if to dull a blow.
        He froze, staring down at her.
        It had been instinct. The last few years had taught her that no one is immune to violence. A woman must learn to defend herself. If he had been anyone else, she’d have struck him rather than shield herself against an angry fist. She lowered her arm and looked into his piercing eyes. Her heart pounded. She had made an error.
        “Do you truly think I would strike you?”
        Now that she was thinking clearly again, she hardly knew why she had defended herself. It was foolish. Gabriel would never strike her. Her environment had tainted her. She attempted to remain cold in her explanation. “I hardly know what to think, my lord. We no longer know each other.”
        When he touched the tender bruise, she winced, but did not back away.
        “And this, Bella, would you care to explain this to me?” His voice was soft and his touch feather-like, but his eyes narrowed and his posture remained unyielding.
        She brushed his touch aside. “Do not call me that.”
        “You use to like that name.”
        “That was also a long time ago.”
        “Not so long,” he whispered. He gazed out into the garden as if lost in some distant memory. His attention returned to her. “I am waiting for some kind of response from you, Lady Belinda.”
        In spite of her need to keep him at a distance, her heart ached when he used the formal address. Her first instinct was to tell him to go to hell and leave her alone, but that would only provoke him. She lied instead. “I have been at a ball. There was some problem with the carriage, and I was required to walk part of the way. I fell in the mud and some of it must have splattered my face when my dress was ruined.”
        He frowned. “And the bruise?”
        Deep creases around his full lips drew her in. Desire to tell him everything bubbled in her gut. She shrugged. “I’m sure it is only dirt. The moonlight makes it seem more dire, and you are exaggerating the situation greatly.”
        “I see. Is this all the explanation I can expect?”
        “It is what I am willing to say, my lord.” She turned and walked to the house. The door opened just as she arrived and she slipped inside before her fiancé could say more.

About the Author... A. S. Fenichel

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A.S. Fenichel gave up a successful career in New York City to follow her husband to Texas and pursue her lifelong dream of being a professional writer. She’s never looked back.

A.S. adores writing stories filled with love, passion, desire, magic and maybe a little mayhem tossed in for good measure. Books have always been her perfect escape and she still relishes diving into one and staying up all night to finish a good story.

Multi-published in erotic paranormal, contemporary and historical romance, A.S. is the author of the Mayan Destiny series, Christmas Bliss and many more. With several books currently contracted to multiple publishers, A.S. will be bringing you her brand of romance for many years to come.

Originally from New York, she grew up in New Jersey, and now lives in the East Texas with her real life hero, her wonderful husband. When not reading or writing she enjoys cooking, travel, history, and puttering in her garden.


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Dare to Love - Alleigh Burrows

1/12/2015

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The only tangible benefit Dare Landis has of finally claiming the title of Marquis of Raynsforth will be that the current marquis has finally gone to the Devil where he belongs. Until then, Lord Landis will continue to enjoy life on his own terms… as a heartless rake who’s beholden to no one.

Nivea Horsham knows there’s more to Dare than he reveals to the world. She’s loved him since her older brother brought his ridiculously handsome friend home from school all those years ago. But getting him to notice her has proven to be an impossible endeavor.

Can Nivea shatter Dare’s carefully crafted facade and show him how to love?



Author - Alleigh Burrows

Alleigh Burrows - Website
Alleigh Burrows loves romance novels. For years she tore through anything she could find—mainly regency romances, but would never pass up a hot Navy SEAL, an overbearing Scotsman, or shape shifting feline.

Reviews...

* (T)he author has a real talent for weaving an entertaining tale that tugs at the heartstrings and takes you away to the fantasy of romance. Kilts and Swords

* A wonderfully romantic, sweetly emotional historical romance, Dare to Love was a brilliant read that I absolutely loved. I expected a standard rake/wallflower romance going into it, but it turned out to be more than that and I really enjoyed it. 5-star Goodreads review



* I found this book to be absolutely charming! Descriptive writing, sexy scenes, and all the other components I expect in a good historical romance read. For me, Ms. Burrows lands herself next to names like Hannah Howell, Eliza Knight, and Paula Quinn. Congrats on a wonderfully engaging story that once started, I was unable to put down. Now its three in the morning, and I'm still smiling!

* I generally don't write reviews but I had to for this novel as I loved it so much. It was beautifully written and had a wonderful ebb and flow to the story.

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    Jen Colly is the author of the paranormal romance series: The Cities Below.

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